The White Desert | Page 9

and sought to move an arm,--only again
to desist in pain. He tried the other, and it responded. The covers were
lowered, and Barry's eyes stared down upon a bandaged, splinted left
arm. Broken.
He grunted with surprise, then somewhat doggedly began an inspection
of the rest of his human machine. Gingerly he wiggled one toe beneath
the blankets. It seemed to be in working order. He tried the others, with

the same result. Then followed his legs--and the glorious knowledge
that they still were intact. His one free hand reached for his head and
felt it. It was there, plus a few bandages, which however, from their
size, gave Barry little concern. The inventory completed, he turned his
head at the sound of a voice--hers--calling from the doorway to some
one without.
"He's getting along fine, Ba'tiste." Barry liked the tone and the
enthusiastic manner of speaking. "His fever's gone down. I should
think--"
"Ah, oui!" had come the answer in booming bass. "And has he, what
you say, come to?"
"Not yet. But I think he ought to, soon."
"Oui! Heem no ver' bad. He be all right tomorrow."
"That's good. It frightened me, for him to be unconscious so long. It's
been five or six hours now, hasn't it?"
"Lemme see. I fin' heem six o'clock. Now--eet is the noon. Six hour."
"That's long enough. Besides, I think he's sleeping now. Come inside
and see--"
"Wait, m' enfant. M'sieu Thayer he come in the minute. He say he think
he know heem."
The eyes of Barry Houston suddenly lost their curiosity. Thayer? That
could mean only one Thayer! Barry had taken particular pains to keep
from him the information that he was anywhere except the East. For it
had been Fred Thayer who had caused Barry to travel across country in
his yellow speedster, Thayer who had formed the reason for the
displacement of that name plate at the beginning of Hazard Pass,
Thayer who--
"Know him? Is he a friend?"

"Oui. So Thayer say. He say he think eet is the M'sieu Houston, who
own the mill."
"Probably coming out to look over things, then?"
"Oui. Thayer, he say the young man write heem about coming. That is
how he know when I tell heem about picking heem up from the
machine. He say he know M'sieu Houston is coming by the
automobile."
In the other room, Barry Houston blinked rapidly and frowned. He had
written Thayer nothing of the sort. He had-- Suddenly he stared toward
the ceiling in swift-centered thought. Some one else must have sent the
information, some one who wanted Thayer to know that Barry was on
the way, so that there would be no surprise in his coming, some one
who realized that his mission was that of investigation!
The names of two persons flashed across his mind, one to be dismissed
immediately, the other--
"I'll fire Jenkins the minute I get back!" came vindictively. "I'll--."
He choked his words. A query had come from the next room.
"Was that heem talking?"
"No, I don't think so. He groans every once in a while. Wait--I'll look."
The injured man closed his eyes quickly, as he heard the girl approach
the door, not to open them until she had departed. Barry was thinking
and thinking hard. A moment later--
"How's the patient?" It was a new voice, one which Barry Houston
remembered from years agone, when he, a wide-eyed boy in his father's
care, first had viewed the intricacies of a mountain sawmill, had
wandered about the bunk houses, and ridden the great, skidding
bobsleds with the lumberjacks in the spruce forests, on a
never-forgotten trip of inspection. It was Thayer, the same Thayer that

he once had looked upon with all the enthusiasm and pride of boyhood,
but whom he now viewed with suspicion and distrust. Thayer had
brought him out here, without realizing it. Yet Thayer had known that
he was on the way. And Thayer must be combatted--but how? The
voice went on, "Gained consciousness yet?"
"No." The girl had answered. "That is--"
"Of course, then, he hasn't been able to talk. Pretty sure it's Houston,
though. Went over and took a look at the machine. Colorado license on
it, but the plates look pretty new, and there are fresh marks on the
license holders where others have been taken off recently. Evidently
just bought a Colorado tag, figuring that he'd be out here for some time.
How'd you find him?"
The bass voice of the man referred to as Ba'tiste gave the answer, and
Barry listened with interest. Evidently he had struggled to his feet at
some time during the night--though he could not remember it--and
striven to find his way down the mountain side in the darkness, for the
story