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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:38:15 -0700 |
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diff --git a/11867-h/11867-h.htm b/11867-h/11867-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..058fe3e --- /dev/null +++ b/11867-h/11867-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10946 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Alaskan, by James Oliver Curwood</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +p.caption {font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11867 ***</div> + +<h1>The Alaskan</h1> + +<h3>A Novel of the North</h3> + +<h2 class="no-break">By JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD</h2> + +<h4>With Illustrations by Walt Louderback</h4> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="letter"> +To the strong-hearted men and women of Alaska, +the new empire rising in the North, it is for me +an honor and a privilege to dedicate this work. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>Owosso, Michigan<br /> +August 1, 1923</i> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="331"></a> +<img src="images/331.jpg" width="399" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">It was as if the man was deliberately insulting her.</p> +</div> + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#331">It was as if the man was deliberately insulting her.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#332">The long, black launch nosed its way out to sea.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#333">The man wore a gun ... within reach of his hand.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#334">Mary sobbed as the man she loved faced winged death.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>THE ALASKAN</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p> +Captain Rifle, gray and old in the Alaskan Steamship service, had not lost the +spirit of his youth along with his years. Romance was not dead in him, and the +fire which is built up of clean adventure and the association of strong men and +a mighty country had not died out of his veins. He could still see the +picturesque, feel the thrill of the unusual, and—at times—warm +memories crowded upon him so closely that yesterday seemed today, and Alaska +was young again, thrilling the world with her wild call to those who had +courage to come and fight for her treasures, and live—or die. +</p> + +<p> +Tonight, with the softly musical throb of his ship under his feet, and the +yellow moon climbing up from behind the ramparts of the Alaskan mountains, +something of loneliness seized upon him, and he said simply: +</p> + +<p> +“That is Alaska.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl standing beside him at the rail did not turn, nor for a moment did she +answer. He could see her profile clear-cut as a cameo in the almost vivid +light, and in that light her eyes were wide and filled with a dusky fire, and +her lips were parted a little, and her slim body was tense as she looked at the +wonder of the moon silhouetting the cragged castles of the peaks, up where the +soft, gray clouds lay like shimmering draperies. +</p> + +<p> +Then she turned her face a little and nodded. “Yes, Alaska,” she +said, and the old captain fancied there was the slightest ripple of a tremor in +her voice. “Your Alaska, Captain Rifle.” +</p> + +<p> +Out of the clearness of the night came to them a distant sound like the low +moan of thunder. Twice before, Mary Standish had heard it, and now she asked: +“What was that? Surely it can not be a storm, with the moon like that, +and the stars so clear above!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is ice breaking from the glaciers and falling into the sea. We are in +the Wrangel Narrows, and very near the shore, Miss Standish. If it were day you +could hear the birds singing. This is what we call the Inside Passage. I have +always called it the water-wonderland of the world, and yet, if you will +observe, I must be mistaken—for we are almost alone on this side of the +ship. Is it not proof? If I were right, the men and women in +there—dancing, playing cards, chattering—would be crowding this +rail. Can you imagine humans like that? But they can’t see what I see, +for I am a ridiculous old fool who remembers things. Ah, do you catch that in +the air, Miss Standish—the perfume of flowers, of forests, of green +things ashore? It is faint, but I catch it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so do I.” +</p> + +<p> +She breathed in deeply of the sweet air, and turned then, so that she stood +with her back to the rail, facing the flaming lights of the ship. +</p> + +<p> +The mellow cadence of the music came to her, soft-stringed and sleepy; she +could hear the shuffle of dancing feet. Laughter rippled with the rhythmic +thrum of the ship, voices rose and fell beyond the lighted windows, and as the +old captain looked at her, there was something in her face which he could not +understand. +</p> + +<p> +She had come aboard strangely at Seattle, alone and almost at the last +minute—defying the necessity of making reservation where half a thousand +others had been turned away—and chance had brought her under his eyes. In +desperation she had appealed to him, and he had discovered a strange terror +under the forced calm of her appearance. Since then he had fathered her with +his attentions, watching closely with the wisdom of years. And more than once +he had observed that questing, defiant poise of her head with which she was +regarding the cabin windows now. +</p> + +<p> +She had told him she was twenty-three and on her way to meet relatives in Nome. +She had named certain people. And he had believed her. It was impossible not to +believe her, and he admired her pluck in breaking all official regulations in +coming aboard. +</p> + +<p> +In many ways she was companionable and sweet. Yet out of his experience, he +gathered the fact that she was under a tension. He knew that in some way she +was making a fight, but, influenced by the wisdom of three and sixty years, he +did not let her know he had guessed the truth. +</p> + +<p> +He watched her closely now, without seeming to do so. She was very pretty in a +quiet and unusual way. There was something irresistibly attractive about her, +appealing to old memories which were painted clearly in his heart. She was +girlishly slim. He had observed that her eyes were beautifully clear and gray +in the sunlight, and her exquisitely smooth dark hair, neatly coiled and +luxuriant crown of beauty, reminded him of puritanism in its simplicity. At +times he doubted that she was twenty-three. If she had said nineteen or twenty +he would have been better satisfied. She puzzled him and roused speculation in +him. But it was a part of his business to see many things which others might +not see—and hold his tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“We are not quite alone,” she was saying. “There are +others,” and she made a little gesture toward two figures farther up the +rail. +</p> + +<p> +“Old Donald Hardwick, of Skagway,” he said. “And the other is +Alan Holt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +She was facing the mountains again, her eyes shining in the light of the moon. +Gently her hand touched the old captain’s arm. “Listen,” she +whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Another berg breaking away from Old Thunder. We are very near the shore, +and there are glaciers all the way up.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that other sound, like low wind—on a night so still and calm! +What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You always hear that when very close to the big mountains, Miss +Standish. It is made by the water of a thousand streams and rivulets rushing +down to the sea. Wherever there is melting snow in the mountains, you hear that +song.” +</p> + +<p> +“And this man, Alan Holt,” she reminded him. “He is a part of +these things?” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly more than any other man, Miss Standish. He was born in Alaska +before Nome or Fairbanks or Dawson City were thought of. It was in Eighty-four, +I think. Let me see, that would make him—” +</p> + +<p> +“Thirty-eight,” she said, so quickly that for a moment he was +astonished. +</p> + +<p> +Then he chuckled. “You are very good at figures.” +</p> + +<p> +He felt an almost imperceptible tightening of her fingers on his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“This evening, just after dinner, old Donald found me sitting alone. He +said he was lonely and wanted to talk with someone—like me. He almost +frightened me, with his great, gray beard and shaggy hair. I thought of ghosts +as we talked there in the dusk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Old Donald belongs to the days when the Chilkoot and the White Horse ate +up men’s lives, and a trail of living dead led from the Summit to +Klondike, Miss Standish,” said Captain Rifle. “You will meet many +like him in Alaska. And they remember. You can see it in their +faces—always the memory of those days that are gone.” +</p> + +<p> +She bowed her head a little, looking to the sea. “And Alan Holt? You know +him well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Few men know him well. He is a part of Alaska itself, and I have +sometimes thought him more aloof than the mountains. But I know him. All +northern Alaska knows Alan Holt. He has a reindeer range up beyond the Endicott +Mountains and is always seeking the last frontier.” +</p> + +<p> +“He must be very brave.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alaska breeds heroic men, Miss Standish.” +</p> + +<p> +“And honorable men—men you can trust and believe in?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is odd,” she said, with a trembling little laugh that was like +a bird-note in her throat. “I have never seen Alaska before, and yet +something about these mountains makes me feel that I have known them a long +time ago. I seem to feel they are welcoming me and that I am going home. Alan +Holt is a fortunate man. I should like to be an Alaskan.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you are—” +</p> + +<p> +“An American,” she finished for him, a sudden, swift irony in her +voice. “A poor product out of the melting-pot, Captain Rifle. I am going +north—to learn.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only that, Miss Standish?” +</p> + +<p> +His question, quietly spoken and without emphasis, demanded an answer. His +kindly face, seamed by the suns and winds of many years at sea, was filled with +honest anxiety as she turned to look straight into his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I must press the question,” he said. “As the captain of this +ship, and as a father, it is my duty. Is there not something you would like to +tell me—in confidence, if you will have it so?” +</p> + +<p> +For an instant she hesitated, then slowly she shook her head. “There is +nothing, Captain Rifle.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet—you came aboard very strangely,” he urged. +“You will recall that it was most unusual—without reservation, +without baggage—” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget the hand-bag,” she reminded him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but one does not start for northern Alaska with only a hand-bag +scarcely large enough to contain a change of linen, Miss Standish.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I did, Captain Rifle.” +</p> + +<p> +“True. And I saw you fighting past the guards like a little wildcat. It +was without precedent.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry. But they were stupid and difficult to pass.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only by chance did I happen to see it all, my child. Otherwise the +ship’s regulations would have compelled me to send you ashore. You were +frightened. You can not deny that. You were running away from something!” +</p> + +<p> +He was amazed at the childish simplicity with which she answered him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I was running away—from something.” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes were beautifully clear and unafraid, and yet again he sensed the +thrill of the fight she was making. +</p> + +<p> +“And you will not tell me why—or from what you were +escaping?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can not—tonight. I may do so before we reach Nome. But—it +is possible—” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“That I shall never reach Nome.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she caught one of his hands in both her own. Her fingers clung to him, +and with a little note of fierceness in her voice she hugged the hand to her +breast. “I know just how good you have been to me,” she cried. +“I should like to tell you why I came aboard—like that. But I can +not. Look! Look at those wonderful mountains!” With one free hand she +pointed. +</p> + +<p> +“Behind them and beyond them lie the romance and adventure and mystery of +centuries, and for nearly thirty years you have been very near those things, +Captain Rifle. No man will ever see again what you have seen or feel what you +have felt, or forget what you have had to forget. I know it. And after all +that, can’t you—won’t you—forget the strange manner in +which I came aboard this ship? It is such a simple, little thing to put out of +your mind, so trivial, so unimportant when you look back—and think. +Please Captain Rifle—please!” +</p> + +<p> +So quickly that he scarcely sensed the happening of it she pressed his hand to +her lips. Their warm thrill came and went in an instant, leaving him +speechless, his resolution gone. +</p> + +<p> +“I love you because you have been so good to me,” she whispered, +and as suddenly as she had kissed his hand, she was gone, leaving him alone at +the rail. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p> +Alan Holt saw the slim figure of the girl silhouetted against the vivid light +of the open doorway of the upper-deck salon. He was not watching her, nor did +he look closely at the exceedingly attractive picture which she made as she +paused there for an instant after leaving Captain Rifle. To him she was only +one of the five hundred human atoms that went to make up the tremendously +interesting life of one of the first ships of the season going north. Fate, +through the suave agency of the purser, had brought him into a bit closer +proximity to her than the others; that was all. For two days her seat in the +dining-salon had been at the same table, not quite opposite him. As she had +missed both breakfast hours, and he had skipped two luncheons, the requirements +of neighborliness and of courtesy had not imposed more than a dozen words of +speech upon them. This was very satisfactory to Alan. He was not talkative or +communicative of his own free will. There was a certain cynicism back of his +love of silence. He was a good listener and a first-rate analyst. Some people, +he knew, were born to talk; and others, to trim the balance, were burdened with +the necessity of holding their tongues. For him silence was not a burden. +</p> + +<p> +In his cool and causal way he admired Mary Standish. She was very quiet, and he +liked her because of that. He could not, of course, escape the beauty of her +eyes or the shimmering luster of the long lashes that darkened them. But these +were details which did not thrill him, but merely pleased him. And her hair +pleased him possibly even more than her gray eyes, though he was not +sufficiently concerned to discuss the matter with himself. But if he had +pointed out any one thing, it would have been her hair—not so much the +color of it as the care she evidently gave it, and the manner in which she +dressed it. He noted that it was dark, with varying flashes of luster in it +under the dinner lights. But what he approved of most of all were the smooth, +silky coils in which she fastened it to her pretty head. It was an intense +relief after looking on so many frowsy heads, bobbed and marcelled, during his +six months’ visit in the States. So he liked her, generally speaking, +because there was not a thing about her that he might dislike. +</p> + +<p> +He did not, of course, wonder what the girl might be thinking of him—with +his quiet, stern face, his cold indifference, his rather Indian-like litheness, +and the single patch of gray that streaked his thick, blond hair. His interest +had not reached anywhere near that point. +</p> + +<p> +Tonight it was probable that no woman in the world could have interested him, +except as the always casual observer of humanity. Another and greater thing +gripped him and had thrilled him since he first felt the throbbing pulse of the +engines of the new steamship <i>Nome</i> under his feet at Seattle. He was +going <i>home</i>. And home meant Alaska. It meant the mountains, the vast +tundras, the immeasurable spaces into which civilization had not yet come with +its clang and clamor. It meant friends, the stars he knew, his herds, +everything he loved. Such was his reaction after six months of exile, six +months of loneliness and desolation in cities which he had learned to hate. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll not make the trip again—not for a whole +winter—unless I’m sent at the point of a gun,” he said to +Captain Rifle, a few moments after Mary Standish had left the deck. “An +Eskimo winter is long enough, but one in Seattle, Minneapolis, Chicago, and New +York is longer—for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand they had you up before the Committee on Ways and Means at +Washington.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, along with Carl Lomen, of Nome. But Lomen was the real man. He has +forty thousand head of reindeer in the Seward Peninsula, and they had to listen +to him. We may get action.” +</p> + +<p> +“May!” Captain Rifle grunted his doubt. “Alaska has been +waiting ten years for a new deck and a new deal. I doubt if you’ll get +anything. When politicians from Iowa and south Texas tell us what we can have +and what we need north of Fifty-eight—why, what’s the use? Alaska +might as well shut up shop!” +</p> + +<p> +“But she isn’t going to do that,” said Alan Holt, his face +grimly set in the moonlight. “They’ve tried hard to get us, and +they’ve made us shut up a lot of our doors. In 1910 we were thirty-six +thousand whites in the Territory. Since then the politicians at Washington have +driven out nine thousand, a quarter of the population. But those that are left +are hard-boiled. We’re not going to quit, Captain. A lot of us are +Alaskans, and we are not afraid to fight.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean—” +</p> + +<p> +“That we’ll have a square deal within another five years, or know +the reason why. And another five years after that, we’ll he shipping a +million reindeer carcasses down into the States each year. Within twenty years +we’ll be shipping five million. Nice thought for the beef barons, eh? But +rather fortunate, I think, for the hundred million Americans who are turning +their grazing lands into farms and irrigation systems.” +</p> + +<p> +One of Alan Holt’s hands was clenched at the rail. “Until I went +down this winter, I didn’t realize just how bad it was,” he said, a +note hard as iron in his voice. “Lomen is a diplomat, but I’m not. +I want to fight when I see such things—fight with a gun. Because we +happened to find gold up here, they think Alaska is an orange to be sucked as +quickly as possible, and that when the sucking process is over, the skin will +be worthless. That’s modern, dollar-chasing Americanism for you!” +</p> + +<p> +“And are you not an American, Mr. Holt?” +</p> + +<p> +So soft and near was the voice that both men started. Then both turned and +stared. Close behind them, her quiet, beautiful face flooded with the +moon-glow, stood Mary Standish. +</p> + +<p> +“You ask me a question, madam,” said Alan Holt, bowing courteously. +“No, I am not an American. I am an Alaskan.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s lips were parted. Her eyes were very bright and clear. +“Please pardon me for listening,” she said. “I couldn’t +help it. I am an American. I love America. I think I love it more than anything +else in the world—more than my religion, even. <i>America,</i> Mr. Holt. +And America doesn’t necessarily mean a great many of America’s +people. I love to think that I first came ashore in the <i>Mayflower</i>. That +is why my name is Standish. And I just wanted to remind you that Alaska +<i>is</i> America.” +</p> + +<p> +Alan Holt was a bit amazed. The girl’s face was no longer placidly quiet. +Her eyes were radiant. He sensed the repressed thrill in her voice, and he knew +that in the light of day he would have seen fire in her cheeks. He smiled, and +in that smile he could not quite keep back the cynicism of his thought. +</p> + +<p> +“And what do you know about Alaska, Miss Standish?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” she said. “And yet I love it.” She pointed +to the mountains. “I wish I might have been born among them. You are +fortunate. You should love America.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alaska, you mean!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, America.” There was a flashing challenge in her eyes. She was +not speaking apologetically. Her meaning was direct. +</p> + +<p> +The irony on Alan’s lips died away. With a little laugh he bowed again. +“If I am speaking to a daughter of Captain Miles Standish, who came over +in the <i>Mayflower</i>, I stand reproved,” he said. “You should be +an authority on Americanism, if I am correct in surmising your +relationship.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are correct,” she replied with a proud, little tilt of her +glossy head, “though I think that only lately have I come to an +understanding of its significance—and its responsibility. I ask your +pardon again for interrupting you. It was not premeditated. It just +happened.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not wait for either of them to speak, but flashed the two a swift smile +and passed down the promenade. +</p> + +<p> +The music had ceased and the cabins at last were emptying themselves of life. +</p> + +<p> +“A remarkable young woman,” Alan remarked. “I imagine that +the spirit of Captain Miles Standish may be a little proud of this particular +olive-branch. A chip off the old block, you might say. One would almost suppose +he had married Priscilla and this young lady was a definite though rather +indirect result.” +</p> + +<p> +He had a curious way of laughing without any more visible manifestation of +humor than spoken words. It was a quality in his voice which one could not +miss, and at times, when ironically amused, it carried a sting which he did not +altogether intend. +</p> + +<p> +In another moment Mary Standish was forgotten, and he was asking the captain a +question which was in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +“The itinerary of this ship is rather confused, is it not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—rather,” acknowledged Captain Rifle. “Hereafter +she will ply directly between Seattle and Nome. But this time we’re doing +the Inside Passage to Juneau and Skagway and will make the Aleutian Passage via +Cordova and Seward. A whim of the owners, which they haven’t seen fit to +explain to me. Possibly the Canadian junket aboard may have something to do +with it. We’re landing them at Skagway, where they make the Yukon by way +of White Horse Pass. A pleasure trip for flabby people nowadays, Holt. I can +remember—” +</p> + +<p> +“So can I,” nodded Alan Holt, looking at the mountains beyond which +lay the dead-strewn trails of the gold stampede of a generation before. +“I remember. And old Donald is dreaming of that hell of death back there. +He was all choked up tonight. I wish he might forget.” +</p> + +<p> +“Men don’t forget such women as Jane Hope,” said the captain +softly. +</p> + +<p> +“You knew her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. She came up with her father on my ship. That was twenty-five years +ago last autumn, Alan. A long time, isn’t it? And when I look at Mary +Standish and hear her voice—” He hesitated, as if betraying a +secret, and then he added: “—I can’t help thinking of the +girl Donald Hardwick fought for and won in that death-hole at White Horse. +It’s too bad she had to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“She isn’t dead,” said Alan. The hardness was gone from his +voice. “She isn’t dead,” he repeated. “That’s the +pity of it. She is as much a living thing to him today as she was twenty years +ago.” +</p> + +<p> +After a moment the captain said, “She was talking with him early this +evening, Alan.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Captain Miles Standish, you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. There seems to be something about her that amuses you.” +</p> + +<p> +Alan shrugged his shoulders. “Not at all. I think she is a most admirable +young person. Will you have a cigar, Captain? I’m going to promenade a +bit. It does me good to mix in with the sour-doughs.” +</p> + +<p> +The two lighted their cigars from a single match, and Alan went his way, while +the captain turned in the direction of his cabin. +</p> + +<p> +To Alan, on this particular night, the steamship <i>Nome</i> was more than a +thing of wood and steel. It was a living, pulsating being, throbbing with the +very heart-beat of Alaska. The purr of the mighty engines was a human +intelligence crooning a song of joy. For him the crowded passenger list held a +significance that was almost epic, and its names represented more than mere men +and women. They were the vital fiber of the land he loved, its heart’s +blood, its very element—“giving in.” He knew that with the +throb of those engines romance, adventure, tragedy, and hope were on their way +north—and with these things also arrogance and greed. On board were a +hundred conflicting elements—some that had fought for Alaska, others that +would make her, and others that would destroy. +</p> + +<p> +He puffed at his cigar and walked alone, brushing sleeves with men and women +whom he scarcely seemed to notice. But he was observant. He knew the tourists +almost without looking at them. The spirit of the north had not yet seized upon +them. They were voluble and rather excitedly enthusiastic in the face of beauty +and awesomeness. The sour-doughs were tucked away here and there in shadowy +nooks, watching in silence, or they walked the deck slowly and quietly, smoking +their cigars or pipes, and seeing things beyond the mountains. Between these +two, the newcomers and the old-timers, ran the gamut of all human thrill for +Alan, the flesh-and-blood fiber of everything that went to make up life north +of Fifty-four. And he could have gone from man to man and picked out those who +belonged north of Fifty-eight. +</p> + +<p> +Aft of the smoking-room he paused, tipping the ash of his cigar over the edge +of the rail. A little group of three stood near him, and he recognized them as +the young engineers, fresh from college, going up to work on the government +railroad running from Seward to Tanana. One of them was talking, filled with +the enthusiasm of his first adventure. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you,” he said, “people don’t know what they +ought to know about Alaska. In school they teach us that it’s an eternal +icebox full of gold, and is headquarters for Santa Claus, because that’s +where reindeer come from. And grown-ups think about the same thing. +Why”—he drew in a deep breath—“it’s nine times as +large as the state of Washington, twelve times as big as the state of New York, +and we bought it from Russia for less than two cents an acre. If you put it +down on the face of the United States, the city of Juneau would be in St. +Augustine, Florida, and Unalaska would be in Los Angeles. That’s how big +it is, and the geographical center of our country isn’t Omaha or Sioux +City, but exactly San Francisco, California.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good for you, sonny,” came a quiet voice from beyond the group. +“Your geography is correct. And you might add for the education of your +people that Alaska is only thirty-seven miles from Bolshevik Siberia, and +wireless messages are sent into Alaska by the Bolsheviks urging our people to +rise against the Washington government. We’ve asked Washington for a few +guns and a few men to guard Nome, but they laugh at us. Do you see a +moral?” +</p> + +<p> +From half-amused interest Alan jerked himself to alert tension. He caught a +glimpse of the gaunt, old graybeard who had spoken, but did not know him. And +as this man turned away, a shadowy hulk in the moonlight, the same deep, quiet +voice came back very clearly: +</p> + +<p> +“And if you ever care for Alaska, you might tell your government to hang +a few such men as John Graham, sonny.” +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of that name Alan felt the blood in him run suddenly hot. Only one +man on the face of the earth did he hate with undying hatred, and that man was +John Graham. He would have followed, seeking the identity of the stranger whose +words had temporarily stunned the young engineers, when he saw a slim figure +standing between him and the light of the smoking-room windows. It was Mary +Standish. He knew by her attitude that she had heard the words of the young +engineer and the old graybeard, but she was looking at <i>him</i>. And he could +not remember that he had ever seen quite that same look in a woman’s face +before. It was not fright. It was more an expression of horror which comes from +thought and mental vision rather than physical things. Instantly it annoyed +Alan Holt. This was the second time she had betrayed a too susceptible reaction +in matters which did not concern her. So he said, speaking to the silent young +men a few steps away: +</p> + +<p> +“He was mistaken, gentlemen. John Graham should not be hung. That would +be too merciful.” +</p> + +<p> +He resumed his way then, nodding at them as he passed. But he had scarcely gone +out of their vision when quick footsteps pattered behind him, and the +girl’s hand touched his arm lightly. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Holt, please—” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped, sensing the fact that the soft pressure of her fingers was not +altogether unpleasant. She hesitated, and when she spoke again, only her +finger-tips touched his arm. She was looking shoreward, so that for a moment he +could see only the lustrous richness of her smooth hair. Then she was meeting +his eyes squarely, a flash of challenge in the gray depths of her own. +</p> + +<p> +“I am alone on the ship,” she said. “I have no friends here. +I want to see things and ask questions. Will you ... help me a little?” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean ... escort you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if you will. I should feel more comfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +Nettled at first, the humor of the situation began to appeal to him, and he +wondered at the intense seriousness of the girl. She did not smile. Her eyes +were very steady and very businesslike, and at the same time very lovely. +</p> + +<p> +“The way you put it, I don’t see how I can refuse,” he said. +“As for the questions—probably Captain Rifle can answer them better +than I.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like to trouble him,” she replied. “He has +much to think about. And you are alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, quite alone. And with very little to think about.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know what I mean, Mr. Holt. Possibly you can not understand me, or +won’t try. But I’m going into a new country, and I have a +passionate desire to learn as much about that country as I can before I get +there. I want to know about many things. For instance—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you say what you did about John Graham? What did the other man +mean when he said he should be hung?” +</p> + +<p> +There was an intense directness in her question which for a moment astonished +him. She had withdrawn her fingers from his arm, and her slim figure seemed +possessed of a sudden throbbing suspense as she waited for an answer. They had +turned a little, so that in the light of the moon the almost flowerlike +whiteness of her face was clear to him. With her smooth, shining hair, the +pallor of her face under its lustrous darkness, and the clearness of her eyes +she held Alan speechless for a moment, while his brain struggled to seize upon +and understand the something about her which made him interested in spite of +himself. Then he smiled and there was a sudden glitter in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever see a dog fight?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated, as if trying to remember, and shuddered slightly. +“Once.” +</p> + +<p> +“What happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was my dog—a little dog. His throat was torn—” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded. “Exactly. And that is just what John Graham is doing to +Alaska, Miss Standish. He’s the dog—a monster. Imagine a man with a +colossal financial power behind him, setting out to strip the wealth from a new +land and enslave it to his own desires and political ambitions. That is what +John Graham is doing from his money-throne down there in the States. It’s +the financial support he represents, curse him! Money—and a man without +conscience. A man who would starve thousands or millions to achieve his ends. A +man who, in every sense of the word, is a murderer—” +</p> + +<p> +The sharpness of her cry stopped him. If possible, her face had gone whiter, +and he saw her hands clutched suddenly at her breast. And the look in her eyes +brought the old, cynical twist back to his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“There, I’ve hurt your puritanism again, Miss Standish,” he +said, bowing a little. “In order to appeal to your finer sensibilities I +suppose I must apologize for swearing and calling another man a murderer. Well, +I do. And now—if you care to stroll about the ship—” +</p> + +<p> +From a respectful distance the three young engineers watched Alan and Mary +Standish as they walked forward. +</p> + +<p> +“A corking pretty girl,” said one of them, drawing a deep breath. +“I never saw such hair and eyes—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m at the same table with them,” interrupted another. +“I’m second on her left, and she hasn’t spoken three words to +me. And that fellow she is with is like an icicle out of Labrador.” +</p> + +<p> +And Mary Standish was saying: “Do you know, Mr. Holt, I envy those young +engineers. I wish I were a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you were,” agreed Alan amiably. +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon Mary Standish’s pretty mouth lost its softness for an instant. +But Alan did not observe this. He was enjoying his cigar and the sweet air. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p> +Alan Holt was a man whom other men looked at twice. With women it was +different. He was, in no solitary sense of the word, a woman’s man. He +admired them in an abstract way, and he was ready to fight for them, or die for +them, at any time such a course became necessary. But his sentiment was +entirely a matter of common sense. His chivalry was born and bred of the +mountains and the open and had nothing in common with the insincere brand which +develops in the softer and more luxurious laps of civilization. Years of +aloneness had put their mark upon him. Men of the north, reading the lines, +understood what they meant. But only now and then could a woman possibly +understand. Yet if in any given moment a supreme physical crisis had come, +women would have turned instinctively in their helplessness to such a man as +Alan Holt. +</p> + +<p> +He possessed a vein of humor which few had been privileged to discover. The +mountains had taught him to laugh in silence. With him a chuckle meant as much +as a riotous outburst of merriment from another, and he could enjoy greatly +without any noticeable muscular disturbance of his face. And not always was his +smile a reflection of humorous thought. There were times when it betrayed +another kind of thought more forcefully than speech. +</p> + +<p> +Because he understood fairly well and knew what he was, the present situation +amused him. He could not but see what an error in judgment Miss Standish had +made in selecting him, when compared with the intoxicating thrill she could +easily have aroused by choosing one of the young engineers as a companion in +her evening adventure. He chuckled. And Mary Standish, hearing the smothered +note of amusement, gave to her head that swift little birdlike tilt which he +had observed once before, in the presence of Captain Rifle. But she said +nothing. As if challenged, she calmly took possession of his arm. +</p> + +<p> +Halfway round the deck, Alan began to sense the fact that there was a decidedly +pleasant flavor to the whole thing. The girl’s hand did not merely touch +his arm; it was snuggled there confidently, and she was necessarily so close to +him that when he looked down, the glossy coils of her hair were within a few +inches of his face. His nearness to her, together with the soft pressure of her +hand on his arm, was a jolt to his stoicism. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not half bad,” he expressed himself frankly. “I +really believe I am going to enjoy answering your questions, Miss +Standish.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” He felt the slim, little figure stiffen for an instant. +“You thought—possibly—I might be dangerous?” +</p> + +<p> +“A little. I don’t understand women. Collectively I think they are +God’s most wonderful handiwork. Individually I don’t care much +about them. But you—” +</p> + +<p> +She nodded approvingly. “That is very nice of you. But you needn’t +say I am different from the others. I am not. All women are alike.” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly—except in the way they dress their hair.” +</p> + +<p> +“You like mine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very much.” +</p> + +<p> +He was amazed at the admission, so much so that he puffed out a huge cloud of +smoke from his cigar in mental protest. +</p> + +<p> +They had come to the smoking-room again. This was an innovation aboard the +<i>Nome</i>. There was no other like it in the Alaskan service, with its +luxurious space, its comfortable hospitality, and the observation parlor built +at one end for those ladies who cared to sit with their husbands while they +smoked their after-dinner cigars. +</p> + +<p> +“If you want to hear about Alaska and see some of its human make-up, +let’s go in,” he suggested. “I know; of no better place. Are +you afraid of smoke?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. If I were a man, I would smoke.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not. When I begin that, if you please, I shall bob my hair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which would be a crime,” he replied so earnestly that again he was +surprised at himself. +</p> + +<p> +Two or three ladies, with their escorts, were in the parlor when they entered. +The huge main room, covering a third of the aft deck, was blue with smoke. A +score of men were playing cards at round tables. Twice as many were gathered in +groups, talking, while others walked aimlessly up and down the carpeted floor. +Here and there were men who sat alone. A few were asleep, which made Alan look +at his watch. Then he observed Mary Standish studying the innumerable bundles +of neatly rolled blankets that lay about. One of them was at her feet. She +touched it with her toe. +</p> + +<p> +“What do they mean?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“We are overloaded,” he explained. “Alaskan steam-ships have +no steerage passengers as we generally know them. It isn’t poverty that +rides steerage when you go north. You can always find a millionaire or two on +the lower deck. When they get sleepy, most of the men you see in there will +unroll blankets and sleep on the floor. Did you ever see an earl?” +</p> + +<p> +He felt it his duty to make explanations now that he had brought her in, and +directed her attention to the third table on their left. Three men were seated +at this table. +</p> + +<p> +“The man facing us, the one with a flabby face and pale mustache, is an +earl—I forget his name,” he said. “He doesn’t look it, +but he is a real sport. He is going up to shoot Kadiak bears, and sleeps on the +floor. The group beyond them, at the fifth table, are Treadwell mining men, and +that fellow you see slouched against the wall, half asleep, with whiskers +nearly to his waist, is Stampede Smith, an old-time partner of George Carmack, +who discovered gold on Bonanza Creek in Ninety-six. The thud of Carmack’s +spade, as it hit first pay, was the ‘sound heard round the world,’ +Miss Standish. And the gentleman with crumpled whiskers was the second-best man +at Bonanza, excepting Skookum Jim and Taglish Charlie, two Siwah Indians who +were with Carmack when the strike was made. Also, if you care for the romantic, +he was in love with Belinda Mulrooney, the most courageous woman who ever came +into the north.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why was she courageous?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because she came alone into a man’s land, without a soul to fight +for her, determined to make a fortune along with the others. And she did. As +long as there is a Dawson sour-dough alive, he will remember Belinda +Mulrooney.” +</p> + +<p> +“She proved what a woman could do, Mr. Holt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and a little later she proved how foolish a woman can be, Miss +Standish. She became the richest woman in Dawson. Then came a man who posed as +a count, Belinda married him, and they went to Paris. <i>Finis</i>, I think. +Now, if she had married Stampede Smith over there, with his big +whiskers—” +</p> + +<p> +He did not finish. Half a dozen paces from them a man had risen from a table +and was facing them. There was nothing unusual about him, except his boldness +as he looked at Mary Standish. It was as if he knew her and was deliberately +insulting her in a stare that was more than impudent in its directness. Then a +sudden twist came to his lips; he shrugged his shoulders slightly and turned +away. +</p> + +<p> +Alan glanced swiftly at his companion. Her lips were compressed, and her cheeks +were flaming hotly. Even then, as his own blood boiled, he could not but +observe how beautiful anger made her. +</p> + +<p> +“If you will pardon me a moment,” he said quietly, “I shall +demand an explanation.” +</p> + +<p> +Her hand linked itself quickly through his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t,” she entreated. “It is kind of you, and +you are just the sort of man I should expect to resent a thing like that. But +it would be absurd to notice it. Don’t you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +In spite of her effort to speak calmly, there was a tremble in her voice, and +Alan was puzzled at the quickness with which the color went from her face, +leaving it strangely white. +</p> + +<p> +“I am at your service,” he replied with a rather cold inclination +of his head. “But if you were my sister, Miss Standish, I would not allow +anything like that to go unchallenged.” +</p> + +<p> +He watched the stranger until he disappeared through a door out upon the deck. +</p> + +<p> +“One of John Graham’s men,” he said. “A fellow named +Rossland, going up to get a final grip on the salmon fishing, I understand. +They’ll choke the life out of it in another two years. Funny what this +filthy stuff we call money can do, isn’t it? Two winters ago I saw whole +Indian villages starving, and women and little children dying by the score +because of this John Graham’s money. Over-fishing did it, you understand. +If you could have seen some of those poor little devils, just skin and bones, +crying for a rag to eat—” +</p> + +<p> +Her hand clutched at his arm. “How could John Graham—do +that?” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +He laughed unpleasantly. “When you have been a year in Alaska you +won’t ask that question, Miss Standish. <i>How</i>? Why, simply by +glutting his canneries and taking from the streams the food supply which the +natives have depended upon for generations. In other words, the money he +handles represents the fish trust—and many other things. Please +don’t misunderstand me. Alaska needs capital for its development. Without +it we will not only cease to progress; we will die. No territory on the face of +the earth offers greater opportunities for capital than Alaska does today. Ten +thousand fortunes are waiting to be made here by men who have money to invest. +</p> + +<p> +“But John Graham does not represent the type we want. He is a despoiler, +one of those whose only desire is to turn original resource into dollars as +fast as he can, even though those operations make both land and water barren. +You must remember until recently the government of Alaska as manipulated by +Washington politicians was little better than that against which the American +colonies rebelled in 1776. A hard thing for one to say about the country he +loves, isn’t it? And John Graham stands for the worst—he and the +money which guarantees his power. +</p> + +<p> +“As a matter of fact, big and legitimate capital is fighting shy of +Alaska. Conditions are such, thanks to red-tapeism and bad politics, that +capital, big and little, looks askance at Alaska and cannot be interested. +Think of it, Miss Standish! There are thirty-eight separate bureaus at +Washington operating on Alaska, five thousand miles away. Is it a wonder the +patient is sick? And is it a wonder that a man like John Graham, dishonest and +corrupt to the soul, has a fertile field to work in? +</p> + +<p> +“But we are progressing. We are slowly coming out from under the shadow +which has so long clouded Alaska’s interests. There is now a growing +concentration of authority and responsibility. Both the Department of the +Interior and the Department of Agriculture now realize that Alaska is a mighty +empire in itself, and with their help we are bound to go ahead in spite of all +our handicaps. It is men like John Graham I fear. Some day—” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he caught himself. “There—I’m talking politics, and +I should entertain you with pleasanter and more interesting things,” he +apologized. “Shall we go to the lower decks?” +</p> + +<p> +“Or the open air,” she suggested. “I am afraid this smoke is +upsetting me.” +</p> + +<p> +He could feel the change in her and did not attribute it entirely to the +thickness of the air. Rossland’s inexplicable rudeness had disturbed her +more deeply than she had admitted, he believed. +</p> + +<p> +“There are a number of Thlinkit Indians and a tame bear down in what we +should ordinarily call the steerage. Would you like to see them?” he +asked, when they were outside. “The Thlinkit girls are the prettiest +Indian women in the world, and there are two among those below who +are—well—unusually good-looking, the Captain says.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he has already made me acquainted with them,” she laughed +softly. “Kolo and Haidah are the girls. They are sweet, and I love them. +I had breakfast with them this morning long before you were awake.” +</p> + +<p> +“The deuce you say! And that is why you were not at table? And the +morning before—” +</p> + +<p> +“You noticed my absence?” she asked demurely. +</p> + +<p> +“It was difficult for me not to see an empty chair. On second thought, I +think the young engineer called my attention to it by wondering if you were +ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +“He is very much interested in you, Miss Standish. It amuses me to see +him torture the corners of his eyes to look at you. I have thought it would be +only charity and good-will to change seats with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“In which event, of course, your eyes would not suffer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have they ever suffered?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think not.” +</p> + +<p> +“When looking at the Thlinkit girls, for instance?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t seen them.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave her shoulders a little shrug. +</p> + +<p> +“Ordinarily I would think you most uninteresting, Mr. Holt. As it is I +think you unusual. And I rather like you for it. Would you mind taking me to my +cabin? It is number sixteen, on this deck.” +</p> + +<p> +She walked with her fingers touching his arm again. “What is your +room?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-seven, Miss Standish.” +</p> + +<p> +“This deck?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Not until she had said good night, quietly and without offering him her hand, +did the intimacy of her last questions strike him. He grunted and lighted a +fresh cigar. A number of things occurred to him all at once, as he slowly made +a final round or two of the deck. Then he went to his cabin and looked over +papers which were going ashore at Juneau. These were memoranda giving an +account of his appearance with Carl Lomen before the Ways and Means Committee +at Washington. +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly midnight when he had finished. He wondered if Mary Standish was +asleep. He was a little irritated, and slightly amused, by the recurring +insistency with which his mind turned to her. She was a clever girl, he +admitted. He had asked her nothing about herself, and she had told him nothing, +while he had been quite garrulous. He was a little ashamed when he recalled how +he had unburdened his mind to a girl who could not possibly be interested in +the political affairs of John Graham and Alaska. Well, it was not entirely his +fault. She had fairly catapulted herself upon him, and he had been decent under +the circumstances, he thought. +</p> + +<p> +He put out his light and stood with his face at the open port-hole. Only the +soft throbbing of the vessel as she made her way slowly through the last of the +Narrows into Frederick Sound came to his ears. The ship, at last, was asleep. +The moon was straight overhead, no longer silhouetting the mountains, and +beyond its misty rim of light the world was dark. Out of this darkness, rising +like a deeper shadow, Alan could make out faintly the huge mass of Kupreanof +Island. And he wondered, knowing the perils of the Narrows in places scarcely +wider than the length of the ship, why Captain Rifle had chosen this course +instead of going around by Cape Decision. He could feel that the land was more +distant now, but the <i>Nome</i> was still pushing ahead under slow bell, and +he could smell the fresh odor of kelp, and breathe deeply of the scent of +forests that came from both east and west. