THE WHITE DESERT

BY

COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER

AUTHOR OF

THE CROSS-CUT, ETC.

FRONTISPIECE BY

ANTON OTTO FISCHER

GROSSET " DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Made b the United States of America

Copyright, 198S,

BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.

All Rights Reserved

Published February, 1922

Reprinted March, 1922

PMBTBD m THE UNITED STATSB or JLmttmt

To a Certain Little Gray Lady

who seems to like everything

I write, the main reason being

the fact that she is

MY MOTHER

M18084;

THE WHITE DESERT

CHAPTER X ;..: :.;:.;;

It was earlyafternoon. Near by, the smaller hillsshimmered in the radiant warmth of late spring,the brownness of their foliage and boulders merg-ing

gradually upward to the green of the sprucesand pines of the higher mountains, which in turn

gave way before the somber blacks and whites of

the mainrange, where yet the snow lingered from

the clutch of winter, where the streams ran brownwith the down-flow of the continental divide, where

every cluster of mountain foliagesheltered a moundof white, in jealous conflict with the sun. Themountains are tenacious of their vicious traits ; they

cling to the snow and cold and ice long after the

seasons have denoted a time of warmth and sum-mer's

splendor ; the columbine often blooms beside

a ten-foot drift.

But down in the hollow which shielded the scram-bling

little town of Dominion, the air was warm and

lazy with the friendliness of May. Far off, alongthe course of the tumbling stream, turbulentfy

striving to care for far more than its share of the

melt-water of the hills,a jaybird called raucouslyas though in an effort to drown the sweeter, softer

8 THE WHITE DESERT

notes of a robin nestingin the new-green of a quak-ingaspen. At the hitchingpost before the one tiny

store, an old horse nodded and blinked," as didthe sprawled figurebeside the ramshackle motor-fillingstation,just opened after the snow-boundmonths of winter. Then five minutes of absolute

peace ensued, except for the buzzing of an investi-gativebottle-flybefore the figureshuffled,stretched,

and raising his head, looked down the road.From the distance had come the whirringsoundof a motor, the forerunner of a possiblecus-tomer.

In the hills,an automobile speaks beforeit is seen.

Long moments of throbbingechoes;then the carappeared, a mile or so down the canon, twistingalong the rocky walls which rose sheer from theroad, threading the innumerable bridges whichspanned the littlestream, at last to break forth intothe open country and roar on toward Dominion.

The drowsy gasolinetender rose. A moment moreand a long,sleek,yellow racer had come to a stopbeside the gas tank, chortled with greaterreverbera-tion

than ever as the throttle was thrown open, then

wheezed into silence with the cuttingoff of the igni-tion.A young man rose from his almost flat posi-tion

in the low-slungdriver's seat and crawlingoverthe side,stretched himself, meanwhile staringup-ward

toward the glaringwhite of Mount Taluchen,the highest peak of the continental backbone,frowning in the coldness of snows that never de-parted.

The villagermoved closer.

THE WHITE DESERT 8

"Gas?"

"Yep." The young man stretched again."Fill up the tank " and better giveme half a gallonof oil."

Then he turned away once more, to stare againatthe great, tumbled stretches of granite,the longspaces of green-blackpines,showingin the distancelike so many uprightfronds of some strange,mossyfern; at the blank spaces, where cold stone and

shiftingshale had made jagged marks of barenessin the masses of evergreen, then on to the last

gnarledbulwarks of foliage,strugglingbravely,al-mostdesperately,to hold on to life where life was

impossible,the dividingline,as sharp as a knife-thrust, between the regionwhere trees may growand snows may hide beneath their protectingboughs and the desolate,barren, rocky,forbiddingwaste of "timber line."

Young he was, almost boyish; yet counterbalanc-ingthis was a seriousness of expressionthat almost

approached somberness as he stood waiting untilhis machine should be made ready for the continu-ance

of his journey. The eyes were dark and lus-trouswith something that closelyapproached sor-row,

the lipshad a tightnessabout them which gaveevidence of the pressure of suffering,all formingan expressionwhich seemed to come upon him un-aware,

a hidden thing ever waitingfor the chanceto rise uppermost and assume command. But in

a flash it was gone, and boyishagain,he had turned,laughing,to survey the gas tender*

4 THE WHITE DESERT

"Did you speak?"he asked,the dark eyes twink-ling.The villagerwas in front of the machine,

staringat the plateof the radiator and scratching1his head.

"I was justsayin'I never seed that kind o' carbefore. Barry Houston, huh? Must be a newmake. I""

'

"Camouflage,"laughed the young man again."That's my name."

"Oh, is it?" and the villagerchuckled with him."It shore had me guessin'fer a minute. You'vegot th' platerightwhere th' name o' a car is plas-tered

usually,and itplum fooled me. That's yourname, huh? Live hereabouts " ?"

The owner of the name did not answer. The

thoughtsuddenlyhad come to him that once out ofthe village,that platemust be removed and tossedto the bottom of the nearest stream. His mission,for a time at least,would requiresecrecy. But thevillagerhad repeated his queston:

"Don't belongaround here?""I? No, I'm"" then he hesitated.

"Thought maybe you did. Seein' youVe got aColorado license on."

Houston parried,with a smile."Well, this isn't all of Colorado, you know.""Guess that's right. Only it seems in th' sum-mer

thet it's most o' it,th' way th' machines pilethrough,goin'over th' Pass. Where you headedfor?"

"The same place."

THE WHITE DESERT 5

"Over Hazard?" The villagersquinted. "OverHazard Pass? Ain't daft, are you?"

"I hope not. Why?""Ever made it before?"

"No."

"And you'retacklin' it for the first time at thisseason o' th' year?"

"Yes. Why not? It's May, isn't it?"The villagermoved closer,as though to gain a

better sightof Barry Houston's features. He sur-veyedhim carefully,from the tight-drawnreversed

cap with the motor goggles resting above theyoung, smooth forehead, to the quietelegance ofthe outing clothingand well-shod feet. He spat,"reflectively,and drew the back of a hand across to-bacco-stained

lips."And you say you live in Colorado.""I didn't say"""Well, it don't make no difference whether you

did or not. I know " you don't. Nobody thetlives out here'd try to make Hazard Pass for th'

firsttime in th' middle o' May.""I don't see" "

"Look up there." The old man pointedto thesplotchesof white, thousands of feet above, theswirlingclouds which drifted from the icybreast ofMount Taluchen, the mists and fogswhich caressedthe precipicesand rolled throughthe valleyscreatedby the lesser peaks. "It may be springdown here,boy, but it'sJanuary up there. They's only beentwo cars over Hazard since November and they

6 THE WHITE DESERT

come through last week. Both of 'em was oldstagers; they'vebeen crossin' th' range for th' lastten year. Both of 'em came through here lookin'like icicles "an' swearing t' beat four o' a kind.They's mountains an' mountains, kid. Them upthere's th' professionalkind."

A slight,puzzled frown crossed the face ofBarry Houston.

"But how am I going to get to the other side ofthe range? I'm going to Tabernacle.""They's a train runs from Denver, over Crestline.

Look up there " jest to the right of MountTaluchen. See that there little puff o' smoke?That's it."

"But that'd mean"."

"For you t' turn around, go back to Denver,leave that there chariot o' your'n in some garageand take the train to-morrow mornin'. It'd get

you t' Tabernacle some time in the afternoon."

"When would I get there " if I could make the

Pass all right?""In about five hours. It's only fourteen mile

from th' top. But""

"And you say two other cars have gone

through?""Yep. But they knowed every crook an' turn!"

For a long moment, the young man made no

reply. His eyes were againon the hillsand gleam-ingwith a sudden fascination. From far above,

they seemed to call to him, to taunt him with their

imperiousness,to challengehim and the low-slung

THE WHITE DESERT 7

high-poweredcar to the combat of gravitationandthe elements. The bleak walls of graniteappearedto glower at him, as though daring him to attempttheir conquest; the smooth stretches of pines werealluringthings,promisingpeace and quietand con-tentment,

" will-o-the-wisps,which spoke onlytheir beauty, and which said nothing of the longstretches of gravellymire and puddles,resultantfrom the slowly melting snows. The swirlingclouds, the mists, the driftingfogs all appearedto await him, like the gatheredhosts of some mightyarmy, suddenly peacefuluntil the call of combat.A thrill shot through Barry Houston. His lifehad been that of the smooth spaces, of the easyascent of well-paved grades,of streets and com-forts

and of luxuries- The very raggedness ofthe thing before him lured him and drew him on.He turned, he smiled, with a quiet,determined ex-pression

of anticipation,yet of grimness."They've got me," came quietly. "I'm " I'm

going to make the try !"The villagergrunted. His lipsparted as though

to issue a final warning. Then, with a disgruntledshake of the head, he turned away.

"Ain't no use arguin'with you Easterners,"came at last. "You come out here an' take one

look at these here hills an' think you can beat Ole

Lady Nature when she's sittin'pat with a royalflush. But go on " I ain't tryin't' stop you.'Twouldn't be nothin' but a waste o' breath.

You've got this here conquerm'spiritin your blood

8 THE WHITE DESERT

" won't be satisfied till you get it out. You'reall th' same " I Ve seen fellows with flivvers loadeddown tillth' springswas flat,look up at them hillsan' figuret' get over an' back in time for supper.So go on " only jis'remember this: once you getoutside of Dominion an' start up th' grade, thereain't no way stations,an' there ain't no telephones,ner diner service,ner somebody t' bring y' th'evenin' paper. You're buckin' a brace game when

y'go againstHazard Pass at a time when she ain'tin a mood f'r comp'ny. She holds all th' cards,jis'remember that " an' a few thet ain't in th'deck. But jis'th' same," he backed away as Barrystepped into the racer and pressed a foot on thestarter, "I'm wishin' you luck. You'll need it."

"Thanks !" Houston laughed with a new exhila-ration,a new spiritof desire. "It can't do any

more than kill me."

