The Luck of the Kid

by Ridgwell Cullum

He had felt it was all for the best. And somehow, in those moments in which he had witnessed the calm courage with which the Indian had faced his terrible end a feeling of intense admiration and sympathy went out to the savage whose conception of manhood was so curious a blending of downright honesty and loyalty, of hate to the limit of fiendish cruelty, and of an invincible courage in face of personal disaster.

But for the little Japanese woman his feelings were stirred to the deepest. When he thought of her, body and soul he hated the ruthless Indian with all the passionate manhood in him. And the more deeply he pondered her tragic end, the more surely he cried out against the seeming injustice that Fate could have allowed it to come to pass.

He had sat for hours over the flickering camp fire before he contemplated continuing his labours. But in the end the shock of the horror passed, and the urgency of the moment bestirred him. There was nothing to be done but to continue his journey. There was no need even to obliterate such traces of the camp as might remain. It was the way of Nature in these far-flung regions to hide up man’s track almost in the moment of his passing.

So he had made his way down to Placer, not even pausing at the rapids at the mouth of the Caribou, so vivid with happy memories for him. It was a journey of weeks that taxed every ounce of the manhood in him. For the night of winter had fallen, and the storming world about him was often doubly blinded. But he reached his destination at last, and reached it with the last of the open water.

It was his return to Placer that set the whole city agog. It was known he had been about in the north for two open seasons. And the conclusions drawn were natural enough in a gold community watching the movements of the man who was the leading figure in the traffic upon which it was engaged.

He denied every inquiry by which he was assailed. He denied even his friend, and, for the time being, chief, George Raymes. He visited him at once. And with his first greeting explained in a fashion he had long since prepared.

“I’m right glad to see you again, George,” he declared, as they gripped hands. “Ther’ve been times when I didn’t guess it would happen ever. But I’ve so far beat the game, and I’m glad. Now, see, right here,” he went on, smiling whimsically into the other’s questioning eyes, “I haven’t any report to hand you yet. And I’ll take it more than friendly you don’t ask me a thing. I’m setting right out with one big outfit, and if the game goes my way I’ll be right back when the earth’s dry, and the skitters are humming. And when that time comes I’ll hand you a story that ought to set you sky high with the folks who run your end of the game. Do you feel like acting that way?”

The policeman was content. He knew Wilder too well to press him. Besides, Chilcoot had been in the city weeks. Chilcoot had been in close contact with the Gold Commissioner. Furthermore, Chilcoot had been preparing the return outfit, collecting men and material for a swift rush, and had talked with him in his office. So he readily acquiesced, and left these “special” constables to work out their plans in the way they saw fit.

But the whisper had gone round. Bill Wilder and Chilcoot Massy were preparing a great outfit for the trail. Bill Wilder and Chilcoot Massy were buying largely. And their purchases were of all that material required in the exploitation of a big “strike.” Then word had leaked out through the Gold Commissioner’s office, as, somehow, it always contrived to do when something of real magnitude was afoot. So the “sharps,” and the “wise-guys,” and the traders, and all the riff-raff, ready to jump in on anything offering a promise of easy gain, bestirred themselves out of their winter’s pursuit of pleasure. Not one, but a hundred outfits were quietly being prepared with the deliberate intention of dogging these great captains of the gold trade to their destination. Chilcoot and Wilder were preparing for the winter trail. And as a result every dog and sled within the city was brought into commission.

Then had come the setting out. It was arranged with the utmost secrecy. The preparations of these men had been made beyond the straggling town’s limits, so that the get-away could be as sudden as they chose to make it. Every man engaged to accompany them was under bond to report each day at the camp at a given hour, and this had gone on since the moment of their engagement. It was on this rule Wilder depended for his get-away from those who were determined to follow.