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly his ears became attentive to slowly approaching footsteps. They seemed +to hesitate and then advanced; he heard a subdued voice, a man’s +voice—and in answer to it a woman’s. Instinctively he drew a step +back and stood unseen in the gloom. There was no longer a sound of voices. In +silence they walked past his window, clearly revealed to him in the moonlight. +One of the two was Mary Standish. The man was Rossland, who had stared at her +so boldly in the smoking-room. +</p> + +<p> +Amazement gripped Alan. He switched on his light and made his final +arrangements for bed. He had no inclination to spy upon either Mary Standish or +Graham’s agent, but he possessed an inborn hatred of fraud and humbug, +and what he had seen convinced him that Mary Standish knew more about Rossland +than she had allowed him to believe. She had not lied to him. She had said +nothing at all—except to restrain him from demanding an apology. +Evidently she had taken advantage of him, but beyond that fact her affairs had +nothing to do with his own business in life. Possibly she and Rossland had +quarreled, and now they were making up. Quite probable, he thought. Silly of +him to think over the matter at all. +</p> + +<p> +So he put out his light again and went to bed. But he had no great desire to +sleep. It was pleasant to lie there, flat on his back, with the soothing +movement of the ship under him, listening to the musical thrum of it. And it +was pleasant to think of the fact that he was going home. How infernally long +those seven months had been, down in the States! And how he had missed everyone +he had ever known—even his enemies! +</p> + +<p> +He closed his eyes and visualized the home that was still thousands of miles +away—the endless tundras, the blue and purple foothills of the Endicott +Mountains, and “Alan’s Range” at the beginning of them. +Spring was breaking up there, and it was warm on the tundras and the southern +slopes, and the pussy-willow buds were popping out of their coats like corn +from a hopper. +</p> + +<p> +He prayed God the months had been kind to his people—the people of the +range. It was a long time to be away from them, when one loved them as he did. +He was sure that Tautuk and Amuk Toolik, his two chief herdsmen, would care for +things as well as himself. But much could happen in seven months. Nawadlook, +the little beauty of his distant kingdom, was not looking well when he left. He +was worried about her. The pneumonia of the previous winters had left its mark. +And Keok, her rival in prettiness! He smiled in the darkness, wondering how +Tautuk’s sometimes hopeless love affair had progressed. For Keok was a +little heart-breaker and had long reveled in Tautuk’s sufferings. An +archangel of iniquity, Alan thought, as he grinned—but worth any +man’s risk of life, if he had but a drop of brown blood in him! As for +his herds, they had undoubtedly fared well. Ten thousand head was something to +be proud of— +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he drew in his breath and listened. Someone was at his door and had +paused there. Twice he had heard footsteps outside, but each time they had +passed. He sat up, and the springs of his berth made a sound under him. He +heard movement then, a swift, running movement—and he switched on his +light. A moment later he opened the door. No one was there. The long corridor +was empty. And then—a distance away—he heard the soft opening and +closing of another door. +</p> + +<p> +It was then that his eyes saw a white, crumpled object on the floor. He picked +it up and reentered his room. It was a woman’s handkerchief. And he had +seen it before. He had admired the pretty laciness of it that evening in the +smoking-room. Rather curious, he thought, that he should now find it at his +door. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p> +For a few minutes after finding the handkerchief at his door, Alan experienced +a feeling of mingled curiosity and disappointment—also a certain +resentment. The suspicion that he was becoming involved in spite of himself was +not altogether pleasant. The evening, up to a certain point, had been fairly +entertaining. It was true he might have passed a pleasanter hour recalling old +times with Stampede Smith, or discussing Kadiak bears with the English earl, or +striking up an acquaintance with the unknown graybeard who had voiced an +opinion about John Graham. But he was not regretting lost hours, nor was he +holding Mary Standish accountable for them. It was, last of all, the +handkerchief that momentarily upset him. +</p> + +<p> +Why had she dropped it at his door? It was not a dangerous-looking affair, to +be sure, with its filmy lace edging and ridiculous diminutiveness. As the +question came to him, he was wondering how even as dainty a nose as that +possessed by Mary Standish could be much comforted by it. But it was pretty. +And, like Mary Standish, there was something exquisitely quiet and perfect +about it, like the simplicity of her hair. He was not analyzing the matter. It +was a thought that came to him almost unconsciously, as he tossed the annoying +bit of fabric on the little table at the head of his berth. Undoubtedly the +dropping of it had been entirely unpremeditated and accidental. At least he +told himself so. And he also assured himself, with an involuntary shrug of his +shoulders, that any woman or girl had the right to pass his door if she so +desired, and that he was an idiot for thinking otherwise. The argument was only +slightly adequate. But Alan was not interested in mysteries, especially when +they had to do with woman—and such an absurdly inconsequential thing as a +handkerchief. +</p> + +<p> +A second time he went to bed. He fell asleep thinking about Keok and Nawadlook +and the people of his range. From somewhere he had been given the priceless +heritage of dreaming pleasantly, and Keok was very real, with her swift smile +and mischievous face, and Nawadlook’s big, soft eyes were brighter than +when he had gone away. He saw Tautuk, gloomy as usual over the heartlessness of +Keok. He was beating a tom-tom that gave out the peculiar sound of bells, and +to this Amuk Toolik was dancing the Bear Dance, while Keok clapped her hands in +exaggerated admiration. Even in his dreams Alan chuckled. He knew what was +happening, and that out of the corners of her laughing eyes Keok was enjoying +Tautuk’s jealousy. Tautuk was so stupid he would never understand. That +was the funny part of it. And he beat his drum savagely, scowling so that he +almost shut his eyes, while Keok laughed outright. +</p> + +<p> +It was then that Alan opened his eyes and heard the last of the ship’s +bells. It was still dark. He turned on the light and looked at his watch. +Tautuk’s drum had tolled eight bells, aboard the ship, and it was four +o’clock in the morning. +</p> + +<p> +Through the open port came the smell of sea and land, and with it a chill air +which Alan drank in deeply as he stretched himself for a few minutes after +awakening. The tang of it was like wine in his blood, and he got up quietly and +dressed while he smoked the stub-end of a cigar he had laid aside at midnight. +Not until he had finished dressing did he notice the handkerchief on the table. +If its presence had suggested a significance a few hours before, he no longer +disturbed himself by thinking about it. A bit of carelessness on the +girl’s part, that was all. He would return it. Mechanically he put the +crumpled bit of cambric in his coat pocket before going on deck. +</p> + +<p> +He had guessed that he would be alone. The promenade was deserted. Through the +ghost-white mist of morning he saw the rows of empty chairs, and lights burning +dully in the wheel-house. Asian monsoon and the drifting warmth of the Japan +current had brought an early spring to the Alexander Archipelago, and May had +stolen much of the flowering softness of June. But the dawns of these days were +chilly and gray. Mists and fogs settled in the valleys, and like thin smoke +rolled down the sides of the mountains to the sea, so that a ship traveling the +inner waters felt its way like a child creeping in darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Alan loved this idiosyncrasy of the Alaskan coast. The phantom mystery of it +was stimulating, and in the peril of it was a challenging lure. He could feel +the care with which the <i>Nome</i> was picking her way northward. Her engines +were thrumming softly, and her movement was a slow and cautious glide, catlike +and slightly trembling, as if every pound of steel in her were a living nerve +widely alert. He knew Captain Rifle would not be asleep and that straining eyes +were peering into the white gloom from the wheel-house. Somewhere west of them, +hazardously near, must lie the rocks of Admiralty Island; eastward were the +still more pitiless glacial sandstones and granites of the coast, with that +deadly finger of sea-washed reef between, along the lip of which they must +creep to Juneau. And Juneau could not be far ahead. +</p> + +<p> +He leaned over the rail, puffing at the stub of his cigar. He was eager for his +work. Juneau, Skagway, and Cordova meant nothing to him, except that they were +Alaska. He yearned for the still farther north, the wide tundras, and the +mighty achievement that lay ahead of him there. His blood sang to the surety of +it now, and for that reason he was not sorry he had spent seven months of +loneliness in the States. He had proved with his own eyes that the day was near +when Alaska would come into her own. Gold! He laughed. Gold had its lure, its +romance, its thrill, but what was all the gold the mountains might possess +compared with this greater thing he was helping to build! It seemed to him the +people he had met in the south had thought only of gold when they learned he +was from Alaska. Always gold—that first, and then ice, snow, endless +nights, desolate barrens, and craggy mountains frowning everlastingly upon a +blasted land in which men fought against odds and only the fittest survived. It +was gold that had been Alaska’s doom. When people thought of it, they +visioned nothing beyond the old stampede days, the Chilkoot, White Horse, +Dawson, and Circle City. Romance and glamor and the tragedies of dead men clung +to their ribs. But they were beginning to believe now. Their eyes were opening. +Even the Government was waking up, after proving there was something besides +graft in railroad building north of Mount St. Elias. Senators and Congressmen +at Washington had listened to him seriously, and especially to Carl Lomen. And +the beef barons, wisest of all, had tried to buy him off and had offered a +fortune for Lomen’s forty thousand head of reindeer in the Seward +Peninsula! That was proof of the awakening. Absolute proof. +</p> + +<p> +He lighted a fresh cigar, and his mind shot through the dissolving mist into +the vast land ahead of him. Some Alaskans had cursed Theodore Roosevelt for +putting what they called “the conservation shackles” on their +country. But he, for one, did not. Roosevelt’s far-sightedness had kept +the body-snatchers at bay, and because he had foreseen what money-power and +greed would do, Alaska was not entirely stripped today, but lay ready to serve +with all her mighty resources the mother who had neglected her for a +generation. But it was going to be a struggle, this opening up of a great land. +It must be done resourcefully and with intelligence. Once the bars were down, +Roosevelt’s shadow-hand could not hold back such desecrating forces as +John Graham and the syndicate he represented. +</p> + +<p> +Thought of Graham was an unpleasant reminder, and his face grew hard in the +sea-mist. Alaskans themselves must fight against the licensed plunderers. And +it would be a hard fight. He had seen the pillaging work of these financial +brigands in a dozen states during the past winter—states raped of their +forests, their lakes and streams robbed and polluted, their resources hewn down +to naked skeletons. He had been horrified and a little frightened when he +looked over the desolation of Michigan, once the richest timber state in +America. What if the Government at Washington made it possible for such a thing +to happen in Alaska? Politics—and money—were already fighting for +just that thing. +</p> + +<p> +He no longer heard the throb of the ship under his feet. It was <i>his</i> +fight, and brain and muscle reacted to it almost as if it had been a physical +thing. And his end of that fight he was determined to win, if it took every +year of his life. He, with a few others, would prove to the world that the +millions of acres of treeless tundras of the north were not the cast-off ends +of the earth. They would populate them, and the so-called “barrens” +would thunder to the innumerable hoofs of reindeer herds as the American plains +had never thundered to the beat of cattle. He was not thinking of the treasure +he would find at the end of this rainbow of success which he visioned. Money, +simply as money, he hated. It was the achievement of the thing that gripped +him; the passion to hew a trail through which his beloved land might come into +its own, and the desire to see it achieve a final triumph by feeding a half of +that America which had laughed at it and kicked it when it was down. +</p> + +<p> +The tolling of the ship’s bell roused him from the subconscious struggle +into which he had allowed himself to be drawn. Ordinarily he had no sympathy +with himself when he fell into one of these mental spasms, as he called them. +Without knowing it, he was a little proud of a certain dispassionate tolerance +which he possessed—a philosophical mastery of his emotions which at times +was almost cold-blooded, and which made some people think he was a thing of +stone instead of flesh and blood. His thrills he kept to himself. And a mildly +disturbing sensation passed through him now, when he found that unconsciously +his fingers had twined themselves about the little handkerchief in his pocket. +He drew it out and made a sudden movement as if to toss it overboard. Then, +with a grunt expressive of the absurdity of the thing, he replaced it in his +pocket and began to walk slowly toward the bow of the ship. +</p> + +<p> +He wondered, as he noted the lifting of the fog, what he would have been had he +possessed a sister like Mary Standish. Or any family at all, for that +matter—even an uncle or two who might have been interested in him. He +remembered his father vividly, his mother a little less so, because his mother +had died when he was six and his father when he was twenty. It was his father +who stood out above everything else, like the mountains he loved. The father +would remain with him always, inspiring him, urging him, encouraging him to +live like a gentleman, fight like a man, and die at last unafraid. In that +fashion the older Alan Holt had lived and died. But his mother, her face and +voice scarcely remembered in the passing of many years, was more a hallowed +memory to him than a thing of flesh and blood. And there had been no sisters or +brothers. Often he had regretted this lack of brotherhood. But a sister.... He +grunted his disapprobation of the thought. A sister would have meant +enchainment to civilization. Cities, probably. Even the States. And slavery to +a life he detested. He appreciated the immensity of his freedom. A Mary +Standish, even though she were his sister, would be a catastrophe. He could not +conceive of her, or any other woman like her, living with Keok and Nawadlook +and the rest of his people in the heart of the tundras. And the tundras would +always be his home, because his heart was there. +</p> + +<p> +He had passed round the wheel-house and came suddenly upon an odd figure +crumpled in a chair. It was Stampede Smith. In the clearer light that came with +the dissolution of the sea-mist Alan saw that he was not asleep. He paused, +unseen by the other. Stampede stretched himself, groaned, and stood up. He was +a little man, and his fiercely bristling red whiskers, wet with dew, were +luxuriant enough for a giant. His head of tawny hair, bristling like his +whiskers, added to the piratical effect of him above the neck, but below that +part of his anatomy there was little to strike fear into the hearts of +humanity. Some people smiled when they looked at him. Others, not knowing their +man, laughed outright. Whiskers could be funny. And they were undoubtedly funny +on Stampede Smith. But Alan neither smiled nor laughed, for in his heart was +something very near to the missing love of brotherhood for this little man who +had written his name across so many pages of Alaskan history. +</p> + +<p> +This morning, as Alan saw him, Stampede Smith was no longer the swiftest gunman +between White Horse and Dawson City. He was a pathetic reminder of the old days +when, single-handed, he had run down Soapy Smith and his gang—days when +the going of Stampede Smith to new fields meant a stampede behind him, and when +his name was mentioned in the same breath with those of George Carmack, and +Alex McDonald, and Jerome Chute, and a hundred men like Curley Monroe and Joe +Barret set their compasses by his. To Alan there was tragedy in his aloneness +as he stood in the gray of the morning. Twenty times a millionaire, he knew +that Stampede Smith was broke again. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning,” he said so unexpectedly that the little man jerked +himself round like the lash of a whip, a trick of the old gun days. “Why +so much loneliness, Stampede?” +</p> + +<p> +Stampede grinned wryly. He had humorous, blue eyes, buried like an +Airedale’s under brows which bristled even more fiercely than his +whiskers. “I’m thinkin’,” said he, “what a fool +thing is money. Good mornin’, Alan!” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded and chuckled, and continued to chuckle in the face of the lifting +fog, and Alan saw the old humor which had always been Stampede’s last +asset when in trouble. He drew nearer and stood beside him, so that their +shoulders touched as they leaned over the rail. +</p> + +<p> +“Alan,” said Stampede, “it ain’t often I have a big +thought, but I’ve been having one all night. Ain’t forgot Bonanza, +have you?” +</p> + +<p> +Alan shook his head. “As long as there is an Alaska, we won’t +forget Bonanza, Stampede.” +</p> + +<p> +“I took a million out of it, next to Carmack’s +Discovery—an’ went busted afterward, didn’t I?” +</p> + +<p> +Alan nodded without speaking. +</p> + +<p> +“But that wasn’t a circumstance to Gold Run Creek, over the +Divide,” Stampede continued ruminatively. “Ain’t forgot old +Aleck McDonald, the Scotchman, have you, Alan? In the ‘wash’ of +Ninety-eight we took up seventy sacks to bring our gold back in and we lacked +thirty of doin’ the job. Nine hundred thousand dollars in a single +clean-up, and that was only the beginning. Well, I went busted again. And old +Aleck went busted later on. But he had a pretty wife left. A girl from Seattle. +I had to grub-stake.” +</p> + +<p> +He was silent for a moment, caressing his damp whiskers, as he noted the first +rose-flush of the sun breaking through the mist between them and the unseen +mountain tops. +</p> + +<p> +“Five times after that I made strikes and went busted,” he said a +little proudly. “And I’m busted again!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it,” sympathized Alan. +</p> + +<p> +“They took every cent away from me down in Seattle an’ +Frisco,” chuckled Stampede, rubbing his hands together cheerfully, +“an’ then bought me a ticket to Nome. Mighty fine of them, +don’t you think? Couldn’t have been more decent. I knew that fellow +Kopf had a heart. That’s why I trusted him with my money. It wasn’t +his fault he lost it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not,” agreed Alan. +</p> + +<p> +“And I’m sort of sorry I shot him up for it. I am, for a +fact.” +</p> + +<p> +“You killed him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not quite. I clipped one ear off as a reminder, down in Chink +Holleran’s place. Mighty sorry. Didn’t think then how decent it was +of him to buy me a ticket to Nome. I just let go in the heat of the moment. He +did me a favor in cleanin’ me, Alan. He did, so help me! You don’t +realize how free an’ easy an’ beautiful everything is until +you’re busted.” +</p> + +<p> +Smiling, his odd face almost boyish behind its ambush of hair, he saw the grim +look in Alan’s eyes and about his jaws. He caught hold of the +other’s arm and shook it. +</p> + +<p> +“Alan, I mean it!” he declared. “That’s why I think +money is a fool thing. It ain’t <i>spendin’</i> money that makes me +happy. It’s <i>findin’</i> it—the gold in the +mountains—that makes the blood run fast through my gizzard. After +I’ve found it, I can’t find any use for it in particular. I want to +go broke. If I didn’t, I’d get lazy and fat, an’ some +newfangled doctor would operate on me, and I’d die. They’re doing a +lot of that operatin’ down in Frisco, Alan. One day I had a pain, and +they wanted to cut out something from inside me. Think what can happen to a man +when he’s got money!” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean all that, Stampede?” +</p> + +<p> +“On my life, I do. I’m just aching for the open skies, Alan. The +mountains. And the yellow stuff that’s going to be my playmate till I +die. Somebody’ll grub-stake me in Nome.” +</p> + +<p> +“They won’t,” said Alan suddenly. “Not if I can help +it. Stampede, I want you. I want you with me up under the Endicott Mountains. +I’ve got ten thousand reindeer up there. It’s No Man’s Land, +and we can do as we please in it. I’m not after gold. I want another sort +of thing. But I’ve fancied the Endicott ranges are full of that yellow +playmate of yours. It’s a new country. You’ve never seen it. God +only knows what you may find. Will you come?” +</p> + +<p> +The humorous twinkle had gone out of Stampede’s eyes. He was staring at +Alan. +</p> + +<p> +“Will I <i>come?</i> Alan, will a cub nurse its mother? Try me. Ask me. +Say it all over ag’in.” +</p> + +<p> +The two men gripped hands. Smiling, Alan nodded to the east. The last of the +fog was clearing swiftly. The tips of the cragged Alaskan ranges rose up +against the blue of a cloudless sky, and the morning sun was flashing in rose +and gold at their snowy peaks. Stampede also nodded. Speech was unnecessary. +They both understood, and the thrill of the life they loved passed from one to +the other in the grip of their hands. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p> +Breakfast hour was half over when Alan went into the dining-room. There were +only two empty chairs at his table. One was his own. The other belonged to Mary +Standish. There was something almost aggressively suggestive in their +simultaneous vacancy, it struck him at first. He nodded as he sat down, a flash +of amusement in his eyes when he observed the look in the young +engineer’s face. It was both envious and accusing, and yet Alan was sure +the young man was unconscious of betraying an emotion. The fact lent to the +eating of his grapefruit an accompaniment of pleasing and amusing thought. He +recalled the young man’s name. It was Tucker. He was a clean-faced, +athletic, likable-looking chap. And an idiot would have guessed the truth, Alan +told himself. The young engineer was more than casually interested in Mary +Standish; he was in love. It was not a discovery which Alan made. It was a +decision, and as soon as possible he would remedy the unfortunate omission of a +general introduction at their table by bringing the two together. Such an +introduction would undoubtedly relieve him of a certain responsibility which +had persisted in attaching itself to him. +</p> + +<p> +So he tried to think. But in spite of his resolution he could not get the empty +chair opposite him out of his mind. It refused to be obliterated, and when +other chairs became vacant as their owners left the table, this one straight +across from him continued to thrust itself upon him. Until this morning it had +been like other empty chairs. Now it was persistently annoying, inasmuch as he +had no desire to be so constantly reminded of last night, and the twelve +o’clock tryst of Mary Standish with Graham’s agent, Rossland. +</p> + +<p> +He was the last at the table. Tucker, remaining until his final hope of seeing +Mary Standish was gone, rose with two others. The first two had made their exit +through the door leading from the dining salon when the young engineer paused. +Alan, watching him, saw a sudden change in his face. In a moment it was +explained. Mary Standish came in. She passed Tucker without appearing to notice +him, and gave Alan a cool little nod as she seated herself at the table. She +was very pale. He could see nothing of the flush of color that had been in her +cheeks last night. As she bowed her head a little, arranging her dress, a pool +of sunlight played in her hair, and Alan was staring at it when she raised her +eyes. They were coolly beautiful, very direct, and without embarrassment. +Something inside him challenged their loveliness. It seemed inconceivable that +such eyes could play a part in fraud and deception, yet he was in possession of +quite conclusive proof of it. If they had lowered themselves an instant, if +they had in any way betrayed a shadow of regret, he would have found an +apology. Instead of that, his fingers touched the handkerchief in his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you sleep well, Miss Standish?” he asked politely. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” she replied, so frankly that his conviction was a bit +unsettled. “I tried to powder away the dark rings under my eyes, but I am +afraid I have failed. Is that why you ask?” +</p> + +<p> +He was holding the handkerchief in his hand. “This is the first morning I +have seen you at breakfast. I accepted it for granted you must have slept well. +Is this yours, Miss Standish?” +</p> + +<p> +He watched her face as she took the crumpled bit of cambric from his fingers. +In a moment she was smiling. The smile was not forced. It was the quick +response to a feminine instinct of pleasure, and he was disappointed not to +catch in her face a betrayal of embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +“It is my handkerchief, Mr. Holt. Where did you find it?” +</p> + +<p> +“In front of my cabin door a little after midnight.” +</p> + +<p> +He was almost brutal in the definiteness of detail. He expected some kind of +result. But there was none, except that the smile remained on her lips a moment +longer, and there was a laughing flash back in the clear depths of her eyes. +Her level glance was as innocent as a child’s and as he looked at her, he +thought of a child—a most beautiful child—and so utterly did he +feel the discomfiture of his mental analysis of her that he rose to his feet +with a frigid bow. +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, Mr. Holt,” she said. “You can imagine my sense +of obligation when I tell you I have only three handkerchiefs aboard the ship +with me. And this is my favorite.” +</p> + +<p> +She busied herself with the breakfast card, and as Alan left, he heard her give +the waiter an order for fruit and cereal. His blood was hot, but the flush of +it did not show in his face. He felt the uncomfortable sensation of her eyes +following him as he stalked through the door. He did not look back. Something +was wrong with him, and he knew it. This chit of a girl with her smooth hair +and clear eyes had thrown a grain of dust into the satisfactory mechanism of +his normal self, and the grind of it was upsetting certain specific formulae +which made up his life. He was a fool. He lighted a cigar and called himself +names. +</p> + +<p> +Someone brushed against him, jarring the hand that held the burning match. He +looked up. It was Rossland. The man had a mere twist of a smile on his lips. In +his eyes was a coolly appraising look as he nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Beg pardon.” The words were condescending, carelessly flung at him +over Rossland’s shoulder. He might as well have said, “I’m +sorry, Boy, but you must keep out of my way.” +</p> + +<p> +Alan smiled back and returned the nod. Once, in a spirit of sauciness, Keok had +told him his eyes were like purring cats when he was in a humor to kill. They +were like that now as they flashed their smile at Rossland. The sneering twist +left Rossland’s lips as he entered the dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +A rather obvious prearrangement between Mary Standish and John Graham’s +agent, Alan thought. There were not half a dozen people left at the tables, and +the scheme was that Rossland should be served tête-à-tête +with Miss Standish, of course. That, apparently, was why she had greeted him +with such cool civility. Her anxiety for him to leave the table before Rossland +appeared upon the scene was evident, now that he understood the situation. +</p> + +<p> +He puffed at his cigar. Rossland’s interference had spoiled a perfect +lighting of it, and he struck another match. This time he was successful, and +he was about to extinguish the burning end when he hesitated and held it until +the fire touched his flesh. Mary Standish was coming through the door. Amazed +by the suddenness of her appearance, he made no movement except to drop the +match. Her eyes were flaming, and two vivid spots burned in her cheeks. She saw +him and gave the slightest inclination to her head as she passed. When she had +gone, he could not resist looking into the salon. As he expected, Rossland was +seated in a chair next to the one she had occupied, and was calmly engaged in +looking over the breakfast card. +</p> + +<p> +All this was rather interesting, Alan conceded, if one liked puzzles. +Personally he had no desire to become an answerer of conundrums, and he was a +little ashamed of the curiosity that had urged him to look in upon Rossland. At +the same time he was mildly elated at the freezing reception which Miss +Standish had evidently given to the dislikable individual who had jostled him +in passing. +</p> + +<p> +He went on deck. The sun was pouring in an iridescent splendor over the snowy +peaks of the mountains, and it seemed as if he could almost reach out his arms +and touch them. The <i>Nome</i> appeared to be drifting in the heart of a +paradise of mountains. Eastward, very near, was the mainland; so close on the +other hand that he could hear the shout of a man was Douglas Island, and ahead, +reaching out like a silver-blue ribbon was Gastineau Channel. The mining towns +of Treadwell and Douglas were in sight. +</p> + +<p> +Someone nudged him, and he found Stampede Smith at his side. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s Bill Treadwell’s place,” he said. “Once +the richest gold mines in Alaska. They’re flooded now. I knew Bill when +he was worrying about the price of a pair of boots. Had to buy a second-hand +pair an’ patched ’em himself. Then he struck it lucky, got four +hundred dollars somewhere, and bought some claims over there from a man named +French Pete. They called it Glory Hole. An’ there was a time when there +were nine hundred stamps at work. Take a look, Alan. It’s worth +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Somehow Stampede’s voice and information lacked appeal. The decks were +crowded with passengers as the ship picked her way into Juneau, and Alan +wandered among them with a gathering sense of disillusionment pressing upon +him. He knew that he was looking with more than casual interest for Mary +Standish, and he was glad when Stampede bumped into an old acquaintance and +permitted him to be alone. He was not pleased with the discovery, and yet he +was compelled to acknowledge the truth of it. The grain of dust had become more +than annoying. It did not wear away, as he had supposed it would, but was +becoming an obsessive factor in his thoughts. And the half-desire it built up +in him, while aggravatingly persistent, was less disturbing than before. The +little drama in the dining-room had had its effect upon him in spite of +himself. He liked fighters. And Mary Standish, intensely feminine in her quiet +prettiness, had shown her mettle in those few moments when he had seen her +flashing eyes and blazing cheeks after leaving Rossland. He began to look for +Rossland, too. He was in a humor to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +Not until Juneau hung before him in all its picturesque beauty, literally +terraced against the green sweep of Mount Juneau, did he go down to the lower +deck. The few passengers ready to leave the ship gathered near the gangway with +their luggage. Alan was about to pass them when he suddenly stopped. A short +distance from him, where he could see every person who disembarked, stood +Rossland. There was something grimly unpleasant in his attitude as he fumbled +his watch-fob and eyed the stair from above. His watchfulness sent an +unexpected thrill through Alan. Like a shot his mind jumped to a conclusion. He +stepped to Rossland’s side and touched his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Watching for Miss Standish?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I am.” There was no evasion in Rossland’s words. They +possessed the hard and definite quality of one who had an incontestable +authority behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“And if she goes ashore?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going too. Is it any affair of yours, Mr. Holt? Has she asked you +to discuss the matter with me? If so—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Miss Standish hasn’t done that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then please attend to your own business. If you haven’t enough to +take up your time, I’ll lend you some books. I have several in my +cabin.” +</p> + +<p> +Without waiting for an answer Rossland coolly moved away. Alan did not follow. +There was nothing for him to resent, nothing for him to imprecate but his own +folly. Rossland’s words were not an insult. They were truth. He had +deliberately intruded in an affair which was undoubtedly of a highly private +nature. Possibly it was a domestic tangle. He shuddered. A sense of humiliation +swept over him, and he was glad that Rossland did not even look back at him. He +tried to whistle as he climbed back to the main-deck; Rossland, even though he +detested the man, had set him right. And he would lend him books, if he wanted +to be amused! Egad, but the fellow had turned the trick nicely. And it was +something to be remembered. He stiffened his shoulders and found old Donald +Hardwick and Stampede Smith. He did not leave them until the <i>Nome</i> had +landed her passengers and freight and was churning her way out of Gastineau +Channel toward Skagway. Then he went to the smoking-room and remained there +until luncheon hour. +</p> + +<p> +Today Mary Standish was ahead of him at the table. She was seated with her back +toward him as he entered, so she did not see him as he came up behind her, so +near that his coat brushed her chair. He looked across at her and smiled as he +seated himself. She returned the smile, but it seemed to him an apologetic +little effort. She did not look well, and her presence at the table struck him +as being a brave front to hide something from someone. Casually he looked over +his left shoulder. Rossland was there, in his seat at the opposite side of the +room. Indirect as his glance had been, Alan saw the girl understood the +significance of it. She bowed her head a little, and her long lashes shaded her +eyes for a moment. He wondered why he always looked at her hair first. It had a +peculiarly pleasing effect on him. He had been observant enough to know that +she had rearranged it since breakfast, and the smooth coils twisted in +mysterious intricacy at the crown of her head were like softly glowing velvet. +The ridiculous thought came to him that he would like to see them tumbling down +about her. They must be even more beautiful when freed from their bondage. +</p> + +<p> +The pallor of her face was unusual. Possibly it was the way the light fell upon +her through the window. But when she looked across at him again, he caught for +an instant the tiniest quiver about her mouth. He began telling her something +about Skagway, quite carelessly, as if he had seen nothing which she might want +to conceal. The light in her eyes changed, and it was almost a glow of +gratitude he caught in them. He had broken a tension, relieved her of some +unaccountable strain she was under. He noticed that her ordering of food was +merely a pretense. She scarcely touched it, and yet he was sure no other person +at the table had discovered the insincerity of her effort, not even Tucker, the +enamored engineer. It was likely Tucker placed a delicate halo about her lack +of appetite, accepting daintiness of that sort as an angelic virtue. +</p> + +<p> +Only Alan, sitting opposite her, guessed the truth. She was making a splendid +effort, but he felt that every nerve in her body was at the breaking-point. +When she arose from her seat, he thrust back his own chair. At the same time he +saw Rossland get up and advance rather hurriedly from the opposite side of the +room. The girl passed through the door first, Rossland followed a dozen steps +behind, and Alan came last, almost shoulder to shoulder with Tucker. It was +amusing in a way, yet beyond the humor of it was something that drew a grim +line about the corners of his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +At the foot of the luxuriously carpeted stair leading from the dining salon to +the main deck Miss Standish suddenly stopped and turned upon Rossland. For only +an instant her eyes were leveled at him. Then they flashed past him, and with a +swift movement she came toward Alan. A flush had leaped into her cheeks, but +there was no excitement in her voice when she spoke. Yet it was distinct, and +clearly heard by Rossland. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand we are approaching Skagway, Mr. Holt,” she said. +“Will you take me on deck, and tell me about it?” +</p> + +<p> +Graham’s agent had paused at the foot of the stair and was slowly +preparing to light a cigarette. Recalling his humiliation of a few hours before +at Juneau, when the other had very clearly proved him a meddler, words refused +to form quickly on Alan’s lips. Before he was ready with an answer Mary +Standish had confidently taken his arm. He could see the red flush deepening in +her upturned face. She was amazingly unexpected, bewilderingly pretty, and as +cool as ice except for the softly glowing fire in her cheeks. He saw Rossland +staring with his cigarette half poised. It was instinctive for him to smile in +the face of danger, and he smiled now, without speaking. The girl laughed +softly. She gave his arm a gentle tug, and he found himself moving past +Rossland, amazed but obedient, her eyes looking at him in a way that sent a +gentle thrill through him. +</p> + +<p> +At the head of the wide stair she whispered, with her lips close to his +shoulder: “You are splendid! I thank you, Mr. Holt.” +</p> + +<p> +Her words, along with the decisive relaxing of her hand upon his arm, were like +a dash of cold water in his face. Rossland could no longer see them, unless he +had followed. The girl had played her part, and a second time he had accepted +the role of a slow-witted fool. But the thought did not anger him. There was a +remarkable element of humor about it for him, viewing himself in the matter, +and Mary Standish heard him chuckling as they came out on deck. +</p> + +<p> +Her fingers tightened resentfully upon his arm. “It isn’t +funny,” she reproved. “It is tragic to be bored by a man like +that.” +</p> + +<p> +He knew she was politely lying to anticipate the question he might ask, and he +wondered what would happen if he embarrassed her by letting her know he had +seen her alone with Rossland at midnight. He looked down at her, and she met +his scrutiny unflinchingly. She even smiled at him, and her eyes, he thought, +were the loveliest liars he had ever looked into. He felt the stir of an +unusual sentiment—a sort of pride in her, and he made up his mind to say +nothing about Rossland. He was still absurdly convinced that he had not the +smallest interest in affairs which were not entirely his own. Mary Standish +evidently believed he was blind, and he would make no effort to spoil her +illusion. Such a course would undoubtedly be most satisfactory in the end. +</p> + +<p> +Even now she seemed to have forgotten the incident at the foot of the stair. A +softer light was in her eyes when they came to the bow of the ship, and Alan +fancied he heard a strange little cry on her lips as she looked about her upon +the paradise of Taiya Inlet. Straight ahead, like a lilac ribbon, ran the +narrow waterway to Skagway’s door, while on both sides rose high +mountains, covered with green forests to the snowy crests that gleamed like +white blankets near the clouds. In this melting season there came to them above +the slow throb of the ship’s engines the liquid music of innumerable +cascades, and from a mountain that seemed to float almost directly over their +heads fell a stream of water a sheer thousand feet to the sea, smoking and +twisting in the sunshine like a living thing at play. And then a miracle +happened which even Alan wondered at, for the ship seemed to stand still and +the mountain to swing slowly, as if some unseen and mighty force were opening a +guarded door, and green foothills with glistening white cottages floated into +the picture, and Skagway, heart of romance, monument to brave men and thrilling +deeds, drifted out slowly from its hiding-place. Alan turned to speak, but what +he saw in the girl’s face held him silent. Her lips were parted, and she +was staring as if an unexpected thing had risen before her eyes, something that +bewildered her and even startled her. +</p> + +<p> +And then, as if speaking to herself and not to Alan Holt, she said in a tense +whisper: “I have seen this place before. It was a long time ago. Maybe it +was a hundred years or a thousand. But I have been here. I have lived under +that mountain with the waterfall creeping down it—” +</p> + +<p> +A tremor ran through her, and she remembered Alan. She looked up at him, and he +was puzzled. A weirdly beautiful mystery lay in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go ashore here,” she said. “I didn’t know I +would find it so soon. Please—” +</p> + +<p> +With her hand touching his arm she turned. He was looking at her and saw the +strange light fade swiftly out of her eyes. Following her glance he saw +Rossland standing half a dozen paces behind them. +</p> + +<p> +In another moment Mary Standish was facing the sea, and again her hand was +resting confidently in the crook of Alan’s arm. “Did you ever feel +like killing a man, Mr. Holt?” she asked with an icy little laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he answered rather unexpectedly. “And some day, if the +right opportunity comes, I am going to kill a certain man—the man who +murdered my father.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave a little gasp of horror. “Your +father—was—murdered—” +</p> + +<p> +“Indirectly—yes. It wasn’t done with knife or gun, Miss +Standish. Money was the weapon. Somebody’s money. And John Graham was the +man who struck the blow. Some day, if there is justice, I shall kill him. And +right now, if you will allow me to demand an explanation of this man +Rossland—” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>No</i>.” Her hand tightened on his arm. Then, slowly, she drew +it away. “I don’t want you to ask an explanation of him,” she +said. “If he should make it, you would hate me. Tell me about Skagway, +Mr. Holt. That will be pleasanter.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p> +Not until early twilight came with the deep shadows of the western mountains, +and the <i>Nome</i> was churning slowly back through the narrow water-trails to +the open Pacific, did the significance of that afternoon fully impress itself +upon Alan. For hours he had surrendered himself to an impulse which he could +not understand, and which in ordinary moments he would not have excused. He had +taken Mary Standish ashore. For two hours she had walked at his side, asking +him questions and listening to him as no other had ever questioned him or +listened to him before. He had shown her Skagway. Between the mountains he +pictured the wind-racked cañon where Skagway grew from one tent to +hundreds in a day, from hundreds to thousands in a week; he visioned for her +the old days of romance, adventure, and death; he told her of Soapy Smith and +his gang of outlaws, and side by side they stood over Soapy’s sunken +grave as the first somber shadows of the mountains grew upon them. +</p> + +<p> +But among it all, and through it all, she had asked him about <i>himself</i>. +And he had responded. Until now he did not realize how much he had confided in +her. It seemed to him that the very soul of this slim and beautiful girl who +had walked at his side had urged him on to the indiscretion of personal +confidence. He had seemed to feel her heart beating with his own as he +described his beloved land under the Endicott Mountains, with its vast tundras, +his herds, and his people. There, he had told her, a new world was in the +making, and the glow in her eyes and the thrilling something in her voice had +urged him on until he forgot that Rossland was waiting at the ship’s +gangway to see when they returned. He had built up for her his castles in the +air, and the miracle of it was that she had helped him to build them. He had +described for her the change that was creeping slowly over Alaska, the +replacement of mountain trails by stage and automobile highways, the building +of railroads, the growth of cities where tents had stood a few years before. It +was then, when he had pictured progress and civilization and the breaking down +of nature’s last barriers before science and invention, that he had seen +a cloud of doubt in her gray eyes. +</p> + +<p> +And now, as they stood on the deck of the <i>Nome</i> looking at the white +peaks of the mountains dissolving into the lavender mist of twilight, doubt and +perplexity were still deeper in her eyes, and she said: +</p> + +<p> +“I would always love tents and old trails and nature’s barriers. I +envy Belinda Mulrooney, whom you told me about this afternoon. I hate cities +and railroads and automobiles, and all that goes with them, and I am sorry to +see those things come to Alaska. And I, too, hate this man—John +Graham!” +</p> + +<p> +Her words startled him. +</p> + +<p> +“And I want you to tell me what he is doing—with his +money—now.” Her voice was cold, and one little hand, he noticed, +was clenched at the edge of the rail. +</p> + +<p> +“He has stripped Alaskan waters of fish resources which will never be +replaced, Miss Standish. But that is not all. I believe I state the case well +within fact when I say he has killed many women and little children by robbing +the inland waters of the food supplies upon which the natives have subsisted +for centuries. I know. I have seen them die.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to him that she swayed against him for an instant. +</p> + +<p> +“And that—is all?” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed grimly. “Possibly some people would think it enough, Miss +Standish. But the tentacles of his power are reaching everywhere in Alaska. His +agents swarm throughout the territory, and Soapy Smith was a gentleman outlaw +compared with these men and their master. If men like John Graham are allowed +to have their way, in ten years greed and graft will despoil what two hundred +years of Rooseveltian conservation would not be able to replace.” +</p> + +<p> +She raised her head, and in the dusk her pale face looked up at the ghost-peaks +of the mountains still visible through the thickening gloom of evening. +“I am glad you told me about Belinda Mulrooney,” she said. “I +am beginning to understand, and it gives me courage to think of a woman like +her. She could fight, couldn’t she? She could make a man’s +fight?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and did make it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And she had no money to give her power. Her last dollar, you told me, +she flung into the Yukon for luck.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, at Dawson. It was the one thing between her and hunger.” +</p> + +<p> +She raised her hand, and on it he saw gleaming faintly the single ring which +she wore. Slowly she drew it from her finger. +</p> + +<p> +“Then this, too, for luck—the luck of Mary Standish,” she +laughed softly, and flung the ring into the sea. +</p> + +<p> +She faced him, as if expecting the necessity of defending what she had done. +“It isn’t melodrama,” she said. “I mean it. And I +believe in it. I want something of mine to lie at the bottom of the sea in this +gateway to Skagway, just as Belinda Mulrooney wanted her dollar to rest forever +at the bottom of the Yukon.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave him the hand from which she had taken the ring, and for a moment the +warm thrill of it lay in his own. “Thank you for the wonderful afternoon +you have given me, Mr. Holt. I shall never forget it. It is dinner time. I must +say good night.” +</p> + +<p> +He followed her slim figure with his eyes until she disappeared. In returning +to his cabin he almost bumped into Rossland. The incident was irritating. +Neither of the men spoke or nodded, but Rossland met Alan’s look +squarely, his face rock-like in its repression of emotion. Alan’s +impression of the man was changing in spite of his prejudice. There was a +growing something about him which commanded attention, a certainty of poise +which could not be mistaken for sham. A scoundrel he might be, but a cool brain +was at work inside his head—a brain not easily disturbed by unimportant +things, he decided. He disliked the man. As an agent of John Graham Alan looked +upon him as an enemy, and as an acquaintance of Mary Standish he was as much of +a mystery as the girl herself. And only now, in his cabin, was Alan beginning +to sense the presence of a real authority behind Rossland’s attitude. +</p> + +<p> +He was not curious. All his life he had lived too near the raw edge of +practical things to dissipate in gossipy conjecture. He cared nothing about the +relationship between Mary Standish and Rossland except as it involved himself, +and the situation had become a trifle too delicate to please him. He could see +no sport in an adventure of the kind it suggested, and the possibility that he +had been misjudged by both Rossland and Mary Standish sent a flush of anger +into his cheeks. He cared nothing for Rossland, except that he would like to +wipe him out of existence with all other Graham agents. And he persisted in the +conviction that he thought of the girl only in a most casual sort of way. He +had made no effort to discover her history. He had not questioned her. At no +time had he intimated a desire to intrude upon her personal affairs, and at no +time had she offered information about herself, or an explanation of the +singular espionage which Rossland had presumed to take upon himself. He +grimaced as he reflected how dangerously near that hazard he had been—and +he admired her for the splendid judgment she had shown in the matter. She had +saved him the possible alternative of apologizing to Rossland or throwing him +overboard! +</p> + +<p> +There was a certain bellicose twist to his mind as he went down to the dining +salon, an obstinate determination to hold himself aloof from any increasing +intimacy with Mary Standish. No matter how pleasing his experience had been, he +resented the idea of being commandeered at unexpected moments. Had Mary +Standish read his thoughts, her bearing toward him during the dinner hour could +not have been more satisfying. There was, in a way, something seductively +provocative about it. She greeted him with the slightest inclination of her +head and a cool little smile. Her attitude did not invite spoken words, either +from him or from his neighbors, yet no one would have accused her of deliberate +reserve. +</p> + +<p> +Her demure unapproachableness was a growing revelation to him, and he found +himself interested in spite of the new law of self-preservation he had set down +for himself. He could not keep his eyes from stealing glimpses at her hair when +her head was bowed a little. She had smoothed it tonight until it was like +softest velvet, with rich glints in it, and the amazing thought came to him +that it would be sweetly pleasant to touch with one’s hand. The discovery +was almost a shock. Keok and Nawadlook had beautiful hair, but he had never +thought of it in this way. And he had never thought of Keok’s pretty +mouth as he was thinking of the girl’s opposite him. He shifted uneasily +and was glad Mary Standish did not look at him in these moments of mental +unbalance. +</p> + +<p> +When he left the table, the girl scarcely noticed his going. It was as if she +had used him and then calmly shuttled him out of the way. He tried to laugh as +he hunted up Stampede Smith. He found him, half an hour later, feeding a +captive bear on the lower deck. It was odd, he thought, that a captive bear +should be going north. Stampede explained. The animal was a pet and belonged to +the Thlinkit Indians. There were seven, getting off at Cordova. Alan observed +that the two girls watched him closely and whispered together. They were very +pretty, with large, dark eyes and pink in their cheeks. One of the men did not +look at him at all, but sat cross-legged on the deck, with his face turned +away. +</p> + +<p> +With Stampede he went to the smoking-room, and until a late hour they discussed +the big range up under the Endicott Mountains, and Alan’s plans for the +future. Once, early in the evening, Alan went to his cabin to get maps and +photographs. Stampede’s eyes glistened as his mind seized upon the +possibilities of the new adventure. It was a vast land. An unknown country. And +Alan was its first pioneer. The old thrill ran in Stampede’s blood, and +its infectiousness caught Alan, so that he forgot Mary Standish, and all else +but the miles that lay between them and the mighty tundras beyond the Seward +Peninsula. It was midnight when Alan went to his cabin. +</p> + +<p> +He was happy. Love of life swept in an irresistible surge through his body, and +he breathed in deeply of the soft sea air that came in through his open port +from the west. In Stampede Smith he had at last found the comradeship which he +had missed, and the responsive note to the wild and half-savage desires always +smoldering in his heart. He looked out at the stars and smiled up at them, and +his soul was filled with an unspoken thankfulness that he was not born too +late. Another generation and there would be no last frontier. Twenty-five years +more and the world would lie utterly in the shackles of science and invention +and what the human race called progress. +</p> + +<p> +So God had been good to him. He was helping to write the last page in that +history which would go down through the eons of time, written in the red blood +of men who had cut the first trails into the unknown. After him, there would be +no more frontiers. No more mysteries of unknown lands to solve. No more +pioneering hazards to make. The earth would be tamed. And suddenly he thought +of Mary Standish and of what she had said to him in the dusk of evening. +Strange that it had been <i>her</i> thought, too—that she would always +love tents and old trails and nature’s barriers, and hated to see cities +and railroads and automobiles come to Alaska. He shrugged his shoulders. +Probably she had guessed what was in his own mind, for she was clever, very +clever. +</p> + +<p> +A tap at his door drew his eyes from the open watch in his hand. It was a +quarter after twelve o’clock, an unusual hour for someone to be tapping +at his door. +</p> + +<p> +It was repeated—a bit hesitatingly, he thought. Then it came again, quick +and decisive. Replacing his watch in his pocket, he opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +It was Mary Standish who stood facing him. +</p> + +<p> +He saw only her eyes at first, wide-open, strange, frightened eyes. And then he +saw the pallor of her face as she came slowly in, without waiting for him to +speak or give her permission to enter. And it was Mary Standish herself who +closed the door, while he stared at her in stupid wonderment—and stood +there with her back against it, straight and slim and deathly pale. +</p> + +<p> +“May I come in?