"Nope." The villagerwas shouting now abovethe exhaust of the powerful engine,"But it shorecan take a delightin doin' that! S' long!"

"So long!" The gears meshed. A stream ofsmoke from the new oil spat out for a second.

Then, roaring and chortlingwith the beginningof battle, the machine swept away toward the

slightturn that indicated the scraggly end of thelittletown of Dominion, and the beginningof thefirst grade.

The exhilaration stillwas upon Barry Houston,He whistled and sang, turning now and then toview the brightgreenness of the new-leafed aspens,

THE WHITE DESERT 9

to watch the circlingsallies of the jaybirds,or tostare ahead to where the blues and greens and pur-ples

of the foliageand rocks merged in the distance.The grade was yet easy and there was no evidenceof strain upon the engine; the tiny rivulets whichran alongthe slightruts at each side of the road be-tokened

nothing to him save the slightpossibilityof chains, should a muddy stretch of straightawayroad appear later on. But as yet,that had not oc-curred,

and Barry was livingfor the moment.The road began to twist slightly,with short raises

and shorter level stretches winding among the as-pensand spruces, with sudden, jagged turns about

heavy, frowning boulders whose jutting nosesseemed to scrape the fenders of the car, only to missthem by the barest part of an inch. SuddenlyBarry found himself bending forward, eyes stillonthe road in spiteof his half -turned head, ears strain-ing

to catch the slightestvariation of the motor. Itseemed to be straining," yet the long, suddenlystraightstretch of road ahead of him seemed per-fectly

level;downhill if anything. More and morelabored became the engine. Barry stopped,andliftingthe hood, examined the carbureter. Withthe motor idling,it seemed perfect. Once more hestarted," only to stop again and anxiouslysurveythe ignition,test the spark plugs and again inquireinto the activities of the carbureter. At last,reas-sured,

he walked to the front of the machine, andwith the screwdriver priedthe name platefrom itspositionon the radiator and tossed it into the turn-

10 THE WHITE DESERT

bling,yellow stream beside the road. Then heturned back to the machine, " only to stop suddenlyand blink with surprise. The road was not level!The illusion which comes to one at the firsteffort to

conquer a mountain grade had faded now. A fewfeet away was a deserted cabin, built upon a level

plotof ground and givingto Barry a chance forcomparison,and he could see that his motor had notbeen at fault. Now the road, to his suddenly com-prehending

eyes, rose before him in a long,steadysweep of difficultgrades,upward, steadilyupward,with never a varying downfall, with never a rest forthe motor which must climb it. And this was justthe beginning! For Barry could see beyond.

Far in the distance he could make it out, a twist-ing,

turning,almost writhingthing,cuttinginto theside of the mountain, a jagged scar, searingitswayup the range in flightsthat seemed at times to runalmost perpendicularand which faded, only to re-appear

again,like the trail of some giganticcut-worm,mark above mark, as it circled the smaller

hills,cut into the higherones, was lost at the edge ofsome great beetlingrock, only to reappear oncemore, hundreds of feet overhead. The eyes of

Barry Houston grew suddenly serious. He reachedinto the toolbox, and bringingforth the jack,af-fixed

the chains, forgetting his usually cheerywhistle,forgettingeven to take notice when an in-vestigative

jay scrambled out upon a dead aspenbranch and chattered at him. The true meaning ofthe villager'swords had come at last. The moun-

THE WHITE DESERT 11

tains were frowning now, instead of beckoning,gloweringinstead of promising,threateninginsteadof luring. One by one he locked the chains intoplace,and tossingthe jack once more into the tool-box,

resumed his placeat the wheel."A six per cent, grade if it'san inch!" he mur-mured.

"And this isonlythe beginning. Wonderwhat I'm steppingi*ito?"

The answer came almost before the machine hadwarmed into action. Once more the enginelabored ;nor was it until Barry had answered its gasp-ing

pleaby a shift to second gear that it strength-enedagain. The grade was growing heavier ; once

Barry turned his head and stared with the knowl-edgethat far beneath him a few tinybuildingsdot-ted

what seemed to be a space of ground as level asa floor. Dominion! And he had barelypassedoutside its environs!

He settled more firmlyin his seat and grippedhard at the steeringwheel. The turns had becomeshorter; more, Barry found himself rightingthemachine with sudden jerksas the car rounded theshort curves where the front wheels seemed to hangmomentarily above oblivion,as the chasms stretchedaway to seemingly bottomless depths beneath.Gradually,the severityof the grade had increasedto ten, to twelve and in short pitchesto even eight-een

and twenty per cent! For a time the machine

sang alongin second,buckingthe raises with almosthuman persistence,finally,however, to gasp andbreak in the smooth monotony of the exhaust, to

12 THE WHITE DESERT

miss, to strain and strugglevainly,then to thunderon once more, as Houston pressed the gears intolow and began to watch the motormeter with anx-ious

eyes. The mercury was rising;another half-hour and the swish of steam told of a boilingradiator.

A stop, while the red, hissingwater splatteredfrom the radiator cock, and the lifted hood gavethe machine a chance to cool before replenishmentcame from the murky, discolored stream of meltedsnow water which churned beneath a saplingbridge.Panting and light-headedfrom the altitude,Barryleaned againstthe machine for a moment, then sud-denly

straightenedto draw his coat tighterabouthim and to raise the collar about his neck. The

wind, whistlingdown from above, was cold: some-thingtouched his face and melted there," srrow!

The engine was cool now. Barry leapedto thewheel and once more began his struggleupward,a new seriousness upon him, a new grimnessappar-ent

in the tightnessof his lips. The tinyrivulets ofthe road had given placeto gushing streams; hereand there a patchof snow appearedin the highway;farther above, Barry could see that the white wasunbroken, save for the half-erased marks of thetwo cars which had made the journey before him.The motor, like some refreshed animal, roared witha new power and new energy, vibrant,confident,but the spiritwas not echoed by the man at thewheel. He was in the midst of a fightthat was newto him, a struggleagainstone of the mightiest

U THE WHITE DESERT

Barry Houston had left May and warmth andspringtime behind, to give way to the clutch ofwinter and the white desert of altitude.

But withal it was beautiful. Cold, harassed bydangers that he never before knew could exist,dis-heartened

by the even more precipitoustrail whichlay ahead, fightinga battle for which he was unfit-ted

by experience,Houston could not helpbut feelrepaid for it all as he flattened his back againstthehot radiator and, comforted by the warmth, lookedabout him. The world was his" his to look upon,to dissect,to survey with the all-seeingeyes of tre-mendous

heights,to view in the perspectiveof theeagle and the hawk, to look down upon from thepinnaclesand see, even as a god might see it. Farbelow lay a tiny,discolored ribbon," the road whichhe had traversed, but now only a scratch upon the

expanse of the great country which tumbled awaybeneath him. Hills had become hummocks, tower-ing

pinesbut blades of grass, streams only a varie-gatedline in the vast displayof Nature's artistry.

And above "

Barry Houston looked upon it with dazzled eyes.The sun had broken forth again,to stream upon thegreat, rounded head of Mount Taluchen, and there

to turn the serried snows to a mass of shell-pinkpearl,to smooth away the glaringwhiteness andpaintinstead a down-like coverlet of beauty. Hereand there the great graniteprecipicesstood forthin old rose and royal purple;farther the shadowsmelted into mantles, not of black, but of softest

THE WHITE DESERT 15

lavender; mound upon mound of color swung be-forehim as he glancedfrom peak to peak," the

colors that only an artistknows, tintingsinstead ofsolid grounds, suggestionsrather than actualities.Even the gnarledpines of timber line,where theworld of vegetation,was sliced off short to givewayto the barrenness of the white desert, seemed sof-tened

and freed from their appearance of constant

sufferingin the pursuitof life. A lake gleamed,set, it seemed, at an uprightangle upon the veryside of a mountain ; an ice gorge glistenedwith thescintillation of a million jewels,a cloud rolledthrough a great crevice like the billowingof somesoft-colored crepe and then "

Barry crouched and shivered,then turned withsudden activity.It all had faded, faded in theblast of a shrillingwind, bringingupon its breastthe cuttingassault of sleet and the softer,yet noless vicious swirl of snow. Quickly the radiatorwas drained and refilled. Once more, huddled insthe driver's seat,Barry Houston grippedthe wheeland felt the crunching of the chain-clad wheels inthe snow of the roadway. The mountains hadlured again,only that they might clutch him in atighterembrace of danger than ever. Now thesnow was whirlingabout him in almost blindingswiftness ; the small windshield counted for nothingit was only by leaning far outside the car that hecould see to drive and then there were moments thai

seemed to presage the end.

Chasms lurked at the corners, the car skidded and

16 THE WHITE DESERT

lurched from one side of the narrow roadway to theother ; -once the embankment crumbled for an in-stant

as a rear wheel raced for a foothold and gainedit just in time. Thundering below, Barry couldhear the descent of the dirt and small boulders asthey struck againstprotruding rocks and echoedforth to a constantlygrowing sound that seemed totravel for miles that it might return with thestrengthof thunder. Then for a moment the suncame again and he stared toward it with set, anx-ious

eyes. It no longerwas dazzling;it was largeand yellow and free from glare. He swerved hisgaze swiftlyto the dashboard clock, then back tothe sun again. Four o'clock! Yet the great yel-low

ball was hoveringon the brim of Mount Talu-chen; dusk was coming. A frightened glanceshowed him the black shadows of the valleys,thedeeper tones of coloring,the vagueness of the dis-tance

which comes with the end of day.Anxiously he studied his speedometer as the road

stretched out for a space of a few hundred feet for

safety. Five miles " only five miles in a space oftime that on level country could have accounted for

a hundred. Five miles and the route book told

plainlythat there were four more to go before thesummit was reached. Anxiously " with a suddenhope " he watched the instrument, with the thoughtthat perhaps it had broken, but the slow progress ofthe mile-tenths took away that possibility.Heveered his gaze along the dashboard, suddenly tocenter it upon the oil gauge. His jaw sagged. He

THE WHITE DESERT 1?

pressed harder upon the accelerator in a vain effort.But the gauge showed no indication that the changeof speed had been felt.

