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Tycho, v. 1, issue 1, June 1942

Page 8

Page 8  TYCHO

of it's true! There isn't a man Indian or White, that'll pass within five miles of the place. Ain't that true, boys?" A murmur of assent came from men around but there was the noise of a chair being shoved back and a large man, much the worse for the drink, heaved himself to his feet.

He stood up, with his legs wide-straddled apart, his rough hair bristling back on his head, and his heavy, black beard shoved defiantly in front of him. 

"Don't count me in with the rest of yuh." he rumbled. "I'm MacGregor. I go where I want and I do what I please; and no god, man or devil is big enough to stop me!"

Looking at him, few found the disbelief and courage to contradict him. All the trappers knew him, and because they also liked him, tried to shield him from any direct challenge to his courage when he was drunk. It was quite true that he was proverbial in the territory for his lack of fear. Sober, he never would have shown any pride or undue interest in the matter. When drunk, however, he was a loaded gun, hair-triggered for the slightest provocation. Ordinarily, his challenge would have gone unnoticed by all the men, but tonight the little man himself was heated by liquor and the presence of Morton. He yapped at MacGregor like a terrier at a mastiff.

"I say there isn't a man here that'll go near Pine Island." MacGregor rolled forward, his shoulders hunched.

"And I say that I'll go into it and put my mark on the highest tree in the island." But the rest of the men had sprung to their feet and were engaged in pacifying the two men.

"Go on," said one to the little man, "Tell him he can do it. Do you want him to go up there?" The men quieted down to let the small man speak. He opened his mouth to pacify MacGregor and in that moment, Morton laughed derisively, lifting his upper lip scornfully to reveal long, yellow teeth. The sound taunted the little man with being a liar and a weakling; and he was stung to a fury. His face contorted and his words came to lash like a whip across MacGregor's face:

"Then let's see you do it!"

MacGregor turned, and sweeping the men who got in his way to one side as if they had been autumn leaves, he strode to the wall and took down his snowshoes, then disappeared into the night. Inside the post, a storm of maledictions broke on the head of the small man as the angry men milled around him.

"Even without the beast, the wolves might get him."

"Besides that, he's liquored up and may freeze to death."

"If he dies, you've killed him!"

At first, the little man defended himself volubly:

"It's his own fault. I was sick of his boasting how he wasn't afraid of nothing." he shrilled. But as the argument continued, he weakened and began searching for excuses. Finally, he put the blame on Morton.

"Morton started the whole thing; where is he?"

"Morton, where the hell are yuh?" the men looked around.

"Where'd he go, Bill?"

"I dunno," answered the trader, "I didn't see him leave." The boiled out of the post into the snowy clearing.

"Look for Mac's tracks," called Bill.

"Here they are," answered a man from the edge of the clearing. "And there're other tracks

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Page 8 TYCHO of it's true! There isn't a man Indian or White, that'll pass within five miles of the place. Ain't that true, boys?" A murmur of assent came from men around but there was the noise of a chair being shoved back and a large man, much the worse for the drink, heaved himself to his feet. He stood up, with his legs wide-straddled apart, his rough hair bristling back on his head, and his heavy, black beard shoved defiantly in front of him. "Don't count me in with the rest of yuh." he rumbled. "I'm MacGregor. I go where I want and I do what I please; and no god, man or devil is big enough to stop me!" Looking at him, few found the disbelief and courage to contradict him. All the trappers knew him, and because they also liked him, tried to shield him from any direct challenge to his courage when he was drunk. It was quite true that he was proverbial in the territory for his lack of fear. Sober, he never would have shown any pride or undue interest in the matter. When drunk, however, he was a loaded gun, hair-triggered for the slightest provocation. Ordinarily, his challenge would have gone unnoticed by all the men, but tonight the little man himself was heated by liquor and the presence of Morton. He yapped at MacGregor like a terrier at a mastiff. "I say there isn't a man here that'll go near Pine Island." MacGregor rolled forward, his shoulders hunched. "And I say that I'll go into it and put my mark on the highest tree in the island." But the rest of the men had sprung to their feet and were engaged in pacifying the two men. "Go on," said one to the little man, "Tell him he can do it. Do you want him to go up there?" The men quieted down to let the small man speak. He opened his mouth to pacify MacGregor and in that moment, Morton laughed derisively, lifting his upper lip scornfully to reveal long, yellow teeth. The sound taunted the little man with being a liar and a weakling; and he was stung to a fury. His face contorted and his words came to lash like a whip across MacGregor's face: "Then let's see you do it!" MacGregor turned, and sweeping the men who got in his way to one side as if they had been autumn leaves, he strode to the wall and took down his snowshoes, then disappeared into the night. Inside the post, a storm of maledictions broke on the head of the small man as the angry men milled around him. "Even without the beast, the wolves might get him." "Besides that, he's liquored up and may freeze to death." "If he dies, you've killed him!" At first, the little man defended himself volubly: "It's his own fault. I was sick of his boasting how he wasn't afraid of nothing." he shrilled. But as the argument continued, he weakened and began searching for excuses. Finally, he put the blame on Morton. "Morton started the whole thing; where is he?" "Morton, where the hell are yuh?" the men looked around. "Where'd he go, Bill?" "I dunno," answered the trader, "I didn't see him leave." The boiled out of the post into the snowy clearing. "Look for Mac's tracks," called Bill. "Here they are," answered a man from the edge of the clearing. "And there're other tracks