Kazan - James Oliver Curwood
[Illustration: He heard Joan's voice]
KAZAN
BY JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD
Author of
The Danger Trail, Etc.
Illustrated by
Gayle Hoskins and Frank Hoffman
1914
CONTENTS
I. THE MIRACLE
II. INTO THE NORTH
III. McCREADY PAYS THE DEBT
IV. FREE FROM BONDS
V. THE FIGHT IN THE SNOW
VI. JOAN
VII. OUT OF THE BLIZZARD
VIII. THE GREAT CHANGE
IX. THE TRAGEDY ON SUN ROCK
X. THE DAYS OF FIRE
XI. ALWAYS TWO BY TWO
XII. THE RED DEATH
XIII. THE TRAIL OF HUNGER
XIV. THE RIGHT OF FANG
XV. A FIGHT UNDER THE STARS
XVI. THE CALL
XVII. HIS SON
XVIII. THE EDUCATION OF BA-REE
XIX. THE USURPERS
XX. A FEUD IN THE WILDERNESS
XXI. A SHOT ON THE SAND-BAR
XXII. SANDY'S METHOD
XXIII. PROFESSOR McGILL
XXIV. ALONE IN DARKNESS
XXV. THE LAST OF McTRIGGER
XXVI. AN EMPTY WORLD
XXVII. THE CALL OF SUN ROCK
CHAPTER I
THE MIRACLE
Kazan lay mute and motionless, his gray nose between his forepaws, his
eyes half closed. A rock could have appeared scarcely less lifeless than
he; not a muscle twitched; not a hair moved; not an eyelid quivered. Yet
every drop of the wild blood in his splendid body was racing in a
ferment of excitement that Kazan had never before experienced; every
nerve and fiber of his wonderful muscles was tense as steel wire.
Quarter-strain wolf, three-quarters "husky," he had lived the four years
of his life in the wilderness. He had felt the pangs of starvation. He
knew what it meant to freeze. He had listened to the wailing winds of
the long Arctic night over the barrens. He had heard the thunder of the
torrent and the cataract, and had cowered under the mighty crash of the
storm. His throat and sides were scarred by battle, and his eyes were
red with the blister of the snows. He was called Kazan, the Wild Dog,
because he was a giant among his kind and as fearless, even, as the men
who drove him through the perils of a frozen world.
He had never known fear--until now. He had never felt in him before the
desire to _run_--not even on that terrible day in the forest when he had
fought and killed the big gray lynx. He did not know what it was that
frightened him, but he knew that he was in another world, and that many
things in it startled and alarmed him. It was his first glimpse of
civilization. He wished that his master would come back into the strange
room where he had left him. It was a room filled with hideous things.
There were great human faces on the wall, but they did not move or
speak, but stared at him in a way he had never seen people look before.
He remembered having looked on a master who lay very quiet and very cold
in the snow, and he had sat back on his haunches and wailed forth the
death song; but these people on the walls looked alive, and yet seemed
dead.
Suddenly Kazan lifted his ears a little. He heard steps, then low
voices. One of them was his master's voice. But the other--it sent a
little tremor through him! Once, so long ago that it must have been in
his puppyhood days, he seemed to have had a dream of a laugh that was
like the girl's laugh--a laugh that was all at once filled with a
wonderful happiness, the thrill of a wonderful love, and a sweetness
that made Kazan lift his head as they came in. He looked straight at
them, his red eyes gleaming. At once he knew that she must be dear to
his master, for his master's arm was about her. In the glow of the light
he saw that her hair was very bright, and that there was the color of
the crimson _bakneesh_ vine in her face and the blue of the _bakneesh_
flower in her shining eyes. Suddenly she saw him, and with a little cry
darted toward him.
"Stop!" shouted the man. "He's dangerous! Kazan--"
She was on her knees beside him, all fluffy and sweet and beautiful, her
eyes shining wonderfully, her hands about to touch him. Should he cringe
back? Should he snap? Was she one of the things on the wall, and his
enemy? Should he leap at her white throat? He saw the man running
forward, pale as death. Then her hand fell upon his head and the touch
sent a thrill through him that quivered in every nerve of his body. With
both hands she turned up his head. Her face was very close, and he heard
her say, almost sobbingly:
"And you are Kazan--dear old Kazan, my Kazan, my hero dog--who brought
him home to me when all the others had died! My Kazan--my hero!"
And then, miracle of miracles, her face was crushed down against him,
and he felt her sweet warm touch.