"The oil pump 1" came with a half gasp. "It's

broken"

I'll have to"

"

The sentence was not finished. A sudden, clat-tering

roar had come from beneath the hood, a

clanking jangle which told him that his eyes hadsought the oil gauge too late," the shattering,agonizing cacophony of a broken connecting rod,the inevitable result of a missing oil supply and its

consequent burnt bearing. Hopelessly, dejectedlyBarry shut off the engine and pulled to one side ofthe road,

" through sheer force of habit. In hisheart he knew that there could be no remedy for the

clattering remonstrance of the broken rod, that theroad was his without question, that it was beyondhope to look for aid up here where all the world was

pines and precipices and driven snow, that he must

go on, fighting against heavier odds than ever.And as he realized the inevitable, his dull, tired eyessaw from the distance another, a greater enemy

creeping toward him over the hills and ice gorges,through the valleys and along the sheer walls of

granite. The last, ruddy rim of a dying sun was

just disappearing over Mount Taluchen.

CHAPTER II

Hazard Pass had held true to its name. There

were yet nearly four miles to go before the summit

of nearly twelve thousand feet elevation could be

reached and the downward trip of fourteen miles tothe nearest settlement made. And that meant

"

Houston steadied himself and sought to figurejust what it did mean. The sun was gone now,leaving grayness and blackness behind, accentuated

by the single strip of gleaming scarlet which flashed

across the sky above the brim of Mount Taluchen,the last vestige of daylight. The wind was grow-ing

shriller and sharper, as though it had waited

only for the sinking of the sun to loose the ferocitywhich too long had been imprisoned. Darkness

came, suddenly, seeming to sweep up from the val-leys

toward the peaks, and with it more snow.

Barry accepted the inevitable. He must go on "and that as swiftly as his crippled machine, thedarkness and the twisting, snow-laden, treacherous

road would permit.Once more at the wheel, he snapped on the lights

and huddled low, to avail himself of every possiblebit of warmth from the clanking, discordant engine.

Slowly the journey began, the machine laboringand thundering with its added handicap of a broken

THE WHITE DESERT 19

rod and the consequent lost power of one cylinder.Literallyinch by inch it dragged itself up theheavier grades,puffingand gasping and clanking,the rattlingrod threateningat every moment to tearout its very vitals. The heavy smell of burnt oildrifted back to the nostrils of Barry Houston; butthere was nothing that he could do but grip thesteeringwheel a bit tighterwith his numbed hands," "and go on.

Slowly, ever so slowly,the indicator of thespeedometer measured off a mile in dragging deci-mals.

The engineboiled and Barry stopped,oncemore to huddle againstthe radiator, and to availhimself of its warmth, but not to renew the water.No stream was near; besides,the cold blast of thewind, shrillingthroughthe open hood, accomplishedthe purpose more easily. Again a sallyand again astop. And Barry was thankful, as, huddled and

shiveringin his lightclothing,he once more soughtthe radiator. Vaguely there came to him thethought that he might spend the night somewhereon the Pass and go on with the flush of morning.But the thought vanished as quicklyas it came;there was no shelter,no blankets, nothing but the

meager warmth of what fire he might be able togather,and that would fade the minute he nodded.

Already the temperature had sunk far beneath thefreezingpoint;the cracklingof the ice in the gulleysof the road fairlyshouted the fact as he edged backonce more from the radiator to his seat.

An hour " and three more after that " with the

20 THE WHITE DESERT

consequent stops and pauses, the slow turns, the

dragging process up the steeper inclines of the road.A last final,clatteringjourney,and Barry leapedfrom the seat with something akin to enthusiasm.Through the swirlingsnow which sifted past the

glareof his headlights,he could discern a signwhichtold him he had reached the summit, that he nowstood at the literaltop of the world.

But it was a silent world, a black world, in whichthe hills about him were shapeless,dim hulks, wherethe wind whined, where the snow swept againsthisface and drifted down the open space of his collar ;a world of coldness,of malice, of icyvenom, whereeverything was a threateningthing,and never acheeringaspect except the fact that the grades hadbeen accomplished,and that from now on he could

progress with the knowledge that his engine at leastneed labor no longer. But the dangers! Barryknew that they had only begun. The descentfwould be as steep as the climb he had justmade.The progress must be slower, if anything,and withthe compression working as a brake. But it wasat least progress, and once more he started.

The engine clanked less now, the air seemed abit warmer with the down grade,and Barry, in spiteof his fatigue,in spiteof the disappointmentof adisabled car, felt at least the joy of having con-quered

the thingwhich had sought to hold him back,the happiness of having fought againstobstacles,of having beaten them, and of knowing that he nowwas on the down trail. The grade lessened for a

22 THE WHITE DESERT

fort,or the possibilityof fire or warmth throughthenight. Summer, for Hazard Pass, at least,stillwas a full month away. For a moment he shiveredwithin it,staringabout its bleak interior by the aidof a flickeringmatch. Then he went outside again.It was only a shell,only a hope that could not berealized. It would be less of a hardshipto makethe fightto reach the bottom of the Pass than to at-tempt

to spend the nightin this flimsycontraption.In travel there would be at least action,and Barryclambered down the hillto his machine.

Again he started,the brake bands squeakingandprotesting,the machine sloughingdangerouslyasnow and againits sheer weightforced it forward atdangerous speedsuntil lesser levels could be reachedand the hold of the brake bands accomplish theirpurpose again. Down and down, the miles slip-ping

away with far greaterspeed than even Barryrealized,until at last"

He graspeddesperatelyfor the emergency brakeand gripped tightupon it,steeringwith one hand.For five minutes there had come the strong odor of

burning rubber ; the strain had been too great, thefoot-brake liningswere gone; everythingdependedupon the emergency nowl And almost with the

firststrain" *

Careening,the car seemed to leapbeneath him, amaddened, crazed thing,tired of the hills,tired ofthe turmoil and strain of hours of fighting,racingwith all the speed that gravitycould thrust upon itfor the bottom of the Pass. The brakes were gone,

THE WHITE DESERT 23

the emergency had not even lasted throughthe firsthill. Barry Houston was now a prisonerof speed," cramped in the seat of a runaway car, clutchingtightat the wheel, leaning,white, tense-faced, outinto the snow, as he struggled to negotiatetheturns, to hold the great pieceof runaway machin-ery

to the crusted road and check its speed fromtime to time in the snowbanks.

A mile more " halted at intervals by the verything which an hour or so before Barry Houstonhad come almost to hate, the tight-packedbanks ofsnow " then came a new emergency. One chance

was left,and Barry took it," the "burring"of thegears in lieu of a brake. The snow was fadingnow,the air was warmer ; a mile or so more and he would

be safe from that threat which had driven him down

from the mountain peaks," the possibilityof deathfrom exposure, had he, in his lightclothing,attemp-ted

to spend the nightin the open. If the burredgears could only hold the car for a mile or so more "

But a sudden, snapping crackle ended his hope.The gears had meshed, and meshing, had broken.Again a wild,careeningthing,with no snow banksto break the rush, the car was speedingdown thesteepest of the grades like a human thing deter-mined

upon self-destruction.A skidding curve, then a straightaway,while

Barry clung to the wheel with fingersthat werewhite with the tightnessof their grip. A secondturn, while a wheel hung over the edge, a thirdand "

24 THE WHITE DESERT

The awful, suspended agony of space. A cry.A crash and a dull,twistingmoment of deadenedsuffering. After that " blackness. Fifty feet be-low

the road lay a broken, crushed pieceof mechan-ism,its wheels stillspinning,the odor of gasoline

heavy about it from the broken tank, one lightstillgleaming, like a blazingeye, one lightthat centeredupon the huddled, crumpled figureof a man whogroaned once and strove vaguely, dizzily,to rise,only to sink at last into unconsciousness. BarryHouston had lost his fight.

How long he remained there, Barry did notknow. He remembered only the falling,dizzy mo-ment,

the second or so of horrible,rackingsuspense,when, breathless,unable to move, he watched the

twistingrebound of the machine from which he hadbeen thrown and sought to evade it as it settled,metal crunching againstmetal, for the last time.After that had come agonized hours in which heknew neither wakef ulness nor the quietof total un-consciousness.

Then "

Vaguely, as from far away, he heard a voice,"the sort of a voice that spelledsoftness and gentle-ness.

Something touched his forehead and strokedit,with the caress that only a woman's hand cangive. He moved slightly,with the knowledge thathe lay no longer upon the rocky roughness of amountain side, but upon the softness of a bed. A

pillow was beneath his head. Warm blanketscovered him. The hand againlingeredon his fore-head

and was drawn away. A moment more and

THE WHITE DESERT 25

slowly,wearily,Barry Houston opened his eyes.It was the room of a mountain cabin, with its

gkiisand snowshoes; with its rough chinkingsin theintersticesof the logswhich formed the mainstay ofthe house, with its four-paned windows, with its un-couthness, yet with its comfort. Barry noticed

none of this. His eyes had centered upon the form

of a girlstandingbeside the littlewindow, whereevidentlyshe had gone from his bedside.

Fair-haired she was, though Barry did not noticeit. Small of build and slight,yet vibrant with thehealth and vigorthat is typicalof those who live inthe open places. And there was a piquant some-thing

about her too; just enough of an upturnedlittlenose to denote the fact that there was spiritand independencein her being;dark blue eyes thatsnapped even as darker eyes snapped,as she stood,half turned, lookingout the window, watching withevident eagerness the approach of some one Barrycould not see. The lipscarried a half-smile ofanticipation.Barry felt the instinctive urge tocall to her,to raise himself "

He winced with a sudden pain,a sharp,yet ach-ingthrob of agony which involuntarilyclosed his

eyes and clenched tighthis teeth until itshould pass.When he looked again,she was gone, and the open-ing

of a door in the next room told him where. Al-most

wondering, he turned his eyes then toward theblankets and sought to move an arm, " only againto desist in pain. He tried the other, and it re-sponded.