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“My God, you’re in!” gasped Alan. “<i>You’re +in</i>.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p> +That it was past midnight, and Mary Standish had deliberately come to his room, +entering it and closing the door without a word or a nod of invitation from +him, seemed incredible to Alan. After his first explosion of astonishment he +stood mute, while the girl looked at him steadily and her breath came a little +quickly. But she was not excited. Even in his amazement he could see that. What +he had thought was fright had gone out of her eyes. But he had never seen her +so white, and never had she appeared quite so slim and childish-looking as +while she stood there in these astounding moments with her back against the +door. +</p> + +<p> +The pallor of her face accentuated the rich darkness of her hair. Even her lips +were pale. But she was not embarrassed. Her eyes were clear and unafraid now, +and in the poise of her head and body was a sureness of purpose that staggered +him. A feeling of anger, almost of personal resentment, began to possess him as +he waited for her to speak. This, at last, was the cost of his courtesies to +her, The advantage she was taking of him was an indignity and an outrage, and +his mind flashed to the suspicion that Rossland was standing just outside the +door. +</p> + +<p> +In another moment he would have brushed her aside and opened it, but her quiet +face held him. The tenseness was fading out of it. He saw her lips tremble, and +then a miracle happened. In her wide-open, beautiful eyes tears were gathering. +Even then she did not lower her glance or bury her face in her hands, but +looked at him bravely while the tear-drops glistened like diamonds on her +cheeks. He felt his heart give way. She read his thoughts, had guessed his +suspicion, and he was wrong. +</p> + +<p> +“You—you will have a seat, Miss Standish?” he asked lamely, +inclining his head toward the cabin chair. +</p> + +<p> +“No. Please let me stand.” She drew in a deep breath. “It is +late, Mr. Holt?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather an irregular hour for a visit such as this,” he assured +her. “Half an hour after midnight, to be exact. It must be very important +business that has urged you to make such a hazard aboard ship, Miss +Standish.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment she did not answer him, and he saw the little heart-throb in her +white throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Would Belinda Mulrooney have considered this a very great hazard, Mr. +Holt? In a matter of life and death, do you not think she would have come to +your cabin at midnight—even aboard ship? And it is that with me—a +matter of life and death. Less than an hour ago I came to that decision. I +could not wait until morning. I had to see you tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why me?” he asked. “Why not Rossland, or Captain Rifle, +or some other? Is it because—” +</p> + +<p> +He did not finish. He saw the shadow of something gather in her eyes, as if for +an instant she had felt a stab of humiliation or of pain, but it was gone as +quickly as it came. And very quietly, almost without emotion, she answered him. +</p> + +<p> +“I know how you feel. I have tried to place myself in your position. It +is all very irregular, as you say. But I am not ashamed. I have come to you as +I would want anyone to come to me under similar circumstances, if I were a man. +If watching you, thinking about you, making up my mind about you is taking an +advantage—then I have been unfair, Mr. Holt. But I am not sorry. I trust +you. I know you will believe me good until I am proved bad. I have come to ask +you to help me. Would you make it possible for another human being to avert a +great tragedy if you found it in your power to do so?” +</p> + +<p> +He felt his sense of judgment wavering. Had he been coolly analyzing such a +situation in the detached environment of the smoking-room, he would have called +any man a fool who hesitated to open his cabin door and show his visitor out. +But such a thought did not occur to him now. He was thinking of the +handkerchief he had found the preceding midnight. Twice she had come to his +cabin at a late hour. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be my inclination to make such a thing possible,” he +said, answering her question. “Tragedy is a nasty thing.” +</p> + +<p> +She caught the hint of irony in his voice. If anything, it added to her +calmness. He was to suffer no weeping entreaties, no feminine play of +helplessness and beauty. Her pretty mouth was a little firmer and the tilt of +her dainty chin a bit higher. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, I can’t pay you,” she said. “You are the +sort of man who would resent an offer of payment for what I am about to ask you +to do. But I must have help. If I don’t have it, and +quickly”—she shuddered slightly and tried to +smile—“something very unpleasant will happen, Mr. Holt,” she +finished. +</p> + +<p> +“If you will permit me to take you to Captain Rifle—” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Captain Rifle would question me. He would demand explanations. You +will understand when I tell you what I want. And I will do that if I may have +your word of honor to hold in confidence what I tell you, whether you help me +or not. Will you give me that pledge?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if such a pledge will relieve your mind, Miss Standish.” +</p> + +<p> +He was almost brutally incurious. As he reached for a cigar, he did not see the +sudden movement she made, as if about to fly from his room, or the quicker +throb that came in her throat. When he turned, a faint flush was gathering in +her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to leave the ship,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +The simplicity of her desire held him silent. +</p> + +<p> +“And I must leave it tonight, or tomorrow night—before we reach +Cordova.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that—your problem?” he demanded, astonished. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I must leave it in such a way that the world will believe I am dead. +I can not reach Cordova alive.” +</p> + +<p> +At last she struck home and he stared at her, wondering if she were insane. Her +quiet, beautiful eyes met his own with unflinching steadiness. His brain all at +once was crowded with questioning, but no word of it came to his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“You can help me,” he heard her saying in the same quiet, calm +voice, softened so that one could not have heard it beyond the cabin door. +“I haven’t a plan. But I know you can arrange one—if you +will. It must appear to be an accident. I must disappear, fall overboard, +anything, just so the world will believe I am dead. It is necessary. And I can +not tell you why. I can not. Oh, I <i>can not</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +A note of passion crept into her voice, but it was gone in an instant, leaving +it cold and steady again. A second time she tried to smile. He could see +courage, and a bit of defiance, shining in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I know what you are thinking, Mr. Holt. You are asking yourself if I am +mad, if I am a criminal, what my reason can be, and why I haven’t gone to +Rossland, or Captain Rifle, or some one else. And the only answer I can make is +that I have come to you because you are the only man in the world—in this +hour—that I have faith in. Some day you will understand, if you help me. +If you do not care to help me—” +</p> + +<p> +She stopped, and he made a gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if I don’t? What will happen then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be forced to the inevitable,” she said. “It is +rather unusual, isn’t it, to be asking for one’s life? But that is +what I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid—I don’t quite understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it clear, Mr. Holt? I don’t like to appear +spectacular, and I don’t want you to think of me as theatrical—even +now. I hate that sort of thing. You must simply believe me when I tell you it +is impossible for me to reach Cordova alive. If you do not help me to +disappear, help me to live—and at the same time give all others the +impression that I am dead—then I must do the other thing. I must really +die.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment his eyes blazed angrily. He felt like taking her by the shoulders +and shaking her, as he would have shaken the truth out of a child. +</p> + +<p> +“You come to me with a silly threat like that, Miss Standish? A threat of +suicide?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you want to call it that—yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you expect me to believe you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had hoped you would.” +</p> + +<p> +She had his nerves going. There was no doubt of that. He half believed her and +half disbelieved. If she had cried, if she had made the smallest effort to work +upon his sentiment, he would have disbelieved utterly. But he was not blind to +the fact that she was making a brave fight, even though a lie was behind it, +and with a consciousness of pride that bewildered him. +</p> + +<p> +She was not humiliating herself. Even when she saw the struggle going on within +him she made no effort to turn the balance in her favor. She had stated the +facts, as she claimed them to be. Now she waited. Her long lashes glistened a +little. But her eyes were clear, and her hair glowed softly, so softly that he +would never forget it, as she stood there with her back against the door, nor +the strange desire that came to him—even then—to touch it with his +hand. +</p> + +<p> +He nipped off the end of his cigar and lighted a match. “It is +Rossland,” he said. “You’re afraid of Rossland?” +</p> + +<p> +“In a way, yes; in a large way, no. I would laugh at Rossland if it were +not for the other.” +</p> + +<p> +The <i>other</i>! Why the deuce was she so provokingly ambiguous? And she had +no intention of explaining. She simply waited for him to decide. +</p> + +<p> +“What other?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“I can not tell you. I don’t want you to hate me. And you would +hate me if I told you the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you confess you are lying,” he suggested brutally. +</p> + +<p> +Even this did not stir her as he had expected it might. It did not anger her or +shame her. But she raised a pale hand and a little handkerchief to her eyes, +and he turned toward the open port, puffing at his cigar, knowing she was +fighting to keep the tears back. And she succeeded. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am not lying. What I have told you is true. It is because I will +not lie that I have not told you more. And I thank you for the time you have +given me, Mr. Holt. That you have not driven me from your cabin is a kindness +which I appreciate. I have made a mistake, that is all. I thought—” +</p> + +<p> +“How could I bring about what you ask?” he interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. You are a man. I believed you could plan a way, but +I see now how foolish I have been. It is impossible.” Her hand reached +slowly for the knob of the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you are foolish,” he agreed, and his voice was softer. +“Don’t let such thoughts overcome you, Miss Standish. Go back to +your cabin and get a night’s sleep. Don’t let Rossland worry you. +If you want me to settle with that man—” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, Mr. Holt.” +</p> + +<p> +She was opening the door. And as she went out she turned a little and looked at +him, and now she was smiling, and there were tears in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +The door closed behind her. He heard her retreating footsteps. In half a minute +he would have called her back. But it was too late. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p> +For half an hour Alan sat smoking his cigar. Mentally he was not at ease. Mary +Standish had come to him like a soldier, and she had left him like a soldier. +But in that last glimpse of her face he had caught for an instant something +which she had not betrayed in his cabin—a stab of what he thought was +pain in her tear-wet eyes as she smiled, a proud regret, possibly a shadow of +humiliation at last—or it may have been a pity for him. He was not sure. +But it was not despair. Not once had she whimpered in look or word, even when +the tears were in her eyes, and the thought was beginning to impress itself +upon him that it was he—and not Mary Standish—who had shown a +yellow streak this night. A half shame fell upon him as he smoked. For it was +clear he had not come up to her judgment of him, or else he was not so big a +fool as she had hoped he might be. In his own mind, for a time, he was at a +loss to decide. +</p> + +<p> +It was possibly the first time he had ever deeply absorbed himself in the +analysis of a woman. It was outside his business. But, born and bred of the +open country, it was as natural for him to recognize courage as it was for him +to breathe. And the girl’s courage was unusual, now that he had time to +think about it. It was this thought of her coolness and her calm refusal to +impose her case upon him with greater warmth that comforted him after a little. +A young and beautiful woman who was actually facing death would have urged her +necessity with more enthusiasm, it seemed to him. Her threat, when he debated +it intelligently, was merely thrown in, possibly on the spur of the moment, to +give impetus to his decision. She had not meant it. The idea of a girl like +Mary Standish committing suicide was stupendously impossible. Her quiet and +wonderful eyes, her beauty and the exquisite care which she gave to herself +emphasized the absurdity of such a supposition. She had come to him bravely. +There was no doubt of that. She had merely exaggerated the importance of her +visit. +</p> + +<p> +Even after he had turned many things over in his mind to bolster up this +conclusion, he was still not at ease. Against his will he recalled certain +unpleasant things which had happened within his knowledge under sudden and +unexpected stress of emotion. He tried to laugh the absurd stuff out of his +thoughts and to the end that he might add a new color to his visionings he +exchanged his half-burned cigar for a black-bowled pipe, which he filled and +lighted. Then he began walking back and forth in his cabin, like a big animal +in a small cage, until at last he stood with his head half out of the open +port, looking at the clear stars and setting the perfume of his tobacco adrift +with the soft sea wind. +</p> + +<p> +He felt himself growing comforted. Reason seated itself within him again, with +sentiment shuttled under his feet. If he had been a little harsh with Miss +Standish tonight, he would make up for it by apologizing tomorrow. She would +probably have recovered her balance by that time, and they would laugh over her +excitement and their little adventure. That is, he would. “I’m not +at all curious in the matter,” some persistent voice kept telling him, +“and I haven’t any interest in knowing what irrational whim drove +her to my cabin.” But he smoked viciously and smiled grimly as the voice +kept at him. He would have liked to obliterate Rossland from his mind. But +Rossland persisted in bobbing up, and with him Mary Standish’s words, +“If I should make an explanation, you would hate me,” or something +to that effect. He couldn’t remember exactly. And he didn’t want to +remember exactly, for it was none of his business. +</p> + +<p> +In this humor, with half of his thoughts on one side of the fence and half on +the other, he put out his light and went to bed. And he began thinking of the +Range. That was pleasanter. For the tenth time he figured out how long it would +be before the glacial-twisted ramparts of the Endicott Mountains rose up in +first welcome to his home-coming. Carl Lomen, following on the next ship, would +join him at Unalaska. They would go on to Nome together. After that he would +spend a week or so in the Peninsula, then go up the Kobuk, across the big +portage to the Koyukuk and the far headwaters of the north, and still +farther—beyond the last trails of civilized men—to his herds and +his people. And Stampede Smith would be with him. After a long winter of +homesickness it was all a comforting inducement to sleep and pleasant dreams. +But somewhere there was a wrong note in his anticipations tonight. Stampede +Smith slipped away from him, and Rossland took his place. And Keok, laughing, +changed into Mary Standish with tantalizing deviltry. It was like Keok, Alan +thought drowsily—she was always tormenting someone. +</p> + +<p> +He felt better in the morning. The sun was up, flooding the wall of his cabin, +when he awoke, and under him he could feel the roll of the open sea. Eastward +the Alaskan coast was a deep blue haze, but the white peaks of the St. Elias +Range flung themselves high up against the sun-filled sky behind it, like snowy +banners. The <i>Nome</i> was pounding ahead at full speed, and Alan’s +blood responded suddenly to the impelling thrill of her engines, beating like +twin hearts with the mighty force that was speeding them on. This was business. +It meant miles foaming away behind them and a swift biting off of space between +him and Unalaska, midway of the Aleutians. He was sorry they were losing time +by making the swing up the coast to Cordova. And with Cordova he thought of +Mary Standish. +</p> + +<p> +He dressed and shaved and went down to breakfast, still thinking of her. The +thought of meeting her again was rather discomforting, now that the time of +that possibility was actually at hand, for he dreaded moments of embarrassment +even when he was not directly accountable for them. But Mary Standish saved him +any qualms of conscience which he might have had because of his lack of +chivalry the preceding night. She was at the table. And she was not at all +disturbed when he seated himself opposite her. There was color in her cheeks, a +fragile touch of that warm glow in the heart of the wild rose of the tundras. +And it seemed to him there was a deeper, more beautiful light in her eyes than +he had ever seen before. +</p> + +<p> +She nodded, smiled at him, and resumed a conversation which she had evidently +broken for a moment with a lady who sat next to her. It was the first time Alan +had seen her interested in this way. He had no intention of listening, but +something perverse and compelling overcame his will. He discovered the lady was +going up to teach in a native school at Noorvik, on the Kobuk River, and that +for many years she had taught in Dawson and knew well the story of Belinda +Mulrooney. He gathered that Mary Standish had shown a great interest, for Miss +Robson, the teacher, was offering to send her a photograph she possessed of +Belinda Mulrooney; if Miss Standish would give her an address. The girl +hesitated, then said she was not certain of her destination, but would write +Miss Robson at Noorvik. +</p> + +<p> +“You will surely keep your promise?” urged Miss Robson. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I will keep my promise.” +</p> + +<p> +A sense of relief swept over Alan. The words were spoken so softly that he +thought she had not wanted him to hear. It was evident that a few hours’ +sleep and the beauty of the morning had completely changed her mental attitude, +and he no longer felt the suspicion of responsibility which had persisted in +attaching itself to him. Only a fool, he assured himself, could possibly see a +note of tragedy in her appearance now. Nor was she different at luncheon or at +dinner. During the day he saw nothing of her, and he was growing conscious of +the fact that she was purposely avoiding contact with him. This did not +displease him. It allowed him to pick up the threads of other interests in a +normal sort of way. He discussed Alaskan politics in the smoking-room, smoked +his black pipe without fear of giving offense, and listened to the talk of the +ship with a freedom of mind which he had not experienced since his first +meeting with Miss Standish. Yet, as night drew on, and he walked his two-mile +promenade about the deck, he felt gathering about him a peculiar impression of +aloneness. Something was missing. He did not acknowledge to himself what it was +until, as if to convict him, he saw Mary Standish come out of the door leading +from her cabin passageway, and stand alone at the rail of the ship. For a +moment he hesitated, then quietly he came up beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“It has been a wonderful day, Miss Standish,” he said, “and +Cordova is only a few hours ahead of us.” +</p> + +<p> +She scarcely turned her face and continued to look off into the shrouding +darkness of the sea. “Yes, a wonderful day, Mr. Holt,” she repeated +after him, “and Cordova is only a few hours ahead.” Then, in the +same soft, unemotional voice, she added: “I want to thank you for last +night. You brought me to a great decision.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear I did not help you.” +</p> + +<p> +It may have been fancy of the gathering dusk, that made him believe he caught a +shuddering movement of her slim shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought there were two ways,” she said, “but you made me +see there was only <i>one</i>.” She emphasized that word. It seemed to +come with a little tremble in her voice. “I was foolish. But please let +us forget. I want to think of pleasanter things. I am about to make a great +experiment, and it takes all my courage.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will win, Miss Standish,” he said in a sure voice. “In +whatever you undertake you will win. I know it. If this experiment you speak of +is the adventure of coming to Alaska—seeking your fortune—finding +your life here—it will be glorious. I can assure you of that.” +</p> + +<p> +She was quiet for a moment, and then said: +</p> + +<p> +“The unknown has always held a fascination for me. When we were under the +mountains in Skagway yesterday, I almost told you of an odd faith which I have. +I believe I have lived before, a long time ago, when America was very young. At +times the feeling is so strong that I must have faith in it. Possibly I am +foolish. But when the mountain swung back, like a great door, and we saw +Skagway, I knew that sometime—somewhere—I had seen a thing like +that before. And I have had strange visions of it. Maybe it is a touch of +madness in me. But it is that faith which gives me courage to go on with my +experiment. That—and <i>you</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she faced him, her eyes flaming. +</p> + +<p> +“You—and your suspicions and your brutality,” she went on, +her voice trembling a little as she drew herself up straight and tense before +him. “I wasn’t going to tell you, Mr. Holt. But you have given me +the opportunity, and it may do you good—after tomorrow. I came to you +because I foolishly misjudged you. I thought you were different, like your +mountains. I made a great gamble, and set you up on a pedestal as clean and +unafraid and believing all things good until you found them bad—and I +lost. I was terribly mistaken. Your first thoughts of me when I came to your +cabin were suspicious. You were angry and afraid. Yes, +<i>afraid</i>—fearful of something happening which you didn’t want +to happen. You thought, almost, that I was unclean. And you believed I was a +liar, and told me so. It wasn’t fair, Mr. Holt. It wasn’t +<i>fair</i>. There were things which I couldn’t explain to you, but I +told you Rossland knew. I didn’t keep everything back. And I believed you +were big enough to think that I was not dishonoring you with +my—friendship, even though I came to your cabin. Oh, I had that much +faith in myself—I didn’t think I would be mistaken for something +unclean and lying!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” he cried. “Listen to me—Miss +Standish—” +</p> + +<p> +She was gone, so suddenly that his movement to intercept her was futile, and +she passed through the door before he could reach her. Again he called her +name, but her footsteps were almost running up the passageway. He dropped back, +his blood cold, his hands clenched in the darkness, and his face as white as +the girl’s had been. Her words had held him stunned and mute. He saw +himself stripped naked, as she believed him to be, and the thing gripped him +with a sort of horror. And she was wrong. He had followed what he believed to +be good judgment and common sense. If, in doing that, he had been an accursed +fool— +</p> + +<p> +Determinedly he started for her cabin, his mind set upon correcting her +malformed judgment of him. There was no light coming under her door. When he +knocked, there was no answer from within. He waited, and tried again, listening +for a sound of movement. And each moment he waited he was readjusting himself. +He was half glad, in the end, that the door did not open. He believed Miss +Standish was inside, and she would undoubtedly accept the reason for his coming +without an apology in words. +</p> + +<p> +He went to his cabin, and his mind became increasingly persistent in its +disapproval of the wrong viewpoint she had taken of him. He was not +comfortable, no matter how he looked at the thing. For her clear eyes, her +smoothly glorious hair, and the pride and courage with which she had faced him +remained with him overpoweringly. He could not get away from the vision of her +as she had stood against the door with tears like diamonds on her cheeks. +Somewhere he had missed fire. He knew it. Something had escaped him which he +could not understand. And she was holding him accountable. +</p> + +<p> +The talk of the smoking-room did not interest him tonight. His efforts to +become a part of it were forced. A jazzy concert of piano and string music in +the social hall annoyed him, and a little later he watched the dancing with +such grimness that someone remarked about it. He saw Rossland whirling round +the floor with a handsome, young blonde in his arms. The girl was looking up +into his eyes, smiling, and her cheek lay unashamed against his shoulder, while +Rossland’s face rested against her fluffy hair when they mingled closely +with the other dancers. Alan turned away, an unpleasant thought of +Rossland’s association with Mary Standish in his mind. He strolled down +into the steerage. The Thlinkit people had shut themselves in with a curtain of +blankets, and from the stillness he judged they were asleep. The evening passed +slowly for him after that, until at last he went to his cabin and tried to +interest himself in a book. It was something he had anticipated reading, but +after a little he wondered if the writing was stupid, or if it was himself. The +thrill he had always experienced with this particular writer was missing. There +was no inspiration. The words were dead. Even the tobacco in his pipe seemed to +lack something, and he changed it for a cigar—and chose another book. The +result was the same. His mind refused to function, and there was no comfort in +his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +He knew he was fighting against a new thing, even as he subconsciously lied to +himself. And he was obstinately determined to win. It was a fight between +himself and Mary Standish as she had stood against his door. Mary +Standish—the slim beauty of her—her courage—a score of things +that had never touched his life before. He undressed and put on his +smoking-gown and slippers, repudiating the honesty of the emotions that were +struggling for acknowledgment within him. He was a bit mad and entirely a fool, +he told himself. But the assurance did him no good. +</p> + +<p> +He went to bed, propped himself up against his pillows, and made another effort +to read. He half-heartedly succeeded. At ten o’clock music and dancing +ceased, and stillness fell over the ship. After that he found himself becoming +more interested in the first book he had started to read. His old satisfaction +slowly returned to him. He relighted his cigar and enjoyed it. Distantly he +heard the ship’s bells, eleven o’clock, and after that the +half-hour and midnight. The printed pages were growing dim, and drowsily he +marked his book, placed it on the table, and yawned. They must be nearing +Cordova. He could feel the slackened speed of the <i>Nome</i> and the softer +throb of her engines. Probably they had passed Cape St. Elias and were drawing +inshore. +</p> + +<p> +And then, sudden and thrilling, came a woman’s scream. A piercing cry of +terror, of agony—and of something else that froze the blood in his veins +as he sprang from his berth. Twice it came, the second time ending in a moaning +wail and a man’s husky shout. Feet ran swiftly past his window. He heard +another shout and then a voice of command. He could not distinguish the words, +but the ship herself seemed to respond. There came the sudden smoothness of +dead engines, followed by the pounding shock of reverse and the clanging alarm +of a bell calling boats’ crews to quarters. +</p> + +<p> +Alan faced his cabin door. He knew what had happened. Someone was overboard. +And in this moment all life and strength were gone out of his body, for the +pale face of Mary Standish seemed to rise for an instant before him, and in her +quiet voice she was telling him again that <i>this was the other way.</i> His +face went white as he caught up his smoking-gown, flung open his door, and ran +down the dimly lighted corridor. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p> +The reversing of the engines had not stopped the momentum of the ship when Alan +reached the open deck. She was fighting, but still swept slowly ahead against +the force struggling to hold her back. He heard running feet, voices, and the +rattle of davit blocks, and came up as the starboard boat aft began swinging +over the smooth sea. Captain Rifle was ahead of him, half-dressed, and the +second officer was giving swift commands. A dozen passengers had come from the +smoking-room. There was only one woman. She stood a little back, partly +supported in a man’s arms, her face buried in her hands. Alan looked at +the man, and he knew from his appearance that she was the woman who had +screamed. +</p> + +<p> +He heard the splash of the boat as it struck water, and the rattle of oars, but +the sound seemed a long distance away. Only one thing came to him distinctly in +the sudden sickness that gripped him, and that was the terrible sobbing of the +woman. He went to them, and the deck seemed to sway under his feet. He was +conscious of a crowd gathering about the empty davits, but he had eyes only for +these two. +</p> + +<p> +“Was it a man—or a woman?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +It did not seem to him it was his voice speaking. The words were forced from +his lips. And the other man, with the woman’s head crumpled against his +shoulder, looked into a face as emotionless as stone. +</p> + +<p> +“A woman,” he replied. “This is my wife. We were sitting here +when she climbed upon the rail and leaped in. My wife screamed when she saw her +going.” +</p> + +<p> +The woman raised her head. She was still sobbing, with no tears in her eyes, +but only horror. Her hands were clenched about her husband’s arm. She +struggled to speak and failed, and the man bowed his head to comfort her. And +then Captain Rifle stood at their side. His face was haggard, and a glance told +Alan that he knew. +</p> + +<p> +“Who was it?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“This lady thinks it was Miss Standish.” +</p> + +<p> +Alan did not move or speak. Something seemed to have gone wrong for a moment in +his head. He could not hear distinctly the excitement behind him, and before +him things were a blur. The sensation came and passed swiftly, with no sign of +it in the immobility of his pale face. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the girl at your table. The pretty girl. I saw her clearly, and +then—then—” +</p> + +<p> +It was the woman. The captain broke in, as she caught herself with a choking +breath: +</p> + +<p> +“It is possible you are mistaken. I can not believe Miss Standish would +do that. We shall soon know. Two boats are gone, and a third lowering.” +He was hurrying away, throwing the last words over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +Alan made no movement to follow. His brain cleared itself of shock, and a +strange calmness began to possess him. “You are quite sure it was the +girl at my table?” he found himself saying. “Is it possible you +might be mistaken?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the woman. “She was so quiet and pretty that I +have noticed her often. I saw her clearly in the starlight. And she saw me just +before she climbed to the rail and jumped. I’m almost sure she smiled at +me and was going to speak. And then—then—she was gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know until my wife screamed,” added the man. +“I was seated facing her at the time. I ran to the rail and could see +nothing behind but the wash of the ship. I think she went down +instantly.” +</p> + +<p> +Alan turned. He thrust himself silently through a crowd of excited and +questioning people, but he did not hear their questions and scarcely sensed the +presence of their voices. His desire to make great haste had left him, and he +walked calmly and deliberately to the cabin where Mary Standish would be if the +woman was mistaken, and it was not she who had leaped into the sea. He knocked +at the door only once. Then he opened it. There was no cry of fear or protest +from within, and he knew the room was empty before he turned on the electric +light. He had known it from the beginning, from the moment he heard the +woman’s scream. Mary Standish was gone. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her bed. There was the depression made by her head in the pillow. +A little handkerchief lay on the coverlet, crumpled and twisted. Her few +possessions were arranged neatly on the reading table. Then he saw her shoes +and her stockings, and a dress on the bed, and he picked up one of the shoes +and held it in a cold, steady hand. It was a little shoe. His fingers closed +about it until it crushed like paper. +</p> + +<p> +He was holding it when he heard someone behind him, and he turned slowly to +confront Captain Rifle. The little man’s face was like gray wax. For a +moment neither of them spoke. Captain Rifle looked at the shoe crumpled in +Alan’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“The boats got away quickly,” he said in a husky voice. “We +stopped inside the third-mile. If she can swim—there is a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“She won’t swim,” replied Alan. “She didn’t jump +in for that. She is gone.” +</p> + +<p> +In a vague and detached sort of way he was surprised at the calmness of his own +voice. Captain Rifle saw the veins standing out on his clenched hands and in +his forehead. Through many years he had witnessed tragedy of one kind and +another. It was not strange to him. But a look of wonderment shot into his eyes +at Alan’s words. It took only a few seconds to tell what had happened the +preceding night, without going into details. The captain’s hand was on +Alan’s arm when he finished, and the flesh under his fingers was rigid +and hard as steel. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll talk with Rossland after the boats return,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He drew Alan from the room and closed the door. +</p> + +<p> +Not until he had reentered his own cabin did Alan realize he still held the +crushed shoe in his hand. He placed it on his bed and dressed. It took him only +a few minutes. Then he went aft and found the captain. Half an hour later the +first boat returned. Five minutes after that, a second came in. And then a +third. Alan stood back, alone, while the passengers crowded the rail. He knew +what to expect. And the murmur of it came to him—failure! It was like a +sob rising softly out of the throats of many people. He drew away. He did not +want to meet their eyes, or talk with them, or hear the things they would be +saying. And as he went, a moan came to his lips, a strangled cry filled with an +agony which told him he was breaking down. He dreaded that. It was the first +law of his kind to stand up under blows, and he fought against the desire to +reach out his arms to the sea and entreat Mary Standish to rise up out of it +and forgive him. +</p> + +<p> +He drove himself on like a mechanical thing. His white face was a mask through +which burned no sign of his grief, and in his eyes was a deadly coldness. +Heartless, the woman who had screamed might have said. And she would have been +right. His heart was gone. +</p> + +<p> +Two people were at Rossland’s door when he came up. One was Captain +Rifle, the other Marston, the ship’s doctor. The captain was knocking +when Alan joined them. He tried the door. It was locked. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t rouse him,” he said. “And I did not see him +among the passengers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor did I,” said Alan. +</p> + +<p> +Captain Rifle fumbled with his master key. +</p> + +<p> +“I think the circumstances permit,” he explained. In a moment he +looked up, puzzled. “The door is locked on the inside, and the key is in +the lock.” +</p> + +<p> +He pounded with his fist on the panel. He continued to pound until his knuckles +were red. There was still no response. +</p> + +<p> +“Odd,” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +“Very odd,” agreed Alan. +</p> + +<p> +His shoulder was against the door. He drew back and with a single crash sent it +in. A pale light filtered into the room from a corridor lamp, and the men +stared. Rossland was in bed. They could see his face dimly, upturned, as if +staring at the ceiling. But even now he made no movement and spoke no word. +Marston entered and turned on the light. +</p> + +<p> +After that, for ten seconds, no man moved. Then Alan heard Captain Rifle close +the door behind them, and from Marston’s lips came a startled whisper: +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” +</p> + +<p> +Rossland was not covered. He was undressed and flat on his back. His arms were +stretched out, his head thrown back, his mouth agape. And the white sheet under +him was red with blood. It had trickled over the edges and to the floor. His +eyes were loosely closed. After the first shock Doctor Marston reacted swiftly. +He bent over Rossland, and in that moment, when his back was toward them, +Captain Rifle’s eyes met Alan’s. The same thought—and in +another instant disbelief—flashed from one to the other. +</p> + +<p> +Marston was speaking, professionally cool now. “A knife stab, close to +the right lung, if not in it. And an ugly bruise over his eye. He is not dead. +Let him lie as he is until I return with instruments and dressing.” +</p> + +<p> +“The door was locked on the inside,” said Alan, as soon as the +doctor was gone. “And the window is closed. It looks like—suicide. +It is possible—there was an understanding between them—and Rossland +chose this way instead of the sea?” +</p> + +<p> +Captain Rifle was on his knees. He looked under the berth, peered into the +corners, and pulled back the blanket and sheet. “There is no +knife,” he said stonily. And in a moment he added: “There are red +stains on the window. It was not attempted suicide. It was—” +</p> + +<p> +“Murder.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if Rossland dies. It was done through the open window. Someone +called Rossland to the window, struck him, and then closed the window. Or it is +possible, if he were sitting or standing here, that a long-armed man might have +reached him. It was a man, Alan. We’ve got to believe that. It was a +<i>man</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, a man,” Alan nodded. +</p> + +<p> +They could hear Marston returning, and he was not alone. Captain Rifle made a +gesture toward the door. “Better go,” he advised. “This is a +ship’s matter, and you won’t want to be unnecessarily mixed up in +it. Come to my cabin in half an hour. I shall want to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +The second officer and the purser were with Doctor Marston when Alan passed +them, and he heard the door of Rossland’s room close behind him. The ship +was trembling under his feet again. They were moving away. He went to Mary +Standish’s cabin and deliberately gathered her belongings and put them in +the small hand-bag with which she had come aboard. Without any effort at +concealment he carried the bag to his room and packed his own dunnage. After +that he hunted up Stampede Smith and explained to him that an unexpected change +in his plans compelled them to stop at Cordova. He was five minutes late in his +appointment with the captain. +</p> + +<p> +Captain Rifle was seated at his desk when Alan entered his cabin. He nodded +toward a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll reach Cordova inside of an hour,” he said. +“Doctor Marston says Rossland will live, but of course we can not hold +the <i>Nome</i> in port until he is able to talk. He was struck through the +window. I will make oath to that. Have you anything—in mind?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only one thing,” replied Alan, “a determination to go ashore +as soon as I can. If it is possible, I shall recover her body and care for it. +As for Rossland, it is not a matter of importance to me whether he lives or +dies. Mary Standish had nothing to do with the assault upon him. It was merely +coincident with her own act and nothing more. Will you tell me our location +when she leaped into the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +He was fighting to retain his calmness, his resolution not to let Captain Rifle +see clearly what the tragedy of her death had meant to him. +</p> + +<p> +“We were seven miles off the Eyak River coast, a little south and west. +If her body goes ashore, it will be on the island, or the mainland east of Eyak +River. I am glad you are going to make an effort. There is a chance. And I hope +you will find her.” +</p> + +<p> +Captain Rifle rose from his chair and walked nervously back and forth. +“It’s a bad blow for the ship—her first trip,” he said. +“But I’m not thinking of the <i>Nome</i>. I’m thinking of +Mary Standish. My God, it is terrible! If it had been anyone +else—<i>anyone</i>—” His words seemed to choke him, and he +made a despairing gesture with his hands. “It is hard to +believe—almost impossible to believe she would deliberately kill herself. +Tell me again what happened in your cabin.” +</p> + +<p> +Crushing all emotion out of his voice, Alan repeated briefly certain details of +the girl’s visit. But a number of things which she had trusted to his +confidence he did not betray. He did not dwell upon Rossland’s influence +or her fear of him. Captain Rifle saw his effort, and when he had finished, he +gripped his hand, understanding in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not responsible—not so much as you believe,” he +said. “Don’t take it too much to heart, Alan. But find her. Find +her if you can, and let me know. You will do that—you will let me +know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I shall let you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Rossland. He is a man with many enemies. I am positive his assailant +is still on board.” +</p> + +<p> +“Undoubtedly.” +</p> + +<p> +The captain hesitated. He did not look at Alan as he said: “There is +nothing in Miss Standish’s room. Even her bag is gone. I thought I saw +things in there when I was with you. I thought I saw something in your hand. +But I must have been mistaken. She probably flung everything into the +sea—before she went.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such a thought is possible,” agreed Alan evasively. +</p> + +<p> +Captain Rifle drummed the top of his desk with his finger-tips. His face looked +haggard and old in the shaded light of the cabin. “That’s all, +Alan. God knows I’d give this old life of mine to bring her back if I +could. To me she was much like—someone—a long time dead. +That’s why I broke ship’s regulations when she came aboard so +strangely at Seattle, without reservation. I’m sorry now. I should have +sent her ashore. But she is gone, and it is best that you and I keep to +ourselves a little of what we guess. I hope you will find her, and if you +do—” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall send you word.” +</p> + +<p> +They shook hands, and Captain Rifle’s fingers still held to Alan’s +as they went to the door and opened it. A swift change had come in the sky. The +stars were gone, and a moaning whisper hovered over the darkened sea. +</p> + +<p> +“A thunder-storm,” said the captain. +</p> + +<p> +His mastery was gone, his shoulders bent, and there was a tremulous note in his +voice that compelled Alan to look straight out into darkness. And then he said, +</p> + +<p> +“Rossland will be sent to the hospital in Cordova, if he lives.” +</p> + +<p> +Alan made no answer. The door closed softly behind him, and slowly he went +through gloom to the rail of the ship, and stood there, with the whispered +moaning of the sea coming to him out of a pit of darkness. A vast distance away +he heard a low intonation of thunder. +</p> + +<p> +He struggled to keep hold of himself as he returned to his cabin. Stampede +Smith was waiting for him, his dunnage packed in an oilskin bag. Alan explained +the unexpected change in his plans. Business in Cordova would make him miss a +boat and would delay him at least a month in reaching the tundras. It was +necessary for Stampede to go on to the range alone. He could make a quick trip +by way of the Government railroad to Tanana. After that he would go to +Allakakat, and thence still farther north into the Endicott country. It would +be easy for a man like Stampede to find the range. He drew a map, gave him +certain written instructions, money, and a final warning not to lose his head +and take up gold-hunting on the way. While it was necessary for him to go +ashore at once, he advised Stampede not to leave the ship until morning. And +Stampede swore on oath he would not fail him. +</p> + +<p> +Alan did not explain his own haste and was glad Captain Rifle had not +questioned him too closely. He was not analyzing the reasonableness of his +action. He only knew that every muscle in his body was aching for physical +action and that he must have it immediately or break. The desire was a touch of +madness in his blood, a thing which he was holding back by sheer force of will. +He tried to shut out the vision of a pale face floating in the sea; he fought +to keep a grip on the dispassionate calmness which was a part of him. But the +ship itself was battering down his stoic resistance. In an hour—since he +had heard the scream of the woman—he had come to hate it. He wanted the +feel of solid earth under his feet. He wanted, with all his soul, to reach that +narrow strip of coast where Mary Standish was drifting in. +</p> + +<p> +But even Stampede saw no sign of the fire that was consuming him. And not until +Alan’s feet touched land, and Cordova lay before him like a great hole in +the mountains, did the strain give way within him. After he had left the wharf, +he stood alone in the darkness, breathing deeply of the mountain smell and +getting his bearings. It was more than darkness about him. An occasional light +burning dimly here and there gave to it the appearance of a sea of ink +threatening to inundate him. The storm had not broken, but it was close, and +the air was filled with a creeping warning. The moaning of thunder was low, and +yet very near, as if smothered by the hand of a mighty force preparing to take +the earth unaware. +</p> + +<p> +Through the pit of gloom Alan made his way. He was not lost. Three years ago he +had walked a score of times to the cabin of old Olaf Ericksen, half a mile up +the shore, and he knew Ericksen would still be there, where he had squatted for +twenty years, and where he had sworn to stay until the sea itself was ready to +claim him. So he felt his way instinctively, while a crash of thunder broke +over his head. The forces of the night were unleashing. He could hear a +gathering tumult in the mountains hidden beyond the wall of blackness, and +there came a sudden glare of lightning that illumined his way. It helped him. +He saw a white reach of sand ahead and quickened his steps. And out of the sea +he heard more distinctly an increasing sound. It was as if he walked between +two great armies that were setting earth and sea atremble as they advanced to +deadly combat. +</p> + +<p> +The lightning came again, and after it followed a discharge of thunder that +gave to the ground under his feet a shuddering tremor. It rolled away, echo +upon echo, through the mountains, like the booming of signal-guns, each more +distant than the other. A cold breath of air struck Alan in the face, and +something inside him rose up to meet the thrill of storm. +</p> + +<p> +He had always loved the rolling echoes of thunder in the mountains and the fire +of lightning among their peaks. On such a night, with the crash of the elements +about his father’s cabin and the roaring voices of the ranges filling the +darkness with tumult, his mother had brought him into the world. Love of it was +in his blood, a part of his soul, and there were times when he yearned for this +“talk of the mountains” as others yearn for the coming of spring. +He welcomed it now as his eyes sought through the darkness for a glimmer of the +light that always burned from dusk until dawn in Olaf Ericksen’s cabin. +</p> + +<p> +He saw it at last, a yellow eye peering at him through a slit in an inky wall. +A moment later the darker shadow of the cabin rose up in his face, and a flash +of lightning showed him the door. In a moment of silence he could hear the +patter of huge raindrops on the roof as he dropped his bags and began hammering +with his fist to arouse the Swede. Then he flung open the unlocked door and +entered, tossing his dunnage to the floor, and shouted the old greeting that +Ericksen would not have forgotten, though nearly a quarter of a century had +passed since he and Alan’s father had tramped the mountains together. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="332"></a> +<img src="images/332.jpg" width="600" height="386" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">The long, black launch nosed its way out to sea.</p> +</div> + +<p> +He had turned up the wick of the oil lamp on the table when into the frame of +an inner door came Ericksen himself, with his huge, bent shoulders, his massive +head, his fierce eyes, and a great gray beard streaming over his naked chest. +He stared for a moment, and Alan flung off his hat, and as the storm broke, +beating upon the cabin in a mighty shock of thunder and wind and rain, a bellow +of recognition came from Ericksen. They gripped hands. +</p> + +<p> +The Swede’s voice rose above wind and rain and the rattle of loose +windows, and he was saying something about three years ago and rubbing the +sleep from his eyes, when the strange look in Alan’s face made him pause +to hear other words than his own. +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes later he opened a door looking out over the black sea, bracing his +arm against it. The wind tore in, beating his whitening beard over his +shoulders, and with it came a deluge of rain that drenched him as he stood +there. He forced the door shut and faced Alan, a great, gray ghost of a man in +the yellow glow of the oil lamp. +</p> + +<p> +From then until dawn they waited. And in the first break of that dawn the long, +black launch of Olaf, the Swede, nosed its way steadily out to sea. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p> +The wind had died away, but the rain continued, torrential in its downpour, and +the mountains grumbled with dying thunder. The town was blotted out, and fifty +feet ahead of the hissing nose of the launch Alan could see only a gray wall. +Water ran in streams from his rubber slicker, and Olaf’s great beard was +dripping like a wet rag. He was like a huge gargoyle at the wheel, and in the +face of impenetrable gloom he opened speed until the <i>Norden</i> was shooting +with the swiftness of a torpedo through the sea. +</p> + +<p> +In Olaf’s cabin Alan had listened to the folly of expecting to find Mary +Standish. Between Eyak River and Katalla was a mainland of battered reefs and +rocks and an archipelago of islands in which a pirate fleet might have found a +hundred hiding-places. In his experience of twenty years Ericksen had never +known of the finding of a body washed ashore, and he stated firmly his belief +that the girl was at the bottom of the sea. But the impulse to go on grew no +less in Alan. It quickened with the straining eagerness of the <i>Norden</i> as +the slim craft leaped through the water. +</p> + +<p> +Even the drone of thunder and the beat of rain urged him on. To him there was +nothing absurd in the quest he was about to make. It was the least he could do, +and the only honest thing he could do, he kept telling himself. And there was a +chance that he would find her. All through his life had run that element of +chance; usually it was against odds he had won, and there rode with him in the +gray dawn a conviction he was going to win now—that he would find Mary +Standish somewhere in the sea or along the coast between Eyak River and the +first of the islands against which the shoreward current drifted. And when he +found her— +</p> + +<p> +He had not gone beyond that. But it pressed upon him now, and in moments it +overcame him, and he saw her in a way which he was fighting to keep out of his +mind. Death had given a vivid clearness to his mental pictures of her. A strip +of white beach persisted in his mind, and waiting for him on this beach was the +slim body of the girl, her pale face turned up to the morning sun, her long +hair streaming over the sand. It was a vision that choked him, and he struggled +to keep away from it. If he found her like that, he knew, at last, what he +would do. It was the final crumbling away of something inside him, the breaking +down of that other Alan Holt whose negative laws and self-imposed blindness had +sent Mary Standish to her death. +</p> + +<p> +Truth seemed to mock at him, flaying him for that invulnerable poise in which +he had taken such an egotistical pride. For she had come to <i>him</i> in her +hour of trouble, and there were five hundred others aboard the <i>Nome</i>. She +had believed in him, had given him her friendship and her confidence, and at +the last had placed her life in his hands. And when he had failed her, she had +not gone to another. She had kept her word, proving to him she was not a liar +and a fraud, and he knew at last the courage of womanhood and the truth of her +words, “You will understand—tomorrow.” +</p> + +<p> +He kept the fight within himself. Olaf did not see it as the dawn lightened +swiftly into the beginning of day. There was no change in the tense lines of +his face and the grim resolution in his eyes. And Olaf did not press his folly +upon him, but kept the <i>Norden</i> pointed seaward, adding still greater +speed as the huge shadow of the headland loomed up in the direction of +Hinchinbrook Island. With increasing day the rain subsided; it fell in a +drizzle for a time and then stopped. Alan threw off his slicker and wiped the +water from his eyes and hair. White mists began to rise, and through them shot +faint rose-gleams of light. Olaf grunted approbation as he wrung water from his +beard. The sun was breaking through over the mountain tops, and straight above, +as the mist dissolved, was radiant blue sky. +</p> + +<p> +The miracle of change came swiftly in the next half-hour. Storm had washed the +air until it was like tonic; a salty perfume rose from the sea; and Olaf stood +up and stretched himself and shook the wet from his body as he drank the +sweetness into his lungs. Shoreward Alan saw the mountains taking form, and one +after another they rose up like living things, their crests catching the fire +of the sun. Dark inundations of forest took up the shimmering gleam, green +slopes rolled out from behind veils of smoking vapor, and suddenly—in a +final triumph of the sun—the Alaskan coast lay before him in all its +glory. +</p> + +<p> +The Swede made a great gesture of exultation with his free arm, grinning at his +companion, pride and the joy of living in his bearded face. But in Alan’s +there was no change. Dully he sensed the wonder of day and of sunlight breaking +over the mighty ranges to the sea, but something was missing. The soul of it +was gone, and the old thrill was dead. He felt the tragedy of it, and his lips +tightened even as he met the other’s smile, for he no longer made an +effort to blind himself to the truth. +</p> + +<p> +Olaf began to guess deeply at that truth, now that he could see Alan’s +face in the pitiless light of the day, and after a little the thing lay naked +in his mind. The quest was not a matter of duty, nor was it inspired by the +captain of the <i>Nome</i>, as Alan had given him reason to believe. There was +more than grimness in the other’s face, and a strange sort of sickness +lay in his eyes. A little later he observed the straining eagerness with which +those eyes scanned the softly undulating surface of the sea. +</p> + +<p> +At last he said, “If Captain Rifle was right, the girl went overboard +<i>out there</i>,” and he pointed. +</p> + +<p> +Alan stood up. +</p> + +<p> +“But she wouldn’t be there now,” Olaf added. +</p> + +<p> +In his heart he believed she was, straight down—at the bottom. He turned +his boat shoreward. Creeping out from the shadow of the mountains was the white +sand of the beach three or four miles away. A quarter of an hour later a spiral +of smoke detached itself from the rocks and timber that came down close to the +sea. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s McCormick’s,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Alan made no answer. Through Olaf’s binoculars he picked out the +Scotchman’s cabin. It was Sandy McCormick, Olaf had assured him, who knew +every eddy and drift in fifty miles of coast, and with his eyes shut could find +Mary Standish if she came ashore. And it was Sandy who came down to greet them +when Ericksen dropped his anchor in shallow water. +</p> + +<p> +They leaped out, thigh-deep, and waded to the beach, and in the door of the +cabin beyond Alan saw a woman looking down at them wonderingly. Sandy himself +was young and ruddy-faced, more like a boy than a man. They shook hands. Then +Alan told of the tragedy aboard the <i>Nome</i> and what his mission was. He +made a great effort to speak calmly, and believed that he succeeded. Certainly +there was no break of emotion in his cold, even voice, and at the same time no +possibility of evading its deadly earnestness. McCormick, whose means of +livelihood were frequently more unsubstantial than real, listened to the offer +of pecuniary reward for his services with something like shock. Fifty dollars a +day for his time, and an additional five thousand dollars if he found the +girl’s body. +</p> + +<p> +To Alan the sums meant nothing. He was not measuring dollars, and if he had +said ten thousand or twenty thousand, the detail of price would not have +impressed him as important. He possessed as much money as that in the Nome +banks, and a little more, and had the thing been practicable he would as +willingly have offered his reindeer herds could they have guaranteed him the +possession of what he sought. In Olaf’s face McCormick caught a look +which explained the situation a little. Alan Holt was not mad. He was as any +other man might be who had lost the most precious thing in the world. And +unconsciously, as he pledged his services in acceptance of the offer, he +glanced in the direction of the little woman standing in the doorway of the +cabin. +</p> + +<p> +Alan met her. She was a quiet, sweet-looking girl-woman. She smiled gravely at +Olaf, gave her hand to Alan, and her blue eyes dilated when she heard what had +happened aboard the <i>Nome</i>. Alan left the three together and returned to +the beach, while between the loading and the lighting of his pipe the Swede +told what he had guessed—that this girl whose body would never be washed +ashore was the beginning and the end of the world to Alan Holt. +</p> + +<p> +For many miles they searched the beach that day, while Sandy McCormick +skirmished among the islands south and eastward in a light shore-launch. He +was, in a way, a Paul Revere spreading intelligence, and with Scotch canniness +made a good bargain for himself. In a dozen cabins he left details of the +drowning and offered a reward of five hundred dollars for the finding of the +body, so that twenty men and boys and half as many women were seeking before +nightfall. +</p> + +<p> +“And remember,” Sandy told each of them, “the chances are +she’ll wash ashore sometime between tomorrow and three days later, if she +comes ashore at all.” +</p> + +<p> +In the dusk of that first day Alan found himself ten miles up the coast. He was +alone, for Olaf Ericksen had gone in the opposite direction. It was a different +Alan who watched the setting sun dipping into the western sea, with the golden +slopes of the mountains reflecting its glory behind him. It was as if he had +passed through a great sickness, and up from the earth of his own beloved land +had crept slowly into his body and soul a new understanding of life. There was +despair in his face, but it was a gentler thing now. The harsh lines of an +obstinate will were gone from about his mouth, his eyes no longer concealed +their grief, and there was something in his attitude of a man chastened by a +consuming fire. He retraced his steps through deepening twilight, and with each +mile of his questing return there grew in him that something which had come to +him out of death, and which he knew would never leave him. And with this change +the droning softness of the night itself seemed to whisper that the sea would +not give up its dead. +</p> + +<p> +Olaf and Sandy McCormick and Sandy’s wife were in the cabin when he +returned at midnight. He was exhausted. Seven months in the States had softened +him, he explained. He did not inquire how successful the others had been. He +knew. The woman’s eyes told him, the almost mothering eagerness in them +when he came through the door. She had coffee and food ready for him, and he +forced himself to eat. Sandy gave a report of what he had done, and Olaf smoked +his pipe and tried to speak cheerfully of the splendid weather that was coming +tomorrow. Not one of them spoke of Mary Standish. +</p> + +<p> +Alan felt the strain they were under and knew his presence was the cause of it, +so he lighted his own pipe after eating and talked to Ellen McCormick about the +splendor of the mountains back of Eyak River, and how fortunate she was to have +her home in this little corner of paradise. He caught a flash of something +unspoken in her eyes. It was a lonely place for a woman, alone, without +children, and he spoke about children to Sandy, smiling. They should have +children—a lot of them. Sandy blushed, and Olaf let out a boom of +laughter. But the woman’s face was unflushed and serious; only her eyes +betrayed her, something wistful and appealing in them as she looked at Sandy. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re building a new cabin,” he said, “and +there’s two rooms in it specially for kids.” +</p> + +<p> +There was pride in his voice as he made pretense to light a pipe that was +already lighted, and pride in the look he gave his young wife. A moment later +Ellen McCormick deftly covered with her apron something which lay on a little +table near the door through which Alan had to pass to enter his sleeping-room. +Olaf’s eyes twinkled. But Alan did not see. Only he knew there should be +children here, where there was surely love. It did not occur to him as being +strange that he, Alan Holt, should think of such a matter at all. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning the search was resumed. Sandy drew a crude map of certain +hidden places up the east coast where drifts and cross-currents tossed the +flotsam of the sea, and Alan set out for these shores with Olaf at the wheel of +the <i>Norden</i>. It was sunset when they returned, and in the calm of a +wonderful evening, with the comforting peace of the mountains smiling down at +them, Olaf believed the time had come to speak what was in his mind. He spoke +first of the weird tricks of the Alaskan waters, and of strange forces deep +down under the surface which he had never had explained to him, and of how he +had lost a cask once upon a time, and a week later had run upon it well upon +its way to Japan. He emphasized the hide-and-seek playfulness of the undertows +and the treachery of them. +</p> + +<p> +Then he came bluntly to the point of the matter. It would be better if Mary +Standish never did come ashore. It would be days—probably weeks—if +it ever happened at all, and there would be nothing about her for Alan to +recognize. Better a peaceful resting-place at the bottom of the sea. That was +what he called it—“a peaceful resting-place”—and in his +earnestness to soothe another’s grief he blundered still more deeply into +the horror of it all, describing certain details of what flesh and bone could +and could not stand, until Alan felt like clubbing him beyond the power of +speech. He was glad when he saw the McCormick cabin. +</p> + +<p> +Sandy was waiting for them when they waded ashore. Something unusual was in his +face, Alan thought, and for a moment his heart waited in suspense. But the +Scotchman shook his head negatively and went close to Olaf Ericksen. Alan did +not see the look that passed between them. He went to the cabin, and Ellen +McCormick put a hand on his arm when he entered. It was an unusual thing for +her to do. And there was a glow in her eyes which had not been there last +night, and a flush in her cheeks, and a new, strange note in her voice when she +spoke to him. It was almost exultation, something she was trying to keep back. +</p> + +<p> +“You—you didn’t find her?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” His voice was tired and a little old. “Do you think I +shall ever find her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not as you have expected,” she answered quietly. “She will +never come like that.” She seemed to be making an effort. +“You—you would give a great deal to have her back, Mr. Holt?” +</p> + +<p> +Her question was childish in its absurdity, and she was like a child looking at +him as she did in this moment. He forced a smile to his lips and nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. Everything I possess.” +</p> + +<p> +“You—you—loved her—” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice trembled. It was odd she should ask these questions. But the probing +did not sting him; it was not a woman’s curiosity that inspired them, and +the comforting softness in her voice did him good. He had not realized before +how much he wanted to answer that question, not only for himself, but for +someone else—aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I did.” +</p> + +<p> +The confession almost startled him. It seemed an amazing confidence to be +making under any circumstances, and especially upon such brief acquaintance. +But he said no more, though in Ellen McCormick’s face and eyes was a +tremulous expectancy. He stepped into the little room which had been his +sleeping place, and returned with his dunnage-sack. Out of this he took the bag +in which were Mary Standish’s belongings, and gave it to Sandy’s +wife. It was a matter of business now, and he tried to speak in a businesslike +way. +</p> + +<p> +“Her things are inside. I got them in her cabin. If you find her, after I +am gone, you will need them. You understand, of course. And if you don’t +find her, keep them for me. I shall return some day.” It seemed hard for +him to give his simple instructions. He went on: “I don’t think I +shall stay any longer, but I will leave a certified check at Cordova, and it +will be turned over to your husband when she is found. And if you do find her, +you will look after her yourself, won’t you, Mrs. McCormick?” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen McCormick choked a little as she answered him, promising to do what he +asked. He would always remember her as a sympathetic little thing, and half an +hour later, after he had explained everything to Sandy, he wished her happiness +when he took her hand in saying good-by. Her hand was trembling. He wondered at +it and said something to Sandy about the priceless value of a happiness such as +his, as they went down to the beach. +</p> + +<p> +The velvety darkness of the sky was athrob with the heart-beat of stars, when +the <i>Norden’s</i> shimmering trail led once more out to sea. Alan +looked up at them, and his mind groped strangely in the infinity that lay above +him. He had never measured it before. Life had been too full. But now it seemed +so vast, and his range in the tundras so far away, that a great loneliness +seized upon him as he turned his eyes to look back at the dimly white +shore-line dissolving swiftly in the gloom that lay beneath the mountains. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p> +That night, in Olaf’s cabin, Alan put himself back on the old track +again. He made no effort to minimize the tragedy that had come into his life, +and he knew its effect upon him would never be wiped away, and that Mary +Standish would always live in his thoughts, no matter what happened in the +years to come. But he was not the sort to let any part of himself wither up and +die because of a blow that had darkened his mental visions of things. His plans +lay ahead of him, his old ambitions and his dreams of achievement. They seemed +pulseless and dead now, but he knew it was because his own fire had temporarily +burned out. And he realized the vital necessity of building it up again. So he +first wrote a letter to Ellen McCormick, and in this placed a second +letter—carefully sealed—which was not to be opened unless they +found Mary Standish, and which contained something he had found impossible to +put into words in Sandy’s cabin. It was trivial and embarrassing when +spoken to others, but it meant a great deal to him. Then he made the final +arrangements for Olaf to carry him to Seward in the <i>Norden</i>, for Captain +Rifle’s ship was well on her way to Unalaska. Thought of Captain Rifle +urged him to write another letter in which he told briefly the disappointing +details of his search. +</p> + +<p> +He was rather surprised the next morning to find he had entirely forgotten +Rossland. While he was attending to his affairs at the bank, Olaf secured +information that Rossland was resting comfortably in the hospital and had not +one chance in ten of dying. It was not Alan’s intention to see him. He +wanted to hear nothing he might have to say about Mary Standish. To associate +them in any way, as he thought of her now, was little short of sacrilege. He +was conscious of the change in himself, for it was rather an amazing upsetting +of the original Alan Holt. That person would have gone to Rossland with the +deliberate and businesslike intention of sifting the matter to the bottom that +he might disprove his own responsibility and set himself right in his own eyes. +In self-defense he would have given Rossland an opportunity to break down with +cold facts the disturbing something which his mind had unconsciously built up. +But the new Alan revolted. He wanted to carry the thing away with him, he +wanted it to live, and so it went with him, uncontaminated by any truths or +lies which Rossland might have told him. +</p> + +<p> +They left Cordova early in the afternoon, and at sunset that evening camped on +the tip of a wooded island a mile or two from the mainland. Olaf knew the +island and had chosen it for reasons of his own. It was primitive and alive +with birds. Olaf loved the birds, and the cheer of their vesper song and +bedtime twitter comforted Alan. He seized an ax, and for the first time in +seven months his muscles responded to the swing of it. And Ericksen, old as his +years in the way of the north, whistled loudly and rumbled a bit of crude song +through his beard as he lighted a fire, knowing the medicine of the big open +was getting its hold on Alan again. To Alan it was like coming to the edge of +home once more. It seemed an age, an infinity, since he had heard the +sputtering of bacon in an open skillet and the bubbling of coffee over a bed of +coals with the mysterious darkness of the timber gathering in about him. He +loaded his pipe after his chopping, and sat watching Olaf as he mothered the +half-baked bannock loaf. It made him think of his father. A thousand times the +two must have camped like this in the days when Alaska was new and there were +no maps to tell them what lay beyond the next range. +</p> + +<p> +Olaf felt resting upon him something of the responsibility of a doctor, and +after supper he sat with his back to a tree and talked of the old days as if +they were yesterday and the day before, with tomorrow always the pot of gold at +the end of the rainbow which he had pursued for thirty years. He was sixty just +a week ago this evening, he said, and he was beginning to doubt if he would +remain on the beach at Cordova much longer. Siberia was dragging him—that +forbidden world of adventure and mystery and monumental opportunity which lay +only a few miles across the strait from the Seward Peninsula. In his enthusiasm +he forgot Alan’s tragedy. He cursed Cossack law and the prohibitory +measures to keep Americans out. More gold was over there than had ever been +dreamed of in Alaska; even the mountains and rivers were unnamed; and he was +going if he lived another year or two—going to find his fortune or his +end in the Stanovoi Mountains and among the Chukchi tribes. Twice he had tried +it since his old comrade had died, and twice he had been driven out. The next +time he would know how to go about it, and he invited Alan to go with him. +</p> + +<p> +There was a thrill in this talk of a land so near, scarcely a night ride across +the neck of Bering Sea, and yet as proscribed as the sacred plains of Tibet. It +stirred old desires in Alan’s blood, for he knew that of all frontiers +the Siberian would be the last and the greatest, and that not only men, but +nations, would play their part in the breaking of it. He saw the red gleam of +firelight in Olaf’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“And if we don’t go in first from <i>this side</i>, Alan, the +yellow fellows will come out some day from <i>that,”</i> rumbled the old +sour-dough, striking his pipe in the hollow of his hand. “And when they +do, they won’t come over to us in ones an’ twos an’ threes, +but in millions. That’s what the yellow fellows will do when they once +get started, an’ it’s up to a few Alaska Jacks an’ Tough-Nut +Bills to get their feet planted first on the other side. Will you go?” +</p> + +<p> +Alan shook his head. “Some day—but not now.” The old flash +was in his eyes and he was seeing the fight ahead of him again—the fight +to do his bit in striking the shackles of misgovernment from Alaska and rousing +the world to an understanding of the menace which hung over her like a +smoldering cloud. “But you’re right about the danger,” he +said. “It won’t come from Japan to California. It will pour like a +flood through Siberia and jump to Alaska in a night. It isn’t the danger +of the yellow man alone, Olaf. You’ve got to combine that with +Bolshevism, the menace of blackest Russia. A disease which, if it crosses the +little neck of water and gets hold of Alaska, will shake the American continent +to bed-rock. It may be a generation from now, maybe a century, but it’s +coming sure as God makes light—if we let Alaska go down and out. And my +way of preventing it is different from yours.” +</p> + +<p> +He stared into the fire, watching the embers flare up and die. “I’m +not proud of the States,” he went on, as if speaking to something which +he saw in the flames. “I can’t be, after the ruin their +unintelligent propaganda and legislation have brought upon Alaska. But +they’re our salvation and conditions are improving. I concede we have +factions in Alaska and we are not at all unanimous in what we want. It’s +going to be largely a matter of education. We can’t take Alaska down to +the States—we’ve got to bring them up to us. We must make a large +part of a hundred and ten million Americans understand. We must bring a million +of them up here before that danger-flood we speak of comes beyond the Gulf of +Anadyr. It’s God’s own country we have north of Fifty-eight, Olaf. +And we have ten times the wealth of California. We can care for a million +people easily. But bad politics and bad judgment both here in Alaska and at +Washington won’t let them come. With coal enough under our feet to last a +thousand years, we are buying fuel from the States. We’ve got billions in +copper and oil, but can’t touch them. We should have some of the +world’s greatest manufacturing plants, but we can not, because everything +up here is locked away from us. I repeat that isn’t conservation. If they +had applied a little of it to the salmon industry—but they didn’t. +And the salmon are going, like the buffalo of the plains. +</p> + +<p> +“The destruction of the salmon shows what will happen to us if the bars +are let down all at once to the financial banditti. Understanding and common +sense must guard the gates. The fight we must win is to bring about an honest +and reasonable adjustment, Olaf. And that fight will take place right +here—in Alaska—and not in Siberia. And if we don’t +win—” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his eyes from the fire and smiled grimly into Olaf’s bearded +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Then we can count on that thing coming across the neck of sea from the +Gulf of Anadyr,” he finished. “And if it ever does come, the people +of the States will at last face the tragic realization of what Alaska could +have meant to the nation.” +</p> + +<p> +The force of the old spirit surged uppermost in Alan again, and after that, for +an hour or more, something lived for him in the glow of the fire which Olaf +kept burning. It was the memory of Mary Standish, her quiet, beautiful eyes +gazing at him, her pale face taking form in the lacy wisps of birch-smoke. His +mind pictured her in the flame-glow as she had listened to him that day in +Skagway, when he had told her of this fight that was ahead. And it pleased him +to think she would have made this same fight for Alaska if she had lived. It +was a thought which brought a painful thickening in his breath, for always +these visions which Olaf could not see ended with Mary Standish as she had +faced him in his cabin, her back against the door, her lips trembling, and her +eyes softly radiant with tears in the broken pride of that last moment of her +plea for life. +</p> + +<p> +He could not have told how long he slept that night. Dreams came to him in his +restless slumber, and always they awakened him, so that he was looking at the +stars again and trying not to think. In spite of the grief in his soul they +were pleasant dreams, as though some gentle force were at work in him +subconsciously to wipe away the shadows of tragedy. Mary Standish was with him +again, between the mountains at Skagway; she was at his side in the heart of +the tundras, the sun in her shining hair and eyes, and all about them the +wonder of wild roses and purple iris and white seas of sedge-cotton and +yellow-eyed daisies, and birds singing in the gladness of summer. He heard the +birds. And he heard the girl’s voice, answering them in her happiness and +turning that happiness from the radiance of her eyes upon him. When he awoke, +it was with a little cry, as if someone had stabbed him; and Olaf was building +a fire, and dawn was breaking in rose-gleams over the mountains. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p> +This first night and dawn in the heard of his wilderness, with the new import +of life gleaming down at him from the mighty peaks of the Chugach and Kenai +ranges, marked the beginning of that uplift which drew Alan out of the pit into +which he had fallen. He understood, now, how it was that through many long +years his father had worshiped the memory of a woman who had died, it seemed to +him, an infinity ago. Unnumbered times he had seen the miracle of her presence +in his father’s eyes, and once, when they had stood overlooking a +sun-filled valley back in the mountains, the elder Holt had said: +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-seven years ago the twelfth day of last month, mother went with +me through this valley, Alan. Do you see the little bend in the creek, with the +great rock in the sun? We rested there—before you were born!” +</p> + +<p> +He had spoken of that day as if it had been but yesterday. And Alan recalled +the strange happiness in his father’s face as he had looked down upon +something in the valley which no other but himself could see. +</p> + +<p> +And it was happiness, the same strange, soul-aching happiness, that began to +build itself a house close up against the grief in Alan’s heart. It would +never be a house quite empty. Never again would he be alone. He knew at last it +was an undying part of him, as it had been a part of his father, clinging to +him in sweet pain, encouraging him, pressing gently upon him the beginning of a +great faith that somewhere beyond was a place to meet again. In the many days +that followed, it grew in him, but in a way no man or woman could see. It was a +secret about which he built a wall, setting it apart from that stoical +placidity of his nature which some people called indifference. Olaf could see +farther than others, because he had known Alan’s father as a brother. It +had always been that way with the elder Holt—straight, clean, +deep-breathing, and with a smile on his lips in times of hurt. Olaf had seen +him face death like that. He had seen him rise up with awesome courage from the +beautiful form that had turned to clay under his eyes, and fight forth again +into a world burned to ashes. Something of that look which he had seen in the +eyes of the father he saw in Alan’s, in these days when they nosed their +way up the Alaskan coast together. Only to himself did Alan speak the name of +Mary Standish, just as his father had kept Elizabeth Holt’s name sacred +in his own heart. Olaf, with mildly casual eyes and strong in the possession of +memories, observed how much alike they were, but discretion held his tongue, +and he said nothing to Alan of many things that ran in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +He talked of Siberia—always of Siberia, and did not hurry on the way to +Seward. Alan himself felt no great urge to make haste. The days were soft with +the premature breath of summer. The nights were cold, and filled with stars. +Day after day mountains hung about them like mighty castles whose battlements +reached up into the cloud-draperies of the sky. They kept close to the mainland +and among the islands, camping early each evening. Birds were coming northward +by the thousand, and each night Olaf’s camp-fire sent up the delicious +aroma of flesh-pots and roasts. When at last they reached Seward, and the time +came for Olaf to turn back, there was an odd blinking in the old Swede’s +eyes, and as a final comfort Alan told him again that the day would probably +come when he would go to Siberia with him. After that, he watched the +<i>Norden</i> until the little boat was lost in the distance of the sea. +</p> + +<p> +Alone, Alan felt once more a greater desire to reach his own country. And he +was fortunate. Two days after his arrival at Seward the steamer which carried +mail and the necessities of life to the string of settlements reaching a +thousand miles out into the Pacific left Resurrection Bay, and he was given +passage. Thereafter the countless islands of the North Pacific drifted behind, +while always northward were the gray cliffs of the Alaskan Peninsula, with the +ramparted ranges beyond, glistening with glaciers, smoking with occasional +volcanoes, and at times so high their snowy peaks were lost in the clouds. +First touching the hatchery at Karluk and then the canneries at Uyak and +Chignik, the mail boat visited the settlements on the Island of Unga, and +thence covered swiftly the three hundred miles to Dutch Harbor and Unalaska. +Again he was fortunate. Within a week he was berthed on a freighter, and on the +twelfth day of June set foot in Nome. +</p> + +<p> +His home-coming was unheralded, but the little, gray town, with its peculiar, +black shadowings, its sea of stove-pipes, and its two solitary brick chimneys, +brought a lump of joy into his throat as he watched its growing outlines from +the small boat that brought him ashore. He could see one of the only two brick +chimneys in northern Alaska gleaming in the sun; beyond it, fifty miles away, +were the ragged peaks of the Saw-Tooth Range, looking as if one might walk to +them in half an hour, and over all the world between seemed to hover a misty +gloom. But it was where he had lived, where happiness and tragedy and +unforgetable memories had come to him, and the welcoming of its frame +buildings, its crooked streets, and what to others might have been ugliness, +was a warm and thrilling thing. For here were his <i>people</i>. Here were the +men and women who were guarding the northern door of the world, an epic place, +filled with strong hearts, courage, and a love of country as inextinguishable +as one’s love of life. From this drab little place, shut out from all the +world for half the year, young men and women went down to southern +universities, to big cities, to the glamor and lure of “outside.” +But they always came back. Nome called them. Its loneliness in winter. Its gray +gloom in springtime. Its glory in summer and autumn. It was the breeding-place +of a new race of men, and they loved it as Alan loved it. To him the black +wireless tower meant more than the Statue of Liberty, the three weather-beaten +church spires more than the architectural colossi of New York and Washington. +Beside one of the churches he had played as a boy. He had seen the steeples +painted. He had helped make the crooked streets. And his mother had laughed and +lived and died here, and his father’s footprints had been in the white +sands of the beach when tents dotted the shore like gulls. +</p> + +<p> +When he stepped ashore, people stared at him and then greeted him. He was +unexpected. And the surprise of his arrival added strength to the grip which +men’s hands gave him. He had not heard voices like theirs down in the +States, with a gladness in them that was almost excitement. Small boys ran up +to his side, and with white men came the Eskimo, grinning and shaking his +hands. Word traveled swiftly that Alan Holt had come back from the States. +Before the day was over, it was on its way to Shelton and Candle and Keewalik +and Kotzebue Sound. Such was the beginning of his home-coming. But ahead of the +news of his arrival Alan walked up Front Street, stopped at Bahlke’s +restaurant for a cup of coffee, and then dropped casually into Lomen’s +offices in the Tin Bank Building. +</p> + +<p> +For a week Alan remained in Nome. Carl Lomen had arrived a few days before, and +his brothers were “in” from the big ranges over on the Choris +Peninsula. It had been a good winter and promised to be a tremendously +successful summer. The Lomen herds would exceed forty thousand head, when the +final figures were in. A hundred other herds were prospering, and the Eskimo +and Lapps were full-cheeked and plump with good feeding and prosperity. A third +of a million reindeer were on the hoof in Alaska, and the breeders were +exultant. Pretty good, when compared with the fact that in 1902 there were less +than five thousand! In another twenty years there would be ten million. +</p> + +<p> +But with this prosperity of the present and still greater promise for the +future Alan sensed the undercurrent of unrest and suspicion in Nome. After +waiting and hoping through another long winter, with their best men fighting +for Alaska’s salvation at Washington, word was traveling from mouth to +mouth, from settlement to settlement, and from range to range, that the +Bureaucracy which misgoverned them from thousands of miles away was not lifting +a hand to relieve them. Federal office-holders refused to surrender their +deadly power, and their strangling methods were to continue. Coal, which should +cost ten dollars a ton if dug from Alaskan mines, would continue to cost forty +dollars; cold storage from Nome would continue to be fifty-two dollars a ton, +when it should be twenty. Commercial brigandage was still given letters of +marque. Bureaus were fighting among themselves for greater power, and in the +turmoil Alaska was still chained like a starving man just outside the reach of +all the milk and honey in a wonderful land. Pauperizing, degrading, actually +killing, the political misrule that had already driven 25 per cent of +Alaska’s population from their homes was to continue indefinitely. A +President of the United States had promised to visit the mighty land of the +north and see with his own eyes. But would he come? There had been other +promises, many of them, and promises had always been futile. But it was a hope +that crept through Alaska, and upon this hope men whose courage never died +began to build. Freedom was on its way, even if slowly. Justice must triumph +ultimately, as it always triumphed. Rusty keys would at last be turned in the +locks which had kept from Alaskans all the riches and resources of their +country, and these men were determined to go on building against odds that they +might be better prepared for that freedom of human endeavor when it came. +</p> + +<p> +In these days, when the fires of achievement needed to be encouraged, and not +smothered, neither Alan nor Carl Lomen emphasized the menace of gigantic +financial interests like that controlled by John Graham—interests +fighting to do away with the best friend Alaska ever had, the Biological +Survey, and backing with all their power the ruinous legislation to put Alaska +in the control of a group of five men that an aggrandizement even more deadly +than a suffocating policy of conservation might be more easily accomplished. +Instead, they spread the optimism of men possessed of inextinguishable faith. +The blackest days were gone. Rifts were breaking in the clouds. Intelligence +was creeping through, like rays of sunshine. The end of Alaska’s serfdom +was near at hand. So they preached, and knew they were preaching truth, for +what remained of Alaska’s men after years of hopelessness and distress +were fighting men. And the women who had remained with them were the mothers +and wives of a new nation in the making. +</p> + +<p> +These mothers and wives Alan met during his week in Nome. He would have given +his life if a few million people in the States could have known these women. +Something would have happened then, and the sisterhood of half a +continent—possessing the power of the ballot—would have opened +their arms to them. Men like John Graham would have gone out of existence; +Alaska would have received her birthright. For these women were of the kind who +greeted the sun each day, and the gloom of winter, with something greater than +hope in their hearts. They, too, were builders. Fear of God and love of land +lay deep in their souls, and side by side with their men-folk they went on in +this epic struggle for the building of a nation at the top of the world. +</p> + +<p> +Many times during this week Alan felt it in his heart to speak of Mary +Standish. But in the end, not even to Carl Lomen did word of her escape his +lips. The passing of each day had made her more intimately a part of him, and a +secret part. He could not tell people about her. He even made evasions when +questioned about his business and experiences at Cordova and up the coast. +Curiously, she seemed nearer to him when he was away from other men and women. +He remembered it had been that way with his father, who was always happiest +when in the deep mountains or the unending tundras. And so Alan thrilled with +an inner gladness when his business was finished and the day came for him to +leave Nome. +</p> + +<p> +Carl Lomen went with him as far as the big herd on Choris Peninsula. For one +hundred miles, up to Shelton, they rode over a narrow-gauge, four-foot railway +on a hand-car drawn by dogs. And it seemed to Alan, at times, as though Mary +Standish were with him, riding in this strange way through a great wilderness. +He could <i>see</i> her. That was the strange thing which began to possess him. +There were moments when her eyes were shining softly upon him, her lips +smiling, her presence so real he might have spoken to her if Lomen had not been +at his side. He did not fight against these visionings. It pleased him to think +of her going with him into the heart of Alaska, riding the picturesque +“pup-mobile,” losing herself in the mountains and in his tundras, +with all the wonder and glory of a new world breaking upon her a little at a +time, like the unfolding of a great mystery. For there was both wonder and +glory in these countless miles running ahead and drifting behind, and the +miracle of northward-sweeping life. The days were long. Night, as Mary Standish +had always known night, was gone. On the twentieth of June there were twenty +hours of day, with a dim and beautiful twilight between the hours of eleven and +one. Sleep was no longer a matter of the rising and setting of the sun, but was +regulated by the hands of the watch. A world frozen to the core for seven +months was bursting open like a great flower. +</p> + +<p> +From Shelton, Alan and his companion visited the eighty or ninety people at +Candle, and thence continued down the Keewalik River to Keewalik, on Kotzebue +Sound. A Lomen power-boat, run by Lapps, carried them to Choris Peninsula, +where for a week Alan remained with Lomen and his huge herd of fifteen thousand +reindeer. He was eager to go on, but tried to hide his impatience. Something +was urging him, whipping him on to greater haste. For the first time in months +he heard the crackling thunder of reindeer hoofs, and the music of it was like +a wild call from his own herds hurrying him home. He was glad when the week-end +came and his business was done. The power-boat took him to Kotzebue. It was +night, as his watch went, when Paul Davidovich started up the delta of the +Kobuk River with him in a lighterage company’s boat. But there was no +darkness. In the afternoon of the fourth day they came to the Redstone, two +hundred miles above the mouth of the Kobuk as the river winds. They had supper +together on the shore. After that Paul Davidovich turned back with the slow +sweep of the current, waving his hand until he was out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +Not until the sound of the Russian’s motor-boat was lost in distance did +Alan sense fully the immensity of the freedom that swept upon him. At last, +after months that had seemed like so many years, he was <i>alone</i>. North and +eastward stretched the unmarked trail which he knew so well, a hundred and +fifty miles straight as a bird might fly, almost unmapped, unpeopled, right up +to the doors of his range in the slopes of the Endicott Mountains. A little cry +from his own lips gave him a start. It was as if he had called out aloud to +Tautuk and Amuk Toolik, and to Keok and Nawadlook, telling them he was on his +way home and would soon be there. Never had this hidden land which he had found +for himself seemed so desirable as it did in this hour. There was something +about it that was all-mothering, all-good, all-sweetly-comforting to that other +thing which had become a part of him now. It was holding out its arms to him, +understanding, welcoming, inspiring him to travel strongly and swiftly the +space between. And he was ready to answer its call. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at his watch. It was five o’clock in the afternoon. He had +spent a long day with the Russian, but he felt no desire for rest or sleep. The +musk-tang of the tundras, coming to him through the thin timber of the +river-courses, worked like an intoxicant in his blood. It was the tundra he +wanted, before he lay down upon his back with his face to the stars. He was +eager to get away from timber and to feel the immeasurable space of the big +country, the open country, about him. What fool had given to it the name of +<i>Barren Lands</i>? What idiots people were to lie about it in that way on the +maps! He strapped his pack over his shoulders and seized his rifle. Barren +Lands! +</p> + +<p> +He set out, walking like a man in a race. And long before the twilight hours of +sleep they were sweeping out ahead of him in all their glory—the Barren +Lands of the map-makers, <i>his</i> paradise. On a knoll he stood in the golden +sun and looked about him. He set his pack down and stood with bared head, a +whispering of cool wind in his hair. If Mary Standish could have lived to see +<i>this</i>! He stretched out his arms, as if pointing for her eyes to follow, +and her name was in his heart and whispering on his silent lips. Immeasurable +the tundras reached ahead of him—rolling, sweeping, treeless, green and +golden and a glory of flowers, athrill with a life no forest land had ever +known. Under his feet was a crush of forget-me-nots and of white and purple +violets, their sweet perfume filling his lungs as he breathed. Ahead of him lay +a white sea of yellow-eyed daisies, with purple iris high as his knees in +between, and as far as he could see, waving softly in the breeze, was the +cotton-tufted sedge he loved. The pods were green. In a few days they would be +opening, and the tundras would be white carpets. +</p> + +<p> +He listened to the call of life. It was about him everywhere, a melody of +bird-life subdued and sleepy even though the sun was still warmly aglow in the +sky. A hundred times he had watched this miracle of bird instinct, the +going-to-bed of feathered creatures in the weeks and months when there was no +real night. He picked up his pack and went on. From a pool hidden in the lush +grasses of a distant hollow came to him the twilight honking of nesting geese +and the quacking content of wild ducks. He heard the reed-like, musical notes +of a lone “organ-duck” and the plaintive cries of plover, and +farther out, where the shadows seemed deepening against the rim of the horizon, +rose the harsh, rolling notes of cranes and the raucous cries of the loons. And +then, from a clump of willows near him, came the chirping twitter of a thrush +whose throat was tired for the day, and the sweet, sleepy evening song of a +robin. <i>Night!</i> Alan laughed softly, the pale flush of the sun in his +face. <i>Bedtime!