The Branding Iron - Page 30/142

Wen Ho put his head from one side to the other and stopped rubbing his

hands. He had heard the packing of snow under webs and runners. After

listening a moment, he nodded to himself, like a figure in a

pantomime, ran into the kitchen, did something to the stove, then

lighted a lantern and pattered out along the tunnel dodging the icicle

stalactites. Between the firs he stopped and held his lantern high so

that it touched a moving radius of flakes to silver stars. Back of him

through the open door streamed the glow of lamp and fire filling the

icicles with blood and flushing the walls and the roof of the cave.

Down the cañon Prosper shouted, "Wen Ho! Wen Ho!"

The Chinaman plunged down the trail, packed below the new-fallen snow

by frequent passage, and presently met the bent figure of his master

pulling and breathing hard. Without speaking, Wen Ho laid hold of the

sled rope and together the two men tugged up the last steep bit of the

hill.

"Velly heavy load," said Wen.

Prosper's eyes, gleaming below the visor of his cap, smiled

half-maliciously upon him. "It's a deer killed out of season," he

said, "and other cattle--no maverick either--fairly marked by its

owner. Lend me a hand and we'll unload."

Wen showed no astonishment. He removed the covering and peeped

slantwise at the strange woman who stared at him unseeingly with

large, bright eyes. She closed them, frowning faintly as though she

protested against the intrusion of a Chinese face into her disturbed

mental world.

The men took her up and carried her into the house, where they dressed

her wound and laid her with all possible gentleness in one of the two

beds of stripped and lacquered pine that stood in the bedroom facing

the lake. Afterwards they moved the other bed and Prosper went in to

his meal.

He was too tired to eat. Soon he pushed his plate away, turned his

chair to face the fire, and, slipping down to the middle of his spine,

stuck out his lean, long legs, locked his hands back of his head, let

his chin fall, and stared into the flames.

Wen Ho removed the dishes, glancing often at his master.

"You velly tired?" he questioned softly.

"It was something of a pull in the storm."

"Velly small deer," babbled the Chinaman, "velly big lady."

Prosper smiled a queer smile that sucked in and down the corners of

his mouth.

"She come after all?" asked Wen Ho.