The covers were lowered, and Barry's

26 THE WHITE DESERT

eyes stared down upon a bandaged, splintedleftarm. Broken.

He grunted with surprise,then somewhat dog-gedlybegan an inspectionof the rest of his human

machine. Gingerly he wiggled one toe beneaththe blankets. It seemed to be in working order.He tried the others,with the same result. Thenfollowed his legs" and the gloriousknowledge thatthey stillwere intact. His one free hand reachedfor his head and felt it. It was there,plus a fewbandages, which however, from their size,gaveBarry littleconcern. The inventorycompleted,heturned his head at the sound of a voice " hers " call-ing

from the doorway to some one without."He's gettingalong fine,Ba'tiste." Barry liked

the tone and the enthusiastic manner of speaking."His fever's gone down. I should think "

"

"Ah, out!" had come the answer in booming bass."And has he, what you say, come to?"

"Not yet. But I think he ought to, soon.""Oui! Heem no yer' bad. He be all rightto-morrow."

"That's good. It frightenedme, for him to beunconscious so long. It's been five or six hoursnow, hasn't it?"

"Lemme see. I fin' heem six o'clock. Now "

eet is the noon. Six hour."

"That's long enough. Besides, I think he'ssleepingnow. Come inside and see " "

"Wait, m' enfant. M'sieu Thayer he come inthe minute. He say he think he know heem."

THE WHITE DESERT 27-

The eyes of Barry Houston suddenly lost theircfuriosty.Thayer? That could mean only oneThayer! Barry had taken particularpainsto keepfrom him the information that he was anywhere ex-cept

the East. For it had been Fred Thayer whohad caused Barry to travel across country in hisyellow speedster,Thayer who had farmed thereason for the displacementof that name plate atthe beginningof Hazard Pass, Thayer who "

"Know him? Is he a friend?""Oui. So Thayer say. He say he think eet isthe M'sieu Houston, who own the mill."

"Probably coming out to look over things,then?""Oui. Thayer,he say the young man write heem

about coming. That is how he know when I tellheem about picking heem up from the machine.He say he know M'sieu Houston is coming by theautomobile."

In the other room, Barry Houston blinked

rapidly and frowned!. He had written Thayernothing of the sort. He had " Suddenly hestared toward the ceilingin swift-centered thought.Some one else must have sent the information, someone who wanted Thayer to know that Barry was onthe way, so that there would be no surprisein hiscoming, some one who realized that his mission wasthat of investigation!

The names of two persons flashed across his mind,

one to be dismissed immediately,the other ""I'll fire Jenkins the minute I get back!" came

vindictively.I'll" ."

28 THE WHITE DESERT

He choked his words. A query had come fromthe next room.

"Was that heem talking?""No, I don't think so. He groans every once in

a while. Wait" I'lllook."The injured man closed his eyes quickly,as he

heard the girlapproach the door, not to open themuntil she had departed. Barry was thinkingandthinkinghard. A moment later "

"How's the patient?" It was a new voice,onewhich Barry Houston remembered from yearsagone, when he, a wide-eyed boy in his father'scare, first had viewed the intricacies of a mountain

sawmill, had wandered about the bunk houses, andridden the great,skiddingbobsleds with the lumber-jacks

in the spruce forests,on a never- forgottentripof inspection. It was Thayer, the same Thayerthat he once had looked upon with all the enthusiasm

and prideof boyhood, but whom he now viewed withsuspicionand distrust. Thayer had brought himout here, without realizingit. Yet Thayer hadknown that he was on the way. And Thayer mustbe combatted " but how? The voice went on,"Gained consciousness yet?"

"No." The girlhad answered. "That is-"Of course, then, he hasn't been able to talk.

Pretty sure it'sHouston, though. Went over and+ook a look at the machine. Colorado license on it,but the plateslook pretty new, and there are freshmarks on the license holders where others have been

taken off recently. Evidentlyjustbought a Col-

30 THE WHITE DESERT

A booming laugh answered her and the sound of

a light scuffle, as though the man were striving tocatch the girl in his big embrace. But the coldvoice of Thayer cut in:

"And he hasn't regained consciousness?""Not yet. That is, I think he's recovered his

senses, all right, and fallen immediately into aheavy sleep."

"Guess I'll go in and stay with him until he

wakesup. He's my boss, you know " since the old

man died. We've got a lot of important thingsto discuss. So if you don't mind "

"

"Certainly not." It was the girl again. "We'll

go in with you."

"No, thanks. I want to see him alone."

Within the bedroom, Barry Houston grittedhis teeth. Then, with a sudden resolve, he rested

his head again on the pillow and closed his eyes asthe sound of steps approached. Closer they cameto the bed, and closer. Barry could feel that the

man was bending over him, studying him. There

came a murmur,almost whispered:

"Wonder what the damn fool came out here

about? Wonder if he's wise?"

CHAPTER III

It was with an effort that Houston gave no in-dication

that he had heard. Before, there had been

only suspicions, one flimsy clue leading to another,a building-block process, which, in its culmination,had determined Barry to take a trip into the Westto see for himself. He had believed that it would

be a long process, the finding of a certain telegramand the possibilitieswhich might ensue if this bit ofevidence should turn out to be the thing he hadsuspected. He had not, however, hoped to havefrom the lips of the man himself a confession thatconditions were not right at the lumber mill ofwhich Barry Hou'ston now formed the executive

head; to receive the certain statement that some-where,

somehow, something was wrong, somethingwhich was working against the best interests of him-self

and the stern necessities of the future. But

now "

Thayer had turned away and evidently sought achair at the other side of the room. Barry re-mained

perfectly still. Five minutes passed. Ten.There came no sound from the chair; instinctivelythe man on the bed knew that Thayer was watch-ing

him, waiting for the first flicker of an eyelid,thefirsl; evidence of returning consciousness. Five

minutes more and Barry rewarded the yigil. He

32 THE WHITE DESERT

drew his breath in a shiveringsigh. He turnedand groaned," quitenaturallywith the pain fromhis splinteredarm. His eyes opened slowly,andhe stared about him, as though in non-understand-ing

wonderment, finallyto center upon the windowahead and retain his gaze there,oblivious of the sud-den

tensityof the thin-faced Thayer. Barry Hous-tonwas playingfor time, playing a game of iden-tities.

In the same room was a man he felt sure tobe an enemy, a man who had in his care everythingBarry Houston possessedin the world, every hope,every dream, every chance for the wiping out of athingthat had formed a black blot in the life of theyoung man for two grim years, and a man who,Barry Houston now felt certain,had not held trueto his trust. Still steadilystaring,he pretendednot to notice the tall,angular form of Fred Thayeras that person crossed the brightnessof the windowand turned toward the bed. And when at last he

did look up into the narrow, sunken face, it waswith eyes which carried in them no lightof friend-ship,

nor even the faintest air of recognition.Thayer put forth a gnarled,frost-twisted hand.

"Hello, kid," he announced, his thin lipstwistinginto a cynicalsmile that in days gone by had passedas an affectation. Barry looked blanklyat him.

"Hello."

"How'd you get hurt?""I don't know."

"Old Man Renaud here says you fell over the

side of Two Mile Hill. He picked you up about

THE WHITE DESERT 83

six o'clock this morning. Don't you remember?""Remember what?" The blank look still re-mained.

Thayer moved closer to the bed andbending,stared at him.

"Why, the accident. I'm Thayer, you know "Thayer, your manager at the Empire Lake mill."

"Have I a manager?"The thin man drew back at this and stood for a

moment staring down at Houston. Then helaughed and rubbed his gnarledhands.

"I hope you've got a manager. You " youhaven't fired me, have you?"

Barry turned his head wearily,as though the con-versationwere ended.

"I don't know what you are talkingabout.""You " don't " say, you'reBarry Houston, are-n'tyou?"

"I? Ami?"

"Well, then, who are you?"The man on the bed smiled."I'd like to have you tell me. I don't know my-self."

"Don't you know your name?"

"Have I one?"

Thayer, wondering now, drew a hand across hisforehead and stood for a moment in disconcerted

silence. Again he started to frame a question,only to desist. Then, hesitatingly,he turned andwalked to the door.

"Ba'tiste."

"Ah,

34 THE WHITE DESERT

"Come in here, will you? I'm up againstafunny proposition. Mr. Houston doesn't seem tobe able to remember who he is."

"Ah !" Then came the sound of heavy steps,andBarry glanced toward the door, to see framed therethe giganticform of a grinning,bearded man, hislong arms hanging with the looseness of tremendousstrength,his gray eyes gleaming with twinklingin-terest,

his whole being and build that of a great,good-humored, eccentric giant. His beard wassplotchedwith gray, as was the hair which hung inshort,unbarbered strands about his ears. But thehint of age was nullified by the cocky angle of theblue-knit cap upon his head, the blazingred of hisdouble-breasted pearl-buttonedshirt,the flexiblefreedom of his muscles as he strode within. Beside

him trotted a great gray cross-breed dog, which be-tokenedcollie and timber wolf, and which pro-gressed

step by step at his master's knee. Close tothe bed they came, the great form bending,the twin-kling,

sharp eyes boring into those of Houston, un-tilthe younger man gave up the contest and turned

his head, " to look once more upon the form of the

girl,waitingwonderingly in the doorway. Thenthe voice came, rumbling, yet pleasant:

"He no remember, eh?""No. I know him all right. It's Barry Hous-ton

" I've been expectinghim, to drop in most anyday. Of course, I haven't seen him since he was akid out here with his father " but that doesn't make

any difference. The family resemblance is there" i

THE WHITE DESERT 35

he's got his father's eyes and mouth and nose, andhis voice. But I can't get him to remember it. Hecan't recall anythingabout his fall,or his name orbusiness. I guess the accident "

"

"Eet is the " " Ba'tiste was waving one handvaguely,then placinga fingerto his forehead, in avain strugglefor a word. "Eet is the " what-you-say""

"Amnesia." The answer had come quietlyfromthe girl. Ba'tiste turned excitedly.