</i> He looked at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +It was nine o’clock. Nine o’clock, and the flowers still answering +to the glow of the sun! And the people down there—in the +States—called it a frozen land, a hell of ice and snow at the end of the +earth, a place of the survival of the fittest! Well, to just such extremes had +stupidity and ignorance gone through all the years of history, even though men +called themselves super-creatures of intelligence and knowledge. It was +humorous. And it was tragic. +</p> + +<p> +At last he came to a shining pool between two tufted ridges, and in this +velvety hollow the twilight was gathering like a shadow in a cup. A little +creek ran out of the pool, and here Alan gathered soft grass and spread out his +blankets. A great stillness drew in about him, broken only by the old squaws +and the loons. At eleven o’clock he could still see clearly the sleeping +water-fowl on the surface of the pool. But the stars were appearing. It grew +duskier, and the rose-tint of the sun faded into purple gloom as pale night +drew near—four hours of rest that was neither darkness nor day. With a +pillow of sedge and grass under his head he slept. +</p> + +<p> +The song and cry of bird-life wakened him, and at dawn he bathed in the pool, +with dozens of fluffy, new-born ducks dodging away from him among the grasses +and reeds. That day, and the next, and the day after that he traveled steadily +into the heart of the tundra country, swiftly and almost without rest. It +seemed to him, at last, that he must be in that country where all the bird-life +of the world was born, for wherever there was water, in the pools and little +streams and the hollows between the ridges, the voice of it in the morning was +a babel of sound. Out of the sweet breast of the earth he could feel the +irresistible pulse of motherhood filling him with its strength and its courage, +and whispering to him its everlasting message that because of the glory and +need and faith of life had God created this land of twenty-hour day and +four-hour twilight. In it, in these days of summer, was no abiding place for +gloom; yet in his own heart, as he drew nearer to his home, was a place of +darkness which its light could not quite enter. +</p> + +<p> +The tundras had made Mary Standish more real to him. In the treeless spaces, in +the vast reaches with only the sky shutting out his vision, she seemed to be +walking nearer to him, almost with her hand in his. At times it was like a +torture inflicted upon him for his folly, and when he visioned what might have +been, and recalled too vividly that it was he who had stilled with death that +living glory which dwelt with him in spirit now, a crying sob of which he was +not ashamed came from his lips. For when he thought too deeply, he knew that +Mary Standish would have lived if he had said other things to her that night +aboard the ship. She had died, not for him, but <i>because</i> of +him—because, in his failure to live up to what she believed she had found +in him, he had broken down what must have been her last hope and her final +faith. If he had been less blind, and God had given him the inspiration of a +greater wisdom, she would have been walking with him now, laughing in the +rose-tinted dawn, growing tired amid the flowers, sleeping under the clear +stars—happy and unafraid, and looking to him for all things. At least so +he dreamed, in his immeasurable loneliness. +</p> + +<p> +He did not tolerate the thought that other forces might have called her even +had she lived, and that she might not have been his to hold and to fight for. +He did not question the possibility of shackles and chains that might have +bound her, or other inclinations that might have led her. He claimed her, now +that she was dead, and knew that living he would have possessed her. Nothing +could have kept him from that. But she was gone. And for that he was +accountable, and the fifth night he lay sleepless under the stars, and like a +boy he cried for her with his face upon his arm, and when morning came, and he +went on, never had the world seemed so vast and empty. +</p> + +<p> +His face was gray and haggard, a face grown suddenly old, and he traveled +slowly, for the desire to reach his people was dying within him. He could not +laugh with Keok and Nawadlook, or give the old tundra call to Amuk Toolik and +his people, who would be riotous in their happiness at his return. They loved +him. He knew that. Their love had been a part of his life, and the knowledge +that his response to this love would be at best a poor and broken thing filled +him with dread. A strange sickness crept through his blood; it grew in his +head, so that when noon came, he did not trouble himself to eat. +</p> + +<p> +It was late in the afternoon when he saw far ahead of him the clump of +cottonwoods near the warm springs, very near his home. Often he had come to +these old cottonwoods, an oasis of timber lost in the great tundras, and he had +built himself a little camp among them. He loved the place. It had seemed to +him that now and then he must visit the forlorn trees to give them cheer and +comradeship. His father’s name was carved in the bole of the greatest of +them all, and under it the date and day when the elder Holt had discovered them +in a land where no man had gone before. And under his father’s name was +his mother’s, and under that, his own. He had made of the place a sort of +shrine, a green and sweet-flowered tabernacle of memories, and its bird-song +and peace in summer and the weird aloneness of it in winter had played their +parts in the making of his soul. Through many months he had anticipated this +hour of his home-coming, when in the distance he would see the beckoning +welcome of the old cottonwoods, with the rolling foothills and frosted peaks of +the Endicott Mountains beyond. And now he was looking at the trees and the +mountains, and something was lacking in the thrill of them. He came up from the +west, between two willow ridges through which ran the little creek from the +warm springs, and he was within a quarter of a mile of them when something +stopped him in his tracks. +</p> + +<p> +At first he thought the sound was the popping of guns, but in a moment he knew +it could not be so, and the truth flashed suddenly upon him. This day was the +Fourth of July, and someone in the cottonwoods was shooting firecrackers! +</p> + +<p> +A smile softened his lips. He recalled Keok’s mischievous habit of +lighting a whole bunch at one time, for which apparent wastefulness Nawadlook +never failed to scold her. They had prepared for his home-coming with a +celebration, and Tautuk and Amuk Toolik had probably imported a supply of +“bing-bangs” from Allakakat or Tanana. The oppressive weight inside +him lifted, and the smile remained on his lips. And then as if commanded by a +voice, his eyes turned to the dead cottonwood stub which had sentineled the +little oasis of trees for many years. At the very crest of it, floating bravely +in the breeze that came with the evening sun, was an American flag! +</p> + +<p> +He laughed softly. These were the people who loved him, who thought of him, who +wanted him back. His heart beat faster, stirred by the old happiness, and he +drew himself quickly into a strip of willows that grew almost up to the +cottonwoods. He would surprise them! He would walk suddenly in among them, +unseen and unheard. That was the sort of thing that would amaze and delight +them. +</p> + +<p> +He came to the first of the trees and concealed himself carefully. He heard the +popping of individual firecrackers and the louder bang of one of the +“giants” that always made Nawadlook put her fingers in her pretty +ears. He crept stealthily over a knoll, down through a hollow, and then up +again to the opposite crest. It was as he had thought. He could see Keok a +hundred yards away, standing on the trunk of a fallen tree, and as he looked, +she tossed another bunch of sputtering crackers away from her. The others were +probably circled about her, out of his sight, watching her performance. He +continued cautiously, making his way so that he could come up behind a thick +growth of bush unseen, within a dozen paces of them. At last he was as near as +that to her, and Keok was still standing on the log with her back toward him. +</p> + +<p> +It puzzled him that he could not see or hear the others. And something about +Keok puzzled him, too. And then his heart gave a sudden throb and seemed to +stop its beating. It was not Keok on the log. And it was not Nawadlook! He +stood up and stepped out from his hiding-place. The slender figure of the girl +on the log turned a little, and he saw the glint of golden sunshine in her +hair. He called out. +</p> + +<p> +“Keok!” +</p> + +<p> +Was he mad? Had the sickness in his head turned his brain? +</p> + +<p> +And then: +</p> + +<p> +“Mary!” he called. “<i>Mary Standish</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +She turned. And in that moment Alan Holt’s face was the color of gray +rock. It was the dead he had been thinking of, and it was the dead that had +risen before him now. For it was Mary Standish who stood there on the old +cottonwood log, shooting firecrackers in this evening of his home-coming. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p> +After that one calling of her name Alan’s voice was dead, and he made no +movement. He could not disbelieve. It was not a mental illusion or a temporary +upsetting of his sanity. It was truth. The shock of it was rending every nerve +in his body, even as he stood as if carved out of wood. And then a strange +relaxation swept over him. Some force seemed to pass out of his flesh, and his +arms hung limp. She was there, <i>alive!</i> He could see the whiteness leave +her face and a flush of color come into it, and he heard a little cry as she +jumped down from the log and came toward him. It had all happened in a few +seconds, but it seemed a long time to Alan. +</p> + +<p> +He saw nothing about her or beyond her. It was as if she were floating up to +him out of the cold mists of the sea. And she stopped only a step away from +him, when she saw more clearly what was in his face. It must have been +something that startled her. Vaguely he realized this and made an effort to +recover himself. +</p> + +<p> +“You almost frightened me,” she said. “We have been expecting +you and watching for you, and I was out there a few minutes ago looking back +over the tundra. The sun was in my eyes, and I didn’t see you.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed incredible that he should be hearing her voice, the same voice, +unexcited, sweet, and thrilling, speaking as if she had seen him yesterday and +with a certain reserved gladness was welcoming him again today. It was +impossible for him to realize in these moments the immeasurable distance that +lay between their viewpoints. He was simply Alan Holt—she was the dead +risen to life. Many times in his grief he had visualized what he would do if +some miracle could bring her back to him like this; he had thought of taking +her in his arms and never letting her go. But now that the miracle had come to +pass, and she was within his reach, he stood without moving, trying only to +speak. +</p> + +<p> +“You—Mary Standish!” he said at last. “I +thought—” +</p> + +<p> +He did not finish. It was not himself speaking. It was another individual +within him, a detached individual trying to explain his lack of physical +expression. He wanted to cry out his gladness, to shout with joy, yet the +directing soul of action in him was stricken. She touched his arm hesitatingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think you would care,” she said. “I thought +you wouldn’t mind—if I came up here.” +</p> + +<p> +Care! The word was like an explosion setting things loose in his brain, and the +touch of her hand sent a sweep of fire through him. He heard himself cry out, a +strange, unhuman sort of cry, as he swept her to his breast. He held her close, +crushing kisses upon her mouth, his fingers buried in her hair, her slender +body almost broken in his arms. She was alive—she had come back to +him—and he forgot everything in these blind moments but that great truth +which was sweeping over him in a glorious inundation. Then, suddenly, he found +that she was fighting him, struggling to free herself and putting her hands +against his face in her efforts. She was so close that he seemed to see nothing +but her eyes, and in them he did not see what he had dreamed of +finding—but horror. It was a stab that went into his heart, and his arms +relaxed. She staggered back, trembling and swaying a little as she got her +breath, her face very white. +</p> + +<p> +He had hurt her. The hurt was in her eyes, in the way she looked at him, as if +he had become a menace from which she would run if he had not taken the +strength from her. As she stood there, her parted lips showing the red of his +kisses, her shining hair almost undone, he held out his hands mutely. +</p> + +<p> +“You think—I came here for <i>that?</i>” she panted. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said. “Forgive me. I am sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +It was not anger that he saw in her face. It was, instead, a mingling of shock +and physical hurt; a measurement of him now, as she looked at him, which +recalled her to him as she had stood that night with her back against his cabin +door. Yet he was not trying to piece things together. Even subconsciously that +was impossible, for all life in him was centered in the one stupendous thought +that she was not dead, but living, and he did not wonder why. There was no +question in his mind as to the manner in which she had been saved from the sea. +He felt a weakness in his limbs; he wanted to laugh, to cry out, to give +himself up to strange inclinations for a moment or two, like a woman. Such was +the shock of his happiness. It crept in a living fluid through his flesh. She +saw it in the swift change of the rock-like color in his face, and his quicker +breathing, and was a little amazed, but Alan was too completely possessed by +the one great thing to discover the astonishment growing in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You are alive,” he said, giving voice again to the one thought +pounding in his brain. “<i>Alive!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to him that word wanted to utter itself an impossible number of +times. Then the truth that was partly dawning came entirely to the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Holt, you did not receive my letter at Nome?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Your letter? At Nome?” He repeated the words, shaking his head. +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“And all this time—you have been thinking—I was dead?” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded, because the thickness in his throat made it the easier form of +speech. +</p> + +<p> +“I wrote you there,” she said. “I wrote the letter before I +jumped into the sea. It went to Nome with Captain Rifle’s ship.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t get it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t get it?” There was wonderment in her voice, and +then, if he had observed it, understanding. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you didn’t mean that just now? You didn’t intend to do +it? It was because you had blamed yourself for my death, and it was a great +relief to find me alive. That was it, wasn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +Stupidly he nodded again. “Yes, it was a great relief.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see, I had faith in you even when you wouldn’t help me,” +she went on. “So much faith that I trusted you with my secret in the +letter I wrote. To all the world but you I am dead—to Rossland, Captain +Rifle, everyone. In my letter I told you I had arranged with the young Thlinkit +Indian. He smuggled the canoe over the side just before I leaped in, and picked +me up. I am a good swimmer. Then he paddled me ashore while the boats were +making their search.” +</p> + +<p> +In a moment she had placed a gulf between them again, on the other side of +which she stood unattainable. It was inconceivable that only a few moments ago +he had crushed her in his arms. The knowledge that he had done this thing, and +that she was looking at him now as if it had never happened, filled him with a +smothering sense of humiliation. She made it impossible for him to speak about +it, even to apologize more fully. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I am here,” she was saying in a quiet, possessive sort of way. +“I didn’t think of coming when I jumped into the sea. I made up my +mind afterward. I think it was because I met a little man with red whiskers +whom you once pointed out to me in the smoking salon on the <i>Nome</i>. And +so—I am your guest, Mr. Holt.” +</p> + +<p> +There was not the slightest suspicion of apology in her voice as she smoothed +back her hair where he had crumpled it. It was as if she belonged here, and had +always belonged here, and was giving him permission to enter her domain. Shock +was beginning to pass away from him, and he could feel his feet upon the earth +once more. His spirit-visions of her as she had walked hand in hand with him +during the past weeks, her soft eyes filled with love, faded away before the +reality of Mary Standish in flesh and blood, her quiet mastery of things, her +almost omniscient unapproachableness. He reached out his hands, but there was a +different light in his eyes, and she placed her own in them confidently. +</p> + +<p> +“It was like a bolt of lightning,” he said, his voice free at last +and trembling. “Day and night I have been thinking of you, dreaming of +you, and cursing myself because I believed I had killed you. And now I find you +alive. And <i>here!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +She was so near that the hands he clasped lay against his breast. But reason +had returned to him, and he saw the folly of dreams. +</p> + +<p> +“It is difficult to believe. Out there I thought I was sick. Perhaps I +am. But if I am not sick, and you are really you, I am glad. If I wake up and +find I have imagined it all, as I imagined so many of the other +things—” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed, freeing her hands and looking into eyes shining half out of tears +at him. But he did not finish. She drew away from him, with a lingering of her +finger-tips on his arm, and the little heart-beat in her throat revealed itself +clearly again as on that night in his cabin. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been thinking of you back there, every hour, every step,” +he said, making a gesture toward the tundras over which he had come. +“Then I heard the firecrackers and saw the flag. It is almost as if I had +created you!” +</p> + +<p> +A quick answer was on her lips, but she stopped it. +</p> + +<p> +“And when I found you here, and you didn’t fade away like a ghost, +I thought something was wrong with my head. Something must have been wrong, I +guess, or I wouldn’t have done <i>that</i>. You see, it puzzled me that a +ghost should be setting off firecrackers—and I suppose that was the first +impulse I had of making sure you were real.” +</p> + +<p> +A voice came from the edge of the cottonwoods beyond them. It was a clear, wild +voice with a sweet trill in it. “<i>Maa-rie!</i>” it called. +“<i>Maa-rie!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Supper,” nodded the girl. “You are just in time. And then we +are going home in the twilight.” +</p> + +<p> +It made his heart thump, that casual way in which she spoke of his place as +home. She went ahead of him, with the sun glinting in the soft coils of her +hair, and he picked up his rifle and followed, eyes and soul filled only with +the beauty of her slim figure—a glory of life where for a long time he +had fashioned a spirit of the dead. They came into an open, soft with grass and +strewn with flowers, and in this open a man was kneeling beside a fire no +larger than his two hands, and at his side, watching him, stood a girl with two +braids of black hair rippling down her back. It was Nawadlook who turned first +and saw who it was with Mary Standish, and from his right came an odd little +screech that only one person in the world could make, and that was Keok. She +dropped the armful of sticks she had gathered for the fire and made straight +for him, while Nawadlook, taller and less like a wild creature in the manner of +her coming, was only a moment behind. And then he was shaking hands with +Stampede, and Keok had slipped down among the flowers and was crying. That was +like Keok. She always cried when he went away, and cried when he returned; and +then, in another moment, it was Keok who was laughing first, and Alan noticed +she no longer wore her hair in braids, as the quieter Nawadlook persisted in +doing, but had it coiled about her head just as Mary Standish wore her own. +</p> + +<p> +These details pressed themselves upon him in a vague and unreal sort of way. No +one, not even Mary Standish, could understand how his mind and nerves were +fighting to recover themselves. His senses were swimming back one by one to a +vital point from which they had been swept by an unexpected sea, gripping +rather incoherently at unimportant realities as they assembled themselves. In +the edge of the tundra beyond the cottonwoods he noticed three saddle-deer +grazing at the ends of ropes which were fastened to cotton-tufted nigger-heads. +He drew off his pack as Mary Standish went to help Keok pick up the fallen +sticks. Nawadlook was pulling a coffee-pot from the tiny fire. Stampede began +to fill a pipe. He realized that because they had expected him, if not today +then tomorrow or the next day or a day soon after that, no one had experienced +shock but himself, and with a mighty effort he reached back and dragged the old +Alan Holt into existence again. It was like bringing an intelligence out of +darkness into light. +</p> + +<p> +It was difficult for him—afterward—to remember just what happened +during the next half-hour. The amazing thing was that Mary Standish sat +opposite him, with the cloth on which Nawadlook had spread the supper things +between them, and that she was the same clear-eyed, beautiful Mary Standish who +had sat across the table from him in the dining-salon of the <i>Nome</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Not until later, when he stood alone with Stampede Smith in the edge of the +cottonwoods, and the three girls were riding deer back over the tundra in the +direction of the Range, did the sea of questions which had been gathering begin +to sweep upon him. It had been Keok’s suggestion that she and Mary and +Nawadlook ride on ahead, and he had noticed how quickly Mary Standish had +caught at the idea. She had smiled at him as she left, and a little farther out +had waved her hand at him, as Keok and Nawadlook both had done, but not another +word had passed between them alone. And as they rode off in the warm glow of +sunset Alan stood watching them, and would have stared without speech until +they were out of sight, if Stampede’s fingers had not gripped his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, go to it, Alan,” he said. “I’m ready. Give me +hell!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<p> +It was thus, with a note of something inevitable in his voice, that Stampede +brought Alan back solidly to earth. There was a practical and awakening +inspiration in the manner of the little red-whiskered man’s invitation. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been a damn fool,” he confessed. “And I’m +waiting.” +</p> + +<p> +The word was like a key opening a door through which a flood of things began to +rush in upon Alan. There were other fools, and evidently he had been one. His +mind went back to the <i>Nome</i>. It seemed only a few hours ago—only +yesterday—that the girl had so artfully deceived them all, and he had +gone through hell because of that deception. The trickery had been simple, and +exceedingly clever because of its simplicity; it must have taken a tremendous +amount of courage, now that he clearly understood that at no time had she +wanted to die. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” he said, “why she did a thing like that?” +</p> + +<p> +Stampede shook his head, misunderstanding what was in Alan’s mind. +“I couldn’t keep her back, not unless I tied her to a tree.” +And he added, “The little witch even threatened to shoot me!” +</p> + +<p> +A flash of exultant humor filled his eyes. “Begin, Alan. I’m +waiting. Go the limit.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what?” +</p> + +<p> +“For letting her ride over me, of course. For bringing her up. For not +shufflin’ her in the bush. You can’t take it out of <i>her</i> +hide, can you?” +</p> + +<p> +He twisted his red whiskers, waiting for an answer. Alan was silent. Mary +Standish was leading the way up out of a dip in the tundra a quarter of a mile +away, with Nawadlook and Keok close behind her. They trotted up a low ridge and +disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s none of my business,” persisted Stampede, “but +you didn’t seem to expect her—” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right,” interrupted Alan, turning toward his pack. +“I didn’t expect her. I thought she was dead.” +</p> + +<p> +A low whistle escaped Stampede’s lips. He opened his mouth to speak and +closed it again. Alan observed him as he slipped the pack over his shoulders. +Evidently his companion did not know Mary Standish was the girl who had jumped +overboard from the <i>Nome</i>, and if she had kept her secret, it was not his +business just now to explain, even though he guessed that Stampede’s +quick wits would readily jump at the truth. A light was beginning to dispel the +little man’s bewilderment as they started toward the Range. He had seen +Mary Standish frequently aboard the <i>Nome</i>; a number of times he had +observed her in Alan’s company, and he knew of the hours they had spent +together in Skagway. Therefore, if Alan had believed her dead when they went +ashore at Cordova, a few hours after the supposed tragedy, it must have been +she who jumped into the sea. He shrugged his shoulders in deprecation of his +failure to discover this amazing fact in his association with Mary Standish. +</p> + +<p> +“It beats the devil!” he exclaimed suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“It does,” agreed Alan. +</p> + +<p> +Cold, hard reason began to shoulder itself inevitably against the happiness +that possessed him, and questions which he had found no interest in asking when +aboard ship leaped upon him with compelling force. Why was it so tragically +important to Mary Standish that the world should believe her dead? What was it +that had driven her to appeal to him and afterward to jump into the sea? What +was her mysterious association with Rossland, an agent of Alaska’s +deadliest enemy, John Graham—the one man upon whom he had sworn vengeance +if opportunity ever came his way? Over him, clubbing other emotions with its +insistence, rode a demand for explanations which it was impossible for him to +make. Stampede saw the tense lines in his face and remained silent in the +lengthening twilight, while Alan’s mind struggled to bring coherence and +reason out of a tidal wave of mystery and doubt. Why had she come to <i>his</i> +cabin aboard the <i>Nome</i>? Why had she played him with such conspicuous +intent against Rossland, and why—in the end—had she preceded him to +his home in the tundras? It was this question which persisted, never for an +instant swept aside by the others. She had not come because of love for him. In +a brutal sort of way he had proved that, for when he had taken her in his arms, +he had seen distress and fear and a flash of horror in her face. Another and +more mysterious force had driven her. +</p> + +<p> +The joy in him was a living flame even as this realization pressed upon him. He +was like a man who had found life after a period of something that was worse +than death, and with his happiness he felt himself twisted upon an upheaval of +conflicting sensations and half convictions out of which, in spite of his +effort to hold it back, suspicion began to creep like a shadow. But it was not +the sort of suspicion to cool the thrill in his blood or frighten him, for he +was quite ready to concede that Mary Standish was a fugitive, and that her +flight from Seattle had been in the face of a desperate necessity. What had +happened aboard ship was further proof, and her presence at his range a final +one. Forces had driven her which it had been impossible for her to combat, and +in desperation she had come to him for refuge. She had chosen him out of all +the world to help her; she believed in him; she had faith that with him no harm +could come, and his muscles tightened with sudden desire to fight for her. +</p> + +<p> +In these moments he became conscious of the evening song of the tundras and the +soft splendor of the miles reaching out ahead of them. He strained his eyes to +catch another glimpse of the mounted figures when they came up out of hollows +to the clough-tops, but the lacy veils of evening were drawing closer, and he +looked in vain. Bird-song grew softer; sleepy cries rose from the grasses and +pools; the fire of the sun itself died out, leaving its radiance in a mingling +of vivid rose and mellow gold over the edge of the world. It was night and yet +day, and Alan wondered what thoughts were in the heart of Mary Standish. What +had driven her to the Range was of small importance compared with the thrilling +fact that she was just ahead of him. The mystery of her would be explained +tomorrow. He was sure of that. She would confide in him. Now that she had so +utterly placed herself under his protection, she would tell him what she had +not dared to disclose aboard the <i>Nome</i>. So he thought only of the silvery +distance of twilight that separated them, and spoke at last to Stampede. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m rather glad you brought her,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t bring her,” protested Stampede. “She +<i>came</i>.” He shrugged his shoulders with a grunt. “And +furthermore I didn’t manage it. She did that herself. She didn’t +come with me. I came with <i>her</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped and struck a match to light his pipe. Over the tiny flame he glared +fiercely at Alan, but in his eyes was something that betrayed him. Alan saw it +and felt a desire to laugh out of sheer happiness. His keen vision and sense of +humor were returning. +</p> + +<p> +“How did it happen?” +</p> + +<p> +Stampede puffed loudly at his pipe, then took it from his mouth and drew in a +deep breath. +</p> + +<p> +“First I remember was the fourth night after we landed at Cordova. +Couldn’t get a train on the new line until then. Somewhere up near +Chitina we came to a washout. It didn’t rain. You couldn’t call it +that, Alan. It was the Pacific Ocean falling on us, with two or three other +oceans backing it up. The stage came along, horses swimming, coach floating, +driver half drowned in his seat. I was that hungry I got in for Chitina. There +was one other climbed in after me, and I wondered what sort of fool he was. I +said something about being starved or I’d have hung to the train. The +other didn’t answer. Then I began to swear. I did, Alan. I cursed +terrible. Swore at the Government for building such a road, swore at the rain, +an’ I swore at myself for not bringin’ along grub. I said my belly +was as empty as a shot-off cartridge, and I said it good an’ loud. I was +mad. Then a big flash of lightning lit up the coach. Alan, it was <i>her</i> +sittin’ there with a box in her lap, facing me, drippin’ wet, her +eyes shining—and she was smiling at me! Yessir, <i>smiling</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Stampede paused to let the shock sink in. He was not disappointed. +</p> + +<p> +Alan stared at him in amazement. “The fourth +night—after—” He caught himself. “Go on, +Stampede!” +</p> + +<p> +“I began hunting for the latch on the door, Alan. I was goin’ to +sneak out, drop in the mud, disappear before the lightnin’ come again. +But it caught me. An’ there she was, undoing the box, and I heard her +saying she had plenty of good stuff to eat. An’ she called me Stampede, +like she’d known me all her life, and with that coach rolling an’ +rocking and the thunder an’ lightning an’ rain piling up against +each other like sin, she came over and sat down beside me and began to feed me. +She did that, Alan—<i>fed</i> me. When the lightning fired up, I could +see her eyes shining and her lips smilin’ as if all that hell about us +made her happy, and I thought she was plumb crazy. Before I knew it she was +telling me how you pointed me out to her in the smoking-room, and how happy she +was that I was goin’ her way. <i>Her</i> way, mind you, Alan, not +<i>mine.</i> And that’s just the way she’s kept me goin’ up +to the minute you hove in sight back there in the cottonwoods!” +</p> + +<p> +He lighted his pipe again. “Alan, how the devil did she know I was +hitting the trail for your place?” +</p> + +<p> +“She didn’t,” replied Alan. +</p> + +<p> +“But she did. She said that meeting with me in the coach was the happiest +moment of her life, because <i>she</i> was on her way up to your range, and +I’d be such jolly good company for her. ‘Jolly +good’—them were the words she used! When I asked her if you knew +she was coming up, she said no, of course not, and that it was going to be a +grand surprise. Said it was possible she’d buy your range, and she wanted +to look it over before you arrived. An’ it seems queer I can’t +remember anything more about the thunder and lightning between there and +Chitina. When we took the train again, she began askin’ a million +questions about you and the Range and Alaska. Soak me if you want to, +Alan—but everything I knew she got out of me between Chitina and +Fairbanks, and she got it in such a sure-fire nice way that I’d have eat +soap out of her hand if she’d offered it to me. Then, sort of sly and +soft-like, she began asking questions about John Graham—and I woke +up.” +</p> + +<p> +“John Graham!” Alan repeated the name. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, John Graham. And I had a lot to tell. After that I tried to get +away from her. But she caught me just as I was sneakin’ aboard a +down-river boat, and cool as you please—with her hand on my arm—she +said she wasn’t quite ready to go yet, and would I please come and help +her carry some stuff she was going to buy. Alan, it ain’t a lie what +I’m going to tell you! She led me up the street, telling me what a +wonderful idea she had for surprisin’ <i>you</i>. Said she knew you would +return to the Range by the Fourth of July and we sure must have some fireworks. +Said you was such a good American you’d be disappointed if you +didn’t have ’em. So she took me in a store an’ bought it out. +Asked the man what he’d take for everything in his joint that had powder +in it. Five hundred dollars, that was what she paid. She pulled a silk +something out of the front of her dress with a pad of hundred-dollar bills in +it an inch think. Then she asked <i>me</i> to get them firecrackers +’n’ wheels ’n’ skyrockets ’n’ balloons +’n’ other stuff down to the boat, and she asked me just as if I was +a sweet little boy who’d be tickled to death to do it!” +</p> + +<p> +In the excitement of unburdening himself of a matter which he had borne in +secret for many days, Stampede did not observe the effect of his words upon his +companion. Incredulity shot into Alan’s eyes, and the humorous lines +about his mouth vanished when he saw clearly that Stampede was not drawing upon +his imagination. Yet what he had told him seemed impossible. Mary Standish had +come aboard the <i>Nome</i> a fugitive. All her possessions she had brought +with her in a small hand-bag, and these things she had left in her cabin when +she leaped into the sea. How, then, could she logically have had such a sum of +money at Fairbanks as Stampede described? Was it possible the Thlinkit Indian +had also become her agent in transporting the money ashore on the night she +played her desperate game by making the world believe she had died? And was +this money—possibly the manner in which she had secured it in +Seattle—the cause of her flight and the clever scheme she had put into +execution a little later? +</p> + +<p> +He had been thinking crime, and his face grew hot at the sin of it. It was like +thinking it of another woman, who was dead, and whose name was cut under his +father’s in the old cottonwood tree. +</p> + +<p> +Stampede, having gained his wind, was saying: “You don’t seem +interested, Alan. But I’m going on, or I’ll bust. I’ve got to +tell you what happened, and then if you want to lead me out and shoot me, I +won’t say a word. I say, curse a firecracker anyway!” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” urged Alan. “I’m interested.” +</p> + +<p> +“I got ’em on the boat,” continued Stampede viciously. +“And she with me every minute, smiling in that angel way of hers, and not +letting me out of her sight a flick of her eyelash, unless there was only one +hole to go in an’ come out at. And then she said she wanted to do a +little shopping, which meant going into every shack in town and buyin’ +something, an’ I did the lugging. At last she bought a gun, and when I +asked her what she was goin’ to do with it, she said, ‘Stampede, +that’s for you,’ an’ when I went to thank her, she said: +‘No, I don’t mean it that way. I mean that if you try to run away +from me again I’m going to fill you full of holes.’ She said that! +Threatened me. Then she bought me a new outfit from toe to summit—boots, +pants, shirt, hat <i>and</i> a necktie! And I didn’t say a word, not a +word. She just led me in an’ bought what she wanted and made me put +’em on.” +</p> + +<p> +Stampede drew in a mighty breath, and a fourth time wasted a match on his pipe. +“I was getting used to it by the time we reached Tanana,” he half +groaned. “Then the hell of it begun. She hired six Indians to tote the +luggage, and we set out over the trail for your place. ‘You’re +goin’ to have a rest, Stampede,’ she says to me, smiling so cool +and sweet like you wanted to eat her alive. ‘All you’ve got to do +is show us the way and carry the bums.’ ‘Carry the what?’ I +asks. ‘The bums,’ she says, an’ then she explains that a bum +is a thing filled with powder which makes a terrible racket when it goes off. +So I took the bums, and the next day one of the Indians sprained a leg, and +dropped out. He had the firecrackers, pretty near a hundred pounds, and we +whacked up his load among us. I couldn’t stand up straight when we +camped. We had crooks in our backs every inch of the way to the Range. And +<i>would</i> she let us cache some of that junk? Not on your life she +wouldn’t! And all the time while they was puffing an’ panting them +Indians was worshipin’ her with their eyes. The last day, when we camped +with the Range almost in sight, she drew ’em all up in a circle about her +and gave ’em each a handful of money above their pay. ‘That’s +because I love you,’ she says, and then she begins asking them funny +questions. Did they have wives and children? Were they ever hungry? Did they +ever know about any of their people starving to death? And just <i>why</i> did +they starve? And, Alan, so help me thunder if them Indians didn’t talk! +Never heard Indians tell so much. And in the end she asked them the funniest +question of all, asked them if they’d heard of a man named John Graham. +One of them had, and afterward I saw her talking a long time with him alone, +and when she come back to me, her eyes were sort of burning up, and she +didn’t say good night when she went into her tent. That’s all, +Alan, except—” +</p> + +<p> +“Except what, Stampede?” said Alan, his heart throbbing like a drum +inside him. +</p> + +<p> +Stampede took his time to answer, and Alan heard him chuckling and saw a flash +of humor in the little man’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Except that she’s done with everyone on the Range just what she +did with me between Chitina and here,” he said. “Alan, if she wants +to say the word, why, <i>you</i> ain’t boss any more, that’s all. +She’s been there ten days, and you won’t know the place. It’s +all done up in flags, waiting for you. She an’ Nawadlook and Keok are +running everything but the deer. The kids would leave their mothers for her, +and the men—” He chuckled again. “Why, the men even go to the +Sunday school she’s started! I went. Nawadlook sings.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment he was silent. Then he said in a subdued voice, “Alan, +you’ve been a big fool.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it, Stampede.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a—a flower, Alan. She’s worth more than all the +gold in the world. And you could have married her. I know it. But it’s +too late now. I’m warnin’ you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t quite understand, Stampede. Why is it too late?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because she likes me,” declared Stampede a bit fiercely. +“I’m after her myself, Alan. You can’t butt in now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scott!” gasped Alan. “You mean that Mary +Standish—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not talking about Mary Standish,” said Stampede. +“It’s Nawadlook. If it wasn’t for my whiskers—” +</p> + +<p> +His words were broken by a sudden detonation which came out of the pale gloom +ahead of them. It was like the explosion of a cannon a long distance away. +</p> + +<p> +“One of them cussed bums,” he explained. “That’s why +they hurried on ahead of us, Alan. <i>She</i> says this Fourth of July +celebration is going to mean a lot for Alaska. Wonder what she means?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” said Alan. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<p> +Half an hour more of the tundra and they came to what Alan had named Ghost +Kloof, a deep and jagged scar in the face of the earth, running down from the +foothills of the mountains. It was a sinister thing, and in the depths lay +abysmal darkness as they descended a rocky path worn smooth by reindeer and +caribou hoofs. At the bottom, a hundred feet below the twilight of the plains, +Alan dropped on his knees beside a little spring that he groped for among the +stones, and as he drank he could hear the weird whispering and gurgling of +water up and down the kloof, choked and smothered in the moss of the rock walls +and eternally dripping from the crevices. Then he saw Stampede’s face in +the glow of another match, and the little man’s eyes were staring into +the black chasm that reached for miles up into the mountains. +</p> + +<p> +“Alan, you’ve been up this gorge?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a favorite runway for the lynx and big brown bears that kill +our fawns,” replied Alan. “I hunt alone, Stampede. The place is +supposed to be haunted, you know. Ghost Kloof, I call it, and no Eskimo will +enter it. The bones of dead men lie up there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never prospected it?” persisted Stampede. +</p> + +<p> +“Never.” +</p> + +<p> +Alan heard the other’s grunt of disgust. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re reindeer-crazy,” he grumbled. “There’s +gold in this canyon. Twice I’ve found it where there were dead +men’s bones. They bring me good luck.” +</p> + +<p> +“But these were Eskimos. They didn’t come for gold.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it. The Boss settled that for me. When she heard what was the +matter with this place, she made me take her into it. Nerve? Say, I’m +telling you there wasn’t any of it left out of her when she was +born!” He was silent for a moment, and then added: “When we came to +that dripping, slimy rock with the big yellow skull layin’ there like a +poison toadstool, she didn’t screech and pull back, but just gave a +little gasp and stared at it hard, and her fingers pinched my arm until it +hurt. It was a devilish-looking thing, yellow as a sick orange and soppy with +the drip of the wet moss over it. I wanted to blow it to pieces, and I guess I +would if she hadn’t put a hand on my gun. An’ with a funny little +smile she says: ‘Don’t do it, Stampede. It makes me think of +someone I know—and I wouldn’t want you to shoot him.’ Darned +funny thing to say, wasn’t it? Made her think of someone she knew! Now, +who the devil could look like a rotten skull?” +</p> + +<p> +Alan made no effort to reply, except to shrug his shoulders. They climbed up +out of gloom into the light of the plain. Smoothness of the tundra was gone on +this side of the crevasse. Ahead of them rolled up a low hill, and mountainward +hills piled one upon another until they were lost in misty distance. From the +crest of the ridge they looked out into a vast sweep of tundra which ran in +among the out-guarding billows and hills of the Endicott Mountains in the form +of a wide, semicircular bay. Beyond the next swell in the tundra lay the range, +and scarcely had they reached this when Stampede drew his big gun from its +holster. Twice he blazed in the air. +</p> + +<p> +“Orders,” he said a little sheepishly. “Orders, Alan!” +</p> + +<p> +Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when a yell came to them from beyond +the light-mists that hovered like floating lace over the tundra. It was joined +by another, and still another, until there was such a sound that Alan knew +Tautuk and Amuk Toolik and Topkok and Tatpan and all the others were splitting +their throats in welcome, and with it very soon came a series of explosions +that set the earth athrill under their feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Bums!” growled Stampede. “She’s got Chink lanterns +hanging up all about, too. You should have seen her face, Alan, when she found +there was sunlight all night up here on July Fourth!” +</p> + +<p> +From the range a pale streak went sizzling into the air, mounting until it +seemed to pause for a moment to look down upon the gray world, then burst into +innumerable little balls of puffy smoke. Stampede blazed away with his +forty-five, and Alan felt the thrill of it and emptied the magazine of his gun, +the detonations of revolver and rifle drowning the chorus of sound that came +from the range. A second rocket answered them. Two columns of flame leaped up +from the earth as huge fires gained headway, and Alan could hear the shrill +chorus of children’s voices mingling with the vocal tumult of men. All +the people of his range were there. They had come in from the timber-naked +plateaux and high ranges where the herds were feeding, and from the outlying +shacks of the tundras to greet him. Never had there been such a concentration +of effort on the part of his people. And Mary Standish was behind it all! He +knew he was fighting against odds when he tried to keep that fact from choking +up his heart a little. +</p> + +<p> +He had not heard what Stampede was saying—that he and Amuk Toolik and +forty kids had labored a week gathering dry moss and timber fuel for the big +fires. There were three of these fires now, and the tom-toms were booming their +hollow notes over the tundra as Alan quickened his steps. Over a little knoll, +and he was looking at the buildings of the range, wildly excited figures +running about, women and children flinging moss on the fires, the tom-tom +beaters squatted in a half-circle facing the direction from which he would +come, and fifty Chinese lanterns swinging in the soft night-breeze. +</p> + +<p> +He knew what they were expecting of him, for they were children, all of them. +Even Tautuk and Amuk Toolik, his chief herdsmen, were children. Nawadlook and +Keok were children. Strong and loyal and ready to die for him in any fight or +stress, they were still children. He gave Stampede his rifle and hastened on, +determined to keep his eyes from questing for Mary Standish in these first +minutes of his return. He sounded the tundra call, and men, women, and little +children came running to meet him. The drumming of the tom-toms ceased, and the +beaters leaped to their feet. He was inundated. There was a shrill crackling of +voice, laughter, children’s squeals, a babel of delight. He gripped hands +with both his own—hard, thick, brown hands of men; little, softer, brown +hands of women; he lifted children up in his arms, slapped his palm +affectionately against the men’s shoulders, and talked, talked, talked, +calling each by name without a slip of memory, though there were fifty around +him counting the children. First, last, and always these were <i>his +people</i>. The old pride swept over him, a compelling sense of power and +possession. They loved him, crowding in about him like a great family, and he +shook hands twice and three times with the same men and women, and lifted the +same children from the arms of delighted mothers, and cried out greetings and +familiarities with an abandon which a few minutes ago knowledge of Mary +Standish’s presence would have tempered. Then, suddenly, he saw her under +the Chinese lanterns in front of his cabin. Sokwenna, so old that he hobbled +double and looked like a witch, stood beside her. In a moment Sokwenna’s +head disappeared, and there came the booming of a tom-tom. As quickly as the +crowd had gathered about him, it fell away. The beaters squatted themselves in +their semicircle again. Fireworks began to go off. Dancers assembled. Rockets +hissed through the air. Roman candles popped. From the open door of his cabin +came the sound of a phonograph. It was aimed directly at him, the one thing +intended for his understanding alone. It was playing “When Johnny Comes +Marching Home.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Standish had not moved. He saw her laughing at him, and she was alone. She +was not the Mary Standish he had known aboard ship. Fear, the quiet pallor of +her face, and the strain and repression which had seemed to be a part of her +were gone. She was aflame with life, yet it was not with voice or action that +she revealed herself. It was in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks and lips, the +poise of her slim body as she waited for him. A thought flashed upon him that +for a space she had forgotten herself and the shadow which had driven her to +leap into the sea. +</p> + +<p> +“It is splendid!” she said when he came up to her, and her voice +trembled a little. “I didn’t guess how badly they wanted you back. +It must be a great happiness to have people think of you like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I thank you for your part,” he replied. “Stampede has +told me. It was quite a bit of trouble, wasn’t it, with nothing more than +the hope of Americanizing a pagan to inspire you?” He nodded at the +half-dozen flags over his cabin. “They’re rather pretty.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was no trouble. And I hope you don’t mind. It has been great +fun.” +</p> + +<p> +He tried to look casually out upon his people as he answered her. It seemed to +him there was only one thing to say, and that it was a duty to speak what was +in his mind calmly and without emotion. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do mind,” he said. “I mind so much that I +wouldn’t trade what has happened for all the gold in these mountains. +I’m sorry because of what happened back in the cottonwoods, but I +wouldn’t trade that, either. I’m glad you’re alive. I’m +glad you’re here. But something is missing. You know what it is. You must +tell me about yourself. It is the only fair thing for you to do now.” +</p> + +<p> +She touched his arm with her hand. “Let us wait for tomorrow. +Please—let us wait.