Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > To Win or to Die: A Tale of the Klondike Gold Craze > This page
To Win or to Die: A Tale of the Klondike Gold Craze, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 29. One Gets His Deserts |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. ONE GETS HIS DESERTS The little party paused and glanced excitedly round, their weapons ready to fire at the companions whom the man was addressing. "Keep him off, mate--drag him back, Beardy! Can't you see he's tearing me to bits! Shoot! shoot! why don't you shoot? Never mind hitting me. Shoot!--can't you see the dog's mad?" There was a moment or two's pause, during which the man was silent, panting and foaming at the mouth, as he glared wildly towards the door. Then he began again. "There, there--you've missed him!" he shrieked. "He's at me again. He's mad--mad, I tell you! Shoot--shoot!--ah!" The poor wretch darted out one hand, caught up something from between the bed and the wall, and the firelight glistened upon the side of a bottle, which he raised so violently to his lips that the neck rattled against his teeth; and the lookers-on heard the deep _glug_--_glug_--_glug_ of the liquid within, as the man drank with avidity. "Ah!" he yelled again, and, raising himself up, he threw the bottle with all his might across the hut, so that it struck the wooden wall heavily, and fell to the floor unbroken. "Missed--missed!" shrieked the man; "and he's springing at me again! Keep him back--keep him back! Ah!" The shriek he uttered was horrible, as he went through all the movements of one struggling wildly against the attacks of a savage beast, and then suddenly dropped down cowering into the corner, panting loudly. Meanwhile Tregelly had picked up the bottle and held it to his nostrils, before glancing at the side. "That's mine," he growled. "They found that, then. I got it for spirits, case I was took ill in the night; but it was so bad I never used none, and put it on the corner of the shelf. It's poison, that's what it is; much like paraffin as can be. Nice stuff for a man like that!" "The man's mad," said Dallas, with a shudder. "Yes," whispered Abel; "don't you see, Dal? It's one of three who attacked us up in the pass." "Yes; there's no doubt about that," said Dallas. "He's the man who attacked me the other night. I'm sure as can be." "Oh, that's him, is it?" said Tregelly with a deep, angry growl. "Well, it'll be a long time before he attacks you again, my son." "Is it fever?" said Dallas. "'M! no, my son; I've seen a man took like that before. I should say it's hydrophoby, from the bite of a dog; and he's been doctoring himself with that paraffin stuff till he's madder than ever." The sight before them had so taken up their attention that for the moment Scruff's pursuit of the other two had been forgotten; but now it was brought vividly back to mind by a dull thump at the door, and the scratching of claws, and as the door yielded, the great dog forced its way in, with his red tongue lolling out, and panting loudly with his exertions. The effect was magical. The man upon the couch could not have seen or heard the dog, but he seemed to divine the great animal's presence, and springing up again from where he cowered, he began to shriek again horribly. "The dog--the dog!" he yelled--"tearing me to pieces! Mad--mad! Shoot--shoot, I say!" But attention was taken from him to the action of the dog. As soon as the ghastly, distorted face in the corner rose, and the shrieks began to fill the hut, the dog paused by the door, with the thick hair about his neck bristling up till the animal looked double his former size, and a low, muttering, thunderous growl came from his grinning jaws. The next moment he would have sprung at the wretched man, but Dallas grasped the position and was too quick for him. In an instant he had sprung across the dog's back, nipped him between his knees, and buried his hands in the thick hair of his neck. "Quick, Bel, or he will tear him to pieces!" cried Dallas. "The door-- the door! Here, Bob, help; I can't hold him. Strong as a horse." Abel flew to drag open the door, Tregelly seized the dog by his tail; there was a furious scratching and barking, a rush out, a swing round of two powerful arms, and the door was banged to again, and fastened; but only just in time, Scruff's head coming at it with a loud thud, and his claws rattling and scratching on the wood, as he barked and growled savagely. "Lie down, sir!" roared Dallas. "How dare you! Lie down." There was a loud barking at this, but there were sounds as if of protest mingled with it, and finally the dog subsided into a howl, and dropped down by the door to wait, a low, shuffling, panting sound coming through the crack at the bottom. "He'd have killed him," said Dallas, panting with the exertion. "Not a doubt about it, my son," replied Tregelly. "That's the chap, sure enough--him as half killed you, Mr Abel." "Yes, I'm sure of it." "Knew him again directly." "Think so?" said Dallas. "Sure of it, my son. Dog wouldn't have gone for a sick man in bed. Knew him directly, and went for him. Depend upon it, them two had a desprit fight that night when Scruff laid hold of him and made him drop the gold-bag." "That's it, Bel," said Dallas. "No doubt Scruff bit him pretty well, and he has scared himself into the belief that the dog was mad." "Yes, that and delirim trimins," said the big Cornishman, looking down at the horrible wreck before him, the face seeming more ghastly and grotesque from the dancing shadows. "The brute has drunk himself mad. He's a thief, and a murderer, or meant to be; and him and his gang have broke into my house. If the judge and his lot yonder could get at him they'd hang him to the first tree; he told us if we saw him and his lot we were to shoot at sight; and he's no good to himself or anybody else, and the world would be all the better without him; and--I say, don't you think we'd better let the dog come in and put him out of his misery?" "No," said Dallas angrily; "neither do you." "Well, put him outside in the snow. It's a merciful sort of death, and very purifying to such a chap as this. Soon freeze hard. He wouldn't come back to life like old Scruff. What do you say to that, Master Abel Wray?" "Nothing," said Abel shortly, "because if I said _Yes_! you wouldn't do it." Tregelly stood and shook with the ebullition of chuckles which came bubbling out. "Oh, dear me," he said at last, as he wiped his eyes. "I can't help being such a fool. It's my nature to, my sons. No, I couldn't set the dog at the beast, and I couldn't put him out to freeze; but if it had come to a fight, and I'd been up, I could have shot him or knocked him on the head, and felt all the better for it." "Yes, I know," said Dallas, who stood gazing down at the trembling wretch upon the couch. "I s'pose I ought to be very glad him and his lot found my place empty; and I ought to sit down and nurse him and try to make him well again, and stop till his mates came and made an end of me--same as they've made an end of everything in the place. I say, just look here--quiet, Scruff, or I'll come and talk to you with one of my boots!--I'm blessed if they haven't finished up everything I left here--ham, bacon, meal, tea, sugar--every blessed thing," continued Tregelly, as he opened canister and tin, peered into the meal-tub, and finished by staring down at the miserable wretch on the bed, and thoughtfully scratching his head. "It's horrible, Bob," said Dallas. "The brutes! But I don't know what we're to do." Tregelly looked down again at the man, whose lips were moving fast; but his words were inaudible, save now and then, when he uttered a strange yelping cry, and they heard the word, "Dog!" "Seems your turn now, Master Abel," said Tregelly. "You've got your knife into him most. But he's got his deserts." _ |
||