St Johns College - Ozanam Yearbook (Toledo, OH)

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THE OZANAM 19 of the law he had so tirelessly dodged for seven years was a desperate moveg but he wanted to meet the issue and have done with it. It did not call for courage: it called rather for the apathy of a beaten man. II. A close call, lad! Paul Herriot slowly opened his eyes and gazed up into a face that seemed vaguely familiar, then let his eyes close. A dull pain thumped in his neck, a sharp stinging sensation in the bridge of his nose. His eyes smart- ed. Water dripped from his clothes. Then recollection came . . . shoot- ing the Saguenay rapids . . . cap- sizing . . . the roar of water drum- ming in his ear . . . devouring blackness. The deep-voiced stranger had res- cued him. Mighty narrow pass that, young feller. You'd better dry yourself up immediate . . . don't thank me, buddy, anybody'd of done it . . . nothin' at allg just returning a little favor a guy did me once, that's all. I don't know your name but you're welcome to my shanty up half a mile. Man, that water's cold, I guess a lit- tle heat would feel pretty handy. C'mon, this way. So Paul led the stranger on to the cabin. March is no time of the year to get soaked to the skin. It is not only unpleasant but dangerous to be so thoroughly chilled. But before long, they had arrived at the cabin and made themselves quite at home, with a roaring fire and boiling coffee. Sit down and enjoy yourself. I don't know your name but- Nope, I've left that behind. just as well.-You're young, ain't you? Yes. Thought so. Youngsters is so ttustin'. If you'd of been an older man, you'd throw me out of the house when I held my name back. Paul shrugged. He could still hear the roar of the water in his ears. Rot- ten way of showing gratitude, he muttered, as if he meant something else. But this is a dangerous country- this North, the stranger spoke in his staccato fashion, as he sipped his cof- fee, sitting in a chair with his legs sprawled out toward the tire. Paul glanced up quickly. See that brick shanty up there? Well, that's headquarters. They'll take care of all the dangerous men. There ain't no :Finer land in all the world as this North. It's big and line and wonderful and peaceful. Danger- ous? Yes, for dangerous men. But this is a man's country and, be Gad, the hands of dirty scoundrels ain't going to spoil it. Tl1at's what that brick shanty stands for. Them's high words, buddy. I guess you ain't as green as you look. This with a laugh. Green? Ha-that reminds me. Have you heard whether Ross Ander- son's been taken yet? The stranger gave a jerk, but recov- ered immediately. Ross Anderson? Don't know him, he parried. He's a clever fellow, let me tell you. A little bit too clever for him- self-Say, what's the matter, got the chills? I don't wonder, that water. Man, you've got a fever. No-no fever. I'm too near the fire, yes, that's all-it'l1 pass. He coughed deep from his lungs and spat into the Ere. He was weak from

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Man and Man By A. FRANCIS METTY I. Ross Anderson had the mark of Cain upon his weather-beaten face. His furtive glance, his absurd caution, his vague unrest proclaimed him a fugitive. There were lines on his forehead and around his mouth that were too plainly premature. His rugged cheek had been chilled by the fierce gusts of wintry Hudson Bay, and warmed by the summer sun of Alaskag he had traversed the bot- toms of Canada, her mountains, and her plateaus, and his keen but uncar- ing eyes had greeted the broad St. Lawrence. Never long in a place- for he was being tracked, tracked by some persistent pursuer that hung grimly on and gave him no rest. He had heard how vultures circle high in the sky over their dying prey, waiting, ready to swoop down, yet waiting- like an unearthly contest of endur- ance. The fact that he had always kept two hops ahead of his pursuer was a point in his favor and of some moment, it had added seven long drawn out years to his worthless life. Perhaps he thought that some twist of fate, some merciful impulse of passing time would cheat the law, although this paltry hope belied itself even while it beckoned. He knew it. He knew that the man never lived who played tag with the Royal Mounted with his life as stakes and won. Like his ancient prototype, Ross Anderson was guilty of his brother's blood. It had happened back in '98 when the Klondike first opened up and that nondescript horde swept in. The wild character of the place and its distance from civilization seemed to awaken the dormant primeval traits. So, to settle some trivial argument that arose over the pay-dirt, Ross Anderson had prompt recourse to his pistol. Both of them were drunk, which added sordidness to the crime. But that was the crude fashion of those early days, and more than one brawl went down on the records as re- sulting in murder. It was a day when one's judge, jury, and courtroom fit- ted inside a holster. But what chance has a lone rabbit against a pack of foxes? True the unequal chase had had its brief inter- missions, which had been tersely noted each time with a notch on Ross Anderson's pistol-grip. It meant a respite, a let-up when the chase be- came too hot. Yet he could never en- tirely evade them-they caught the scent, for they were smart foxes, these Royal Mountiesf' And besides, these respites complicated the ultimate ac- counting for Ross Anderson, and sim- pliiied it for the Royal Mounted. But Ross now pointed his compass toward Chicoutimi, playing into the devil's hand. He was tired of the chase, tired of the everlasting grind. He had cracked under the gruelling strain. No more did he feel the surge of strength as he evaded the ones who tracked him. His courage had died away with his strength. Perhaps the drawn cheek and its unnatural daub of redg or the incessant cough that racked him, and its bloody chunks, had something to do with it. At any rate the frost-bitten lung had taken its heavy toll. To go within the grasp

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20 THE OZAN AM coughing. What was that about- about Ross Anderson? Why, nothing, only he's too clever for himself. He left his gun laying on the ground and I found it. Look. Holster and all. Odd, eh? That was careless of him, an- swered the stranger, guardedly. Paul examined it, part by part. Four notches. Well, that sews him up tight. That'll mean a short shrift and a long rope. He's led a big field. The stranger was silent. When at last he turned, he saw a man with a boyish face holding the red coat of the Royal Mounted on his arm. The stranger faltered. I'm your man. I'm Ross Anderson. But before you bring me to that brick shanty, let me say a word or two. Speak. Two years ago, something hap- pened, or I wouldn't be here today. I was just out of Shamattawa when I ran out of grub: It got bitter cold. So cold I froze my feet walking a half hour on the snow. God, I never felt such merciless cold. I kept on till I fell. I didn't know anything. Didn't care. How long?-go ask the stars. Well, some fellow with a big heart found me and put me on his sled. Maybe he didn't know me because I must have been wrapped deep in furs or maybe my face was so cold it was featureless. I don't know. But he left something, too, for somebody to pick up-a snapshot. It's yours. Must have been taken before you joined the service. Today, I've paid the debt. He stood limp and beaten, pathetically beaten. It was Paul Herriot's turn to be silent. Nor did he move or speak when Ross Anderson resumed his chair. He stood motionless as a statue for a full minute, as if to gather himself. Ross Anderson did not stir when Paul tapped his fingers musingly on the table-top. Ross, I'm a Royal Mounted, or rather I was. I'm handin' in my uni- form today. You're free now. An' I'm through with this rotten business of man-hunting. The words fell on deaf ears. For Ross, who lay limp in the chair, was enjoying that other freedom which sooner or later comes to all. Paul shook him in vaing then he picked up the pistol, looked at it as if to say something,-but, beyond a shake of the head, the thought in his mind remained unspoken. He walked outside, and with a swift snap of a swing, hurtled the revolver into the Saguenay as it pursued its frothing course. Success BY ANTHONY J. ALBERT When you try- But all in vain, Do not cry, Your end you'll gain, If you work With all your heart, And never shirk Your honest part.