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then—tomorrow—” +</p> + +<p> +“It is your right to question me and send me back if I am not welcome. +But not tonight. All this is too fine—just you—and your +people—and their happiness.” He bent his head to catch her words, +almost drowned by the hissing of a sky-rocket and the popping of firecrackers. +She nodded toward the buildings beyond his cabin. “I am with Keok and +Nawadlook. They have given me a home.” And then swiftly she added, +“I don’t think you love your people more than I do, Alan +Holt!” +</p> + +<p> +Nawadlook was approaching, and with a lingering touch of her fingers on his arm +she drew away from him. His face did not show his disappointment, nor did he +make a movement to keep her with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Your people are expecting things of you,” she said. “A +little later, if you ask me, I may dance with you to the music of the +tom-toms.” +</p> + +<p> +He watched her as she went away with Nawadlook. She looked back at him and +smiled, and there was something in her face which set his heart beating faster. +She had been afraid aboard the ship, but she was not afraid of tomorrow. +Thought of it and the questions he would ask did not frighten her, and a +happiness which he had persistently held away from himself triumphed in a +sudden, submerging flood. It was as if something in her eyes and voice had +promised him that the dreams he had dreamed through weeks of torture and living +death were coming true, and that possibly in her ride over the tundra that +night she had come a little nearer to the truth of what those weeks had meant +to him. Surely he would never quite be able to tell her. And what she said to +him tomorrow would, in the end, make little difference. She was alive, and he +could not let her go away from him again. +</p> + +<p> +He joined the tom-tom beaters and the dancers. It rather amazed him to discover +himself doing things which he had never done before. His nature was an aloof +one, observing and sympathetic, but always more or less detached. At his +people’s dances it was his habit to stand on the side-line, smiling and +nodding encouragement, but never taking a part. His habit of reserve fell from +him now, and he seemed possessed of a new sense of freedom and a new desire to +give physical expression to something within him. Stampede was dancing. He was +kicking his feet and howling with the men, while the women dancers went through +the muscular movements of arms and bodies. A chorus of voices invited Alan. +They had always invited him. And tonight he accepted, and took his place +between Stampede and Amuk Toolik and the tom-tom beaters almost burst their +instruments in their excitement. Not until he dropped out, half breathless, did +he see Mary Standish and Keok in the outer circle. Keok was frankly amazed. +Mary Standish’s eyes were shining, and she clapped her hands when she saw +that he had observed her. He tried to laugh, and waved his hand, but he felt +too foolish to go to her. And then the balloon went up, a big, six-foot +balloon, and with all its fire made only a pale glow in the sky, and after +another hour of hand-shaking, shoulder-clapping, and asking of questions about +health and domestic matters, Alan went to his cabin. +</p> + +<p> +He looked about the one big room that was his living-room, and it never had +seemed quite so comforting as now. At first he thought it was as he had left +it, for there was his desk where it should be, the big table in the middle of +the room, the same pictures on the walls, his gun-rack filled with polished +weapons, his pipes, the rugs on the floor—and then, one at a time, he +began to observe things that were different. In place of dark shades there were +soft curtains at his windows, and new covers on his table and the home-made +couch in the corner. On his desk were two pictures in copper-colored frames, +one of George Washington and the other of Abraham Lincoln, and behind them +crisscrossed against the wall just over the top of the desk, were four tiny +American flags. They recalled Alan’s mind to the evening aboard the +<i>Nome</i> when Mary Standish had challenged his assertion that he was an +Alaskan and not an American. Only she would have thought of those two pictures +and the little flags. There were flowers in his room, and she had placed them +there. She must have picked fresh flowers each day and kept them waiting the +hour of his coming, and she had thought of him in Tanana, where she had +purchased the cloth for the curtains and the covers. He went into his bedroom +and found new curtains at the window, a new coverlet on his bed, and a pair of +red morocco slippers that he had never seen before. He took them up in his +hands and laughed when he saw how she had misjudged the size of his feet. +</p> + +<p> +In the living-room he sat down and lighted his pipe, observing that +Keok’s phonograph, which had been there earlier in the evening, was gone. +Outside, the noise of the celebration died away, and the growing stillness drew +him to the window from which he could see the cabin where lived Keok and +Nawadlook with their foster-father, the old and shriveled Sokwenna. It was +there Mary Standish had said she was staying. For a long time Alan watched it +while the final sounds of the night drifted away into utter silence. +</p> + +<p> +It was a knock at his door that turned him about at last, and in answer to his +invitation Stampede came in. He nodded and sat down. Shiftingly his eyes +traveled about the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Been a fine night, Alan. Everybody glad to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“They seemed to be. I’m happy to be home again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary Standish did a lot. She fixed up this room.” +</p> + +<p> +“I guessed as much,” replied Alan. “Of course Keok and +Nawadlook helped her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not very much. She did it. Made the curtains. Put them pictures and +flags there. Picked the flowers. Been nice an’ thoughtful, hasn’t +she?” +</p> + +<p> +“And somewhat unusual,” added Alan. +</p> + +<p> +“And she is pretty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Most decidedly so.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a puzzling look in Stampede’s eyes. He twisted nervously in his +chair and waited for words. Alan sat down opposite him. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s on your mind, Stampede?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hell, mostly,” shot back Stampede with sudden desperation. +“I’ve come loaded down with a dirty job, and I’ve kept it +back this long because I didn’t want to spoil your fun tonight. I guess a +man ought to keep to himself what he knows about a woman, but I’m +thinking this is a little different. I hate to do it. I’d rather take the +chance of a snake-bite. But you’d shoot me if you knew I was keeping it +to myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Keeping what to yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“The truth, Alan. It’s up to me to tell you what I know about this +young woman who calls herself Mary Standish.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<p> +The physical sign of strain in Stampede’s face, and the stolid effort he +was making to say something which it was difficult for him to put into words, +did not excite Alan as he waited for his companion’s promised disclosure. +Instead of suspense he felt rather a sense of anticipation and relief. What he +had passed through recently had burned out of him a certain demand upon human +ethics which had been almost callous in its insistence, and while he believed +that something very real and very stern in the way of necessity had driven Mary +Standish north, he was now anxious to be given the privilege of gripping with +any force of circumstance that had turned against her. He wanted to know the +truth, yet he had dreaded the moment when the girl herself must tell it to him, +and the fact that Stampede had in some way discovered this truth, and was about +to make disclosure of it, was a tremendous lightening of the situation. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” he said at last. “What do you know about Mary +Standish?” +</p> + +<p> +Stampede leaned over the table, a gleam of distress in his eyes. +“It’s rotten. I know it. A man who backslides on a woman the way +I’m goin’ to oughta be shot, and if it was anything +else—<i>anything</i>—I’d keep it to myself. But you’ve +got to know. And you can’t understand just how rotten it is, either; you +haven’t ridden in a coach with her during a storm that was blowing the +Pacific outa bed, an’ you haven’t hit the trail with her all the +way from Chitina to the Range as I did. If you’d done that, Alan, +you’d feel like killing a man who said anything against her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not inquiring into your personal affairs,” reminded +Alan. “It’s your own business.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the trouble,” protested Stampede. “It’s +not my business. It’s yours. If I’d guessed the truth before we hit +the Range, everything would have been different. I’d have rid myself of +her some way. But I didn’t find out what she was until this evening, when +I returned Keok’s music machine to their cabin. I’ve been trying to +make up my mind what to do ever since. If she was only making her get-away from +the States, a pickpocket, a coiner, somebody’s bunco pigeon chased by the +police—almost anything—we could forgive her. Even if she’d +shot up somebody—” He made a gesture of despair. “But she +didn’t. She’s worse than that!” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned a little nearer to Alan. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s one of John Graham’s tools sent up here to sneak and +spy on you,” he finished desperately. “I’m sorry—but +I’ve got the proof.” +</p> + +<p> +His hand crept over the top of the table; slowly the closed palm opened, and +when he drew it back, a crumpled paper lay between them. “Found it on the +floor when I took the phonograph back,” he explained. “It was +twisted up hard. Don’t know why I unrolled it. Just chance.” +</p> + +<p> +He waited until Alan had read the few words on the bit of paper, watching +closely the slight tensing of the other’s face. After a moment Alan +dropped the paper, rose to his feet, and went to the window. There was no +longer a light in the cabin where Mary Standish had been accepted as a guest. +Stampede, too, had risen from his seat. He saw the sudden and almost +imperceptible shrug of Alan’s shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +It was Alan who spoke, after a half-mixture of silence. “Rather a missing +link, isn’t it? Adds up a number of things fairly well. And I’m +grateful to you, Stampede. Almost—you didn’t tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Almost,” admitted Stampede. +</p> + +<p> +“And I wouldn’t have blamed you. She’s that kind—the +kind that makes you feel anything said against her is a lie. And I’m +going to believe that paper is a lie—until tomorrow. Will you take a +message to Tautuk and Amuk Toolik when you go out? I’m having breakfast +at seven. Tell them to come to my cabin with their reports and records at +eight. Later I’m going up into the foothills to look over the +herds.” +</p> + +<p> +Stampede nodded. It was a good fight on Alan’s part, and it was just the +way he had expected him to take the matter. It made him rather ashamed of the +weakness and uncertainty to which he had confessed. Of course they could do +nothing with a woman; it wasn’t a shooting business—yet. But there +was a debatable future, if the gist of the note on the table ran true to their +unspoken analysis of it. Promise of something like that was in Alan’s +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door. “I’ll have Tautuk and Amuk Toolik here at +eight. Good night, Alan!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night!” +</p> + +<p> +Alan watched Stampede’s figure until it had disappeared before he closed +the door. +</p> + +<p> +Now that he was alone, he no longer made an effort to restrain the anxiety +which the prospector’s unexpected revealment had aroused in him. The +other’s footsteps were scarcely gone when he again had the paper in his +hand. It was clearly the lower part of a letter sheet of ordinary business size +and had been carelessly torn from the larger part of the page, so that nothing +more than the signature and half a dozen lines of writing in a man’s +heavy script remained. +</p> + +<p> +What was left of the letter which Alan would have given much to have possessed, +read as follows: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>—If you work carefully and guard your real identity in securing +facts and information, we should have the entire industry in our hands within a +year</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Under these words was the strong and unmistakable signature of John Graham. +</p> + +<p> +A score of times Alan had seen that signature, and the hatred he bore for its +maker, and the desire for vengeance which had entwined itself like a fibrous +plant through all his plans for the future, had made of it an unforgetable +writing in his brain. Now that he held in his hand words written by his enemy, +and the man who had been his father’s enemy, all that he had kept away +from Stampede’s sharp eyes blazed in a sudden fury in his face. He +dropped the paper as if it had been a thing unclean, and his hands clenched +until his knuckles snapped in the stillness of the room, as he slowly faced the +window through which a few moments ago he had looked in the direction of Mary +Standish’s cabin. +</p> + +<p> +So John Graham was keeping his promise, the deadly promise he had made in the +one hour of his father’s triumph—that hour in which the elder Holt +might have rid the earth of a serpent if his hands had not revolted in the last +of those terrific minutes which he as a youth had witnessed. And Mary Standish +was the instrument he had chosen to work his ends! +</p> + +<p> +In these first minutes Alan could not find a doubt with which to fend the +absoluteness of the convictions which were raging in his head, or still the +tumult that was in his heart and blood. He made no pretense to deny the fact +that John Graham must have written this letter to Mary Standish; inadvertently +she had kept it, had finally attempted to destroy it, and Stampede, by chance, +had discovered a small but convincing remnant of it. In a whirlwind of thought +he pieced together things that had happened: her efforts to interest him from +the beginning, the determination with which she had held to her purpose, her +boldness in following him to the Range, and her apparent endeavor to work +herself into his confidence—and with John Graham’s signature +staring at him from the table these things seemed conclusive and irrefutable +evidence. The “industry” which Graham had referred to could mean +only his own and Carl Lomen’s, the reindeer industry which they had built +up and were fighting to perpetuate, and which Graham and his beef-baron friends +were combining to handicap and destroy. And in this game of destruction clever +Mary Standish had come to play a part! +</p> + +<p> +<i>But why had she leaped into the sea?</i> +</p> + +<p> +It was as if a new voice had made itself heard in Alan’s brain, a voice +that rose insistently over a vast tumult of things, crying out against his +arguments and demanding order and reason in place of the mad convictions that +possessed him. If Mary Standish’s mission was to pave the way for his +ruin, and if she was John Graham’s agent sent for that purpose, what +reason could she have had for so dramatically attempting to give the world the +impression that she had ended her life at sea? Surely such an act could in no +way have been related with any plot which she might have had against him! In +building up this structure of her defense he made no effort to sever her +relationship with John Graham; that, he knew, was impossible. The note, her +actions, and many of the things she had said were links inevitably associating +her with his enemy, but these same things, now that they came pressing one upon +another in his memory, gave to their collusion a new significance. +</p> + +<p> +Was it conceivable that Mary Standish, instead of working for John Graham, was +working <i>against</i> him? Could some conflict between them have been the +reason for her flight aboard the <i>Nome</i>, and was it because she discovered +Rossland there—John Graham’s most trusted servant—that she +formed her desperate scheme of leaping into the sea? +</p> + +<p> +Between the two oppositions of his thought a sickening burden of what he knew +to be true settled upon him. Mary Standish, even if she hated John Graham now, +had at one time—and not very long ago—been an instrument of his +trust; the letter he had written to her was positive proof of that. What it was +that had caused a possible split between them and had inspired her flight from +Seattle, and, later, her effort to bury a past under the fraud of a +make-believe death, he might never learn, and just now he had no very great +desire to look entirely into the whole truth of the matter. It was enough to +know that of the past, and of the things that happened, she had been afraid, +and it was in the desperation of this fear, with Graham’s cleverest agent +at her heels, that she had appealed to him in his cabin, and, failing to win +him to her assistance, had taken the matter so dramatically into her own hands. +And within that same hour a nearly successful attempt had been made upon +Rossland’s life. Of course the facts had shown that she could not have +been directly responsible for his injury, but it was a haunting thing to +remember as happening almost simultaneously with her disappearance into the +sea. +</p> + +<p> +He drew away from the window and, opening the door, went out into the night. +Cool breaths of air gave a crinkly rattle to the swinging paper lanterns, and +he could hear the soft whipping of the flags which Mary Standish had placed +over his cabin. There was something comforting in the sound, a solace to the +dishevelment of nerves he had suffered, a reminder of their day in Skagway when +she had walked at his side with her hand resting warmly in his arm and her eyes +and face filled with the inspiration of the mountains. +</p> + +<p> +No matter what she was, or had been, there was something tenaciously admirable +about her, a quality which had risen even above her feminine loveliness. She +had proved herself not only clever; she was inspired by courage—a courage +which he would have been compelled to respect even in a man like John Graham, +and in this slim and fragile girl it appealed to him as a virtue to be laid up +apart and aside from any of the motives which might be directing it. From the +beginning it had been a bewildering part of her—a clean, swift, +unhesitating courage that had leaped bounds where his own volition and judgment +would have hung waveringly; that one courage in all the world—a +woman’s courage—which finds in the effort of its achievement no +obstacle too high and no abyss too wide though death waits with outreaching +arms on the other side. And, surely, where there had been all this, there must +also have been some deeper and finer impulse than one of destruction, of +physical gain, or of mere duty in the weaving of a human scheme. +</p> + +<p> +The thought and the desire to believe brought words half aloud from +Alan’s lips, as he looked up again at the flags beating softly above his +cabin. Mary Standish was not what Stampede’s discovery had proclaimed her +to be; there was some mistake, a monumental stupidity of reasoning on their +part, and tomorrow would reveal the littleness and the injustice of their +suspicions. He tried to force the conviction upon himself, and reentering the +cabin he went to bed, still telling himself that a great lie had built itself +up out of nothing, and that the God of all things was good to him because Mary +Standish was alive, and not dead. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<p> +Alan slept soundly for several hours, but the long strain of the preceding day +did not make him overreach the time he had set for himself, and he was up at +six o’clock. Wegaruk had not forgotten her old habits, and a tub filled +with cold water was waiting for him. He bathed, shaved himself, put on fresh +clothes, and promptly at seven was at breakfast. The table at which he +ordinarily sat alone was in a little room with double windows, through which, +as he enjoyed his meals, he could see most of the habitations of the range. +Unlike the average Eskimo dwellings they were neatly built of small timber +brought down from the mountains, and were arranged in orderly fashion like the +cottages of a village, strung out prettily on a single street. A sea of flowers +lay in front of them, and at the end of the row, built on a little knoll that +looked down into one of the watered hollows of the tundra, was Sokwenna’s +cabin. Because Sokwenna was the “old man” of the community and +therefore the wisest—and because with him lived his foster-daughters, +Keok and Nawadlook, the loveliest of Alan’s tribal +colony—Sokwenna’s cabin was next to Alan’s in size. And Alan, +looking at it now and then as he ate his breakfast, saw a thin spiral of smoke +rising from the chimney, but no other sign of life. +</p> + +<p> +The sun was already up almost to its highest point, a little more than half-way +between the horizon and the zenith, performing the apparent miracle of rising +in the north and traveling east instead of west. Alan knew the men-folk of the +village had departed hours ago for the distant herds. Always, when the reindeer +drifted into the higher and cooler feeding-grounds of the foothills, there was +this apparent abandonment, and after last night’s celebration the women +and children were not yet awake to the activities of the long day, where the +rising and setting of the sun meant so little. +</p> + +<p> +As he rose from the table, he glanced again toward Sokwenna’s cabin. A +solitary figure had climbed up out of the ravine and stood against the sun on +the clough-top. Even at that distance, with the sun in his eyes, he knew it was +Mary Standish. +</p> + +<p> +He turned his back stoically to the window and lighted his pipe. For half an +hour after that he sorted out his papers and range-books in preparation for the +coming of Tautuk and Amuk Toolik, and when they arrived, the minute hand of his +watch was at the hour of eight. +</p> + +<p> +That the months of his absence had been prosperous ones he perceived by the +smiling eagerness in the brown faces of his companions as they spread out the +papers on which they had, in their own crude fashion, set down a record of the +winter’s happenings. Tautuk’s voice, slow and very deliberate in +its unfailing effort to master English without a slip, had in it a subdued note +of satisfaction and triumph, while Amuk Toolik, who was quick and staccato in +his manner of speech, using sentences seldom of greater length than three or +four words, and who picked up slang and swear-words like a parrot, swelled with +pride as he lighted his pipe, and then rubbed his hands with a rasping sound +that always sent a chill up Alan’s back. +</p> + +<p> +“A ver’ fine and prosper’ year,” said Tautuk in +response to Alan’s first question as to general conditions. “We +bean ver’ fortunate.” +</p> + +<p> +“One hell-good year,” backed up Amuk Toolik with the quickness of a +gun. “Plenty calf. Good hoof. Moss. Little wolf. Herds fat. This +year—she peach!” +</p> + +<p> +After this opening of the matter in hand Alan buried himself in the affairs of +the range, and the old thrill, the glow which comes through achievement, and +the pioneer’s pride in marking a new frontier with the creative forces of +success rose uppermost in him, and he forgot the passing of time. A hundred +questions he had to ask, and the tongues of Tautuk and Amuk Toolik were crowded +with the things they desired to tell him. Their voices filled the room with a +paean of triumph. His herds had increased by a thousand head during the fawning +months of April and May, and interbreeding of the Asiatic stock with wild, +woodland caribou had produced a hundred calves of the super-animal whose flesh +was bound to fill the markets of the States within a few years. Never had the +moss been thicker under the winter snow; there had been no destructive fires; +soft-hoof had escaped them; breeding records had been beaten, and dairying in +the edge of the Arctic was no longer an experiment, but an established fact, +for Tautuk now had seven deer giving a pint and a half of milk each twice a +day, nearly as rich as the best of cream from cattle, and more than twenty that +were delivering from a cupful to a pint at a milking. And to this Amuk Toolik +added the amazing record of their running-deer, Kauk, the three-year-old, had +drawn a sledge five miles over unbeaten snow in thirteen minutes and +forty-seven seconds; Kauk and Olo, in team, had drawn the same sledge ten miles +in twenty-six minutes and forty seconds, and one day he had driven the two +ninety-eight miles in a mighty endurance test; and with Eno and Sutka, the +first of their inter-breed with the wild woodland caribou, and heavier beasts, +he had drawn a load of eight hundred pounds for three consecutive days at the +rate of forty miles a day. From Fairbanks, Tanana, and the ranges of the Seward +Peninsula agents of the swiftly spreading industry had offered as high as a +hundred and ten dollars a head for breeding stock with the blood of the +woodland caribou, and of these native and larger caribou of the tundras and +forests seven young bulls and nine female calves had been captured and added to +their own propagative forces. +</p> + +<p> +For Alan this was triumph. He saw nothing of what it all meant in the way of +ultimate personal fortune. It was the earth under his feet, the vast expanse of +unpeopled waste traduced and scorned in the blindness of a hundred million +people, which he saw fighting itself on the glory and reward of the conqueror +through such achievement as this; a land betrayed rising at last out of the +slime of political greed and ignorance; a giant irresistible in its awakening, +that was destined in his lifetime to rock the destiny of a continent. It was +Alaska rising up slowly but inexorably out of its eternity of sleep, +mountain-sealed forces of a great land that was once the cradle of the earth +coming into possession of life and power again; and his own feeble efforts in +that long and fighting process of planting the seeds which meant its ultimate +ascendancy possessed in themselves their own reward. +</p> + +<p> +Long after Tautuk and Amuk Toolik had gone, his heart was filled with the song +of success. +</p> + +<p> +He was surprised at the swiftness with which time had gone, when he looked at +his watch. It was almost dinner hour when he had finished with his papers and +books and went outside. He heard Wegaruk’s voice coming from the dark +mouth of the underground icebox dug into the frozen subsoil of the tundra, and +pausing at the glimmer of his old housekeeper’s candle, he turned aside, +descended the few steps, and entered quietly into the big, square chamber eight +feet under the surface, where the earth had remained steadfastly frozen for +some hundreds of thousands of years. Wegaruk had a habit of talking when alone, +but Alan thought it odd that she should be explaining to herself that the +tundra-soil, in spite of its almost tropical summer richness and luxuriance, +never thawed deeper than three or four feet, below which point remained the icy +cold placed there so long ago that “even the spirits did not know.” +He smiled when he heard Wegaruk measuring time and faith in terms of +“spirits,” which she had never quite given up for the missionaries, +and was about to make his presence known when a voice interrupted him, so close +at his side that the speaker, concealed in the shadow of the wall, could have +reached out a hand and touched him. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Mr. Holt!” +</p> + +<p> +It was Mary Standish, and he stared rather foolishly to make her out in the +gloom. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning,” he replied. “I was on my way to your place +when Wegaruk’s voice brought me here. You see, even this icebox seems +like a friend after my experience in the States. Are you after a steak, +Mammy?” he called. +</p> + +<p> +Wegaruk’s strong, squat figure turned as she answered him, and the light +from her candle, glowing brightly in a split tomato can, fell clearly upon Mary +Standish as the old woman waddled toward them. It was as if a spotlight had +been thrown upon the girl suddenly out of a pit of darkness, and something +about her, which was not her prettiness or the beauty that was in her eyes and +hair, sent a sudden and unaccountable thrill through Alan. It remained with him +when they drew back out of gloom and chill into sunshine and warmth, leaving +Wegaruk to snuff her tomato-can lantern and follow with the steak, and it did +not leave him when they walked over the tundra together toward Sokwenna’s +cabin. It was a puzzling thrill, stirring an emotion which it was impossible +for him to subdue or explain; something which he knew he should understand but +could not. And it seemed to him that knowledge of this mystery was in the +girl’s face, glowing in a gentle embarrassment, as she told him she had +been expecting him, and that Keok and Nawadlook had given up the cabin to them, +so that he might question her uninterrupted. But with this soft flush of her +uneasiness, revealing itself in her eyes and cheeks, he saw neither fear nor +hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +In the “big room” of Sokwenna’s cabin, which was patterned +after his own, he sat down amid the color and delicate fragrance of masses of +flowers, and the girl seated herself near him and waited for him to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“You love flowers,” he said lamely. “I want to thank you for +the flowers you placed in my cabin. And the other things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Flowers are a habit with me,” she replied, “and I have never +seen such flowers as these. Flowers—and birds. I never dreamed that there +were so many up here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor the world,” he added. “It is ignorant of Alaska.” +</p> + +<p> +He was looking at her, trying to understand the inexplicable something about +her. She knew what was in his mind, because the strangely thrilling emotion +that possessed him could not keep its betrayal from his eyes. The color was +fading slowly out of her cheeks; her lips grew a little tense, yet in her +attitude of suspense and of waiting there was no longer a suspicion of +embarrassment, no trace of fear, and no sign that a moment was at hand when her +confidence was on the ebb. In this moment Alan did not think of John Graham. It +seemed to him that she was like a child again, the child who had come to him in +his cabin, and who had stood with her back against his cabin door, entreating +him to achieve the impossible; an angel, almost, with her smooth, shining hair, +her clear, beautiful eyes, her white throat which waited with its little +heart-throb for him to beat down the fragile defense which now lay in the +greater power of his own hands. The inequality of it, and the pitilessness of +what had been in his mind to say and do, together with an inundating sense of +his own brute mastery, swept over him, and in sudden desperation he reached out +his hands toward her and cried: +</p> + +<p> +“Mary Standish, in God’s name tell me the truth. Tell me why you +have come up here!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have come,” she said, looking at him steadily, “because I +know that a man like you, when he loves a woman, will fight for her and protect +her even though he may not possess her.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you didn’t know that—not until—the +cottonwoods!” he protested. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I did. I knew it in Ellen McCormick’s cabin.” +</p> + +<p> +She rose slowly before him, and he, too, rose to his feet, staring at her like +a man who had been struck, while intelligence—a dawning reason—an +understanding of the strange mystery of her that morning, sent the still +greater thrill of its shock through him. He gave an exclamation of amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“You were at Ellen McCormick’s! She gave +you—<i>that!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +She nodded. “Yes, the dress you brought from the ship. Please don’t +scold me, Mr. Holt. Be a little kind with me when you have heard what I am +going to tell you. I was in the cabin that last day, when you returned from +searching for me in the sea. Mr. McCormick didn’t know. But <i>she</i> +did. I lied a little, just a little, so that she, being a woman, would promise +not to tell you I was there. You see, I had lost a great deal of my faith, and +my courage was about gone, and I was afraid of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Afraid of me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, afraid of everybody. I was in the room behind Ellen McCormick when +she asked you—that question; and when you answered as you did, I was like +stone. I was amazed and didn’t believe, for I was certain that after what +had happened on the ship you despised me, and only through a peculiar sense of +honor were making the search for me. Not until two days later, when your +letters came to Ellen McCormick, and we read them—” +</p> + +<p> +“You opened both?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. One was to be read immediately, the other when I was +found—and I had found myself. Maybe it wasn’t exactly fair, but you +couldn’t expect two women to resist a temptation like that. +And—<i>I wanted to know</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not lower her eyes or turn her head aside as she made the confession. +Her gaze met Alan’s with beautiful steadiness. +</p> + +<p> +“And then I believed. I knew, because of what you said in that letter, +that you were the one man in all the world who would help me and give me a +fighting chance if I came to you. But it has taken all my courage—and in +the end you will drive me away—” +</p> + +<p> +Again he looked upon the miracle of tears in wide-open, unfaltering eyes, tears +which she did not brush away, but through which, in a moment, she smiled at him +as no woman had ever smiled at him before. And with the tears there seemed to +possess her a pride which lifted her above all confusion, a living spirit of +will and courage and womanhood that broke away the dark clouds of suspicion and +fear that had gathered in his mind. He tried to speak, and his lips were thick. +</p> + +<p> +“You have come—because you know I love you, and you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Because, from the beginning, it must have been a great faith in you that +inspired me, Alan Holt.” +</p> + +<p> +“There must have been more than that,” he persisted. “Some +other reason.” +</p> + +<p> +“Two,” she acknowledged, and now he noticed that with the +dissolution of tears a flush of color was returning into her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“And those—” +</p> + +<p> +“One it is impossible for you to know; the other, if I tell you, will +make you despise me. I am sure of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“It has to do with John Graham?” +</p> + +<p> +She bowed her head. “Yes, with John Graham.” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time long lashes hid her eyes from him, and for a moment it +seemed that her resolution was gone and she stood stricken by the import of the +thing that lay behind his question; yet her cheeks flamed red instead of +paling, and when she looked at him again, her eyes burned with a lustrous fire. +</p> + +<p> +“John Graham,” she repeated. “The man you hate and want to +kill.” +</p> + +<p> +Slowly he turned toward the door. “I am leaving immediately after dinner +to inspect the herds up in the foothills,” he said. “And +you—<i>are welcome here</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +He caught the swift intake of her breath as he paused for an instant at the +door, and saw the new light that leaped into her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Alan Holt,” she cried softly, “<i>Oh, I thank +you!</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +And then, suddenly, she stopped him with a little cry, as if at last something +had broken away from her control. He faced her, and for a moment they stood in +silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry—sorry I said to you what I did that night on the +<i>Nome</i>,” she said. “I accused you of brutality, of unfairness, +of—of even worse than that, and I want to take it all back. You are big +and clean and splendid, for you would go away now, knowing I am poisoned by an +association with the man who has injured you so terribly, <i>and you say I am +welcome!</i> And I don’t want you to go. You have made me <i>want</i> to +tell you who I am, and why I have come to you, and I pray God you will think as +kindly of me as you can when you have heard.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<p> +It seemed to Alan that in an instant a sudden change had come over the world. +There was silence in the cabin, except for the breath which came like a sob to +the girl’s lips as she turned to the window and looked out into the blaze +of golden sunlight that filled the tundra. He heard Tautuk’s voice, +calling to Keok away over near the reindeer corral, and he heard clearly +Keok’s merry laughter as she answered him. A gray-cheeked thrush flew up +to the roof of Sokwenna’s cabin and began to sing. It was as if these +things had come as a message to both of them, relieving a tension, and +significant of the beauty and glory and undying hope of life. Mary Standish +turned from the window with shining eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Every day the thrush comes and sings on our cabin roof,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“It is—possibly—because you are here,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +She regarded him seriously. “I have thought of that. You know, I have +faith in a great many unbelievable things. I can think of nothing more +beautiful than the spirit that lives in the heart of a bird. I am sure, if I +were dying, I would like to have a bird singing near me. Hopelessness cannot be +so deep that bird-song will not reach it.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded, trying to answer in that way. He felt uncomfortable. She closed the +door which he had left partly open, and made a little gesture for him to resume +the chair which he had left a few moments before. She seated herself first and +smiled at him wistfully, half regretfully, as she said: +</p> + +<p> +“I have been very foolish. What I am going to tell you now I should have +told you aboard the <i>Nome</i>. But I was afraid. Now I am not afraid, but +ashamed, terribly ashamed, to let you know the truth. And yet I am not sorry it +happened so, because otherwise I would not have come up here, and all +this—your world, your people, and you—have meant a great deal to +me. You will understand when I have made my confession.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t want that,” he protested almost roughly. +“I don’t want you to put it that way. If I can help you, and if you +wish to tell me as a friend, that’s different. I don’t want a +confession, which would imply that I have no faith in you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you have faith in me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; so much that the sun will darken and bird-song never seem the same +if I lose you again, as I thought I had lost you from the ship.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>you mean that</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +The words came from her in a strange, tense, little cry, and he seemed to see +only her eyes as he looked at her face, pale as the petals of the tundra daises +behind her. With the thrill of what he had dared to say tugging at his heart, +he wondered why she was so white. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean that,” her lips repeated slowly, “after all that +has happened—even after—that part of a letter—which Stampede +brought to you last night—” +</p> + +<p> +He was surprised. How had she discovered what he thought was a secret between +himself and Stampede? His mind leaped to a conclusion, and she saw it written +in his face. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it wasn’t Stampede,” she said. “He didn’t +tell me. It—just happened. And after this letter—you still believe +in me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I must. I should be unhappy if I did not. And I am—most perversely +hoping for happiness. I have told myself that what I saw over John +Graham’s signature was a lie.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t that—quite. But it didn’t refer to you, or +to me. It was part of a letter written to Rossland. He sent me some books while +I was on the ship, and inadvertently left a page of this letter in one of them +as a marker. It was really quite unimportant, when one read the whole of it. +The other half of the page is in the toe of the slipper which you did not +return to Ellen McCormick. You know that is the conventional thing for a woman +to do—to use paper for padding in a soft-toed slipper.” +</p> + +<p> +He wanted to shout; he wanted to throw up his arms and laugh as Tautuk and Amuk +Toolik and a score of others had laughed to the beat of the tom-toms last +night, not because he was amused, but out of sheer happiness. But Mary +Standish’s voice, continuing in its quiet and matter-of-fact way, held +him speechless, though she could not fail to see the effect upon him of this +simple explanation of the presence of Graham’s letter. +</p> + +<p> +“I was in Nawadlook’s room when I saw Stampede pick up the wad of +paper from the floor,” she was saying. “I was looking at the +slipper a few minutes before, regretting that you had left its mate in my cabin +on the ship, and the paper must have dropped then. I saw Stampede read it, and +the shock that came in his face. Then he placed it on the table and went out. I +hurried to see what he had found and had scarcely read the few words when I +heard him returning. I returned the paper where he had laid it, hid myself in +Nawadlook’s room, and saw Stampede when he carried it to you. I +don’t know why I allowed it to be done. I had no reason. Maybe it was +just—intuition, and maybe it was because—just in that hour—I +so hated myself that I wanted someone to flay me alive, and I thought that what +Stampede had found would make you do it. And I deserve it! I deserve nothing +better at your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it isn’t true,” he protested. “The letter was to +Rossland.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no responsive gladness in her eyes. “Better that it were true, +and all that <i>is</i> true were false,” she said in a quiet, hopeless +voice. “I would almost give my life to be no more than what those words +implied, dishonest, a spy, a criminal of a sort; almost any alternative would I +accept in place of what I actually am. Do you begin to understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid—I can not.” Even as he persisted in denial, the +pain which had grown like velvety dew in her eyes clutched at his heart, and he +felt dread of what lay behind it. “I understand—only—that I +am glad you are here, more glad than yesterday, or this morning, or an hour +ago.” +</p> + +<p> +She bowed her head, so that the bright light of day made a radiance of rich +color in her hair, and he saw the sudden tremble of the shining lashes that lay +against her cheeks; and then, quickly, she caught her breath, and her hands +grew steady in her lap. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you mind—if I asked you first—to tell me <i>your</i> +story of John Graham?” she spoke softly. “I know it, a little, but +I think it would make everything easier if I could hear it from +you—now.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood up and looked down upon her where she sat, with the light playing in +her hair; and then he moved to the window, and back, and she had not changed +her position, but was waiting for him to speak. She raised her eyes, and the +question her lips had formed was glowing in them as clearly as if she had +voiced it again in words. A desire rose in him to speak to her as he had never +spoken to another human being, and to reveal for her—and for her +alone—the thing that had harbored itself in his soul for many years. +Looking up at him, waiting, partial understanding softening her sweet face, a +dusky glow in her eyes, she was so beautiful that he cried out softly and then +laughed in a strange repressed sort of way as he half held out his arms toward +her. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I know how my father must have loved my mother,” he said. +“But I can’t make you feel it. I can’t hope for that. She +died when I was so young that she remained only as a beautiful dream for me. +But for my father she <i>never</i> died, and as I grew older she became more +and more alive for me, so that in our journeys we would talk about her as if +she were waiting for us back home and would welcome us when we returned. And +never could my father remain away from the place where she was buried very long +at a time. He called it <i>home</i>, that little cup at the foot of the +mountain, with the waterfall singing in summer, and a paradise of birds and +flowers keeping her company, and all the great, wild world she loved about her. +There was the cabin, too; the little cabin where I was born, with its back to +the big mountain, and filled with the handiwork of my mother as she had left it +when she died. And my father too used to laugh and sing there—he had a +clear voice that would roll half-way up the mountain; and as I grew older the +miracle at times stirred me with a strange fear, so real to my father did my +dead mother seem when he was home. But you look frightened, Miss Standish! Oh, +it may seem weird and ghostly now, but it was <i>true</i>—so true that I +have lain awake nights thinking of it and wishing that it had never been +so!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you have wished a great sin,” said the girl in a voice that +seemed scarcely to whisper between her parted lips. “I hope someone will +feel toward me—some day—like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it was this which brought the tragedy, the thing you have asked me +to tell you about,” he said, unclenching his hands slowly, and then +tightening them again until the blood ebbed from their veins. “Interests +were coming in; the tentacles of power and greed were reaching out, encroaching +steadily a little nearer to our cup at the foot of the mountain. But my father +did not dream of what might happen. It came in the spring of the year he took +me on my first trip to the States, when I was eighteen. We were gone five +months, and they were five months of hell for him. Day and night he grieved for +my mother and the little home under the mountain. And when at last we came +back—” +</p> + +<p> +He turned again to the window, but he did not see the golden sun of the tundra +or hear Tautuk calling from the corral. +</p> + +<p> +“When we came back,” he repeated in a cold, hard voice, “a +construction camp of a hundred men had invaded my father’s little +paradise. The cabin was gone; a channel had been cut from the waterfall, and +this channel ran where my mother’s grave had been. They had treated it +with that same desecration with which they have destroyed ten thousand Indian +graves since then. Her bones were scattered in the sand and mud. And from the +moment my father saw what had happened, never another sun rose in the heavens +for him. His heart died, yet he went on living—for a time.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Standish had bowed her face in her hands. He saw the tremor of her slim +shoulders; and when he came back, and she looked up at him, it was as if he +beheld the pallid beauty of one of the white tundra flowers. +</p> + +<p> +“And the man who committed that crime—was John Graham,” she +said, in the strangely passionless voice of one who knew what his answer would +be. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, John Graham. He was there, representing big interests in the +States. The foreman had objected to what happened; many of the men had +protested; a few of them, who knew my father, had thrown up their work rather +than be partners to that crime. But Graham had the legal power; they say he +laughed as if he thought it a great joke that a cabin and a grave should be +considered obstacles in his way. And he laughed when my father and I went to +see him; yes, <i>laughed</i>, in that noiseless, oily, inside way of his, as +you might think of a snake laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“We found him among the men. My God, you don’t know how I hated +him!—Big, loose, powerful, dangling the watch-fob that hung over his +vest, and looking at my father in that way as he told him what a fool he was to +think a worthless grave should interfere with his work. I wanted to kill him, +but my father put a hand on my shoulder, a quiet, steady hand, and said: +‘It is my duty, Alan. <i>My duty</i>.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And then—it happened. My father was older, much older than Graham, +but God put such strength in him that day as I had never seen before, and with +his naked hands he would have killed the brute if I had not unlocked them with +my own. Before all his men Graham became a mass of helpless pulp, and from the +ground, with the last of the breath that was in him, he cursed my father, and +he cursed me. He said that all the days of his life he would follow us, until +we paid a thousand times for what we had done. And then my father dragged him +as he would have dragged a rat to the edge of a piece of bush, and there he +tore his clothes from him until the brute was naked; and in that nakedness he +scourged him with whips until his arms were weak, and John Graham was +unconscious and like a great hulk of raw beef. When it was over, we went into +the mountains.” +</p> + +<p> +During the terrible recital Mary Standish had not looked away from him, and now +her hands were clenched like his own, and her eyes and face were aflame, as if +she wanted to leap up and strike at something unseen between them. +</p> + +<p> +“And after that, Alan; after that—” +</p> + +<p> +She did not know that she had spoken his name, and he, hearing it, scarcely +understood. +</p> + +<p> +“John Graham kept his promise,” he answered grimly. “The +influence and money behind him haunted us wherever we went. My father had been +successful, but one after another the properties in which he was interested +were made worthless. A successful mine in which he was most heavily interested +was allowed to become abandoned. A hotel which he partly owned in Dawson was +bankrupted. One after another things happened, and after each happening my +father would receive a polite note of regret from Graham, written as if the +word actually came from a friend. But my father cared little for money losses +now. His heart was drying up and his life ebbing away for the little cabin and +the grave that were gone from the foot of the mountain. It went on this way for +three years, and then, one morning, my father was found on the beach at Nome, +dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Dead</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +Alan heard only the gasping breath in which the word came from Mary Standish, +for he was facing the window, looking steadily away from her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—murdered. I know it was the work of John Graham. He +didn’t do it personally, but it was <i>his money</i> that accomplished +the end. Of course nothing ever came of it. I won’t tell you how his +influence and power have dogged me; how they destroyed the first herd of +reindeer I had, and how they filled the newspapers with laughter and lies about +me when I was down in the States last winter in an effort to make <i>your</i> +people see a little something of the truth about Alaska. I am waiting. I know +the day is coming when I shall have John Graham as my father had him under our +mountain twenty years ago. He must be fifty now. But that won’t save him +when the time comes. No one will loosen my hands as I loosened my +father’s. And all Alaska will rejoice, for his power and his money have +become twin monsters that are destroying Alaska just as he destroyed the life +of my father. Unless he dies, and his money-power ends, he will make of this +great land nothing more than a shell out of which he and his kind have taken +all the meat. And the hour of deadliest danger is now upon us.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at Mary Standish, and it was as if death had come to her where she +sat. She seemed not to breathe, and her face was so white it frightened him. +And then, slowly, she turned her eyes upon him, and never had he seen such +living pools of torture and of horror. He was amazed at the quietness of her +voice when she began to speak, and startled by the almost deadly coldness of +it. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you can understand—now—why I leaped into the sea, +why I wanted the world to think I was dead, and why I have feared to tell you +the truth,” she said. “<i>I am John Graham’s wife.