In those moments Kazan did not move. He scarcely breathed. It seemed a
long time before the girl lifted her face from him. And when she did,
there were tears in her blue eyes, and the man was standing above them,
his hands gripped tight, his jaws set.
"I never knew him to let any one touch him--with their naked hand," he
said in a tense wondering voice. "Move back quietly, Isobel. Good
heaven--look at that!"
Kazan whined softly, his bloodshot eyes on the girl's face. He wanted to
feel her hand again; he wanted to touch her face. Would they beat him
with a club, he wondered, if he _dared_! He meant no harm now. He would
kill for her. He cringed toward her, inch by inch, his eyes never
faltering. He heard what the man said--"Good heaven! Look at that!"--and
he shuddered. But no blow fell to drive him back. His cold muzzle
touched her filmy dress, and she looked at him, without moving, her wet
eyes blazing like stars.
"See!" she whispered. "See!"
Half an inch more--an inch, two inches, and he gave his big gray body a
hunch toward her. Now his muzzle traveled slowly upward--over her foot,
to her lap, and at last touched the warm little hand that lay there. His
eyes were still on her face: he saw a queer throbbing in her bare white
throat, and then a trembling of her lips as she looked up at the man
with a wonderful look. He, too, knelt down beside them, and put his arm
about the girl again, and patted the dog on his head. Kazan did not like
the man's touch. He mistrusted it, as nature had taught him to mistrust
the touch of all men's hands, but he permitted it because he saw that it
in some way pleased the girl.
"Kazan, old boy, you wouldn't hurt her, would you?" said his master
softly. "We both love her, don't we, boy? Can't help it, can we? And
she's ours, Kazan, all _ours_! She belongs to you and to me, and we're
going to take care of her all our lives, and if we ever have to we'll
fight for her like hell--won't we? Eh, Kazan, old boy?"
For a long time after they left him where he was lying on the rug,
Kazan's eyes did not leave the girl. He watched and listened--and all
the time there grew more and more in him the craving to creep up to them
and touch the girl's hand, or her dress, or her foot. After a time his
master said something, and with a little laugh the girl jumped up and
ran to a big, square, shining thing that stood crosswise in a corner,
and which had a row of white teeth longer than his own body. He had
wondered what those teeth were for. The girl's fingers touched them now,
and all the whispering of winds that he had ever heard, all the music of
the waterfalls and the rapids and the trilling of birds in spring-time,
could not equal the sounds they made. It was his first music. For a
moment it startled and frightened him, and then he felt the fright pass
away and a strange tingling in his body. He wanted to sit back on his
haunches and howl, as he had howled at the billion stars in the skies on
cold winter nights. But something kept him from doing that. It was the
girl. Slowly he began slinking toward her. He felt the eyes of the man
upon him, and stopped. Then a little more--inches at a time, with his
throat and jaw straight out along the floor! He was half-way to
her--half-way across the room--when the wonderful sounds grew very soft
and very low.
"Go on!" he heard the man urge in a low quick voice. "Go on! Don't
stop!"
The girl turned her head, saw Kazan cringing there on the floor, and
continued to play. The man was still looking, but his eyes could not
keep Kazan back now. He went nearer, still nearer, until at last his
outreaching muzzle touched her dress where it lay piled on the floor.
And then--he lay trembling, for she had begun to sing. He had heard a
Cree woman crooning in front of her tepee; he had heard the wild chant
of the caribou song--but he had never heard anything like this
wonderful sweetness that fell from the lips of the girl. He forgot his
master's presence now. Quietly, cringingly, so that she would not know,
he lifted his head. He saw her looking at him; there was something in
her wonderful eyes that gave him confidence, and he laid his head in her
lap. For the second time he felt the touch of a woman's hand, and he
closed his eyes with a long sighing breath. The music stopped. There
came a little fluttering sound above him, like a laugh and a sob in one.
He heard his master cough.
"I've always loved the old rascal--but I never thought he'd do that," he
said; and his voice sounded queer to Kazan.
CHAPTER II
INTO THE NORTH
Wonderful days followed for Kazan. He missed the forests and deep snows.
