Viewing page 37 of 46
This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.
70 ABBOTT'S MONTHLY CALET nodded. "I theenk, theenk, all day. 'Louis,' I say, 'the davil has tempt you and you have fallen. In one, two, t'ree days you are one dead man!" "I weel not explain more how I felt, m'sieurs, for you can guess. I am not the coward--I shall meet death when he comes for me. But I theenk how sad eet ees, after I have lived one not so bad life, to fall in weeth thees davil. That hurts, m'sieurs--to fail after thees thirty-one years! "I stay inside that day. I do not sleep at night but toward the morning I doze off. I wake up. I am suprise notheeng has happen! "Eet make me feel lak' you say, encouraged. I go to my traps. But now theengs begin. Always, close behind me, I hear sometheeng. Now eet ees the cry of the davil-wolf. Now she ees one mocking laugh. Ah, m'sieurs, that laugh! Eet ees the laugh of le diable himself! Laughing because at last he has me, Louis Calet, whom he has wanted for so long. He has caught me; he has made me shoot at the white-eared wolf! "The laugh mak' my bones hurt, m'sieur. It stop my heart till I grasp my chest weeth my hands to start heem again. I cannot draw breath. The world sweem before me. I am sick. I am dying, I t'eenk! "Well I go to my trap line. For, m'sieurs, I am determine that the davil shall not take me without strong fight. And the way to fight ees behave lak' ver' good man, to conduct my business, which ees trapping. "I begin to feel confident. Then I come to the first trap. Eet ees one which yesterday was robbed. I do not find heem. But I see M'sieur le Wolf slinking about. He ees watching me, waiting for the chance to spreeng, to dig his teeth into my throat. For m'sieurs, that ees how the man die who is accursed. That ees how Baptiste and Jean die--weeth the marks on their throat. "SO I watch ver' careful. My trap seems lak' he ees stolen. I move around, watching M'sieur le Wolf. Sunday--bang! I stumble. Sometheeng hard snap on my leg. The pain ees awful. I cry out in anguish, and struggle. Then I realize eet ees no good, that I have got caught in a fox trap. "Finally I get heem off. She ees cold thees day but I take down my leggings and my trousers. See--I take them down now to show you. Here, M'sieur Bowen! Here, M'sieur McKane. What marks are these which are on my leg, eh?" Dick Bowen straightened with a startled exclamation. It was echoed by Tip McKane. The partners returned their eyes unbelievingly to the calf of Louis's leg which he had bared as he spoke. McKane was first to find voice. "Wolf teeth!" he whispered. Bowen nodded. Then he darted worried glances about the cabin. Outside the storm whipped furious as ever. The wind howled and the sucking roar in the chimney was like stentorian breathing of some giant. "Oui," Louis Calet said softly, replacing his trousers and legging. "Thees are the marks of the white-eared wolf, my frien's. Yet thees trap, one which I have use for five, seex year--she does not have that mark. Not like wolf teeth. You believe that, eh?" They nodded. Experienced hunters, they knew the marks on the trap--knew, too, that the inflamed blood-clotted marks on Louis's leg indicated the teeth of a male wolf. Bowen and McKane gestured for Calet to go on. "All thees time I struggle weeth the leg, M'sieur le Wolf does not come close. Finally when I am stronger I go back to my cabin. I stay there all day, and all day I hear the white-eared wolf walking around, around. He does not say much, but now and again he laugh. Just enough, my frien's, so that I feel my hair mak' grey. I feel my doom closing in, m'sieurs, and eet ees one awful theeng!" Louis Calet swung on the three-legged stool to stare a full minute at the cabin door. Tensely he listened to the wind and the snow. Then seeming satisfied, he prepared to continue. As he did so a long-drawn cry rang out, penetrating the storm like a keen-edged knife penetrates cheese. It was weird, grotesque, ending in a hollow laugh. Bowen and McKane seemed to feel clammy hands on their spinal columns. They had never heard anything like it. It came from everywhere--and nowhere. It was near and far away. But it was terrible! Calet leaped four inches from the floor, his face blanching, his fingers opening and closing spasmodically on his knife-handle. "She ees the wolf! That cry, m'sieur--ah, I am a lost man! I shall die. I shall wake up in Hell!" "Here, Tip--grab 'im!" Both trappers sprang as the almost petrified giant lurched toward the door. Their combined efforts bore him down. Panting, wet with sweat, and trembling from head to foot, Louis Calet was the picture of misery. Certainty of death was written in every line of his usually handsome, healthy countenance which now was pallid and yellow. With a great effort he quieted. They allowed him to rise. All silently resumed their former places. "How about yesterday?" Bowen prompted, thinking talk would ease the man. The cry of the wolf was not repeated, although all three were listening for it. "Yesterday?" Calet asked dully. "Ah, oui!" He pulled himself together. "I stay in my cabin in the morning. I have not the sleep, you see, and I am tired. Eet ees ver' quiet and notheeng disturb me. I get confidence from whisky. "Besides, I cannot go outside. My leg pains and eet ees not good to walk. So I lie in my bunk, theenking, theenking. "SUDDENLY I hear the scraping noise on my door. My heart turn to stone, for I know--I know! There ees a low whine, m'sieur, and then more scraping. I do not move. Thees theeng, which I know ees the white-eared wold, then runs in circles around my cabin. And ver' often he stop. He mak' the noise you have just heard, only softer, lak' he want only me to hear. "Then he scratch on the door. Well, m'sieurs, eet ees no way for comfort, non? Le diable knows thees! Eet is why he send the wolf. "Once I have the fright. I theenk the door ees open. I am crazy with fear, my frien's--I, Louis Calet! I am shakeeng and