"Ah, oui! Eet is the amnesia. Many time Ihave seen it" " he waved a hand " "across the way,ne c'est pas? Eet iswhen the mind he will no work" what you say " he will not stick on the job. See"

" he gesticulatednow with both hands " "eet islike a wall. I see eet with the shell shock. Eet is

all the same. The wall is knock down " eet willnot hold together. Blooey " " he waved his hands" "the man he no longerremember!"

This time the stare in Barry Houston's eyes wasgenuine. To hear a girlof the mountains name aparticularform of mental ailment, and then tofurther listen to that ailment described in its symp-toms

by a grinning,bearded giantof the woods wasa bit past the comprehensionof the injuredman.He had half expectedthe girlto say "them" and"that there",though the trimness of her dress,thesmoothness of her small,well-shod feet,the air ofrefinement which spoke even before her lipshaduttered a word should have told him differently.As for the giant,Ba'tiste,with his outlandish cloth-

36 THE WHITE DESERT

ing,his corduroytrousers and high-laced,hob-nailedboots,his fawning, half-breed dog, his blazingshirtand kippy littleknit cap, the surprisewas all thegreater. But that surprise,it seemed, did not ex-tend

to the other listener. Thayer had bobbed hishead as though in deference to an authority.Whenhe spoke,Barry thoughtthat he discerned a tone ofenthusiasm, of hope :

"Do they ever get over it?""Sometime, yes. Sometime " no. Eet all de-pend/'

"Then there isn't any time limit on a thing likethis."

"No. Sometime a year " sometime a week "sometime never. It all depend. Sometime he geta shock " somethinghappen quick,sudden " blooey" he come back, he say 'where am I',and he be back

again,same like he was before!" Ba'tiste gesticu-latedvigorously. Thayer moved toward the door.

"Then I guess there's nothingmore for me to do,except to drop in every few days and see how he'sgettingalong. You'll take good care of him?"

"Ah, otti.""Good. Want to walk a piecedown the road

"yrithme, Medaine?""Of course. It's too bad, isn't it""Then they faded through the doorway, and

Barry could hear no more. But he found himself

looking after them, wondering about many things," about the girland her interest in Fred Thayer,and whether she too might be a part of the machin-

38 THE WHITE DESERT

The statement onlybrought a new outburst fromthe giant. It nettled Houston; further, it causedhim pain to be jerkingconstantlyabout the bed inan effort to evade the ticklingtouch of the trapper'sbig fingers. Once more Ba'tiste leaned forwardand wiggled his fingersas if in preparationfor anew assault, and once more Barry withdrew hispedal extremities to a place of safety.

"Please don't," he begged. "I" I don't knowwhat kind of a game you'replaying" and I'm per-fectly

willingto joinin on it when I feel better " "but now ithurts my arm to be bouncing around thisway. Maybe this afternoon " if you've got to playthese fool games " I'll feel better "

"

The thunder of the other man's laugh cut him off.Ba'tiste was now, it seemed, in a perfectorgy ofmerriment. As though weakened by his laughter,he reeled to the wall and leaned there,his big armshanging loosely,the tears rollingdown his cheeksand disappearing in the gray beard, his face red-dened,

his whole form shaking with series afterseries of chuckles.

"You hear heem?" he gasped at the wolf-dog."M'sieu 1'Nobody, he will play with us this after-noon!

M'sieu 1' Ticklefoot! That is heem, myGolemar, M'sieu T Ticklefoot! Oh, ho" M'sieu1' Ticklefoot!"

"What in thunder isthe big idea?" Barry Hous-tonhad lost his reserve now. "I want to be a

good fellow " but for the love of Mike let me in onthe joke. I can't get it. I don't see anything

THE WHITE DESERT 39

funny in lyinghere with a broken arm and havingmy feet tickled. Of course, I'm gratefulto you forpickingme up and all that sort of thing,but " "

Choking back the laughter,Ba'tiste returned tothe foot of the bed and stood wiping the tears fromhis eyes.

"Pardon, mon ami" came seriouslyat last."Old Ba'teese must have his joke. Listen, Ba'-teese tell you something. You see people here to-day,

oui,yes? You see, the petiteMedaine? Ah,oui!" He clustered his fingersto his lipsand blewa kiss toward the ceiling."She is the,what-you-say, fine li'lkeed. She is the " bon bebe! You nonev' see her before?"

Barry shook his head. Ba'tiste went on."You see M'sieu Thayer? Ow? You know

fceem?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Never saw him before.""So?" Batiste grinned and wagged a finger,

"Ba'teese he like the truth, yes, ow. Ba'teese hedon't get the truth,he tickle M'sieu's feet."

"Now listen! Please""

"No" no !" The giantwaved a hand in dismissa

of threat. "Old Ba'teese, he still joke. Ba'-teesesay he tellyou something. Eet is this. You

see those people? All right. Bon " good. Youdon' know one. You know the other. Yes?

Oui? Ba'teese not know why you do it. Ba'teesenot care. Ba'teese is right" in here." He patted

40 THE WHITE DESERT

his heart witha big hand. "But you " you not tell

the truth. I know. I tickleyour feet."

"You're crazy!"

"So, mebbe. Ba'teese have his trouble. Some-time

Ba'teese wish he go crazy " like you say."

The face suddenly aged. The twinkling light

left theeyes. The big hands knitted, and the man

wassilent for a long moment. Then, "But Ba'-teese

he know"

see?" He pointed to his head,

then twisting, ran his finger down his spine.

"When eet is the"

what-you-say, amnesia"

the

nerve eet no work in the foot. I could tickle,

tickle, tickle, and you would not know. But

with you " blooey " right away, you feel. So, for

some reason, you are, what-you-say? " shamming.

But you are Ba'teese' gues'. You sleep in

Ba'teese' bed. You eat Ba'teese' food. So long

as. that, you are Ba'teese' friend. Ba'teese ""

he looked with quiet, fatherly eyes toward the

young man onthe bed

"

"shall askno question "

and Ba'teese shall tell no tales!"

CHAPTER IV

The simple statement of the gigantic trapperSwept the confidence from Houston and left him at

a disadvantage. His decision had been a hasty one," a thing to gain time, a scheme by which he hadfelt he could, at the proper time, take Thayer offhis guard and cause him to come into the open withhis plans, whatever the'ymight be. Fate had playeda strange game with Barry Houston. It had taken

a care-free, happy-go-lucky youth and turned himinto a suspicious, distrustful person with a con-stantly

morbid strain which struggled everlastinglyfor supremacy over his usually cheery grin andhis naturally optimistic outlook upon life. ForFate had allowed Houston to live the youth ofhis life in ease and brightness and lack of worry,only that it might descend upon him with the

greatest cloud that man can know. And two

years of memories, two years of bitterness, two

years of ugly recollections had made its mark. In

all his dealings with Thayer, conducted though they

might have been at a distance, Barry Houston

could not place his finger upon one tangible thingthat would reveal his crookedness. But he had

suspected; had come to investigate, and to learn,

even before he was ready to receive the information,

42 THE WHITE DESERT

that his suspicionshad been, in some wise at least,correct. To follow those suspicionsto their stop-ping

placeBarry had feigned amnesia. And ithad lasted justlong enough for this grinningmanwho stood at the foot of the bed to tickle his feet!

And how should that grotesque giant with hisblazingred shirt and queer littlecap know of suchthings as amnesia and the tracingof a deadenednerve? How should he, " then Barry suddenlytensed. Had it been a ruse? Was this man afriend, a companion " even an accomplice of thethin-faced,frost-gnarledThayer " and had his sim-ple

statement been an effort to take Barry off hisguard? If so, it had not succeeded, for Barry hadmade no admissions. But it all affected him curi-ously;

it nettled him and puzzledhim. For a longtime he was silent,merely staringat the grinningfeatures of Ba'tiste. At last:

"I should think you would wait until you couldconsult a doctor before you'dsay a thinglike that."

"So? It has been done."

"And he told you"""Nothing. He does not need to even speak to

Ba'teese." A great chuckle shook the big frame"Ba'teese know as soon as V M'sieu Doctaire"

"On good terms, aren't you? When's he coiningagain?"

"ParbleuF The big man snapped his fingers,"Peuff ! Like that. Ba'teese call heem, and he is

here."

Houston blinked. Then, in spiteof his aching-

THE WHITE DESERT 43

head, and the pain of the swollen,splint-lacedarmhe sat up in bed.

"What kind of""

"Old Ba'teese,he mus' joke,"came quicklyandseriouslyfrom the other man. "Ba'teese " he isheem."

"A doctor?"

Slowly the big man nodded. Barry went on"I

" I " didn't know. I thought you were just atrapper. I wondered1 "

"

"So! That is all" jus'a trapper."Quietly,slowly,the big man turned away from

the bed and stood lookingout the window, the wolf-dog edgingclose to him as though in companionshipand some strange form of sympathy. There wassilence for a long time, then the voice of Ba'tistecame again,but now it was soft and low, addressed,it seemed, not to the man on the bed, but to vacancy.

"So! Ba'teese,he is only a trapper now. Ba'-teese,he had swear he never again stand beside a

sick bed. But you "" and he turned swiftly,

a broken smile playingabout his lips" "you, monami, you, when I foun' you this morning,with yourhead twisted under your arm, with the blood on

your face, and the dust and dirt upon you " then

you " you look like my Pierre! And I pickyou up"

so!" He fashioned his arms as though he wereholding a baby, "and I look at you and I say "'Pierre!' Tierre!' But you do not answer " justlike he did not answer. Then I start back with you,and the way was rough. I take you under one arm

U THE WHITE DESERT

" so. It was steep. I must have one arm freeThen I meet Medaine, and she laugh at me for theway I carry you. And I was glad. Eet made Ba'-teese forget."

"What?" Barry said it with the curiosityof aboy. The older man stared hard at the crazy de-sign

of the covers.