He missed the daily strife of keeping his team-mates in trace, the
yapping at his heels, the straight long pull over the open spaces and
the barrens. He missed the "Koosh--koosh--Hoo-yah!" of the driver, the
spiteful snap of his twenty-foot caribou-gut whip, and that yelping and
straining behind him that told him he had his followers in line. But
something had come to take the place of that which he missed. It was in
the room, in the air all about him, even when the girl or his master was
not near. Wherever she had been, he found the presence of that strange
thing that took away his loneliness. It was the woman scent, and
sometimes it made him whine softly when the girl herself was actually
with him. He was not lonely, nights, when he should have been out
howling at the stars. He was not lonely, because one night he prowled
about until he found a certain door, and when the girl opened that door
in the morning she found him curled up tight against it. She had reached
down and hugged him, the thick smother of her long hair falling all over
him in a delightful perfume; thereafter she placed a rug before the door
for him to sleep on. All through the long nights he knew that she was
just beyond the door, and he was content. Each day he thought less and
less of the wild places, and more of her.
Then there came the beginning of the change. There was a strange hurry
and excitement around him, and the girl paid less attention to him. He
grew uneasy. He sniffed the change in the air, and he began to study his
master's face. Then there came the morning, very early, when the babiche
collar and the iron chain were fastened to him again. Not until he had
followed his master out through the door and into the street did he
begin to understand. They were sending him away! He sat suddenly back on
his haunches and refused to budge.
"Come, Kazan," coaxed the man. "Come on, boy."
He hung back and showed his white fangs. He expected the lash of a whip
or the blow of a club, but neither came. His master laughed and took him
back to the house. When they left it again, the girl was with them and
walked with her hand touching his head. It was she who persuaded him to
leap up through a big dark hole into the still darker interior of a car,
and it was she who lured him to the darkest corner of all, where his
master fastened his chain. Then they went out, laughing like two
children. For hours after that, Kazan lay still and tense, listening to
the queer rumble of wheels under him. Several times those wheels
stopped, and he heard voices outside. At last he was sure that he heard
a familiar voice, and he strained at his chain and whined. The closed
door slid back. A man with a lantern climbed in, followed by his master.
He paid no attention to them, but glared out through the opening into
the gloom of night. He almost broke loose when he leaped down upon the
white snow, but when he saw no one there, he stood rigid, sniffing the
air. Over him were the stars he had howled at all his life, and about
him were the forests, black and silent, shutting them in like a wall.
Vainly he sought for that one scent that was missing, and Thorpe heard
the low note of grief in his shaggy throat. He took the lantern and held
it above his head, at the same time loosening his hold on the leash. At
that signal there came a voice from out of the night. It came from
behind them, and Kazan whirled so suddenly that the loosely held chain
slipped from the man's hand. He saw the glow of other lanterns. And
then, once more, the voice--
"Kaa-aa-zan!"
He was off like a bolt. Thorpe laughed to himself as he followed.
"The old pirate!" he chuckled.
When he came to the lantern-lighted space back of the caboose, Thorpe
found Kazan crouching down at a woman's feet. It was Thorpe's wife. She
smiled triumphantly at him as he came up out of the gloom.
"You've won!" he laughed, not unhappily. "I'd have wagered my last
dollar he wouldn't do that for any voice on earth. You've won! Kazan,
you brute, I've lost you!"
His face suddenly sobered as Isobel stooped to pick up the end of the
chain.
"He's yours, Issy," he added quickly, "but you must let me care for him
until--we _know_. Give me the chain. I won't trust him even now. He's a
wolf. I've seen him take an Indian's hand off at a single snap. I've
seen him tear out another dog's jugular in one leap. He's an outlaw--a
bad dog--in spite of the fact that he hung to me like a hero and brought
me out alive. I can't trust him. Give me the chain--"
He did not finish. With the snarl of a wild beast Kazan had leaped to
his feet. His lips drew up and bared his long fangs. His spine
stiffened, and with a sudden cry of warning, Thorpe dropped a hand to
the revolver at his belt.
Kazan paid no attention to him. Another form had approached out of the
night, and stood now in the circle of illumination made by the lanterns.
It was McCready, who was to accompany Thorpe and his young wife back to
the Red River camp, where Thorpe was in charge of the building of the
new Trans-continental. The man was straight, powerfully built and clean
shaven. His jaw was so square that it was brutal, and there was a glow
in his eyes that was almost like the passion in Kazan's as he looked at
Isobel.
Her red and white stocking-cap had slipped free of her head and was
hanging over her shoulder. The dull blaze of the lanterns shone in the
warm glow of her hair. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes, suddenly
turned to him, were as blue as the bluest _bakneesh_ flower and glowed
like diamonds. McCready shifted his gaze, and instantly her hand fell on
Kazan's head. For the first time the dog did not seem to feel her touch.
He still snarled at McCready, the rumbling menace in his throat growing
deeper. Thorpe's wife tugged at the chain.
"Down, Kazan--down!" she commanded.
