prodigious; but suddenly, without apparent reason, Jan loosed his
various grips and rolled over quietly on his back. His
adversaries drew away a little, dubious and disconcerted. Jan
grinned viciously.
“Mine friends,” he said, still grinning, “you haf asked me to be
politeful, und now I am politeful. Vot piziness vood you do mit
me?”
“That’s right, Jan. Be ca’m,” soothed Red Bill. “I knowed you’d
come to yer senses afore long. Jes’ be ca’m now, an’ we’ll do the
trick with neatness and despatch.”
“Vot piziness? Vot trick?”
“The hangin’. An’ yeh oughter thank yer lucky stars for havin’ a
man what knows his business. I’ve did it afore now, more’n once,
down in the States, an’ I can do it to a T.”
“Hang who? Me?”
“Yep.”
“Ha! ha! Shust hear der man speak foolishness! Gif me a hand,
Bill, und I vill get up und be hung.” He crawled stiffly to his
feet and looked about him. “Herr Gott! listen to der man! He
vood hang me! Ho! ho! ho! I tank not! Yes, I tank not!”
“And I tank yes, you swab,” Lawson spoke up mockingly, at the same
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58
time cutting a sled-lashing and coiling it up with ominous care.
“Judge Lynch holds court this day.”
“Von liddle while.” Jan stepped back from the proffered noose.
“I haf somedings to ask und to make der great proposition.
Kentucky, you know about der Shudge Lynch?”
“Yes, suh. It is an institution of free men and of gentlemen, and
it is an ole one and time-honored. Corruption may wear the robe
of magistracy, suh, but Judge Lynch can always be relied upon to
give justice without court fees. I repeat, suh, without court
fees. Law may be bought and sold, but in this enlightened land
justice is free as the air we breathe, strong as the licker we
drink, prompt as–”
“Cut it short! Find out what the beggar wants,” interrupted
Lawson, spoiling the peroration.
“Vell, Kentucky, tell me dis: von man kill von odder man, Shudge
Lynch hang dot man?”
“If the evidence is strong enough–yes, suh.”
“An’ the evidence in this here case is strong enough to hang a
dozen men, Jan,” broke in Red Bill.
“Nefer you mind, Bill. I talk mit you next. Now von anodder ding
I ask Kentucky. If Shudge Lynch hang not der man, vot den?”
“If Judge Lynch does not hang the man, then the man goes free, and
his hands are washed clean of blood. And further, suh, our great
and glorious constitution has said, to wit: that no man may twice
be placed in jeopardy of his life for one and the same crime, or
words to that effect.”
“Unt dey can’t shoot him, or hit him mit a club over der head
alongside, or do nodings more mit him?”
“No, suh.”
“Goot! You hear vot Kentucky speaks, all you noddleheads? Now I
talk mit Bill. You know der piziness, Bill, und you hang me up
brown, eh? Vot you say?”
“‘Betcher life, an’, Jan, if yeh don’t give no more trouble ye’ll
be almighty proud of the job. I’m a connesoor.”
“You haf der great head, Bill, und know somedings or two. Und you
know two und one makes tree–ain’t it?”
Bill nodded.
“Und when you haf two dings, you haf not tree dings–ain’t it?
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59
Now you follow mit me close und I show you. It takes tree dings
to hang. First ding, you haf to haf der man. Goot! I am der
man. Second ding, you haf to haf der rope. Lawson haf der rope.
Goot! Und tird ding, you haf to haf someding to tie der rope to.
Sling your eyes over der landscape und find der tird ding to tie
der rope to? Eh? Vot you say?”
Mechanically they swept the ice and snow with their eyes. It was
a homogeneous scene, devoid of contrasts or bold contours, dreary,
desolate, and monotonous,–the ice-packed sea, the slow slope of
the beach, the background of low-lying hills, and over all thrown
the endless mantle of snow. “No trees, no bluffs, no cabins, no
telegraph poles, nothin’,” moaned Red Bill; “nothin’ respectable
enough nor big enough to swing the toes of a five-foot man clear
o’ the ground. I give it up.” He looked yearningly at that
portion of Jan’s anatomy which joins the head and shoulders.
