* * * * *
Father Adam stood with mitted hands thrust up above his head. He was gazing into the smiling eyes of a man no less dark than himself. There were three others confronting him, and each was armed with a stubby, automatic pistol which covered his body.
“Guess Hellbeam’s waiting for you over the other side, Mr. Leslie Martin, or Standing, or Father Adam, as you choose to call yourself. He’s waited a long time. But you ain’t tired him out. Guess your game’s up.”
The missionary smiled back into Idepski’s derisive eyes.
“You can drop your hands,” the agent went on. “We’ve got your gun. And I guess you’ll be kind of tired before we get you to the coast. You’re going to find things a heap tougher than No. 10 Camp—where you sent me. You surely are.”
The missionary was startled.
“Yep. There’s going to be no play game this time. Hellbeam’s yacht’s waiting on you. You’ll take the sea trip. It’s safer that way.”
The mitted hands had dropped to the missionary’s sides. He moistened his lips, which seemed to have become curiously dry. Once, and once only, there was a flicker of the eyes as he looked into the face of his captor. Otherwise he gave no sign. His time had come. He knew that. He had always known it would come. There was neither heat nor resentment in him against these men who had finally hunted him down.
“How do we travel?” he asked quietly. “You’ve shot up my leader.”
The other nodded. He understood the tone of complaint and regret in which the trail man spoke of his dog. He grinned maliciously.
“We’ll shoot up the rest for you. They’d only feed the wolves if we left ’em. We’ve two dog trains with us. Don’t let that worry. You best get your kit loosed from your sled.”
The prisoner turned to obey, but the agent changed his mind. He laughed.
“No. Guess the boys can fix that. It’s safer that way. You move right on into yonder bluff. And you best not try making any break. There ain’t only Hellbeam in this. I haven’t forgotten—No. 10 Camp. Your game’s plumb up.”
“Yes, plumb up.”
Father Adam obeyed. He moved away, followed closely by the man who had hunted him for so many years. There was no escape. He knew that. The reckoning he had always foreseen had overtaken him. So, without a word of protest, he passed for the last time into the twilight of the woods.
The Heart of Unaga
Author of “The Way of the Strong,” etc.
Many a stalwart deed has been done and many a brave tale told of the forbidding but romantic North-land, but seldom has an author so combined a tale of love, adventure, and strong swift action with mystery.