At the sound of her voice he relaxed.
"Down!" she repeated, and her free hand fell on his head again. He slunk
to her feet. But his lips were still drawn back. Thorpe was watching
him. He wondered at the deadly venom that shot from the wolfish eyes,
and looked at McCready. The big guide had uncoiled his long dog-whip. A
strange look had come into his face. He was staring hard at Kazan.
Suddenly he leaned forward, with both hands on his knees, and for a
tense moment or two he seemed to forget that Isobel Thorpe's wonderful
blue eyes were looking at him.
"Hoo-koosh, Pedro--_charge_!"
That one word--_charge_--was taught only to the dogs in the service of
the Northwest Mounted Police. Kazan did not move. McCready straightened,
and quick as a shot sent the long lash of his whip curling out into the
night with a crack like a pistol report.
"Charge, Pedro--_charge_!"
The rumble in Kazan's throat deepened to a snarling growl, but not a
muscle of his body moved. McCready turned to Thorpe.
"I could have sworn that I knew that dog," he said. "If it's Pedro, he's
_bad_!"
Thorpe was taking the chain. Only the girl saw the look that came for an
instant into McCready's face. It made her shiver. A few minutes before,
when the train had first stopped at Les Pas, she had offered her hand
to this man and she had seen the same thing then. But even as she
shuddered she recalled the many things her husband had told her of the
forest people. She had grown to love them, to admire their big rough
manhood and loyal hearts, before he had brought her among them; and
suddenly she smiled at McCready, struggling to overcome that thrill of
fear and dislike.
"He doesn't like you," she laughed at him softly. "Won't you make
friends with him?"
She drew Kazan toward him, with Thorpe holding the end of the chain.
McCready came to her side as she bent over the dog. His back was to
Thorpe as he hunched down. Isobel's bowed head was within a foot of his
face. He could see the glow in her cheek and the pouting curve of her
mouth as she quieted the low rumbling in Kazan's throat. Thorpe stood
ready to pull back on the chain, but for a moment McCready was between
him and his wife, and he could not see McCready's face. The man's eyes
were not on Kazan. He was staring at the girl.
"You're brave," he said. "I don't dare do that. He would take off my
hand!"
He took the lantern from Thorpe and led the way to a narrow snow-path
branching off, from the track. Hidden back in the thick spruce was the
camp that Thorpe had left a fortnight before. There were two tents there
now in place of the one that he and his guide had used. A big fire was
burning in front of them. Close to the fire was a long sledge, and
fastened to trees just within the outer circle of firelight Kazan saw
the shadowy forms and gleaming eyes of his team-mates. He stood stiff
and motionless while Thorpe fastened him to a sledge. Once more he was
back in his forests--and in command. His mistress was laughing and
clapping her hands delightedly in the excitement of the strange and
wonderful life of which she had now become a part. Thorpe had thrown
back the flap of their tent, and she was entering ahead of him. She did
not look back. She spoke no word to him. He whined, and turned his red
eyes on McCready.
In the tent Thorpe was saying:
"I'm sorry old Jackpine wouldn't go back with us, Issy. He drove me
down, but for love or money I couldn't get him to return. He's a Mission
Indian, and I'd give a month's salary to have you see him handle the
dogs. I'm not sure about this man McCready. He's a queer chap, the
Company's agent here tells me, and knows the woods like a book. But dogs
don't like a stranger. Kazan isn't going to take to him worth a cent!"
Kazan heard the girl's voice, and stood rigid and motionless listening
to it. He did not hear or see McCready when he came up stealthily behind
him. The man's voice came as suddenly as a shot at his heels.
"_Pedro_!"
In an instant Kazan cringed as if touched by a lash.
"Got you that time--didn't I, you old devil!" whispered McCready, his
face strangely pale in the firelight. "Changed your name, eh? But I
_got_ you--didn't I?"
CHAPTER III
McCREADY PAYS THE DEBT
For a long time after he had uttered those words McCready sat in silence
beside the fire. Only for a moment or two at a time did his eyes leave
Kazan. After a little, when he was sure that Thorpe and Isobel had
retired for the night, he went into his own tent and returned with a
flask of whisky. During the next half-hour he drank frequently. Then he
went over and sat on the end of the sledge, just beyond the reach of
Kazan's chain.
"Got you, didn't I?" he repeated, the effect of the liquor beginning to
show in the glitter of his eyes. "Wonder who changed your name, Pedro.