“Give it up,” he repeated sadly to Lawson. “Throw the rope down.
Gawd never intended this here country for livin’ purposes, an’
that’s a cold frozen fact.”
Jan grinned triumphantly. “I tank I go mit der tent und haf a
smoke.”
“Ostensiblee y’r correct, Bill, me son,” spoke up Lawson; “but y’r
a dummy, and you can lay to that for another cold frozen fact.
Takes a sea farmer to learn you landsmen things. Ever hear of a
pair of shears? Then clap y’r eyes to this.”
The sailor worked rapidly. From the pile of dunnage where they
had pulled up the boat the preceding fall, he unearthed a pair of
long oars. These he lashed together, at nearly right angles,
close to the ends of the blades. Where the handles rested he
kicked holes through the snow to the sand. At the point of
intersection he attached two guy-ropes, making the end of one fast
to a cake of beach-ice. The other guy he passed over to Red Bill.
“Here, me son, lay holt o’ that and run it out.”
And to his horror, Jan saw his gallows rise in the air. “No! no!”
he cried, recoiling and putting up his fists. “It is not goot! I
vill not hang! Come, you noddleheads! I vill lick you, all
together, von after der odder! I vill blay hell! I vill do
eferydings! Und I vill die pefore I hang!”
The sailor permitted the two other men to clinch with the mad
creature. They rolled and tossed about furiously, tearing up snow
and tundra, their fierce struggle writing a tragedy of human
passion on the white sheet spread by nature. And ever and anon a
hand or foot of Jan emerged from the tangle, to be gripped by
Lawson and lashed fast with rope-yarns. Pawing, clawing,
blaspheming, he was conquered and bound, inch by inch, and drawn
to where the inexorable shears lay like a pair of gigantic
dividers on the snow. Red Bill adjusted the noose, placing the
hangman’s knot properly under the left ear. Mr. Taylor and Lawson
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60
tailed onto the running-guy, ready at the word to elevate the
gallows. Bill lingered, contemplating his work with artistic
appreciation.
“Herr Gott! Vood you look at it!”
The horror in Jan’s voice caused the rest to desist. The fallen
tent had uprisen, and in the gathering twilight it flapped ghostly
arms about and titubated toward them drunkenly. But the next
instant John Gordon found the opening and crawled forth.
“What the flaming–!” For the moment his voice died away in his
throat as his eyes took in the tableau. “Hold on! I’m not dead!”
he cried out, coming up to the group with stormy countenance.
“Allow me, Mistah Gordon, to congratulate you upon youah escape,”
Mr. Taylor ventured. “A close shave, suh, a powahful close
shave.”
” Congratulate hell! I might have been dead and rotten and no
thanks to you, you–!” And thereat John Gordon delivered himself
of a vigorous flood of English, terse, intensive, denunciative,
and composed solely of expletives and adjectives.
“Simply creased me,” he went on when he had eased himself
sufficiently. “Ever crease cattle, Taylor?”
“Yes, suh, many a time down in God’s country.”
“Just so. That’s what happened to me. Bullet just grazed the
base of my skull at the top of the neck. Stunned me but no harm
done.” He turned to the bound man. “Get up, Jan. I’m going to
lick you to a standstill or you’re going to apologize. The rest
of you lads stand clear.”
“I tank not. Shust tie me loose und you see,” replied Jan, the
Unrepentant, the devil within him still unconquered. “Und after
as I lick you, I take der rest of der noddleheads, von after der
odder, altogedder!”
GRIT OF WOMEN
A wolfish head, wistful-eyed and frost-rimed, thrust aside the
tent-flaps.
“Hi! Chook! Siwash! Chook, you limb of Satan!” chorused the
protesting inmates. Bettles rapped the dog sharply with a tin
plate, and it withdrew hastily. Louis Savoy refastened the flaps,
kicked a frying-pan over against the bottom, and warmed his hands.
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61
It was very cold without. Forty-eight hours gone, the spirit
thermometer had burst at sixty-eight below, and since that time it
had grown steadily and bitterly colder. There was no telling when
the snap would end. And it is poor policy, unless the gods will
it, to venture far from a stove at such times, or to increase the
quantity of cold atmosphere one must breathe. Men sometimes do