"My Pierre," came at last. "And my JulienneBa'teese,he is all alone now. Are you all alone?"The question came quickly. Barry answered be-fore

he thought."Yes."

"Then you know " you know how eet feel. Youknow how Ba'teese think when he look out the win-dow.

See?" He pointed, and Barry raisedhimself slightlythat he might follow the directionof the gesture. Faintly, through the glass,hecould see somethingwhite,rearingitselfin the shad-ows

of the heavy pines which fringedthe cabin,"a cross. And it stood as the guardian of a moundof earth where pine boughs had been placed insmooth precision,while a small vase, half implantedin the earth, told of flowers in the summer season.Ba'tiste stared at his palms. "Julienne," came atlast. "My wife." Then, with a sudden impulse,he swerved about the bed and sat down beside the

sick man. "Ba'teese " " he smiled plaintively""like to talk about Pierre " and Julienne. Even

though eet hurt."Barry could think only in terms of triteness."Have they been gone long?"

46 THE WHITE DESERT

"To France?"

Ba'tiste bowed his head.

"Long time Ba'teese look for his Pierre. Longtime he look for Medaine. But no. Then " " hisface suddenly contorted " " one night" in thecathedral at St. Menehould, I find heem. ButPierre not know his pere. He not answer Ba'teese

when he call 'Pierre! Pierre!' Here, and here,and here " " the big man pointedto his breast andface and arms " "was the shrapnel. He sighin myarms " then he is gone. Ba'teese ask that nightforduty on the line. He swear never again to beZJM'sieu Doctaire. All his lifehe help" help" help" but when the time come, he cannot help his own.And by'm'by,Ba'teese come home " and find that."

He pointed out into the shadows beneath thepines.

"She had died?"

"Died!" The man's face had gone suddenlypurple. His eyes were glaring,his hands upraisedand clutched. "No ! Murder ! Murder, mon ami!Murder! Lost Wing " he Medaine's Indian " hefind her " so ! In a heap on the floor " and a bulletthrough her brain. And the money we save, theten thousan' dollar " eet is gone! Murder!"

A shudder went over the young man on the bed.

His face blanched. His lipslost their color. Fora moment, as the big French-Canadian bent overhim, he stared with glazed,unseeingeyes, at last toturn dully at the sharp,questioningvoice of thetrapper :

THE WHITE DESERT 47

"Murder" you know murder?"

There was a long moment of silence. Then, asthough with an effort which took his every atom ofstrength,Houston shook himself, as if to throwsome hateful, vicious thing from him, and turned,with a parryingquestion:

"Did you ever find who did it?""No. But sometime " Ba'teese not forget.

Ba'teese always wait. Ba'teese always look forcertain things" that were in the deed-box. Therewas jewelry" Ba'teese remember. Sometime " "Then he switched again. "Why you look sofunny? Huh? Why you get pale" ?"

"Please " " Barry Houston put forth a hand."Please- Then he straightened. "Ba'tiste,I'min your hands. You can help me, or you can harmme. You know I was shamming when I acted asthough I had lost my identity. Now " now youknow there's something else. Will you " "

He ceased suddenly and sank back. From with-outthere had come the sound of steps. A moment

later,the door opened, and shadows of a man anda girlshowed on the floor. Thayer and Medainehad returned. Soon they were in the room, the girlonce more standing in the doorway, regardingBarry with a quizzical,half -wondering gaze, theman coming forward and placing one gnarledhand on the Canadian's shoulder, staringover hishead down into the eyes of the injured man onthe bed.

"I couldn't go back to the mill without making

48 THE WHITE DESERT

one more try,"he explained. "Has he shown anysignsyet?"

Barry watched Ba'teese closely.But the oldman's face was a blank.

"Signs? Of what?""Coming to " rememberingwho he is.""Oh." Ba'tiste shrugged his shoulders. "I

have give eet up.""Then""

"So far Ba'teese is concern'," and he looked

down on the bed with a glancewhich told Barry farmore than words, "he is already name. He isM'sieu Nobody. I can get no more."

Thayer scratched his head. He turned.

"Anyway, I'm going to make one more attemptat it. See what you can do, Medaine."

The girlcame forward then, half smiling,andseated herself beside the bed. She took Barry'shand in hers,then with a laugh turned to Thayer.

"What shall I do? Make love to him?"

"Why not?" It was old Ba'tiste edgingforward,the twinkle once more in his eyes. "Bon " good!Make love to him."

"Do you suppose it would help?" The girlwastrulyserious now.

"Why not?""I don't think " " Thayer had edged forward,

nervously. Ba'tiste pushed him gently."Peuff ! And when did M'sieu Thayer become

V M'sieu Doctaire? Ba'teese say ask him if he like

you."

THE WHITE DESERT 49

Medaine laughed."Do you like me?"

Brown eyes met blue eyes. A smile passedbe-tweenthem. It was with an effort that Houston

remembered that he was only playing a part."I certainlydo!""Ask him, 'Do you like me better than anybody

you ever "' '

"What sense is there to all this?"

"Blooey! And why should you ask? Whyshould you stand with a frown on your face?Peuff ! It is ugly enough already!" To Barry,it was quite evident that there was some purposebehind the actions of Old Ba'tiste,and certainlymore than mere pleasantry in his words. "Youask Medaine to helpBa'teese,and then fachervous!Enough. Ask him, Medaine."

"But " " the girlwas laughing now, her eyesbeaming, a slightflush apparent in her cheeks ""maybe he doesn't want me to " "

"Oh, but I do!" There was something in thetone of Barry Houston which made the color

deepen. "I" I like it.""That's enough!" Thayer, black-featured,his

gnarled hands clenched into ugly knots, came ab-ruptlyforward. "I thought this was a serious

thing;I didn't know you were going to turn it intoa burlesque!"

"Perhaps M'sieu Thayer has studied the practiceof medicine?"

"No. But""

SO THE WHITE DESERT

"Nor, pardon, the practiceof politeness.Ba'-teese will not need your help."

"Whether you need it or not, I'llcome back when

you'rethrough with this infernal horseplay. I " '"Ba'teese choose his guests.""You mean""

"Ba'teese mean what he say.""Very well,then. Come on, Medaine."The girl,apparentlywithout a thought of the air

of proprietorshipin the man's tone, rose, only toface Ba'tiste. The Canadian gloweredat her.

"And are you chattel?" he stormed. "Do youstand in the cup of his hand that he shall tell youwhen to rise and when to sit,when to walk andwhere to go?"

She turned.

"You were abrupt,Fred. I'm glad Ba'tiste re-mindedme. Personally,I don't see why I should

have been drawn into this at all,or why I should bemade the butt of a quarrelover some one I neversaw before."

"I'm sorry " terriblysorry." Barry was speak-ingearnestly and holding forth his hand. "I

shouldn't have answered you that way " I'm ""

"We'll forget it all."*A flashingsmile 'hadcrossed the girl'slips. "Fred never knows how totake Ba'tiste. They're always quarrelingthis way.The only trouble is that Fred " " and she turned toface him piquantly" "always takes in the wholeworld when he gets mad. And that includes meI think," and the little nose took a more upward

THE WHITE DESERT 51

turn than ever, "that Ba'tiste is entirelyright,Fred. You talked to me as though I were a sackof potatoes. I won't go with you, and I won't seeyou until you can apologize."

"There's nothing to apologizefor!"Thayer jammed on his hat and stamped angrily

out the door. Medaine watched him with laugh-ingeyes.

"He'll write me a letter to-night,"came quietly.Then, "Lost Wing!""Ugh!" It was a grunt from outside."I justwanted to be sure you were there. Call

me when Mr. Thayer has passed the ridge.""Ugh!"Medaine turned again to Ba'tiste,a childish

appearance of confidence in her eyes, her hand ling-eringon the chair by the bed.

"Were you reallyfooling,Ba'tiste " or shall wecontinue?"

"Perhaps " " the twinkle still shone in the oldman's eyes " "but not now. Perhaps " sometime.So mebbe sometime you "

"

"Wah" hah" hai-i-e-e-e!" The Sioux hadcalled from without. Medaine turned.

"When you need me, Ba'tiste,"she answered,with a smile that took in also the eager face on the

bed, "I'll be glad to help you. Good-by."That too included Barry, and he answered it with

alacrity.Then for a moment after she had gone,he lay scowlingat Ba'tiste,who once more, in aweakened state of merriment, had reeled to the wall,

52 THE WHITE DESERT

followed as usual by his dog, and leaned there,hugging his sides. Barry growled :

"You're a fine doctor! Just when you had me

cured, you quit! I'd forgottenI even had a brokenarm."

"So?" Ba'tiste straightened, "You like her,eh? You like the petiteMedaine?"

"How can I help it?""Eon! Good! I like you to like Medaine.

You no like Thayer?""Less every minute."

''Bon! I no like heem. He try to take Pierre's

place with Medaine. And Pierre, he was strongand tall and straight.Pierre, he could smile " "bon! Like you can smile. You look like myPierre!" came frankly.

"Thanks, Ba'tiste." Barry said it in whole-heartedmanner. "You don't know how gratefulI

am for a littletrue friendliness."

"Grateful? Peuff! You? Bah, you shall goback, and they will ask who helped you when youwere hurt, and you " you will not even rememberwhat is the name."

"Hardly that." Barry pulled thoughtfullyatthe covers. "In the firstplace,I'm not going back,and in the second, I haven't enough true friends toforgetso easily. I " I " " Then his jaw droppedand he laystaringahead, out to the shadows beneaththe pines"and the stalwart cross which kept watchthere. "I""

"You act funny again. You act like you act

CHAPTER V

The gaze of Ba'tiste Renaud was strained as he

asked the question, his manner tense, excited.

Through sheer determination, Barry forced a smile

and pulled himself back to at least a semblance of

composure.

"Maybe you know the reason already " throughThayer. But if you don't " Ba'tiste, how much of

it do you mean when you say you are a man's

friend?"

