# The Trail of the Golden Horn/Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26
The Night Struggle
THE Golden Horn was agleam with the rising sun as the two policemen left the Indian encampment the next morning and headed for the patrol house. They were late in starting, owing to the arrangements they had to make in connection with the two hootch peddlers. At first it seemed as if the constable would have to conduct them to The Gap, leaving the sergeant to obtain a native to go with him. The matter was at length settled by several Indians agreeing to take the prisoners all the way to Kynox. The sergeant told them that they would be well rewarded if they delivered the two men to the police stationed at that post.
So once more the upholders of the law and the guardians of life sped along through the wilderness. For a while there was nothing to guide them. Then they came upon Tom’s trail, and this they followed. They had heard about the old Indian’s visit to the encampment, and the harsh reception which had been meted out to him. They surmised that he had made his way to the patrol house for shelter and food.
“Say, sergeant,” Rolfe remarked, as they paused to rest on the summit of a hill they had just climbed, “I wonder if the Wandering Jew had any children.”
“I never heard that he did,” was the reply. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I have come to the conclusion that he did, ​and that we are two of his descendants. We are ever wandering from place to place, and have been doing so for years. It seems to be our fate. I am getting more than tired of this life.”
“Longing for a change, eh?”
“It wouldn’t come amiss, let me tell you that.”
“But we’re getting plenty of change, Tom. Ever since we left Kynox haven’t we had no end of excitement, ending up with that racket last night?”
“Do you call that the end? It looks to me like only the beginning. But, then, let us keep up courage; the worst is yet to come. Say, sergeant, I’ve been thinking.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Tom. Rather unusual, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps so, but I really have. I’ve been thinking about all the people who sing the national anthem in cities and towns.”
“Does your brain hurt from such deep thinking?”
“I wonder if they realize what our motto, ‘Maintien le Droit,’ really means? Look at us, for instance, upholding the right, and enforcing the King’s laws, while all they do is sing, cheer, and wave the flag. When I get out of the Force, I’m going to write something that will open their eyes.”
“Poetry, I suppose. Will people read it?”
“They will have to. I shall write such blazing stuff that everyone will want to read it. It will not be the trash that is so often seen in print.”
“I wish you good luck, old man,” North replied, as he lifted his small pack and slung it once again over his shoulders. “But I wouldn’t be too hopeful. People, as a rule, don’t take kindly to poetry.”
“But they will take to mine. I shall write such stuff that they won’t be able to help themselves. Now, some ​poets have written about this country who have never been on its trails. I shall write from experience, and surely people will see the difference.”
“Let us hope so, Tom,” the sergeant replied. “But come, let us get on our way. We have lost too much time already. If you can find any poetry in all this, you are heartily welcome to it.”
Hour after hour they moved onward, and the sun had disappeared behind the far-off mountain peaks as they came at last to the patrol house. Smoke was pouring forth from the pipe stuck up through the roof. This did not surprise them, for they surmised that Tom, the Indian, was making himself at home within. Kicking off their snow-shoes, the sergeant thrust open the door and led the way into the building. He stopped suddenly, however, at a strange and uncanny sound which came from the opposite corner of the room. He could not see clearly, owing to the dimness of the place, but words he heard quickened the blood in his veins, and caused him to grip hard the constable’s arm.
“Keep back! Keep back!” wailed the terrified voice. “What are ye doin’ here, Bill Haines? How did ye git out of the river? I put you an’ yer wife under the ice, an’ how did ye git out? Oh! oh! oh! keep yer wet hands off my throat. Yer chokin’ me! Fer God’s sake, let me go!”
As the wretched, haunted creature paused an instant for breath, the sergeant stepped quickly forward. Indian Tom was standing by the bunk, and he turned around as the sergeant approached. He expressed no surprise at the arrival of the policeman, although it was evident he was greatly relieved.
“Bill velly seek,” he simply said. “Bill talk all sam’ crazee. Bill tell much.”
​“He certainly does,” the sergeant replied, as he again listened to the wild words of the man before him, pleading again with Bill Haines to keep back and not to choke him. He was certain now that the murderer he was seeking had been found, and that the search was ended.
“How long has Bill been talking like this?” he asked.
“Long tam, all day, mebbe. Bill velly seek. Bill die bimeby, eh?”