</i>” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<p> +Alan’s first thought was of the monstrous incongruity of the thing, the +almost physical impossibility of a mésalliance of the sort Mary Standish +had revealed to him. He saw her, young and beautiful, with face and eyes that +from the beginning had made him feel all that was good and sweet in life, and +behind her he saw the shadow-hulk of John Graham, the pitiless iron-man, +without conscience and without soul, coarsened by power, fiendish in his +iniquities, and old enough to be her father! +</p> + +<p> +A slow smile twisted his lips, but he did not know he smiled. He pulled himself +together without letting her see the physical part of the effort it was taking. +And he tried to find something to say that would help clear her eyes of the +agony that was in them. +</p> + +<p> +“That—is a most unreasonable thing—to be true,” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to him his lips were making words out of wood, and that the words +were fatuously inefficient compared with what he should have said, or acted, +under the circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +She nodded. “It is. But the world doesn’t look at it in that way. +Such things just happen.” +</p> + +<p> +She reached for a book which lay on the table where the tundra daisies were +heaped. It was a book written around the early phases of pioneer life in +Alaska, taken from his own library, a volume of statistical worth, dryly but +carefully written—and she had been reading it. It struck him as a symbol +of the fight she was making, of her courage, and of her desire to triumph in +the face of tremendous odds that must have beset her. He still could not +associate her completely with John Graham. Yet his face was cold and white. +</p> + +<p> +Her hand trembled a little as she opened the book and took from it a newspaper +clipping. She did not speak as she unfolded it and gave it to him. +</p> + +<p> +At the top of two printed columns was the picture of a young and beautiful +girl; in an oval, covering a small space over the girl’s shoulder, was a +picture of a man of fifty or so. Both were strangers to him. He read their +names, and then the headlines. “A Hundred-Million-Dollar Love” was +the caption, and after the word love was a dollar sign. Youth and age, beauty +and the other thing, two great fortunes united. He caught the idea and looked +at Mary Standish. It was impossible for him to think of her as Mary Graham. +</p> + +<p> +“I tore that from a paper in Cordova,” she said. “They have +nothing to do with me. The girl lives in Texas. But don’t you see +something in her eyes? Can’t you see it, even in the picture? She has on +her wedding things. But it seemed to me—when I saw her face—that in +her eyes were agony and despair and hopelessness, and that she was bravely +trying to hide them from the world. It’s just another proof, one of +thousands, that such unreasonable things do happen.” +</p> + +<p> +He was beginning to feel a dull and painless sort of calm, the stoicism which +came to possess him whenever he was confronted by the inevitable. He sat down, +and with his head bowed over it took one of the limp, little hands that lay in +Mary Standish’s lap. The warmth had gone out of it. It was cold and +lifeless. He caressed it gently and held it between his brown, muscular hands, +staring at it, and yet seeing nothing in particular. It was only the ticking of +Keok’s clock that broke the silence for a time. Then he released the +hand, and it dropped in the girl’s lap again. She had been looking +steadily at the streak of gray in his hair. And a light came into her eyes, a +light which he did not see, and a little tremble of her lips, and an almost +imperceptible inclination of her head toward him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” he said. “I realize +now how you must have felt back there in the cottonwoods.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you don’t realize—<i>you don’t!</i>” she +protested. +</p> + +<p> +In an instant, it seemed to him, a vibrant, flaming life swept over her again. +It was as if his words had touched fire to some secret thing, as if he had +unlocked a door which grim hopelessness had closed. He was amazed at the +swiftness with which color came into her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand, and I am determined that you +<i>shall</i>,” she went on. “I would die before I let you go away +thinking what is now in your mind. You will despise me, but I would rather be +hated for the truth than because of the horrible thing which you must believe +if I remain silent.” She forced a wan smile to her lips. “You know, +Belinda Mulrooneys were very well in their day, but they don’t fit in +now, do they? If a woman makes a mistake and tries to remedy it in a fighting +sort of way, as Belinda Mulrooney might have done back in the days when Alaska +was young—” +</p> + +<p> +She finished with a little gesture of despair. +</p> + +<p> +“I have committed a great folly,” she said, hesitating an instant +in his silence. “I see very clearly now the course I should have taken. +You will advise me that it is still not too late when you have heard what I am +going to say. Your face is like—a rock.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is because your tragedy is mine,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She turned her eyes from him. The color in her cheeks deepened. It was a vivid, +feverish glow. “I was born rich, enormously, hatefully rich,” she +said in the low, unimpassioned voice of a confessional. “I don’t +remember father or mother. I lived always with my Grandfather Standish and my +Uncle Peter Standish. Until I was thirteen I had my Uncle Peter, who was +grandfather’s brother, and lived with us. I worshiped Uncle Peter. He was +a cripple. From young manhood he had lived in a wheel-chair, and he was nearly +seventy-five when he died. As a baby that wheel-chair, and my rides in it with +him about the great house in which we lived, were my delights. He was my father +and mother, everything that was good and sweet in life. I remember thinking, as +a child, that if God was as good as Uncle Peter, He was a wonderful God. It was +Uncle Peter who told me, year after year, the old stories and legends of the +Standishes. And he was always happy—always happy and glad and seeing +nothing but sunshine though he hadn’t stood on his feet for nearly sixty +years. And my Uncle Peter died when I was thirteen, five days before my +birthday came. I think he must have been to me what your father was to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded. There was something that was not the hardness of rock in his face +now, and John Graham seemed to have faded away. +</p> + +<p> +“I was left, then, alone with my Grandfather Standish,” she went +on. “He didn’t love me as my Uncle Peter loved me, and I +don’t think I loved him. But I was proud of him. I thought the whole +world must have stood in awe of him, as I did. As I grew older I learned the +world <i>was</i> afraid of him—bankers, presidents, even the strongest +men in great financial interests; afraid of him, and of his partners, the +Grahams, and of Sharpleigh, who my Uncle Peter had told me was the cleverest +lawyer in the nation, and who had grown up in the business of the two families. +My grandfather was sixty-eight when Uncle Peter died, so it was John Graham who +was the actual working force behind the combined fortunes of the two families. +Sometimes, as I now recall it, Uncle Peter was like a little child. I remember +how he tried to make me understand just how big my grandfather’s +interests were by telling me that if two dollars were taken from every man, +woman, and child in the United States, it would just about add up to what he +and the Grahams possessed, and my Grandfather Standish’s interests were +three-quarters of the whole. I remember how a hunted look would come into my +Uncle Peter’s face at times when I asked him how all this money was used, +and where it was. And he never answered me as I wanted to be answered, and I +never understood. I didn’t know <i>why</i> people feared my grandfather +and John Graham. I didn’t know of the stupendous power my +grandfather’s money had rolled up for them. I didn’t +know”—her voice sank to a shuddering whisper—“I +didn’t know how they were using it in Alaska, for instance. I +didn’t know it was feeding upon starvation and ruin and death. I +don’t think even Uncle Peter knew <i>that</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at Alan steadily, and her gray eyes seemed burning up with a slow +fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, even then, before Uncle Peter died, I had become one of the biggest +factors in all their schemes. It was impossible for me to suspect that John +Graham was <i>anticipating</i> a little girl of thirteen, and I didn’t +guess that my Grandfather Standish, so straight, so grandly white of beard and +hair, so like a god of power when he stood among men, was even then planning +that I should be given to him, so that a monumental combination of wealth might +increase itself still more in that juggernaut of financial achievement for +which he lived. And to bring about my sacrifice, to make sure it would not +fail, they set Sharpleigh to the task, because Sharpleigh was sweet and good of +face, and gentle like Uncle Peter, so that I loved him and had confidence in +him, without a suspicion that under his white hair lay a brain which matched in +cunning and mercilessness that of John Graham himself. And he did his work +well, Alan.” +</p> + +<p> +A second time she had spoken his name, softly and without embarrassment. With +her nervous fingers tying and untying the two corners of a little handkerchief +in her lap, she went on, after a moment of silence in which the ticking of +Keok’s clock seemed tense and loud. +</p> + +<p> +“When I was seventeen, Grandfather Standish died. I wish you could +understand all that followed without my telling you: how I clung to Sharpleigh +as a father, how I trusted him, and how cleverly and gently he educated me to +the thought that it was right and just, and my greatest duty in life, to carry +out the stipulation of my grandfather’s will and marry John Graham. +Otherwise, he told me—if that union was not brought about before I was +twenty-two—not a dollar of the great fortune would go to the house of +Standish; and because he was clever enough to know that money alone would not +urge me, he showed me a letter which he said my Uncle Peter had written, and +which I was to read on my seventeenth birthday, and in that letter Uncle Peter +urged me to live up to the Standish name and join in that union of the two +great fortunes which he and Grandfather Standish had always planned. I +didn’t dream the letter was a forgery. And in the end they won—and +I promised.” +</p> + +<p> +She sat with bowed head, crumpling the bit of cambric between her fingers. +“Do you despise me?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he replied in a tense, unimpassioned voice. “I love +you.” +</p> + +<p> +She tried to look at him calmly and bravely. In his face again lay the +immobility of rock, and in his eyes a sullen, slumbering fire. +</p> + +<p> +“I promised,” she repeated quickly, as if regretting the impulse +that had made her ask him the question. “But it was to be business, a +cold, unsentimental business. I disliked John Graham. Yet I would marry him. In +the eyes of the law I would be his wife; in the eyes of the world I would +remain his wife—but never more than that. They agreed, and I in my +ignorance believed. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t see the trap. I didn’t see the wicked triumph in +John Graham’s heart. No power could have made me believe then that he +wanted to possess only <i>me</i>; that he was horrible enough to want me even +without love; that he was a great monster of a spider, and I the fly lured into +his web. And the agony of it was that in all the years since Uncle Peter died I +had dreamed strange and beautiful dreams. I lived in a make-believe world of my +own, and I read, read, read; and the thought grew stronger and stronger in me +that I had lived another life somewhere, and that I belonged back in the years +when the world was clean, and there was love, and vast reaches of land wherein +money and power were little guessed of, and where romance and the glory of +manhood and womanhood rose above all other things. Oh, I wanted these things, +and yet because others had molded me, and because of my misguided Standish +sense of pride and honor, I was shackling myself to John Graham. +</p> + +<p> +“In the last months preceding my twenty-second birthday I learned more of +the man than I had ever known before; rumors came to me; I investigated a +little, and I began to find the hatred, and the reason for it, which has come +to me so conclusively here in Alaska. I almost knew, at the last, that he was a +monster, but the world had been told I was to marry him, and Sharpleigh with +his fatherly hypocrisy was behind me, and John Graham treated me so courteously +and so coolly that I did not suspect the terrible things in his heart and +mind—and I went on with the bargain. <i>I married him.</i>” +</p> + +<p> +She drew a sudden, deep breath, as if she had passed through the ordeal of what +she had most dreaded to say, and now, meeting the changeless expression of +Alan’s face with a fierce, little cry that leaped from her like a flash +of gun-fire, she sprang to her feet and stood with her back crushed against the +tundra flowers, her voice trembling as she continued, while he stood up and +faced her. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t go on,” he interrupted in a voice so low and +terribly hard that she felt the menacing thrill of it. “You +needn’t. I will settle with John Graham, if God gives me the +chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would have me stop <i>now</i>—before I have told you of the +only shred of triumph to which I may lay claim!” she protested. +“Oh, you may be sure that I realize the sickening folly and wickedness of +it all, but I swear before my God that I didn’t realize it then, until it +was too late. To you, Alan, clean as the great mountains and plains that have +been a part of you, I know how impossible this must seem—that I should +marry a man I at first feared, then loathed, then came to hate with a deadly +hatred; that I should sacrifice myself because I thought it was a duty; that I +should be so weak, so ignorant, so like soft clay in the hands of those I +trusted. Yet I tell you that at no time did I think or suspect that I was +sacrificing <i>myself</i>; at no time, blind though you may call me, did I see +a hint of that sickening danger into which I was voluntarily going. No, not +even an hour before the wedding did I suspect that, for it had all been so +coldly planned, like a great deal in finance—so carefully adjudged by us +all as a business affair, that I felt no fear except that sickness of soul +which comes of giving up one’s life. And no hint of it came until the +last of the few words were spoken which made us man and wife, and then I saw in +John Graham’s eyes something which I had never seen there before. And +Sharpleigh—” +</p> + +<p> +Her hands caught at her breast. Her gray eyes were pools of flame. +</p> + +<p> +“I went to my room. I didn’t lock my door, because never had it +been necessary to do that. I didn’t cry. No, I didn’t cry. But +something strange was happening to me which tears might have prevented. It +seemed to me there were many walls to my room; I was faint; the windows seemed +to appear and disappear, and in that sickness I reached my bed. Then I saw the +door open, and John Graham came in, and closed the door behind him, and locked +it. My room. He had come into <i>my room!</i> The unexpectedness of +it—the horror—the insult roused me from my stupor. I sprang up to +face him, and there he stood, within arm’s reach of me, a look in his +face which told me at last the truth which I had failed to suspect—or +fear. His arms were reaching out— +</p> + +<p> +“‘You are my wife,’ he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I knew, then. ‘<i>You are my wife</i>,’ he repeated. I +wanted to scream, but I couldn’t; and then—then—his arms +reached me; I felt them crushing around me like the coils of a great snake; the +poison of his lips was at my face—and I believed that I was lost, and +that no power could save me in this hour from the man who had come to my +room—the man who was my husband. I think it was Uncle Peter who gave me +voice, who put the right words in my brain, who made me laugh—yes, laugh, +and almost caress him with my hands. The change in me amazed him, stunned him, +and he freed me—while I told him that in these first few hours of +wifehood I wanted to be alone, and that he should come to me that evening, and +that I would be waiting for him. And I smiled at him as I said these things, +smiled while I wanted to kill him, and he went, a great, gloating, triumphant +beast, believing that the obedience of wifehood was about to give him what he +had expected to find through dishonor—and I was left alone. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought of only one thing then—escape. I saw the truth. It swept +over me, inundated me, roared in my ears. All that I had ever lived with Uncle +Peter came back to me. This was not his world; it had never been—and it +was not mine. It was, all at once, a world of monsters. I wanted never to face +it again, never to look into the eyes of those I had known. And even as these +thoughts and desires swept upon me, I was filling a traveling bag in a fever of +madness, and Uncle Peter was at my side, urging me to hurry, telling me I had +no minutes to lose, for the man who had left me was clever and might guess the +truth that lay hid behind my smiles and cajolery. +</p> + +<p> +“I stole out through the back of the house, and as I went I heard +Sharpleigh’s low laughter in the library. It was a new kind of laughter, +and with it I heard John Graham’s voice. I was thinking only of the +sea—to get away on the sea. A taxi took me to my bank, and I drew money. +I went to the wharves, intent only on boarding a ship, any ship, and it seemed +to me that Uncle Peter was leading me; and we came to a great ship that was +leaving for Alaska—and you know—what happened then—Alan +Holt.” +</p> + +<p> +With a sob she bowed her face in her hands, but only an instant it was there, +and when she looked at Alan again, there were no tears in her eyes, but a soft +glory of pride and exultation. +</p> + +<p> +“I am clean of John Graham,” she cried. “<i>Clean!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +He stood twisting his hands, twisting them in a helpless, futile sort of way, +and it was he, and not the girl, who felt like bowing his head that the tears +might come unseen. For her eyes were bright and shining and clear as stars. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you despise me now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I love you,” he said again, and made no movement toward her. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad,” she whispered, and she did not look at him, but at the +sunlit plain which lay beyond the window. +</p> + +<p> +“And Rossland was on the <i>Nome</i>, and saw you, and sent word back to +Graham,” he said, fighting to keep himself from going nearer to her. +</p> + +<p> +She nodded. “Yes; and so I came to you, and failing there, I leaped into +the sea, for I wanted them to think I was dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Rossland was hurt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Strangely. I heard of it in Cordova. Men like Rossland frequently +come to unexpected ends.” +</p> + +<p> +He went to the door which she had closed, and opened it, and stood looking +toward the blue billows of the foothills with the white crests of the mountains +behind them. She came, after a moment, and stood beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” she said softly, and her hand lay in a gentle touch +upon his arm. “You are trying to see some way out, and you can see only +one. That is to go back, face the creatures I hate, regain my freedom in the +old way. And I, too, can see no other way. I came on impulse; I must return +with impulse and madness burned out of me. And I am sorry. I dread it. +I—would rather die.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I—” he began, then caught himself and pointed to the +distant hills and mountains. “The herds are there,” he said. +“I am going to them. I may be gone a week or more. Will you promise me to +be here when I return?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if that is your desire.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is.” +</p> + +<p> +She was so near that his lips might have touched her shining hair. +</p> + +<p> +“And when you return, I must go. That will be the only way.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will be hard. It may be, after all, that I am a coward. But to face +all that—alone—” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t be alone,” he said quietly, still looking at the +far-away hills. “If you go, I am going with you.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed as if she had stopped breathing for a moment at his side, and then, +with a little, sobbing cry she drew away from him and stood at the half-opened +door of Nawadlook’s room, and the glory in her eyes was the glory of his +dreams as he had wandered with her hand in hand over the tundras in those days +of grief and half-madness when he had thought she was dead. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad I was in Ellen McCormick’s cabin the day you +came,” she was saying. “And I thank God for giving me the madness +and courage to come to <i>you</i>. I am not afraid of anything in the world +now—because—<i>I love you, Alan</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +And as Nawadlook’s door closed behind her, Alan stumbled out into the +sunlight, a great drumming in his heart, and a tumult in his brain that twisted +the world about him until for a little it held neither vision nor space nor +sound. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<p> +In that way, with the beautiful world swimming in sunshine and golden tundra +haze until foothills and mountains were like castles in a dream, Alan Holt set +off with Tautuk and Amuk Toolik, leaving Stampede and Keok and Nawadlook at the +corral bars, with Stampede little regretting that he was left behind to guard +the range. For a mighty resolution had taken root in the prospector’s +heart, and he felt himself thrilled and a bit trembling at the nearness of the +greatest drama that had ever entered his life. Alan, looking back after the +first few minutes, saw that Keok and Nawadlook stood alone. Stampede was gone. +</p> + +<p> +The ridge beyond the coulée out of which Mary Standish had come with +wild flowers soon closed like a door between him and Sokwenna’s cabin, +and the straight trail to the mountains lay ahead, and over this Alan set the +pace, with Tautuk and Amuk Toolik and a caravan of seven pack-deer behind him, +bearing supplies for the herdsmen. +</p> + +<p> +Alan had scarcely spoken to the two men. He knew the driving force which was +sending him to the mountains was not only an impulse, but almost an +inspirational thing born of necessity. Each step that he took, with his head +and heart in a swirl of intoxicating madness, was an effort behind which he was +putting a sheer weight of physical will. He wanted to go back. The urge was +upon him to surrender utterly to the weakness of forgetting that Mary Standish +was a wife. He had almost fallen a victim to his selfishness and passion in the +moment when she stood at Nawadlook’s door, telling him that she loved +him. An iron hand had drawn him out into the day, and it was the same iron hand +that kept his face to the mountains now, while in his brain her voice repeated +the words that had set his world on fire. +</p> + +<p> +He knew what had happened this morning was not the merely important and +essential incident of most human lives; it had been a cataclysmic thing with +him. Probably it would be impossible for even the girl ever fully to +understand. And he needed to be alone to gather strength and mental calmness +for the meeting of the problem ahead of him, a complication so unexpected that +the very foundation of that stoic equanimity which the mountains had bred in +him had suffered a temporary upsetting. His happiness was almost an insanity. +The dream wherein he had wandered with a spirit of the dead had come true; it +was the old idyl in the flesh again, his father, his mother—and back in +the cabin beyond the ridge such a love had cried out to him. And he was afraid +to return. He laughed the fact aloud, happily and with an unrepressed +exultation as he strode ahead of the pack-train, and with that exultation words +came to his lips, words intended for himself alone, telling him that Mary +Standish belonged to him, and that until the end of eternity he would fight for +her and keep her. Yet he kept on, facing the mountains, and he walked so +swiftly that Tautuk and Amuk Toolik fell steadily behind with the deer, so that +in time long dips and swells of the tundra lay between them. +</p> + +<p> +With grim persistence he kept at himself, and at last there swept over him in +its ultimate triumph a compelling sense of the justice of what he had +done—justice to Mary Standish. Even now he did not think of her as Mary +Graham. But she was Graham’s wife. And if he had gone to her in that +moment of glorious confession when she had stood at Nawadlook’s door, if +he had violated her faith when, because of faith, she had laid the world at his +feet, he would have fallen to the level of John Graham himself. Thought of the +narrowness of his escape and of the first mad desire to call her back from +Nawadlook’s room, to hold her in his arms again as he had held her in the +cottonwoods, brought a hot fire into his face. Something greater than his own +fighting instinct had turned him to the open door of the cabin. It was Mary +Standish—her courage, the-glory of faith and love shining in her eyes, +her measurement of him as a man. She had not been afraid to say what was in her +heart, because she knew what he would do. +</p> + +<p> +Mid-afternoon found him waiting for Tautuk and Amuk Toolik at the edge of a +slough where willows grew deep and green and the crested billows of +sedge-cotton stood knee-high. The faces of the herdsmen were sweating. +Thereafter Alan walked with them, until in that hour when the sun had sunk to +its lowest plane they came to the first of the Endicott foothills. Here they +rested until the coolness of deeper evening, when a golden twilight filled the +land, and then resumed the journey toward the mountains. +</p> + +<p> +Midsummer heat and the winged pests of the lower lands had driven the herds +steadily into the cooler altitudes of the higher plateaux and valleys. Here +they had split into telescoping columns which drifted in slowly moving streams +wherever the doors of the hills and mountains opened into new grazing fields, +until Alan’s ten thousand reindeer were in three divisions, two of the +greatest traveling westward, and one, of a thousand head, working north and +east. The first and second days Alan remained with the nearest and southward +herd. The third day he went on with Tautuk and two pack-deer through a break in +the mountains and joined the herdsmen of the second and higher multitude of +feeding animals. There began to possess him a curious disinclination to hurry, +and this aversion grew in a direct ratio with the thought which was becoming +stronger in him with each mile and hour of his progress. A multitude of +emotions were buried under the conviction that Mary Standish must leave the +range when he returned. He had a grim sense of honor, and a particularly devout +one when it had to do with women, and though he conceded nothing of right and +justice in the relationship which existed between the woman he loved and John +Graham, he knew that she must go. To remain at the range was the one impossible +thing for her to do. He would take her to Tanana. He would go with her to the +States. The matter would be settled in a reasonable and intelligent way, and +when he came back, he would bring her with him. +</p> + +<p> +But beneath this undercurrent of decision fought the thing which his will held +down, and yet never quite throttled completely—that something which urged +him with an unconquerable persistence to hold with his own hands what a +glorious fate had given him, and to finish with John Graham, if it ever came to +that, in the madly desirable way he visioned for himself in those occasional +moments when the fires of temptation blazed hottest. +</p> + +<p> +The fourth night he said to Tautuk: +</p> + +<p> +“If Keok should marry another man, what would you do?” +</p> + +<p> +It was a moment before Tautuk looked at him, and in the herdsman’s eyes +was a wild, mute question, as if suddenly there had leaped into his stolid mind +a suspicion which had never come to him before. Alan laid a reassuring hand +upon his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mean she’s going to, Tautuk,” he laughed. +“She loves you. I know it. Only you are so stupid, and so slow, and so +hopeless as a lover that she is punishing you while she has the +right—before she marries you. But if she <i>should</i> marry someone +else, what would you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“My brother?” asked Tautuk. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“A relative?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“A friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. A stranger. Someone who had injured you, for instance; someone Keok +hated, and who had cheated her into marrying him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would kill him,” said Tautuk quietly. +</p> + +<p> +It was this night the temptation was strongest upon Alan. Why should Mary +Standish go back, he asked himself. She had surrendered everything to escape +from the horror down there. She had given up fortune and friends. She had +scattered convention to the four winds, had gambled her life in the hazard, and +in the end had come to him! Why should he not keep her? John Graham and the +world believed she was dead. And he was master here. If—some +day—Graham should happen to cross his path, he would settle the matter in +Tautuk’s way. Later, while Tautuk slept, and the world lay about him in a +soft glow, and the valley below was filled with misty billows of twilight out +of which came to him faintly the curious, crackling sound of reindeer hoofs and +the grunting contentment of the feeding herd, the reaction came, as he had +known it would come in the end. +</p> + +<p> +The morning of the fifth day he set out alone for the eastward herd, and on the +sixth overtook Tatpan and his herdsmen. Tatpan, like Sokwenna’s +foster-children, Keok and Nawadlook, had a quarter-strain of white in him, and +when Alan came up to him in the edge of the valley where the deer were grazing, +he was lying on a rock, playing Yankee Doodle on a mouth-organ. It was Tatpan +who told him that an hour or two before an exhausted stranger had come into +camp, looking for him, and that the man was asleep now, apparently more dead +than alive, but had given instructions to be awakened at the end of two hours, +and not a minute later. Together they had a look at him. +</p> + +<p> +He was a small, ruddy-faced man with carroty blond hair and a peculiarly boyish +appearance as he lay doubled up like a jack-knife, profoundly asleep. Tatpan +looked at his big, silver watch and in a low voice described how the stranger +had stumbled into camp, so tired he could scarcely put one foot ahead of the +other; and that he had dropped down where he now lay when he learned Alan was +with one of the other herds. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="333"></a> +<img src="images/333.jpg" width="400" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">The man wore a gun ... within reach of his hand.</p> +</div> + +<p> +“He must have come a long distance,” said Tatpan, “and he has +traveled fast.” +</p> + +<p> +Something familiar about the man grew upon Alan. Yet he could not place him. He +wore a gun, which he had unbelted and placed within reach of his hand on the +grass. His chin was pugnaciously prominent, and in sleep the mysterious +stranger had crooked a forefinger and thumb about his revolver in a way that +spoke of caution and experience. +</p> + +<p> +“If he is in such a hurry to see me, you might awaken him,” said +Alan. +</p> + +<p> +He turned a little aside and knelt to drink at a tiny stream of water that ran +down from the snowy summits, and he could hear Tatpan rousing the stranger. By +the time he had finished drinking and faced about, the little man with the +carroty-blond hair was on his feet. Alan stared, and the little man grinned. +His ruddy cheeks grew pinker. His blue eyes twinkled, and in what seemed to be +a moment of embarrassment he gave his gun a sudden snap that drew an +exclamation of amazement from Alan. Only one man in the world had he ever seen +throw a gun into its holster like that. A sickly grin began to spread over his +own countenance, and all at once Tatpan’s eyes began to bulge. +</p> + +<p> +“Stampede!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +Stampede rubbed a hand over his smooth, prominent chin and nodded +apologetically. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s me,” he conceded. “I had to do it. It was give +one or t’other up—my whiskers <i>or her</i>. They went hard, too. I +flipped dice, an’ the whiskers won. I cut cards, an’ the whiskers +won. I played Klondike ag’in’ ’em, an’ the whiskers +busted the bank. Then I got mad an’ shaved ’em. Do I look so bad, +Alan?” +</p> + +<p> +“You look twenty years younger,” declared Alan, stifling his desire +to laugh when he saw the other’s seriousness. +</p> + +<p> +Stampede was thoughtfully stroking his chin. “Then why the devil did they +laugh!” he demanded. “Mary Standish didn’t laugh. She cried. +Just stood an’ cried, an’ then sat down an’ cried, she +thought I was that blamed funny! And Keok laughed until she was sick an’ +had to go to bed. That little devil of a Keok calls me Pinkey now, and Miss +Standish says it wasn’t because I was funny that she laughed, but that +the change in me was so sudden she couldn’t help it. Nawadlook says +I’ve got a character-ful chin—” +</p> + +<p> +Alan gripped his hand, and a swift change came over Stampede’s face. A +steely glitter shot into the blue of his eyes, and his chin hardened. Nature no +longer disguised the Stampede Smith of other days, and Alan felt a new thrill +and a new regard for the man whose hand he held. This, at last, was the man +whose name had gone before him up and down the old trails; the man whose cool +and calculating courage, whose fearlessness of death and quickness with the gun +had written pages in Alaskan history which would never be forgotten. Where his +first impulse had been to laugh, he now felt the grim thrill and admiration of +men of other days, who, when in Stampede’s presence, knew they were in +the presence of a master. The old Stampede had come to life again. And Alan +knew why. The grip of his hand tightened, and Stampede returned it. +</p> + +<p> +“Some day, if we’re lucky, there always comes a woman to make the +world worth living in, Stampede,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“There does,” replied Stampede. +</p> + +<p> +He looked steadily at Alan. +</p> + +<p> +“And I take it you love Mary Standish,” he added, “and that +you’d fight for her if you had to.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would,” said Alan. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s time you were traveling,” advised Stampede +significantly. “I’ve been twelve hours on the trail without a rest. +She told me to move fast, and I’ve moved. I mean Mary Standish. She said +it was almost a matter of life and death that I find you in a hurry. I wanted +to stay, but she wouldn’t let me. It’s <i>you</i> she wants. +Rossland is at the range.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Rossland</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Rossland. And it’s my guess John Graham isn’t far away. +I smell happenings, Alan. We’d better hurry.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<p> +Stampede had started with one of the two saddle-deer left at the range, but to +ride deer-back successfully and with any degree of speed and specific direction +was an accomplishment which he had neglected, and within the first half-dozen +miles he had abandoned the adventure to continue his journey on foot. As Tatpan +had no saddle-deer in his herd, and the swiftest messenger would require many +hours in which to reach Amuk Toolik, Alan set out for his range within half an +hour after his arrival at Tatpan’s camp. Stampede, declaring himself a +new man after his brief rest and the meal which followed it, would not listen +to Alan’s advice that he follow later, when he was more refreshed. +</p> + +<p> +A fierce and reminiscent gleam smoldered in the little gun-fighter’s eyes +as he watched Alan during the first half-hour leg of their race through the +foothills to the tundras. Alan did not observe it, or the grimness that had +settled in the face behind him. His own mind was undergoing an upheaval of +conjecture and wild questioning. That Rossland had discovered Mary Standish was +not dead was the least astonishing factor in the new development. The +information might easily have reached him through Sandy McCormick or his wife +Ellen. The astonishing thing was that he had in some mysterious way picked up +the trail of her flight a thousand miles northward, and the still more amazing +fact that he had dared to follow her and reveal himself openly at his range. +His heart pumped hard, for he knew Rossland must be directly under +Graham’s orders. +</p> + +<p> +Then came the resolution to take Stampede into his confidence and to reveal all +that had happened on the day of his departure for the mountains. He proceeded +to do this without equivocation or hesitancy, for there now pressed upon him a +grim anticipation of impending events ahead of them. +</p> + +<p> +Stampede betrayed no astonishment at the other’s disclosures. The +smoldering fire remained in his eyes, the immobility of his face unchanged. +Only when Alan repeated, in his own words, Mary Standish’s confession of +love at Nawadlook’s door did the fighting lines soften about his +comrade’s eyes and mouth. +</p> + +<p> +Stampede’s lips responded with an oddly quizzical smile. “I knew +that a long time ago,” he said. “I guessed it that first night of +storm in the coach up to Chitina. I knew it for certain before we left Tanana. +She didn’t tell me, but I wasn’t blind. It was the note that +puzzled and frightened me—the note she stuffed in her slipper. And +Rossland told me, before I left, that going for you was a wild-goose chase, as +he intended to take Mrs. John Graham back with him immediately.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you left her alone after <i>that</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +Stampede shrugged his shoulders as he valiantly kept up with Alan’s +suddenly quickened pace. +</p> + +<p> +“She insisted. Said it meant life and death for her. And she looked it. +White as paper after her talk with Rossland. Besides—” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sokwenna won’t sleep until we get back. He knows. I told him. And +he’s watching from the garret window with a.303 Savage. I saw him pick +off a duck the other day at two hundred yards.” +</p> + +<p> +They hurried on. After a little Alan said, with the fear which he could not +name clutching at his heart, “Why did you say Graham might not be far +away?” +</p> + +<p> +“In my bones,” replied Stampede, his face hard as rock again. +“In my bones!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that all?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not quite. I think Rossland told her. She was so white. And her hand +cold as a lump of clay when she put it on mine. It was in her eyes, too. +Besides, Rossland has taken possession of your cabin as though he owns it. I +take it that means somebody behind him, a force, something big to reckon with. +He asked me how many men we had. I told him, stretching it a little. He +grinned. He couldn’t keep back that grin. It was as if a devil in him +slipped out from hiding for an instant.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he caught Alan’s arm and stopped him. His chin shot out. The +sweat ran from his face. For a full quarter of a minute the two men stared at +each other. +</p> + +<p> +“Alan, we’re short-sighted. I’m damned if I don’t think +we ought to call the herdsmen in, and every man with a loaded gun!” +</p> + +<p> +“You think it’s that bad?” +</p> + +<p> +“Might be. If Graham’s behind Rossland and has men with +him—” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re two and a half hours from Tatpan,” said Alan, in a +cold, unemotional voice. “He has only half a dozen men with him, and it +will take at least four to make quick work in finding Tautuk and Amuk Toolik. +There are eighteen men with the southward herd, and twenty-two with the upper. +I mean, counting the boys. Use your own judgment. All are armed. It may be +foolish, but I’m following your hunch.” +</p> + +<p> +They gripped hands. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s more than a hunch, Alan,” breathed Stampede softly. +“And for God’s sake keep off the music as long as you can!” +</p> + +<p> +He was gone, and as his agile, boyish figure started in a half-run toward the +foothills, Alan set his face southward, so that in a quarter of an hour they +were lost to each other in the undulating distances of the tundra. +</p> + +<p> +Never had Alan traveled as on the last of this sixth day of his absence from +the range. He was comparatively fresh, as his trail to Tatpan’s camp had +not been an exhausting one, and his more intimate knowledge of the country gave +him a decided advantage over Stampede. He believed he could make the distance +in ten hours, but to this he would be compelled to add a rest of at least three +or four hours during the night. It was now eight o’clock. By nine or ten +the next morning he would be facing Rossland, and at about that same hour +Tatpan’s swift messengers would be closing in about Tautuk and Amuk +Toolik. He knew the speed with which his herdsmen would sweep out of the +mountains and over the tundras. Two years ago Amuk Toolik and a dozen of his +Eskimo people had traveled fifty-two hours without rest or food, covering a +hundred and nineteen miles in that time. His blood flushed hot with pride. He +couldn’t do that. But his people could—and <i>would</i>. He could +see them sweeping in from the telescoping segments of the herds as the word +went among them; he could see them streaking out of the foothills; and then, +like wolves scattering for freer air and leg-room, he saw them dotting the +tundra in their race for home—and war, if it was war that lay ahead of +them. +</p> + +<p> +Twilight began to creep in upon him, like veils of cool, dry mist out of the +horizons. And hour after hour he went on, eating a strip of pemmican when he +grew hungry, and drinking in the spring coulées when he came to them, +where the water was cold and clear. Not until a telltale cramp began to bite +warningly in his leg did he stop for the rest which he knew he must take. It +was one o’clock. Counting his journey to Tatpan’s camp, he had been +traveling almost steadily for seventeen hours. +</p> + +<p> +Not until he stretched himself out on his back in a grassy hollow where a +little stream a foot wide rippled close to his ears did he realize how tired he +had become. At first he tried not to sleep. Rest was all he wanted; he dared +not close his eyes. But exhaustion overcame him at last, and he slept. When he +awoke, bird-song and the sun were taunting him. He sat up with a jerk, then +leaped to his feet in alarm. His watch told the story. He had slept soundly for +six hours, instead of resting three or four with his eyes open. +</p> + +<p> +After a little, as he hurried on his way, he did not altogether regret what had +happened. He felt like a fighting man. He breathed deeply, ate a breakfast of +pemmican as he walked, and proceeded to make up lost time. The interval between +fifteen minutes of twelve and twelve he almost ran. That quarter of an hour +brought him to the crest of the ridge from which he could look upon the +buildings of the range. Nothing had happened that he could see. He gave a great +gasp of relief, and in his joy he laughed. The strangeness of the laugh told +him more than anything else the tension he had been under. +</p> + +<p> +Another half-hour, and he came up out of the dip behind Sokwenna’s cabin +and tried the door. It was locked. A voice answered his knock, and he called +out his name. The bolt shot back, the door opened, and he stepped in. Nawadlook +stood at her bedroom door, a gun in her hands. Keok faced him, holding grimly +to a long knife, and between them, staring white-faced at him as he entered, +was Mary Standish. She came forward to meet him, and he heard a whisper from +Nawadlook, and saw Keok follow her swiftly through the door into the other +room. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Standish held out her hands to him a little blindly, and the tremble in +her throat and the look in her eyes betrayed the struggle she was making to +keep from breaking down and crying out in gladness at his coming. It was that +look that sent a flood of joy into his heart, even when he saw the torture and +hopelessness behind it. He held her hands close, and into her eyes he smiled in +such a way that he saw them widen, as if she almost disbelieved; and then she +drew in a sudden quick breath, and her fingers clung to him. It was as if the +hope that had deserted her came in an instant into her face again. He was not +excited. He was not even perturbed, now that he saw that light in her eyes and +knew she was safe. But his love was there. She saw it and felt the force of it +behind the deadly calmness with which he was smiling at her. She gave a little +sob, so low it was scarcely more than a broken breath; a little cry that came +of wonder—understanding—and unspeakable faith in this man who was +smiling at her so confidently in the face of the tragedy that had come to +destroy her. +</p> + +<p> +“Rossland is in your cabin,” she whispered. “And John Graham +is back there—somewhere—coming this way. Rossland says that if I +don’t go to him of my own free will—” +</p> + +<p> +He felt the shudder that ran through her. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand the rest,” he said. They stood silent for a moment. +The gray-cheeked thrush was singing on the roof. Then, as if she had been a +child, he took her face between his hands and bent her head back a little, so +that he was looking straight into her eyes, and so near that he could feel the +sweet warmth of her breath. +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t make a mistake the day I went away?” he asked. +“You—love me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment longer he looked into her eyes. Then he stood back from her. Even +Keok and Nawadlook heard his laugh. It was strange, they thought—Keok +with her knife, and Nawadlook with her gun—for the bird was singing, and +Alan Holt was laughing, and Mary Standish was very still. +</p> + +<p> +Another moment later, from where he sat cross-legged at the little window in +the attic, keeping his unsleeping vigil with a rifle across his knees, old +Sokwenna saw his master walk across the open, and something in the manner of +his going brought back a vision of another day long ago when Ghost Kloof had +rung with the cries of battle, and the hands now gnarled and twisted with age +had played their part in the heroic stand of his people against the oppressors +from the farther north. +</p> + +<p> +Then he saw Alan go into the cabin where Rossland was, and softly his fingers +drummed upon the ancient tom-tom which lay at his side. His eyes fixed +themselves upon the distant mountains, and under his breath he mumbled the old +chant of battle, dead and forgotten except in Sokwenna’s brain, and after +that his eyes closed, and again the vision grew out of darkness like a picture +for him, a vision of twisting trails and of fighting men gathering with their +faces set for war. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<p> +At the desk in Alan’s living-room sat Rossland, when the door opened +behind him and the master of the range came in. He was not disturbed when he +saw who it was, and rose to meet him. His coat was off, his sleeves rolled up, +and it was evident he was making no effort to conceal his freedom with +Alan’s books and papers. +</p> + +<p> +He advanced, holding out a hand. This was not the same Rossland who had told +Alan to attend to his own business on board the <i>Nome</i>. His attitude was +that of one greeting a friend, smiling and affable even before he spoke. +Something inspired Alan to return the smile. Behind that smile he was admiring +the man’s nerve. His hand met Rossland’s casually, but there was no +uncertainty in the warmth of the other’s grip. +</p> + +<p> +“How d’ do, Paris, old boy?” he greeted good-humoredly. +“Saw you going in to Helen a few minutes ago, so I’ve been waiting +for you. She’s a little frightened. And we can’t blame her. +Menelaus is mightily upset. But mind me, Holt, I’m not blaming you. +I’m too good a sport. Clever, I call it—damned clever. She’s +enough to turn any man’s head. I only wish I were in your boots right +now. I’d have turned traitor myself aboard the <i>Nome</i> if she had +shown an inclination.” +</p> + +<p> +He proffered a cigar, a big, fat cigar with a gold band. It was inspiration +again that made Alan accept it and light it. His blood was racing. But Rossland +saw nothing of that. He observed only the nod, the cool smile on Alan’s +lips, the apparent nonchalance with which he was meeting the situation. It +pleased Graham’s agent. He reseated himself in the desk-chair and +motioned Alan to another chair near him. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you were badly hurt,” said Alan. “Nasty knife +wound you got.” +</p> + +<p> +Rossland shrugged his shoulders. “There you have it again, Holt—the +hell of letting a pretty face run away with you. One of the Thlinkit girls down +in the steerage, you know. Lovely little thing, wasn’t she? Tricked her +into my cabin all right, but she wasn’t like some other Indian girls +I’ve known. The next night a brother, or sweetheart, or whoever it was +got me through the open port. It wasn’t bad. I was out of the hospital +within a week. Lucky I was put there, too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have seen +Mrs. Graham one morning—through the window. What a little our fortunes +hang to at times, eh? If it hadn’t been for the girl and the knife and +the hospital, I wouldn’t be here now, and Graham wouldn’t be +bleeding his heart out with impatience—and you, Holt, wouldn’t be +facing the biggest opportunity that will ever come into your life.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Alan, hiding his +face in the smoke of his cigar and speaking with an apparent indifference which +had its effect upon Rossland. “Your presence inclines me to believe that +luck has rather turned against me. Where can my advantage be?” +</p> + +<p> +A grim seriousness settled in Rossland’s eyes, and his voice became cool +and hard. “Holt, as two men who are not afraid to meet unusual +situations, we may as well call a spade a spade in this matter, don’t you +think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Decidedly,” said Alan. +</p> + +<p> +“You know that Mary Standish is really Mary Standish Graham, John +Graham’s wife?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you probably know—now—why she jumped into the sea, and +why she ran away from Graham.