"Ba'teesemay joke," came quietly, "but Ba'teese

no lie. You look like my Pierre " you help where

it has been lonesome. You are my frienV

"Then I know you are not going to ask me for

something that hurts in telling. And at least,I can give you my word of honor that it isn't be-cause

ofmy conscience!"

Ba'tiste was silent after that, walking slowlyabout the room, shaggy head bent, hands claspedbehind his back, studious, as though striving tofathom what had been on the man's mind. As for

Barry, he stared disconsolately at vacancy, living

again a thing which he had striven to forget. Ithad been forced upon him, this partial admission of

a cloud in the past; the geniality,the utter honesty,the friendliness of the old French-Canadian, the

THE WHITE DESERT 55

evident dislike for a man whom he, Barry, also

thoroughly distrusted, had lowered the youngerman's guard. The tragicstory of Pierre and Ju-lienne

had furthered the merest chance acquaintanceinto what seemed the beginning,at least,of closestfriendship. Houston had known Ba'tiste for onlya matter of a few hours," yet it seemed months

since he first had looked upon the funny littleblue

cap and screaming red shirt of the Canadian; and itwas evident that Renaud had felt the same reaction.

Barry Houston, to this great,lonelyman of thehills,looked like a son who was gone, a son who had

grown tall and straightand good to look upon, ason upon whom the old man had looked as a com-panion,

and a chum for whom he had searched in

every battle-scarred area of a war-stricken nation,only to find him, " too late. And with this view-point,

there was no shamming about the old man'sexpressionsof friendship. More, he took Barry'sadmission of a cloud in the past as a father would

take it from a son; he paced the floor minute afterminute, head bowed, gray eyes half closed,only toturn at last with an expressionwhich told BarryHouston that a friend was his for weal or woe, for

fair weather or foul,good or evil."Eet is enough!" came abruptly. "There is

something you do not want to tell. I like you "I not ask. You look like my Pierre " who could do

no wrong. So! Bon " good! Ba'teese is yourfrien'. You have trouble? Ba'teese help."

"I've had plenty of that, in the last two years,"

56 THE WHITE DESERT

came quietly. "I think I've got plenty ahead ofme. What do you know about Thayer?"

"He no good.""Why?""Ba'teese don' know. On'y he have narrow eyes

too close together. He have a quirk to his mouthBa'teese no like. He have habit nev' talkin' about

jhimself" he ask you questionan' tell you nothing.He have hatchet-face;Ba'teese no like a man with

a hatchet-face. Beside, he make love to Medaine!"Barry laughed."Evidently that's a sore spot with you, Ba'tiste.""No. Ba'teese no care. But if my Pierre had

live,he would have make love to her. She wouldhave marry him. And to have M'sieu Thayer takehis place? No! Mebbe" ' he said it hopefully,"mebbe you like Medaine, huh?"

"I do! She's pretty, Ba'tiste.""Mebbe you make love?"

But the man on the bed shook his head.

"I can't make love to anybody, Ba'tiste. Notuntil I've " I've found something I'm lookingfor.I'm afraid that's a long way off. I haven't theprivilegesof most young fellows. I'm a little"what would you call it" hampered by circumstance.I've " besides,if I ever do marry, it won't be forlove. There's a girlback East who says she caresfor me, and who simply has taken it for grantedthat I think the same way about her. She stood

by me " in some trouble. Out of every one, shedidn't believe what they said about m". That

THE WHITE DESERT 57

means a lot. Some way, she isn't my kind; she justdoesn't awaken affection on my part, and I spendmost of my tiimecallingmyself a cad over it. Butshe stood by me " -and " I guess that's all that's

necessary, after all. When I've fulfilled my con-tractwith myself" if I ever do " I'll do the square

thing and ask her to marry me."Ba'tiste scowled.

"You dam' fool,"he said. "Buy 'em present.Thank 'em, merci beaucoup. But don' marry 'emunless you love 'em. Ba'teese, he know. Ba'-

teese, he been in too many home where there is no

love."

"True. But you don't know the story behind it

all,Ba'tiste. And I can't tell you except this:I got in some trouble. I'd rather not tell youwhat it was. It broke my father's heart " and his

confidence in me. He " he died shortly after-ward."

"And you " was it your fault?"

"If you never believe anything else about me,Ba'tiste,believe this : that itwasn't. And in 'a way,it was proven to him, before he went. But he hadbeen embittered then. He left a will " with stip-ulations.

I was to have the land he owned out here

at Empire Lake; and the flume site leadingdownthe right side of Hawk Creek to the mill. Someone else owns the other side of the lake and the

land on the oppositebank of the stream.""Oui. Medaine Robinette."

"Honestly? Is it hers?"

58 THE WHITE DESERT

"When she is twenty-one. But go on.""Father wouldn't leave me the mill. He seemed

to have a notion that I'd sell it all off " and he tied

everythingup in a way to keep me from doing any-thinglike that. The mill is rented to me. The

land is mine, and I can do everythingbut actuallydisposeof it. But on top of that Gome's anothertwist: if I haven't developed the business withinfive years into double what it wtys at the peak of itsbest development, back goes everythinginto a trustfund, out of which I am to have a hundred dollarsa month, nothing more. That's what I'm out herefor, Ba'tiste,to find out why, in spiteof the factthat I've worked day and night now for a year anda half,in spiteof the fact that I've gone out andstruggledand foughtfor contracts, and even beatendown the barriers of dislike and distrust and suspi-cion

to get business " why I can't get it! Some-thingor some one is blockingme, and I'm going to

find out what and who it is! I think I know one

man " Thayer. But there may be more. That'swhy I'm playing this gajne of lost identity.Ithought I could get out here and nose around with-out

him knowing it. When he found out at oncewho I was, and seemed to have had a previoustipthat I was coming out here, I had to think fastand take the first scheme that popped into my head.Maybe if I can play the game long enough, it willtake him off his guard and cause him to work morein the open. They may giveme a chance to knowwhere I stand. And I've got to know that,Ba'-

THE WHITE DESERT 59

tiste. Because" ' and his voice was vibrant with

determination, "I don't care what happens to mepersonally.I don't care whether five minutesafter I have made it,I lose every cent of what Ihave worked for. But I do care about this;I'm

going to make good to my father's memory. I'm

going to be able to stand before a mirror and lookmyself straightin the eye, knowing that I bucked

up againsttrouble,that it nearlywhipped me, thatit took the unfairest advantage that Fate can takeof 'a man in allowing my father to die before Icould fullyrightmyself in his eyes, but that if thereis a Justice,if there is anything fair and decent inthis universe, some way he'll know, some way he'll

rest in peace, with the understanding that his sontook up the gauntletthat death laid down forhim, that he made the fight,and that he won!"

"Bon" good! Old Ba'tiste leaned over the

foot of the bed. "My Pierre " he would talk likethat. Bon! Now " what is it you look for?"

"In the first place,I want to know how so manyaccidents can happen in a singleplant,just at thewrong time. I want to know why it is that I can

go out and fightfor a contract, and then lose it be-causea saw has broken, or an off-bearer,lugging

slabs away from the big wheel, can allow one tostrike at just the wrong moment and let the sawpick it up and drive it through the boiler,layingupthe whole plantfor three weeks. I want to knowwhy it is that only about one out of three contractsI land are ever filled. Thayer's got somethingto

60 THE WHITE DESERT

do with it,I know. Why? That's another ques-tion.But there must be others. I want to know

who they are and weed them out. I've only gotthree and a half years left,and thingsare goingbackward instead of forward."

"How you intend to fin' this out?"

"I don't know. I've got one lead " as soon asI'm able to get into town. That may give me agood deal of information; I came out here, atleast,in the hope that it would. After that, I'mhazy. How big a telegraphoffice is there at Tab-ernacle?"

"How big?" Ba'tiste laughed. "How petite!Eet is about the size of the " what-you-say" thepeanut."

"Is there ever a time when the operator isn'tthere?"

"At noon. He go out to dinner, and he leave

open the door. If eet is something you want, walkin."

"Thanks." A strange eagerness was in Hous-ton's

eyes. "I think I'll be able to get up to-mor-row.

Maybe I can walk over there; it's only amile or two, isn't it?"

But when to-morrow came, it found a white,bandaged figure sittingweakly in front of Ba'-tiste's cabin, nothing more. Strength of purposeand strength of being had proved two differentthings,and now he was quitecontent to rest therein the May sunshine, to watch the chatteringmag-pies

as they went about the work of springhouse-

62 THE WHITE DESERT

more. But " and he drew a sheet of yellow paperfrom his pocket and stared hard at it" there wassomething else,something which had aroused hiscuriosityto an extent of suspicion,something whichmight mean an open book of information to him ifonly he could reach Tabernacle at the rightmo-ment

and gain access to the telegraphfiles withoutthe interference of the agent.

Then suddenly he ceased his study of the messageand returned it to his pocket. Two persons wereapproaching the cabin from the oppositehill," agirl whom he was glad to see, and a man whowalked, or rather rolled,in the background: Med-aine Robinette and a sort of rear guard who,twenty or thirtyfeet behind her, followed her everystep,trotted when she ran down the steep side of anembankment, then slowed as she came to a walk

again. A bow-legged creature he was, with ill-fit-tingclothingand a broad "two-gallon"hat which

evidentlyhad been bequeathed to him by some cow-puncher, long hair which straggledover his shoul-ders,

and a beaded vest which shone out beneath the

scraggly outer coat like a candle on a dark night.InstinctivelyBarry knew him to be the gruntingindividual who had waited outside the door the

night before," Lost Wing, Medaine's Sioux ser-vant:evidentlya self-constituted bodyguard who

traveled more as a shadow than as a human being.Certainlythe girlin the foreground gave no indi-cation

that she was aware of his presence; nor did

she seem to care.