wet and I do not know what eet ees I do. Just lak' now. I cannot help eet when I theenk that after tonight at midnight I am one dead man. And though I have the good life much as I can, I have fallen to the davil because once I lose my temper. Alas! Thees ees hard to theenk! for May, 1931 71 But when I am crazee with fright I must have jump up for my rifle. I theenk the wolf ees coming through the door. Eet sound lak' this. I snatch the rifle and--pouf! I know no more for one long time. "When I awake I smell wolf. Ah, you do not laugh now, my frien's, lak' when I begin thees story! You have seen the marks on my leg, the teeth-marks of the davil-wolf. You have heard the cry. They speak strong, mais non? And when I say I smell the wolf lak' you smell wild animals, m'sieurs, then you believe that, heh? "The cause of accident? I have somehow shot myself. Oui! In getting my rifle she goes explode. See, I bare my chest for you to look. The mark ees from one side to the othair. Where does eet pass, m'sieurs? Ah, do not mind: I must die anyhow. Eet ees not hurt my mind! Thees bullet, she make the zip across my chest. Notice where the mark stops, eh? Ovair my heart!" McKANE wiped his wet forehead with his sleeve. "My God, Louis, this is terrible! The way you connect up everything that happens. Why man, you're killing yourself!" Calet's eyes had been on Bowen who secretively consulted his watch. "M'sieur, what ees the hour now?" he requested calmly. Dick turned the watch's face for Calet to read. Ten minutes of twelve! "Place him on the table, m'sieur." Dick did so. Then Louis turned to McKane. "My frien', when you have done thees theeng which cause the davil to laugh and rub his hands, then one reminder come each day for two days. It was so weeth Baptiste Tremaine. Eet was so weeth Jean LeGrae. Thus I am sure I do not get killed yesterday, nor the day before. But today--my life ees gone!" He stated it in such a matter-of-fact way that neither trapper could refute. Besides, both Bowen and McKane were taut in every nerve, straining every sinew. There was something eerie, unexplainable in those wolf-marks which had been made by a fox trap. . . . In the mark across the man's chest ending over his heart. Something alarming in that weird, uncanny cry that had smote the cabin a few moments ago. "But look here--" began Tip. He left off. Again it came-a low whine mounting higher, a thin, slicing cry that penetrated the cabin. It was only too plain and distinct above the shriek of wind that whipped the lonely long cabin beside Lac d'Esprit de Diable in the far Canadian wilderness. BOWEN snatched a rifle from its rack. "You sit right there before the fire, Louis," he ordered grimly. "Anything I see that I don't recognize--" "But m'sieur, you weel have your own death!" wailed Calet. He strode towards his friend, both hands extended for the rifle. But Bowen backed away, his jaw set with insistent determination. Now Tip McKane held a 30-30. "Sit down, Louis," he pleaded. "We've not afraid of anything damned ghost or devil or anything else. By God--" "What time is it, Tip?" interrupted Bowen, who could not see the watch from his stand beside one window and facing the cabin door. McKane leaned forward. He straightened with a gasp and a sharp glance at Louis Calet huddled between the partners, on his three-legged stool before the fireplace. "It's two minutes of twelve," McKane announced in a low whisper. Seconds ticked off. All three men were wet with sweat induced by the terrific mental pressure. Suddenly came a sort of lull in the storm. The wind seemed to have cut out as abruptly and completely as the roar of an airplane motor switched off. Then the cry came. A long-drawn blood-curdling howl. It was as Louis said, seemingly the whine of a very young baby. An appealing, utterly irresistible cry. But ending in a harsh laugh! It was neither close nor far. But the three men jerked their muscles yet tighter. Louis' knuckles shone white on the gleaming knife in his hand. His eyes fastened glassily on the door and his giant frame was taut to hurl itself at anything that appeared. His lips were drawn back to expose white, even teeth glistening in firm rows. In his whole expression was terror, yet no quailing at the unknown fate which inevitably ticked-off seconds brought closer. The tension was awful. McKane and Bowen panted like men who have run several miles. Their eyes stared unblinkingly at the door. THEN it came. Sudden as lightning across a pitch black sky came a sound like a rifle shot. What it was, where it originated, was not sensed at the instant by any of the three. But it came. . . . A tawny shape whipped from behind Dick Bowen. In the midst of a terrific steel-muscled arc it struck hammer-like on the head and shoulders of the wiry, short-legged trapper. He hurtled face-first to the floor. Its spring uninterrupted, the Thing lunged like an arrow for the half-rising form of Louis Calet. A fierce snarl rasped out. Then a gulping cry as Louis released pent-up terror and livid hate born of desperation. Jaws parted, fangs gleaming with wet, foamy saliva, the Thing shot at the French-Canadian with the speed of a bullet. McKane jerked his trigger. Crack! The room reeled with a terrific explosion. Draught from the broken window behind Bowen whipped out the candles; the cabin became dull yellow, lighted only by dancing flames from the fireplace. Calet went down under a wildly clawing, biting, snarling mass of threshing legs and slicing fangs. Suddenly the heavy walnut stock of a rifle landed with a sound of crushed, powdered bones. BOOTS scuttled across the board floor. The cabin door jerked open to admit clean cold air. A weird terror-inspired cry thinning in the night. Then silence. "Tip! Tip! For God's sake, where's Louis? Is he dead? Where (Continued on page 86) [[advertisement]] THE TRUE STORY of LUCY C. LANEY WHAT A GEORGIA WOMAN, WITH A BIG IDEA, DID FOR HER PEOPLE COMING IN THE JUNE ISSUE [[/advertisement]]
