CHAPTER LI
THE PROMISE FULFILLED
Again the interest centered upon the two big men who faced each other on the trodden ground of the clearing. Other men came—the ones who had fled from the rollway, their curiosity conquering their fear at the sight of the dead man.
And now the greener was speaking, and the tone of his voice was gentle in its velvety softness. His lips smiled, and his gray eyes, narrowed to slits, shone cold—with a terrible, steely coldness, so that men looked once, and shuddered as they looked.
"And, now, Moncrossen," he was saying, "we will fight. It is a long score that you and I have to settle. It starts with your dirty schemes that Stromberg wouldn't touch.
"Then, the well-laid plan to have Creed bump me off that night at Melton's No. 9; and the incident of the river, when you broke the jam. You thought you had me, then, Moncrossen. You thought I was done for good and all, when I disappeared under the water.
"There are other things, too—little acts of yours, that we will figure in as we go. The affair on Broken Knee, when you attacked this young girl; the shooting of Blood River Jack, from ambush; the second attack on the girl at the foot of the rapid—and the brutal starving of Wa-ha-ta-na-ta.
"Oh, yes; and the little matter of the bird's-eye. I have the logs, Moncrossen, all safely cached—the pile of ashes you found was a blind. Quite a long score, take it first and last, isn't it, Moncrossen?"
The silence, save for the sound of the voice, was almost painful. Men strained to listen, looking from one to the other of the two big men, with white, tense faces.
At the words, the blood rushed to the boss's face. His little, swinish eyes fairly blazed in their sockets. He was speechless with fury. The cords knotted in his neck, and a great blue vein stood out upon his forehead. The breath hissed through his clenched teeth as the goading words fell in the voice of purring softness.