The Mark of the Knife

by Clayton H. Ernst

Wolcott Norris got out of his chair so quickly that Neil looked up in surprise. "What happened about these Chinese?" asked the mining engineer. "When did they come into it and how did they act?"

"That's another bit of mystery," said Neil. "There were a couple of fellows at school who didn't like Teeny-bits for one reason or another—jealousy, I guess—and according to general belief they patched up some kind of ridiculous plot to get Teeny-bits away from the school while the big game was being played. One of them was Teeny-bits' substitute and would have played if Teeny-bits hadn't been there. Maybe you read in the papers about the accident in which a fellow named Bassett was killed and another named Campbell got pretty badly hurt. Those were the two fellows—they wrecked a big machine running away after Teeny-bits showed up at the game. At least every one supposed they were trying to make a get-away. All Teeny-bits knows about the thing is that some one sent him a fake telephone message that his father—that is, old Daniel Holbrook—had been hurt, and when Teeny-bits was on the way home some men pounced on him and carried him over to Greensboro and shut him up in some sort of Chinese place. They had him all tied up and fixed so that he couldn't get away, they thought; but Teeny-bits squirmed around and tore his sweater half off and finally got almost loose, when back came two of these Chinamen and were tying him up again when they saw this mark on his back and they began to act as if they'd been mesmerized or something. They jabbered away and pointed at the thing, and while they were going through these tantrums Teeny-bits just walked out of the place and came home."

"That is strange," said the mining engineer, "mighty strange. Didn't he find out why they were frightened or what was behind it all?"

"No," said Neil, "I think the matter was sort of hushed up. They did a little investigating and it didn't seem to get them anywhere, and I guess the people at the school thought it wasn't worth while to follow it up any more. No one doubts that this Campbell fellow and Bassett were behind the business, and as far as the Chinese go I guess they were just superstitious or something. You must know them pretty well—you've traveled over there so much. Don't you?"

Apparently the mining engineer did not hear Neil's question, for he had turned again to the fireplace and was gazing into the embers in an abstracted manner. Neil did not feel like interrupting. For several minutes the room was silent, then Wolcott Norris suddenly turned and asked:

"When was that crowd coming back?"

The ski party on that night consisted of the three Jefferson football players, Teeny-bits and two brothers by the name of Williams who were from a camp a quarter of a mile down the valley. They planned to go up over the shoulder of Whiteface in the brilliant moonlight and shoot down a long, bare slope which was known as The Slide, where years before an avalanche had torn its way downward leaving bare earth in its wake. This V-shaped scar on the face of the mountain was now covered with a smooth expanse of snow—an ideal avenue for a swift and thrilling descent of the mountain. Teeny-bits had done more skiing in the last few days than he had done before in all the years of his life and had become enthusiastic over the sport. The sensation of sweeping down a slope and of speeding on with increasing swiftness until it seemed as if one were actually flying filled him with exhilaration and the real joy of living. He had never tried anything as steep as The Slide, but he had no fear of the place, and when, after a somewhat laborious climb, they had reached the peak and stood gazing down on the white way that stretched before them, he was eager to be off for the descent.

"Don't take it too fast," said Norris, "the slope is steeper than it looks. If you should want to slow up you can shoot over to the side and work against the slope a little."

The moon, now almost at the full, was shedding its ghostly light over the snow-covered mountains; by its brilliance the ski runners could see the surface of the slide, unbroken save for an occasional spruce which, having taken root in the scarred soil, was now thrusting up its dark branches through the blanket of white. Norris was the first to take off. He shot downward and as he gained momentum sent back a cry that floated up eerily. Teeny-bits poised at the edge and took a deep breath. This was living. Down there, growing smaller and smaller, a moving speck that seemed a mere shadow on the snow, was a new friend of his. It seemed strange that this was one of the outcomes of the Jefferson-Ridgley game: that from so desperate a struggle had arisen this opportunity to know the leader of the purple for whom he held a growing admiration. A fellow who fought so hard and so cleanly, who took defeat so wonderfully and who made such a good pal was only a little less to be admired than Neil Durant. Perhaps there was not any real difference in Teeny-bits' feeling for the two.

"I'm off," cried Teeny-bits; "see you at the bottom," and giving a strong thrust with his pole sent himself out upon the smooth surface.