“Most likely,” was the reply. “Anyway, he’s worse than dead now. Isn’t it terrible to listen to him?” and he turned to the constable.
“Say, sergeant, he’s getting his hell now,” Rolfe replied. “It’s the mind that makes the torment. It was Satan in ‘Paradise Lost’ which said, ‘The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a hell of heaven.’ And who can doubt it after listening to the ravings of such a creature as that? Why, he’s living over again all the devilish things he has ever done. There he goes again about the murder of Bill Haines and his wife. Did you hear him speak about a ring? Look, he’s groping for something. What do you suppose it can be?”
“Perhaps he’s stolen one,” the sergeant suggested. “But, stay; do you suppose a ring was the cause of that murder? If so, he may have it somewhere about him. Give me a light, and let me examine him.”
In another minute a candle was lighted which enabled them to see much better. The pockets of the raving man were searched, and from one the sergeant at length brought forth the ring, and held it up for inspection. The diamond gleamed beneath the rays of light and fascinated the eyes of the beholders.
“Isn’t it a beauty!” the constable exclaimed. “What ​in the world was Bill doing with a thing like that? It may be, as you suggest, the cause of the murder. Did you ever hear of the Haines having such a valuable thing?”
“I never did. They always seemed too poor to possess anything like that. But, then, one can never tell. Bill Haines and his wife were very reserved people, and although friendly and hospitable to all, they kept their own affairs to themselves. Mrs. Haines was a refined woman, and it often struck me as strange that she should be willing to live year after year in such a lonely place along the river. However, we shall keep this ring; it may be the means of unravelling some mystery. The question now for us is what to do with this crazy creature. But first of all, get something to eat, as I am almost starved.”
While the constable was preparing supper, North sat by the side of the bunk, watching the unhappy man lying there, and listening to his incessant ravings. It was a sordid tale, unconsciously unfolded, and the sergeant was enabled to piece together much of his unenviable record. Tom, the Indian, squatted on the floor nearby, silent and alert. At times the sergeant glanced toward him and wondered what was passing through his mind. When the humble meal had been eaten, the Indian filled, lighted his old blackened pipe, and smoked for a while in silence. At last he rose to his feet and stood before the sergeant.
“Me go now,” he simply announced. “P’lice stay, eh?”
“Go where?” North asked in surprise. “Surely you are not going away to-night!”
“Ah, ah. Tom go find Injun. Fetch Injun back to Gap. Savvey?”
​“What for?”
“Gikhi velly seek; die mebbe. Tom fetch Injun.”
“But why not wait until morning? Sleep first.”
“Tom sleep bimeby. Ketch Injun first.”
“How far away are the Indians?” the sergeant asked.
“At Big Lake.”
“That’s about ten miles, isn’t it?”
“Ah, ah, ten mile, mebbe.”
For a few minutes the sergeant remained in thought. He then turned to the constable, who was cleaning up after supper.
“Say, Tom,” he began, “we’ve got to get this crazy man back to The Gap, and from there to Kynox. We can’t do it without a team of dogs. Those Indians at Big Lake must supply us with an outfit. One of us should go with this Indian and pick up a good team. Would you rather go or stay here with Bill?”
“Go with the Indian, of course,” was the emphatic reply. “I’d soon be crazy, too, if I had to stay here alone with that raving villain.”
“But you might obtain great material for poetry,” the sergeant bantered. “What brilliant ideas might come to you sitting here and listening to Bill.”
“I’d rather be excused this time, sergeant. Dante wrote wonderful things about his imaginary visit to Hell, but I don’t think that I could. This is too real to inspire the poetic muse. No, I prefer the trail every time.”
“Even though you have to start right off now?”
“I would rather wait until morning, there is no doubt about that. But if Old Tom is determined to go now, I suppose it can’t be helped. And besides, perhaps he is right. There is no time to lose. We must get that ​creature out of this as soon as possible. And you want to get back to The Gap as soon as you can, don’t you?”
The sergeant made no reply. He was more than anxious to be with Marion once more. He had worried a great deal about her, and wondered how she was making out with the missionary. She was very much in his mind as he sat near the bunk after the Indian and the constable had left. He had plenty of time to think, as there was nothing else he could do. Marion always brought before him a vision of purity and nobleness. He pictured a time when his wanderings on the cruel trails would be ended, and he would have a snug little home of his own, with Marion as the beautiful presiding genius. What happiness that would be. No more wanderings to and fro, with no certain abiding place.