And how the devil did _he_ come by you? Ho, ho, if you could only
talk--"
They heard Thorpe's voice inside the tent. It was followed by a low
girlish peal of laughter, and McCready jerked himself erect. His face
blazed suddenly red, and he rose to his feet, dropping the flask in his
coat pocket. Walking around the fire, he tiptoed cautiously to the
shadow of a tree close to the tent and stood there for many minutes
listening. His eyes burned with a fiery madness when he returned to the
sledge and Kazan. It was midnight before he went into his own tent.
In the warmth of the fire, Kazan's eyes slowly closed. He slumbered
uneasily, and his brain was filled with troubled pictures. At times he
was fighting, and his jaws snapped. At others he was straining at the
end of his chain, with McCready or his mistress just out of reach. He
felt the gentle touch of the girl's hand again and heard the wonderful
sweetness of her voice as she sang to him and his master, and his body
trembled and twitched with the thrills that had filled him that night.
And then the picture changed. He was running at the head of a splendid
team--six dogs of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police--and his master was
calling him Pedro! The scene shifted. They were in camp. His master was
young and smooth-faced and he helped from the sledge another man whose
hands were fastened in front of him by curious black rings. Again it was
later--and he was lying before a great fire. His master was sitting
opposite him, with his back to a tent, and as he looked, there came out
of the tent the man with the black rings--only now the rings were gone
and his hands were free, and in one of them he carried a heavy club. He
heard the terrible blow of the club as it fell on his master's head--and
the sound of it aroused him from his restless sleep.
He sprang to his feet, his spine stiffening and a snarl in his throat.
The fire had died down and the camp was in the darker gloom that
precedes dawn. Through that gloom Kazan saw McCready. Again he was
standing close to the tent of his mistress, and he knew now that this
was the man who had worn the black iron rings, and that it was he who
had beaten him with whip and club for many long days after he had killed
his master. McCready heard the menace in his throat and came back
quickly to the fire. He began to whistle and draw the half-burned logs
together, and as the fire blazed up afresh he shouted to awaken Thorp
and Isobel. In a few minutes Thorpe appeared at the tent-flap and his
wife followed him out. Her loose hair rippled in billows of gold about
her shoulders and she sat down on the sledge, close to Kazan, and began
brushing it. McCready came up behind her and fumbled among the packages
on the sledge. As if by accident one of his hands buried itself for an
instant in the rich tresses that flowed down her back. She did not at
first feel the caressing touch of his fingers, and Thorpe's back was
toward them.
Only Kazan saw the stealthy movement of the hand, the fondling clutch of
the fingers in her hair, and the mad passion burning in the eyes of the
man. Quicker than a lynx, the dog had leaped the length of his chain
across the sledge. McCready sprang back just in time, and as Kazan
reached the end of his chain he was jerked back so that his body struck
sidewise against the girl. Thorpe had turned in time to see the end of
the leap. He believed that Kazan had sprung at Isobel, and in his horror
no word or cry escaped his lips as he dragged her from where she had
half fallen over the sledge. He saw that she was not hurt, and he
reached for his revolver. It was in his holster in the tent. At his feet
was McCready's whip, and in the passion of the moment he seized it and
sprang upon Kazan. The dog crouched in the snow. He made no move to
escape or to attack. Only once in his life could he remember having
received a beating like that which Thorpe inflicted upon him now. But
not a whimper or a growl escaped him.
[Illustration: "Not another blow!"]
And then, suddenly, his mistress ran forward and caught the whip poised
above Thorpe's head.
"Not another blow!" she cried, and something in her voice held him from
striking. McCready did not hear what she said then, but a strange look
came into Thorpe's eyes, and without a word he followed his wife into
their tent.
"Kazan did not leap at me," she whispered, and she was trembling with a
sudden excitement. Her face was deathly white. "That man was behind me,"
she went on, clutching her husband by the arm. "I felt him touch me--and
then Kazan sprang. He wouldn't bite _me_. It's the _man_! There's
something--wrong--"
She was almost sobbing, and Thorpe drew her close in his arms.
"I hadn't thought before--but it's strange," he said. "Didn't McCready
say something about knowing the dog? It's possible. Perhaps he's had
Kazan before and abused him in a way that the dog has not forgotten.
To-morrow I'll find out. But until I know--will you promise to keep away
from Kazan?"
Isobel gave the promise. When they came out from the tent Kazan lifted
his great head. The stinging lash had closed one of his eyes and his
mouth was dripping blood. Isobel gave a low sob, but did not go near
him. Half blinded, he knew that his mistress had stopped his punishment,
and he whined softly, and wagged his thick tail in the snow.