THE WHITE DESERT 63

Closer she came, and Barry watched her, takinga strange sort of delightin the skippinggrace withwhich she negotiatedthe stepping stones of theswollen little stream which intervened between her

and the cabin of Ba'tiste Renaud, then clamberedover the stragglingpileof massed logs and deadtimber which strewed the small stretch of flat

before the rise began, leadingto where he rested.More like some graceful,agileboy was she than agirl. Her clothingwas of that type which has alltoo soon taken the place of the buckskin in theWest, " a ridinghabit, with stout little shoes andleather puttees; her hair was drawn tightupon herhead and encased in the shieldingconfines of a cap,worn low over her forehead, the visor pulledasideby a juttingtwig and now slantingout at a rakishangle; her arms full of something pink and soft andpretty. Barry wondered what it could be," thenbrightenedwith sudden hope.

"Wonder if she's bringingthem to me?"The answer came a moment later as she faced him,

panting slightlyfrom the exertion of the climb, thenatural flush of exercise heightenedby her evidentembarrassment.

"Oh, you'reup!" came in an almost disappointedmanner. Then with a glance toward the greatcluster of wild roses in her arms, "I don't know

what to do with these thingsnow.""Why?" Barry's embarrassment was as great

as hers. "If" if it'lldo any good, I'll climb backinto bed again."

64 THE WHITE DESERT

"No " don't. Only I thought you were really,terriblyilland " "

"I am " I was " I will be. That is" gosh,it's ashame for you to go out and pickall those and thenhave me sittingup here as strong as an ox. I " "

"Oh, don't worry about that." She smiled athim with that sweetness which only a woman canknow when she has the advantage. "I didn't pickthem. Lost Wing" " she pointedto the skulking,outlandishlydressed Indian in the background ""attended to that. I was going to send them overby him. But I didn't have anythingto do, so I justthoughtI'd bring them myself."

"Thanks for that, anyway. Can't I keep themjustthe same " to put on the table or something?"

"Oh, if you care to." Barry felt that she wastruly disappointedthat he wasn't at the point ofdeath, or at least somewhere near it. "Where'sBa'tiste."

"Out looking after his traps, pickingthem up Ithink, for the summer. He'll be back soon. Isthere""

"No. I usuallycome over every day to see him,

you know." Then the blue dyes lost their diffi-denceto become serious. "Do you remember yet

who you are?"

"Less right at this minute than at any othertime!" spoke Barry truthfully. "I'm out of myhead entirely!" He reached for the flowers.

"Please don't joke that way. It's reallyserious.When I was across " army nursing" I saw a lot of

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just such cases as yours. Shell shock, you know.One has to be awfullycareful with it."

"I know. But I'm gettingthe best of care. I "ouch!" His interest had exceeded his caution.

The unbandaged hand had waved the flowers foremphasis and absentlygripped the stems. Thewild roses fluttered to the ground. "Gosh!"came dolefully,'Tm all full of thorns. Guess I'llhave to pick 'em out with my teeth."

"Oh!" Then she picked up the roses and laidthem gingerlyaside. "You can't use your otherhand, can you?"

"Xo. Arm's broken."

"Then"" she looked back toward Lost Wing,hunched on a stump, and Barry'sheart sank. Shedebated a moment, at last to shake her head. "Xo

" he'd want to dig them out with a knife. If youdon't mind." She moved toward Houston and

Barry thrust forth his hand."If you don't mind," he countered and she sat

beside him. A moment later:"I must look like a fortune teller."

"See anythingin my palm besides thorns ?""Yes. A little dirt. Ba'tiste evidentlyisn't a

very good nurse.""I did the best I could with one hand. But I

was pretty grimy. I " I didn't know," and Barrygrinnedcheerfully,"I was going to be this lucky."

She pretended not to hear the sally. And insome way Barry was glad. He much rather wouldhave her silent than making some flippantremark,

66 THE WHITE DESERT

much rather would he prefer to lean comfortablyback on the old bench and watch the quiet,almostchildish determination of her features as she soughtfor a grip on the tinyprotuberancesof the thorns,the soft brownness of the few strands of hair which

strayed from beneath the boyishcap, the healthyglow of her complexion,the smallness of the clear^skinned hands, the daintiness of the trim littlefig-ure.

Much rather would he be silent with the pic-turethan strivingfor answers to questionsthat in

their very naiveness were an accusation. Quitesuddenly Barry felt cheap and mean and dishonest.He felt that he would like to talk about himself,"about home and his reasons for being out here; hishopes for the mill which now was a shambling,un-profitable

thing; about the future and " a greatmany things. It was with an effort,when shequeried him again concerninghis memory, that hestill remained Mr. Nobody. Then he shifted theconversation 'from himself to her.

"Do you live out here?"

"Yes. Didn't Ba'tiste tell you? My house is

justover the hill" you can justsee one edge of theroof through that bent aspen."

Barry stared."I'd noticed that. Thought it was a house, but

couldn't be sure. I thought I understood Ba'tisteto say you only came out here in the summer."

"I did that when I was going to school. Now I

stay here all the year 'round."

"Isn't it lonely?"

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"Out here? With a hundred kinds of birds to

keep thingsgoing? With the trout leapingin thestreams in the summer time, and a good gun in thehollow of your arm in the winter? Besides, there'sold Lost Wing and his squaw, you know. I get alot of enjoyment out of them wjien we're snowedin " in the winter. He's told me fullyfiftyver-sions

of how the Battle of Wounded Knee was

fought,and as for Ouster's last battle " it'swonder-ful!"

"He knows all about it?"

"I'd hardly say that." Medaine re'ached underher cap for a hairpin,looked quicklyat Barry asthough to ask him whether he could stand pain,then pressed a recalcitrant thorn into a positionwhere it could be extracted. "I think the best de-scription

of Lost Wing is that he's an admirablefiction writer. Ba'tiste says he has more lies than

a dog has fleas.""Then it isn't history?""Of course not. Just imagination. But it's

well done, with plenty of gestures. He stands infront of the fire and acts it all out while his squawsits on the floor and grunts and nods and wails atthe righttime, and it'sreallyentertaining.They'reabout a million years old, both of them. Myfather got them when he first came down here from

Montreal. He wanted Lost Wing as a sort ofbodyguard. It was a good deal wilder in thisregionthen than itisnow, and father owned a gooddeal of land."

68 THE WHITE DESERT

"So Ba'tiste tells me. He says that practicallyall of the forests around here are yours."

"They will be, next year," came simply,"whenI'm""

She stopped and laughed."Ba'tiste told me. Twenty-one.""He never could keep anything to himself.""What's wrong about that? I'm twenty-seven

myself.""Honestly? You don't look it.""Don't I? I ought to. I've got a beard and

everything. See?" He pulledhis hand away fora moment to rub the two-days'growth on his face."I tried to shave this morning. Couldn't make it.Ba'tiste said he'd play barber for me this afternoon.Next time you come over I'llbe all slicked up."

Again she laughed,and once more pursued theremaining thorns.

"How do you know there'll be a next time?"

"If there isn't,I'lldrive nails in myself,so you'llhave to pull'em out." Then seriously."You docome over here often, don't you?"

"Of course " " then, the last thorn disposedof,she rose " "to see Ba'tiste. I look on him as a sort

of a guardian. He knew my father. But let'stalk about yourself. You seem remarkably clearin your mind to be afflictedwith amnesia. Are yousure you don't remember anything" ?"

"No " not now. But," and Barry hedged pain-fully,"I think I will. It acts to me like a momen-tary

thing. Every once in a while I get a flash as

70 THE WHITE DESERT

not affection, but the paying of a debt of deepest

honor. Which Barry would do, and faithfully

and honestly and truthfully. As for the other"

He leaned against the bark slabs of the cabin.

He closed hiseyes.

He grinned cheerily.

"Well," came at last, "there's no harm in think-ing

about it!"

CHAPTER VI

It was thus that Ba'tiste found him, still dream-ing.

The big voice of the Canadian boomed, and

he reached forward to nudge Barry on his injuredshoulder.

"And who has been bringing you flowers?" he

asked.

"Medaine. That is" Miss Robinette."

"Medaine? Oh, ho! You hear, Golemar?" he

turned to the fawning wolf-dog. "He calls her

Medaine ! Oh, ho ! And he say he will marry, not

for love. Peuff! We shall see, by gar, we shall

see! Eh, Golemar?" Then to Barry, "You have

sit out here too long.""I? Nothing of the kind. Where's the axe?

I'll do some fancy one-handed woodchopping."And while Ba'tiste watched, grinning, Barry

went about his task, swinging the axe awkwardly,but whistling with the joy of work. Nor did hepause to diagnose his light-heartedness. He onlyknew that he was in the hills; that the streets and

offices and people of the cities, and the memories

that they carried, had been left behind for him

that he was in a new world to make a new fightand that he was strangely, inordinately happy

72 THE WHITE DESERT

Time after time the axe glinted,to descend uponthe chopping block, until at last the pileof stove-wood had reached its proper dimensions, and oldBa'tiste came from the doorway to carry it in.Then, half an hour later,theysat down to their mealof sizzlingbacon and steaming coffee," a great,bearded giant and the younger man whom he, ina moment of impulsiveness,had all but adopted.Ba'tiste was stilljoking about the visit of Medaine,Houston parrying his thrusts. The meal finished,Ba'tiste went forth once more, to the hunt of a bear

trap and its deadfall,dragged away by a mountainlion during the last snow. Barry soughtagain thebench outside the cabin, to sit there waiting andhoping," in vain. At last came evening,and heundressed laboriouslyfor a long rest. Somethingawaited him in Tabernacle," either the openingof abook of schemes, or at least the explanationof amystery, and that meant a walk of quitetwo miles,the exercise of muscles which stillached, the strain-ing

of tendons drawn by injury and pain. Butwhen the time came, he was ready.

"Bon " good!" came from Ba'tiste, as theyturned into the littlevillageof Tabernacle the nextday, skirted the two clapboardedstores forming the"main business district,"and edged toward theconverted box car that passed as a station. "Bon" the agent he is leaving."

Barry looked ahead, to see a man crossingan ex-panseof flat country toward what was evidentlya

boardin