It was but natural that he should also think of the self-sacrificing life of Charles Norris, the missionary at The Gap, and the sad fate which had fallen upon him. He mused upon his noble life, and the peaceful expression upon his face as he had last seen him lying so still in the mission house. He compared him with the wretched being before him, and the contrast was most startling. One had lived for loving service; the other for self. The aim of one had been to build up, and improve; that of the other to tear down, and to destroy. In the end both had been terribly stricken down. That the good should suffer as well as the bad the sergeant knew was one of the great problems of life. And yet not for an instant could he imagine the missionary at The Gap undergoing such tortures of the condemned as he beheld in Bill, the Slugger. In the latter he saw the brute nature, revealed and uncontrolled, pouring forth the vile pollutions of the mind. He realised now, ​as he had never done before, the gracious and refining influence of the life and teaching of the Great Master. He had scoffed at such things in the past, but face to face with such stern realities, he knew that he could never do so again.
Thus hour after hour he kept watch, tended the fire, and listened to the sounds of the man in the bunk, which were now nothing more than senseless jabberings. Occasionally he went to the door and looked out. The night was cold, and he thought of the constable and the Indian speeding through the forest. He was thankful to have a warm abode, even though his sole companion was a demented man.
Once more he took up his position near the bunk, filled and lighted his pipe, and leaned back against the wall. When he had finished his smoke, he laid aside his pipe and looked at Bill. He was quiet now, and to all appearance asleep. North was glad of this, for he was becoming very drowsy. The room was warm and as he once more resumed his seat, he leaned his head against one of the bunk posts which was fastened to the wall. He was tired, and although he intended to keep awake, yet in a few minutes he was asleep.
He awoke with a start, overwhelmed with a feeling of dread. And none too soon, for before him was the lunatic creeping toward him with a stick of firewood raised ready to strike.
North sprang to his feet as the madman leaped forward and with a wild cry struck. Warding the blow with his right hand, the sergeant grappled with the raging demon. Then ensued a struggle such as North had never before experienced. The lunatic seemed to be possessed of superhuman strength, and several times he was on the point of gaining the mastery. To and ​fro the contestants swayed and reeled. The madman’s arms were like coils of steel as he wound them about his adversary’s body. His eyes glowed like red-hot coals. His teeth ground together in his insensate rage, and blood-curdling yells poured from his frothing lips. North had at times heard of the terrible strength of crazy men and their marvellous endurance. But he knew it now only too well. Possessed of great strength himself, and with finely developed muscles, he was weak compared with his raging brute antagonist. He felt his strength weakening in the terrible grip, and a sickening feeling of helplessness swept upon him. The thought of being overpowered by such a demon was maddening. He could not subdue him by mere physical force, that was quite evident, so in extremity desperate means must be used. At the first opportunity he drew back his right arm and struck his opponent a smashing blow on the left jaw. The effect was instantaneous. The encircling arms relaxed, the gripping fingers loosened their strangling hold, the tense body sagged, and then dropped in a heap upon the floor.
North staggered back weak and faint after the fray, and leaned for a few seconds against the wall. He was well aware, however, that the madman might speedily recover and rush again to the attack. Such a thing must be prevented. He looked around for a rope or strap, but seeing nothing, he seized one of the grey blankets upon the bunk and quickly tore off a long narrow strip. Turning over the prostrate man, he securely fastened his hands behind his back. With another strip he also tied his feet together. This done, he threw over him a couple of blankets, and left him upon the floor.
“Lie there, you brute,” he said. “It’s too good a ​place for you. I’m not going to bother with you any more. You don’t deserve the least consideration. You brought all this trouble upon yourself. I wish that some of your choice companions could see you now. It might be a lesson to them.”
Slowly the long night wore away. North was very tired, but he did not dare to sleep. He kept the fire going and waited impatiently for the coming of dawn. The madman at length recovered, struggled to free himself, and yelled and raved. North left him alone, knowing that he could do nothing for him. His one desire now was to get him back to The Gap as soon as possible, and from there to Kynox. His responsibility then would be ended.