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“That saves a lot of talk. But there is another side to the story which +you probably don’t know, and I am here to tell it to you. John Graham +doesn’t care for a dollar of the Standish fortune. It’s the girl he +wants, and has always wanted. She has grown up under his eyes. From the day she +was fourteen years old he has lived and planned with the thought of possessing +her. You know how he got her to marry him, and you know what happened +afterward. But it makes no difference to him whether she hates him or not. He +<i>wants</i> her. And this”—he swept his arms out, “is the +most beautiful place in the world in which to have her returned to him. +I’ve been figuring from your books. Your property isn’t worth over +a hundred thousand dollars as it stands on hoof today. I’m here to offer +you five times that for it. In other words, Graham is willing to forfeit all +action he might have personally against you for stealing his wife, and in place +of that will pay you five hundred thousand dollars for the privilege of having +his honeymoon here, and making of this place a country estate where his wife +may reside indefinitely, subject to her husband’s visits when he is so +inclined. There will be a stipulation, of course, requiring that the personal +details of the deal be kept strictly confidential, and that you leave the +country. Do I make myself clear?” +</p> + +<p> +Alan rose to his feet and paced thoughtfully across the room. At least, +Rossland measured his action as one of sudden, intensive reflection as he +watched him, smiling complacently at the effect of his knock-out proposition +upon the other. He had not minced matters. He had come to the point without an +effort at bargaining, and he possessed sufficient dramatic sense to appreciate +what the offer of half a million dollars meant to an individual who was +struggling for existence at the edge of a raw frontier. Alan stood with his +back toward him, facing a window. His voice was oddly strained when he +answered. But that was quite natural, too, Rossland thought. +</p> + +<p> +“I am wondering if I understand you,” he said. “Do you mean +that if I sell Graham the range, leave it bag and baggage, and agree to keep my +mouth shut thereafter, he will give me half a million dollars?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is the price. You are to take your people with you. Graham has his +own.” +</p> + +<p> +Alan tried to laugh. “I think I see the point—now. He isn’t +paying five hundred thousand for Miss Standish—I mean Mrs. Graham. +He’s paying it for the <i>isolation</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. It was a last-minute hunch with him—to settle the matter +peaceably. We started up here to get his wife. You understand, to <i>get</i> +her, and settle the matter with you in a different way from the one we’re +using now. You hit the word when you said ‘isolation.’ What a damn +fool a man can make of himself over a pretty face! Think of it—half a +million dollars!” +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds unreal,” mused Alan, keeping his face to the window. +“Why should he offer so much?” +</p> + +<p> +“You must keep the stipulation in mind, Holt. That is an important part +of the deal. You are to keep your mouth shut. Buying the range at a normal +price wouldn’t guarantee it. But when you accept a sum like that, +you’re a partner in the other end of the transaction, and your health +depends upon keeping the matter quiet. Simple enough, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +Alan turned back to the table. His face was pale. He tried to keep smoke in +front of his eyes. “Of course, I don’t suppose he’d allow +Mrs. Graham to escape back to the States—where she might do a little +upsetting on her own account?” +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t throwing the money away,” replied Rossland +significantly. +</p> + +<p> +“She would remain here indefinitely?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indefinitely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably never would return.” +</p> + +<p> +“Strange how squarely you hit the nail on the head! Why should she +return? The world believes she is dead. Papers were full of it. The little +secret of her being alive is all our own. And this will be a beautiful +summering place for Graham. Magnificent climate. Lovely flowers. Birds. And the +girl he has watched grow up, and wanted, since she was fourteen.” +</p> + +<p> +“And who hates him.” +</p> + +<p> +“True.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who was tricked into marrying him, and who would rather die than live +with him as his wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s up to Graham to keep her alive, Holt. That’s not +our business. If she dies, I imagine you will have an opportunity to get your +range back pretty cheap.” +</p> + +<p> +Rossland held a paper out to Alan. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s partial payment—two hundred and fifty thousand. I +have the papers here, on the desk, ready to sign. As soon as you give +possession, I’ll return to Tanana with you and make the remaining +payment.” +</p> + +<p> +Alan took the check. “I guess only a fool would refuse an offer like +this, Rossland.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, only a fool.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>And I am that fool</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +So quietly did Alan speak that for an instant the significance of his words did +not fall with full force upon Rossland. The smoke cleared away from before +Alan’s face. His cigar dropped to the floor, and he stepped on it with +his foot. The check followed it in torn scraps. The fury he had held back with +almost superhuman effort blazed in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“If I could have Graham where you are now—<i>in that +chair</i>—I’d give ten years of my life, Rossland. I would kill +him. And you—<i>you</i>—” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped back a pace, as if to put himself out of striking distance of the +beast who was staring at him in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“What you have said about her should condemn you to death. And I would +kill you here, in this room, if it wasn’t necessary for you to take my +message back to Graham. Tell him that Mary Standish—<i>not</i> Mary +Graham—is as pure and clean and as sweet as the day she was born. Tell +him that she belongs to <i>me</i>. I love her. She is mine—do you +understand? And all the money in the world couldn’t buy one hair from her +head. I’m going to take her back to the States. She is going to get a +square deal, and the world is going to know her story. She has nothing to +conceal. Absolutely nothing. Tell that to John Graham for me.” +</p> + +<p> +He advanced upon Rossland, who had risen from his chair; his hands were +clenched, his face a mask of iron. +</p> + +<p> +“Get out! Go before I flay you within an inch of your rotten life!” +</p> + +<p> +The energy which every fiber in him yearned to expend upon Rossland sent the +table crashing back in an overturned wreck against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Go—before I kill you!” +</p> + +<p> +He was advancing, even as the words of warning came from his lips, and the man +before him, an awe-stricken mass of flesh that had forgotten power and courage +in the face of a deadly and unexpected menace, backed quickly to the door and +escaped. He made for the corrals, and Alan watched from his door until he saw +him departing southward, accompanied by two men who bore packs on their +shoulders. Not until then did Rossland gather his nerve sufficiently to stop +and look back. His breathless voice carried something unintelligible to Alan. +But he did not return for his coat and hat. +</p> + +<p> +The reaction came to Alan when he saw the wreck he had made of the table. +Another moment or two and the devil in him would have been at work. He hated +Rossland. He hated him now only a little less than he hated John Graham, and +that he had let him go seemed a miracle to him. He felt the strain he had been +under. But he was glad. Some little god of common sense had overruled his +passion, and he had acted wisely. Graham would now get his message, and there +could be no misunderstanding of purpose between them. +</p> + +<p> +He was staring at the disordered papers on his desk when a movement at the door +turned him about. Mary Standish stood before him. +</p> + +<p> +“You sent him away,” she cried softly. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes were shining, her lips parted, her face lit up with a beautiful glow. +She saw the overturned table, Rossland’s hat and coat on a chair, the +evidence of what had happened and the quickness of his flight; and then she +turned her face to Alan again, and what he saw broke down the last of that grim +resolution which he had measured for himself, so that in a moment he was at her +side, and had her in his arms. She made no effort to free herself as she had +done in the cottonwoods, but turned her mouth up for him to kiss, and then hid +her face against his shoulder—while he, fighting vainly to find utterance +for the thousand words in his throat, stood stroking her hair, and then buried +his face in it, crying out at last in the warm sweetness of it that he loved +her, and was going to fight for her, and that no power on earth could take her +away from him now. And these things he repeated until she raised her flushed +face from his breast, and let him kiss her lips once more, and then freed +herself gently from his arms. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<p> +For a Space they stood apart, and in the radiant loveliness of Mary +Standish’s face and in Alan’s quiet and unimpassioned attitude were +neither shame nor regret. In a moment they had swept aside the barrier which +convention had raised against them, and now they felt the inevitable thrill of +joy and triumph, and not the humiliating embarrassment of dishonor. They made +no effort to draw a curtain upon their happiness, or to hide the swift +heart-beat of it from each other. It had happened, and they were glad. Yet they +stood apart, and something pressed upon Alan the inviolableness of the little +freedom of space between them, of its sacredness to Mary Standish, and darker +and deeper grew the glory of pride and faith that lay with the love in her eyes +when he did not cross it. He reached out his hand, and freely she gave him her +own. Lips blushing with his kisses trembled in a smile, and she bowed her head +a little, so that he was looking at her smooth hair, soft and sweet where he +had caressed it a few moments before. +</p> + +<p> +“I thank God!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He did not finish the surge of gratitude that was in his heart. Speech seemed +trivial, even futile. But she understood. He was not thanking God for that +moment, but for a lifetime of something that at last had come to him. This, it +seemed to him, was the end, the end of a world as he had known it, the +beginning of a new. He stepped back, and his hands trembled. For something to +do he set up the overturned table, and Mary Standish watched him with a quiet, +satisfied wonder. She loved him, and she had come into his arms. She had given +him her lips to kiss. And he laughed softly as he came to her side again, and +looked over the tundra where Rossland had gone. +</p> + +<p> +“How long before you can prepare for the journey?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean—” +</p> + +<p> +“That we must start tonight or in the morning. I think we shall go +through the cottonwoods over the old trail to Nome. Unless Rossland lied, +Graham is somewhere out there on the Tanana trail.” +</p> + +<p> +Her hand pressed his arm. “We are going—<i>back?</i> Is that it, +Alan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, to Seattle. It is the one thing to do. You are not afraid?” +</p> + +<p> +“With you there—no.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you will return with me—when it is over?” +</p> + +<p> +He was looking steadily ahead over the tundra. But he felt her cheek touch his +shoulder, lightly as a feather. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I will come back with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you will be ready?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am ready now.” +</p> + +<p> +The sun-fire of the plains danced in his eyes; a cob-web of golden mist rising +out of the earth, beckoning wraiths and undulating visions—the breath of +life, of warmth, of growing things—all between him and the hidden +cottonwoods; a joyous sea into which he wanted to plunge without another minute +of waiting, as he felt the gentle touch of her cheek against his shoulder, and +the weight of her hand on his arm. That she had come to him utterly was in the +low surrender of her voice. She had ceased to fight—she had given to him +the precious right to fight for her. +</p> + +<p> +It was this sense of her need and of her glorious faith in him, and of the +obligation pressing with it that drove slowly back into him the grimmer +realities of the day. Its horror surged upon him again, and the significance of +what Rossland had said seemed fresher, clearer, even more terrible now that he +was gone. Unconsciously the old lines of hatred crept into his face again as he +looked steadily in the direction which the other man had taken, and he wondered +how much of that same horror—of the unbelievable menace stealing upon +her—Rossland had divulged to the girl who stood so quietly now at his +side. Had he done right to let him go? Should he not have killed him, as he +would have exterminated a serpent? For Rossland had exulted; he was of +Graham’s flesh and desires, a part of his foul soul, a defiler of +womanhood and the one who had bargained to make possible the opportunity for an +indescribable crime. It was not too late. He could still overtake him, out +there in the hollows of the tundra— +</p> + +<p> +The pressure on his arm tightened. He looked down. Mary Standish had seen what +was in his face, and there was something in her calmness that brought him to +himself. He knew, in that moment, that Rossland had told her a great deal. Yet +she was not afraid, unless it was fear of what had been in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +“I am ready,” she reminded him. +</p> + +<p> +“We must wait for Stampede,” he said, reason returning to him. +“He should be here sometime tonight, or in the morning. Now that Rossland +is off my nerves, I can see how necessary it is to have someone like Stampede +between us and—” +</p> + +<p> +He did not finish, but what he had intended to say was quite clear to her. She +stood in the doorway, and he felt an almost uncontrollable desire to take her +in his arms again. +</p> + +<p> +“He is between here and Tanana,” she said with a little gesture of +her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Rossland told you that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. And there are others with him, so many that he was amused when I +told him you would not let them take me away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you were not afraid that I—I might let them have you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have always been sure of what you would do since I opened that second +letter at Ellen McCormick’s, Alan!” +</p> + +<p> +He caught the flash of her eyes, the gladness in them, and she was gone before +he could find another word to say. Keok and Nawadlook were approaching +hesitatingly, but now they hurried to meet her, Keok still grimly clutching the +long knife; and beyond them, at the little window under the roof, he saw the +ghostly face of old Sokwenna, like a death’s-head on guard. His blood ran +a little faster. The emptiness of the tundras, the illimitable spaces without +sign of human life, the vast stage waiting for its impending drama, with its +sunshine, its song of birds, its whisper and breath of growing flowers, struck +a new note in him, and he looked again at the little window where Sokwenna sat +like a spirit from another world, warning him in his silent and lifeless stare +of something menacing and deadly creeping upon them out of that space which +seemed so free of all evil. He beckoned to him and then entered his cabin, +waiting while Sokwenna crawled down from his post and came hobbling over the +open, a crooked figure, bent like a baboon, witch-like in his great age, yet +with sunken eyes that gleamed like little points of flame, and a quickness of +movement that made Alan shiver as he watched him through the window. +</p> + +<p> +In a moment the old man entered. He was mumbling. He was saying, in that jumble +of sound which it was difficult for even Alan to understand—and which +Sokwenna had never given up for the missionaries’ teachings—that he +could hear feet and smell blood; and that the feet were many, and the blood was +near, and that both smell and footfall were coming from the old kloof where +yellow skulls still lay, dripping with the water that had once run red. Alan +was one of the few who, by reason of much effort, had learned the story of the +kloof from old Sokwenna; how, so long ago that Sokwenna was a young man, a +hostile tribe had descended upon his people, killing the men and stealing the +women; and how at last Sokwenna and a handful of his tribesmen fled south with +what women were left and made a final stand in the kloof, and there, on a day +that was golden and filled with the beauty of bird-song and flowers, had +ambushed their enemies and killed them to a man. All were dead now, all but +Sokwenna. +</p> + +<p> +For a space Alan was sorry he had called Sokwenna to his cabin. He was no +longer the cheerful and gentle “old man” of his people; the old man +who chortled with joy at the prettiness and play of Keok and Nawadlook, who +loved birds and flowers and little children, and who had retained an impish +boyhood along with his great age. He was changed. He stood before Alan an +embodiment of fatalism, mumbling incoherent things in his breath, a spirit of +evil omen lurking in his sunken eyes, and his thin hands gripping like +bird-claws to his rifle. Alan threw off the uncomfortable feeling that had +gripped him for a moment, and set him to an appointed task—the watching +of the southward plain from the crest of a tall ridge two miles back on the +Tanana trail. He was to return when the sun reached its horizon. +</p> + +<p> +Alan was inspired now by a great caution, a growing premonition which stirred +him with uneasiness, and he began his own preparations as soon as Sokwenna had +started on his mission. The desire to leave at once, without the delay of an +hour, pulled strong in him, but he forced himself to see the folly of such +haste. He would be away many months, possibly a year this time. There was much +to do, a mass of detail to attend to, a volume of instructions and advice to +leave behind him. He must at least see Stampede, and it was necessary to write +down certain laws for Tautuk and Amuk Toolik. As this work of preparation +progressed, and the premonition persisted in remaining with him, he fell into a +habit of repeating to himself the absurdity of fears and the impossibility of +danger. He tried to make himself feel uncomfortably foolish at the thought of +having ordered the herdsmen in. In all probability Graham would not appear at +all, he told himself, or at least not for many days—or weeks; and if he +did come, it would be to war in a legal way, and not with murder. +</p> + +<p> +Yet his uneasiness did not leave him. As the hours passed and the afternoon +lengthened, the invisible something urged him more strongly to take the trail +beyond the cottonwoods, with Mary Standish at his side. Twice he saw her +between noon and five o’clock, and by that time his writing was done. He +looked at his guns carefully. He saw that his favorite rifle and automatic were +working smoothly, and he called himself a fool for filling his ammunition vest +with an extravagant number of cartridges. He even carried an amount of this +ammunition and two of his extra guns to Sokwenna’s cabin, with the +thought that it was this cabin on the edge of the ravine which was best fitted +for defense in the event of necessity. Possibly Stampede might have use for it, +and for the guns, if Graham should come after he and Mary were well on their +way to Nome. +</p> + +<p> +After supper, when the sun was throwing long shadows from the edge of the +horizon, Alan came from a final survey of his cabin and the food which Wegaruk +had prepared for his pack, and found Mary at the edge of the ravine, watching +the twilight gathering where the coulée ran narrower and deeper between +the distant breasts of the tundra. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to leave you for a little while,” he said. “But +Sokwenna has returned, and you will not be alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going?” +</p> + +<p> +“As far as the cottonwoods, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I am going with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I expect to walk very fast.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not faster than I, Alan.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I want to make sure the country is clear in that direction before +twilight shuts out the distances.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will help you.” Her hand crept into his. “I am going with +you, Alan,” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I—think you are,” he laughed joyously, and suddenly he +bent his head and pressed her hand to his lips, and in that way, with her hand +in his, they set out over the trail which they had not traveled together since +the day he had come from Nome. +</p> + +<p> +There was a warm glow in her face, and something beautifully soft and sweet in +her eyes which she did not try to keep away from him. It made him forget the +cottonwoods and the plains beyond, and his caution, and Sokwenna’s advice +to guard carefully against the hiding-places of Ghost Kloof and the country +beyond. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been thinking a great deal today,” she was saying, +“because you have left me so much alone. I have been thinking of +<i>you</i>. And—my thoughts have given me a wonderful happiness.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I have been—in paradise,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not think that I am wicked?” +</p> + +<p> +“I could sooner believe the sun would never come up again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor that I have been unwomanly?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are my dream of all that is glorious in womanhood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet I have followed you—have thrust myself at you, fairly at your +head, Alan.” +</p> + +<p> +“For which I thank God,” He breathed devoutly. +</p> + +<p> +“And I have told you that I love you, and you have taken me in your arms, +and have kissed me—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I am walking now with my hand in yours—” +</p> + +<p> +“And will continue to do so, if I can hold it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I am another man’s wife,” she shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“You are mine,” he declared doggedly. “You know it, and the +Almighty God knows it. It is blasphemy to speak of yourself as Graham’s +wife. You are legally entangled with him, and that is all. Heart and soul and +body you are free.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am not free.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you are!” +</p> + +<p> +And then, after a moment, she whispered at his shoulder: “Alan, because +you are the finest gentleman in all the world, I will tell you why I am not. It +is because—heart and soul—I belong to you.” +</p> + +<p> +He dared not look at her, and feeling the struggle within him Mary Standish +looked straight ahead with a wonderful smile on her lips and repeated softly, +“Yes, the very finest gentleman in all the world!” +</p> + +<p> +Over the breasts of the tundra and the hollows between they went, still hand in +hand, and found themselves talking of the colorings in the sky, and the birds, +and flowers, and the twilight creeping in about them, while Alan scanned the +shortening horizons for a sign of human life. One mile, and then another, and +after that a third, and they were looking into gray gloom far ahead, where lay +the kloof. +</p> + +<p> +It was strange that he should think of the letter now—the letter he had +written to Ellen McCormick—but think of it he did, and said what was in +his mind to Mary Standish, who was also looking with him into the wall of gloom +that lay between them and the distant cottonwoods. +</p> + +<p> +“It seemed to me that I was not writing it to her, but to +<i>you</i>” he said. “And I think that if you hadn’t come +back to me I would have gone mad.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have the letter. It is here”—and she placed a hand upon +her breast. “Do you remember what you wrote, Alan?” +</p> + +<p> +“That you meant more to me than life.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that—particularly—you wanted Ellen McCormick to keep a +tress of my hair for you if they found me.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded. “When I sat across the table from you aboard the <i>Nome</i>, +I worshiped it and didn’t know it. And since then—since I’ve +had you here—every time. I’ve looked at you—” He +stopped, choking the words back in his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Say it, Alan.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve wanted to see it down,” he finished desperately. +“Silly notion, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why is it?” she asked, her eyes widening a little. “If you +love it, why is it a silly notion to want to see it down?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I though possibly you might think it so,” he added lamely. +</p> + +<p> +Never had he heard anything sweeter than her laughter as she turned suddenly +from him, so that the glow of the fallen sun was at her back, and with deft, +swift fingers began loosening the coils of her hair until its radiant masses +tumbled about her, streaming down her back in a silken glory that awed him with +its beauty and drew from his lips a cry of gladness. +</p> + +<p> +She faced him, and in her eyes was the shining softness that glowed in her +hair. “Do you think it is nice, Alan?” +</p> + +<p> +He went to her and filled his hands with the heavy tresses and pressed them to +his lips and face. +</p> + +<p> +Thus he stood when he felt the sudden shiver that ran through her. It was like +a little shock. He heard the catch of her breath, and the hand which she had +placed gently on his bowed head fell suddenly away. When he raised his head to +look at her, she was staring past him into the deepening twilight of the +tundra, and it seemed as if something had stricken her so that for a space she +was powerless to speak or move. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” he cried, and whirled about, straining his eyes to +see what had alarmed her; and as he looked, a deep, swift shadow sped over the +earth, darkening the mellow twilight until it was somber gloom of +night—and the midnight sun went out like a great, luminous lamp as a +dense wall of purple cloud rolled up in an impenetrable curtain between it and +the arctic world. Often he had seen this happen in the approach of summer storm +on the tundras, but never had the change seemed so swift as now. Where there +had been golden light, he saw his companion’s face now pale in a sea of +dusk. It was this miracle of arctic night, its suddenness and unexpectedness, +that had startled her, he thought, and he laughed softly. +</p> + +<p> +But her hand clutched his arm. “I saw them,” she cried, her voice +breaking. “I saw them—out there against the sun—before the +cloud came—and some of them were running, like animals—” +</p> + +<p> +“Shadows!” he exclaimed. “The long shadows of foxes running +against the sun, or of the big gray rabbits, or of a wolf and her half-grown +sneaking away—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, they were not that,” she breathed tensely, and her fingers +clung more fiercely to his arm. “They were not shadows. <i>They were +men</i>!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<p> +In the moment of stillness between them, when their hearts seemed to have +stopped beating that they might not lose the faintest whispering of the +twilight, a sound came to Alan, and he knew it was the toe of a boot striking +against stone. Not a foot in his tribe would have made that sound; none but +Stampede Smith’s or his own. +</p> + +<p> +“Were they many?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I could not see. The sun was darkening. But five or six were +running—” +</p> + +<p> +“Behind us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And they saw us?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so. It was but a moment, and they were a part of the +dusk.” +</p> + +<p> +He found her hand and held it closely. Her fingers clung to his, and he could +hear her quick breathing as he unbuttoned the flap of his automatic holster. +</p> + +<p> +“You think <i>they have come</i>?” she whispered, and a cold dread +was in her voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly. My people would not appear from that direction. You are not +afraid?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, I am not afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you are trembling.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is this strange gloom, Alan.” +</p> + +<p> +Never had the arctic twilight gone more completely. Not half a dozen times had +he seen the phenomenon in all his years on the tundras, where thunder-storm and +the putting out of the summer sun until twilight thickens into the gloom of +near-night is an occurrence so rare that it is more awesome than the weirdest +play of the northern lights. It seemed to him now that what was happening was a +miracle, the play of a mighty hand opening their way to salvation. An inky wall +was shutting out the world where the glow of the midnight sun should have been. +It was spreading quickly; shadows became part of the gloom, and this gloom +crept in, thickening, drawing nearer, until the tundra was a weird chaos, +neither night nor twilight, challenging vision until eyes strained futilely to +penetrate its mystery. +</p> + +<p> +And as it gathered about them, enveloping them in their own narrowing circle of +vision, Alan was thinking quickly. It had taken him only a moment to accept the +significance of the running figures his companion had seen. Graham’s men +were near, had seen them, and were getting between them and the range. Possibly +it was a scouting party, and if there were no more than five or six, the number +which Mary had counted, he was quite sure of the situation. But there might be +a dozen or fifty of them. It was possible Graham and Rossland were advancing +upon the range with their entire force. He had at no time tried to analyze just +what this force might be, except to assure himself that with the overwhelming +influence behind him, both political and financial, and fired by a passion for +Mary Standish that had revealed itself as little short of madness, Graham would +hesitate at no convention of law or humanity to achieve his end. Probably he +was playing the game so that he would be shielded by the technicalities of the +law, if it came to a tragic end. His gunmen would undoubtedly be impelled to a +certain extent by an idea of authority. For Graham was an injured husband +“rescuing” his wife, while he—Alan Holt—was the +woman’s abductor and paramour, and a fit subject to be shot upon sight! +</p> + +<p> +His free hand gripped the butt of his pistol as he led the way straight ahead. +The sudden gloom helped to hide in his face the horror he felt of what that +“rescue” would mean to Mary Standish; and then a cold and deadly +definiteness possessed him, and every nerve in his body gathered itself in +readiness for whatever might happen. +</p> + +<p> +If Graham’s men had seen them, and were getting between them and retreat, +the neck of the trap lay ahead—and in this direction Alan walked so +swiftly that the girl was almost running at his side. He could not hear her +footsteps, so lightly they fell! her fingers were twined about his own, and he +could feel the silken caress of her loose hair. For half a mile he kept on, +watching for a moving shadow, listening for a sound. Then he stopped. He drew +Mary into his arms and held her there, so that her head lay against his breast. +She was panting, and he could feel and hear her thumping heart. He found her +parted lips and kissed them. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not afraid?” he asked again. +</p> + +<p> +Her head made a fierce little negative movement against his breast. +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed softly at the beautiful courage with which she lied. “Even if +they saw us, and are Graham’s men, we have given them the slip,” he +comforted her. “Now we will circle eastward back to the range. I am sorry +I hurried you so. We will go more slowly.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must travel faster,” she insisted. “I want to run.” +</p> + +<p> +Her fingers sought his hand and clung to it again as they set out. At intervals +they stopped, staring about them into nothingness, and listening. Twice Alan +thought he heard sounds which did not belong to the night. The second time the +little fingers tightened about his own, but his companion said no word, only +her breath seemed to catch in her throat for an instant. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of another half-hour it was growing lighter, yet the breath of storm +seemed nearer. The cool promise of it touched their cheeks, and about them were +gathering whispers and eddies of a thirsty earth rousing to the sudden change. +It was lighter because the wall of cloud seemed to be distributing itself over +the whole heaven, thinning out where its solid opaqueness had lain against the +sun. Alan could see the girl’s face and the cloud of her hair. Hollows +and ridges of the tundra were taking more distinct shape when they came into a +dip, and Alan recognized a thicket of willows behind which a pool was hidden. +</p> + +<p> +The thicket was only half a mile from home. A spring was near the edge of the +willows, and to this he led the girl, made her a place to kneel, and showed her +how to cup the cool water in the palms of her hands. While she inclined her +head to drink, he held back her hair and rested with his lips pressed to it. He +heard the trickle of water running between her fingers, her little laugh of +half-pleasure, half-fear, which in another instant broke into a startled scream +as he half gained his feet to meet a crashing body that catapulted at him from +the concealment of the willows. +</p> + +<p> +A greater commotion in the thicket followed the attack; then another voice, +crying out sharply, a second cry from Mary Standish, and he found himself on +his knees, twisted backward and fighting desperately to loosen a pair of +gigantic hands at his throat. He could hear the girl struggling, but she did +not cry out again. In an instant, it seemed, his brain was reeling. He was +conscious of a futile effort to reach his gun, and could see the face over him, +grim and horrible in the gloom, as the merciless hands choked the life from +him. Then he heard a shout, a loud shout, filled with triumph and exultation as +he was thrown back; his head seemed leaving his shoulders; his body crumbled, +and almost spasmodically his leg shot out with the last strength that was in +him. He was scarcely aware of the great gasp that followed, but the fingers +loosened at his throat, the face disappeared, and the man who was killing him +sank back. For a precious moment or two Alan did not move as he drew great +breaths of air into his lungs. Then he felt for his pistol. The holster was +empty. +</p> + +<p> +He could hear the panting of the girl, her sobbing breath very near him, and +life and strength leaped back into his body. The man who had choked him was +advancing again, on hands and knees. In a flash Alan was up and on him like a +lithe cat. His fist beat into a bearded face; he called out to Mary as he +struck, and through his blows saw her where she had fallen to her knees, with a +second hulk bending over her, almost in the water of the little spring from +which she had been drinking. A mad curse leaped from his lips. He was ready to +kill now; he wanted to kill—to destroy what was already under his hands +that he might leap upon this other beast, who stood over Mary Standish, his +hands twisted in her long hair. Dazed by blows that fell with the force of a +club the bearded man’s head sagged backward, and Alan’s fingers dug +into his throat. It was a bull’s neck. He tried to break it. Ten +seconds—twenty—half a minute at the most—and flesh and bone +would have given way—but before the bearded man’s gasping cry was +gone from his lips the second figure leaped upon Alan. +</p> + +<p> +He had no time to defend himself from this new attack. His strength was half +gone, and a terrific blow sent him reeling. Blindly he reached out and +grappled. Not until his arms met those of his fresh assailant did he realize +how much of himself he had expended upon the other. A sickening horror filled +his soul as he felt his weakness, and an involuntary moan broke from his lips. +Even then he would have cut out his tongue to have silenced that sound, to have +kept it from the girl. She was creeping on her hands and knees, but he could +not see. Her long hair trailed in the trampled earth, and in the muddied water +of the spring, and her hands were groping—groping—until they found +what they were seeking. +</p> + +<p> +Then she rose to her feet, carrying the rock on which one of her hands had +rested when she knelt to drink. The bearded man, bringing himself to his knees, +reached out drunkenly, but she avoided him and poised herself over Alan and his +assailant. The rock descended. Alan saw her then; he heard the one swift, +terrible blow, and his enemy rolled away from him, limply and without sound. He +staggered to his feet and for a moment caught the swaying girl in his arms. +</p> + +<p> +The bearded man was rising. He was half on his feet when Alan was at his throat +again, and they went down together. The girl heard blows, then a heavier one, +and with an exclamation of triumph Alan stood up. By chance his hand had come +in contact with his fallen pistol. He clicked the safety down; he was ready to +shoot, ready to continue the fight with a gun. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +His voice was gasping, strangely unreal and thick. She came to him and put her +hand in his again, and it was wet and sticky with tundra mud from the spring. +Then they climbed to the swell of the plain, away from the pool and the +willows. +</p> + +<p> +In the air about them, creeping up from the outer darkness of the strange +twilight, were clearer whispers now, and with these sounds of storm, borne from +the west, came a hallooing voice. It was answered from straight ahead. Alan +held the muddied little hand closer in his own and set out for the +range-houses, from which direction the last voice had come. He knew what was +happening. Graham’s men were cleverer than he had supposed; they had +encircled the tundra side of the range, and some of them were closing in on the +willow pool, from which the triumphant shout of the bearded man’s +companion had come. They were wondering why the call was not repeated, and were +hallooing. +</p> + +<p> +Every nerve in Alan’s body was concentrated for swift and terrible +action, for the desperateness of their situation had surged upon him like a +breath of fire, unbelievable, and yet true. Back at the willows they would have +killed him. The hands at his throat had sought his life. Wolves and not men +were about them on the plain; wolves headed by two monsters of the human pack, +Graham and Rossland. Murder and lust and mad passion were hidden in the +darkness; law and order and civilization were hundreds of miles away. If Graham +won, only the unmapped tundras would remember this night, as the deep, dark +kloof remembered in its gloom the other tragedy of more than half a century +ago. And the girl at his side, already disheveled and muddied by their +hands— +</p> + +<p> +His mind could go no farther, and angry protest broke in a low cry from his +lips. The girl thought it was because of the shadows that loomed up suddenly in +their path. There were two of them, and she, too, cried out as voices commanded +them to stop. Alan caught a swift up-movement of an arm, but his own was +quicker. Three spurts of flame darted in lightning flashes from his pistol, and +the man who had raised his arm crumpled to the earth, while the other dissolved +swiftly into the storm-gloom. A moment later his wild shouts were assembling +the pack, while the detonations of Alan’s pistol continued to roll over +the tundra. +</p> + +<p> +The unexpectedness of the shots, their tragic effect, the falling of the +stricken man and the flight of the other, brought no word from Mary Standish. +But her breath was sobbing, and in the lifting of the purplish gloom she turned +her face for an instant to Alan, tensely white, with wide-open eyes. Her hair +covered her like a shining veil, and where it clustered in a disheveled mass +upon her breast Alan saw her hand thrusting itself forward from its clinging +concealment, and in it—to his amazement—was a pistol. He recognized +the weapon—one of a brace of light automatics which his friend, Carl +Lomen, had presented to him several Christmas seasons ago. Pride and a strange +exultation swept over him. Until now she had concealed the weapon, but all +along she had prepared to fight—to fight with <i>him</i> against their +enemies! He wanted to stop and take her in his arms, and with his kisses tell +her how splendid she was. But instead of this he sped more swiftly ahead, and +they came into the nigger-head bottom which lay in a narrow barrier between +them and the range. +</p> + +<p> +Through this ran a trail scarcely wider than a wagon-track, made through the +sea of hummocks and sedge-boles and mucky pitfalls by the axes and shovels of +his people; finding this, Alan stopped for a moment, knowing that safety lay +ahead of them. The girl leaned against him, and then was almost a dead weight +in his arms. The last two hundred yards had taken the strength from her body. +Her pale face dropped back, and Alan brushed the soft hair away from it, and +kissed her lips and her eyes, while the pistol lay clenched against his breast. +Even then, too hard-run to speak, she smiled at him, and Alan caught her up in +his arms and darted into the narrow path which he knew their pursuers would not +immediately find if they could bet beyond their vision. He was joyously amazed +at her lightness. She was like a child in his arms, a glorious little goddess +hidden and smothered in her long hair, and he held her closer as he hurried +toward the cabins, conscious of the soft tightening of her arms about his neck, +feeling the sweet caress of her panting breath, strengthened and made happy by +her helplessness. +</p> + +<p> +Thus they came out of the bottom as the first mist of slowly approaching rain +touched his face. He could see farther now—half-way back over the narrow +trail. He climbed a slope, and here Mary Standish slipped from his arms and +stood with new strength, looking into his face. His breath was coming in little +breaks, and he pointed. Faintly they could make out the shadows of the corral +buildings. Beyond them were no lights penetrating the gloom from the windows of +the range of houses. The silence of the place was death-like. +</p> + +<p> +And then something grew out of the earth almost at their feet. A hollow cry +followed the movement, a cry that was ghostly and shivering, and loud enough +only for them to hear, and Sokwenna stood at their side. He talked swiftly. +Only Alan understood. There was something unearthly and spectral in his +appearance; his hair and beard were wet; his eyes shot here and there in little +points of fire; he was like a gnome, weirdly uncanny as he gestured and talked +in his monotone while he watched the nigger-head bottom. When he had finished, +he did not wait for an answer, but turned and led the way swiftly toward the +range houses. +</p> + +<p> +“What did he say?” asked the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“That he is glad we are back. He heard the shots and came to meet +us.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what else?” she persisted. +</p> + +<p> +“Old Sokwenna is superstitious—and nervous. He said some things +that you wouldn’t understand. You would probably think him mad if he told +you the spirits of his comrades slain in the kloof many years ago were here +with him tonight, warning him of things about to happen. Anyway, he has been +cautious. No sooner were we out of sight than he hustled every woman and child +in the village on their way to the mountains. Keok and Nawadlook wouldn’t +go. I’m glad of that, for if they were pursued and overtaken by men like +Graham and Rossland—” +</p> + +<p> +“Death would be better,” finished Mary Standish, and her hand clung +more tightly to his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I think so. But that can not happen now. Out in the open they had +us at a disadvantage. But we can hold Sokwenna’s place until Stampede and +the herdsmen come. With two good rifles inside, they won’t dare to +assault the cabin with their naked hands. The advantage is all ours now; we can +shoot, but they won’t risk the use of their rifles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you will be inside. Graham wants you alive, not dead. And +bullets—” +</p> + +<p> +They had reached Sokwenna’s door, and in that moment they hesitated and +turned their faces back to the gloom out of which they had fled. Voices came +suddenly from beyond the corrals. There was no effort at concealment. The +buildings were discovered, and men called out loudly and were answered from +half a dozen points out on the tundra. They could hear running feet and sharp +commands; some were cursing where they were entangled among the nigger-heads, +and the sound of hurrying foes came from the edge of the ravine. Alan’s +heart stood still. There was something terribly swift and businesslike in this +gathering of their enemies. He could hear them at his cabin. Doors opened. A +window fell in with a crash. Lights flared up through the gray mist. +</p> + +<p> +It was then, from the barricaded attic window over their heads, that +Sokwenna’s rifle answered. A single shot, a shriek, and then a pale +stream of flame leaped out from the window as the old warrior emptied his gun. +Before the last of the five swift shots were fired, Alan was in the cabin, +barring the door behind him. Shaded candles burned on the floor, and beside +them crouched Keok and Nawadlook. A glance told him what Sokwenna had done. The +room was an arsenal. Guns lay there, ready to be used; heaps of cartridges were +piled near them, and in the eyes of Keok and Nawadlook blazed deep and steady +fires as they held shining cartridges between their fingers, ready to thrust +them into the rifle chambers as fast as the guns were emptied. +</p> + +<p> +In the center of the room stood Mary Standish. The candles, shaded so they +would not disclose the windows, faintly illumined her pale face and unbound +hair and revealed the horror in her eyes as she looked at Alan. +</p> + +<p> +He was about to speak, to assure her there was no danger that Graham’s +men would fire upon the cabin—when hell broke suddenly loose out in the +night. The savage roar of guns answered Sokwenna’s fusillade, and a hail +of bullets crashed against the log walls. Two of them found their way through +the windows like hissing serpents, and with a single movement Alan was at +Mary’s side and had crumpled her down on the floor beside Keok and +Nawadlook. His face was white, his brain a furnace of sudden, consuming fire. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought they wouldn’t shoot at women,” he said, and his +voice was terrifying in its strange hardness. “I was mistaken. And I am +sure—now—that I understand.” +</p> + +<p> +With his rifle he cautiously approached the window. He was no longer guessing +at an elusive truth. He knew what Graham was thinking, what he was planning, +what he intended to do, and the thing was appalling. Both he and Rossland knew +there would be some way of sheltering Mary Standish in Sokwenna’s cabin; +they were accepting a desperate gamble, believing that Alan Holt would find a +safe place for her, while he fought until he fell. It was the finesse of clever +scheming, nothing less than murder, and he, by this combination of +circumstances and plot, was the victim marked for death. +</p> + +<p> +The shooting had stopped, and the silence that followed it held a significance +for Alan. They were giving him an allotted time in which to care for those +under his protection. A trap-door was in the floor of Sokwenna’s cabin. +It opened into a small storeroom and cellar, which in turn possessed an air +vent leading to the outside, overlooking the ravine. In the candle-glow Alan +saw the door of this trap propped open with a stick. Sokwenna, too, was clever. +Sokwenna had foreseen. +</p> + +<p> +Crouched under the window, he looked at the girls. Keok, with a rifle in her +hand, had crept to the foot of the ladder leading up to the attic, and began to +climb it. She was going to Sokwenna, to load for him. Alan pointed to the open +trap. +</p> + +<p> +“Quick, get into that!” he cried. “It is the only safe place. +You can load there and hand out the guns.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Standish looked at him steadily, but did not move. She was clutching a +rifle in her hands. And Nawadlook did not move. But Keok climbed steadily and +disappeared in the darkness above. +</p> + +<p> +“Go into the cellar!” commanded Alan. “Good God, if you +don’t—” +</p> + +<p> +A smile lit up Mary’s face. In that hour of deadly peril it was like a +ray of glorious light leading the way through blackness, a smile sweet and +gentle and unafraid; and slowly she crept toward Alan, dragging the rifle in +one hand and holding the little pistol in the other, and from his feet she +still smiled up at him through the dishevelment of her shining hair, and in a +quiet, little voice that thrilled him, she said, “I am going to help you +fight.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="334"></a> +<img src="images/334.jpg" width="600" height="377" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Mary sobbed as the man she loved faced winged death.</p> +</div> + +<p> +Nawadlook came creeping after her, dragging another rifle and bearing an apron +heavy with the weight of cartridges. +</p> + +<p> +And above, through the darkened loophole of the attic window, Sokwenna’s +ferret eyes had caught the movement of a shadow in the gray mist, and his rifle +sent its death-challenge once more to John Graham and his men. What followed +struck a smile from Mary’s lips, and a moaning sob rose from her breast +as she watched the man she loved rise up before the open window to face the +winged death that was again beating a tattoo against the log walls of the +cabin. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<p> +That in the lust and passion of his designs and the arrogance of his power John +Graham was not afraid to overstep all law and order, and that he believed Holt +would shelter Mary Standish from injury and death, there could no longer be a +doubt after the first few swift moments following Sokwenna’s rifle-shots +from the attic window. +</p> + +<p> +Through the window of the lower room, barricaded by the cautious old warrior +until its aperture was not more than eight inches square, Alan thrust his rifle +as the crash of gun-fire broke the gray and thickening mist of night. He could +hear the thud and hiss of bullets; he heard them singing like angry bees as +they passed with the swiftness of chain-lightning over the cabin roof, and +their patter against the log walls was like the hollow drumming of knuckles +against the side of a ripe watermelon. There was something fascinating and +almost gentle about that last sound. It did not seem that the horror of death +was riding with it, and Alan lost all sense of fear as he stared in the +direction from which the firing came, trying to make out shadows at which to +shoot. Here and there he saw dim, white streaks, and at these he fired as fast +as he could throw cartridges into the chamber and pull the trigger. Then he +crouched down with the empty gun. It was Mary Standish who held out a freshly +loaded weapon to him. Her face was waxen in its deathly pallor. Her eyes, +staring at him so strangely, never for an instant leaving his face, were +lustrous with the agony of fear that flamed in their depths. She was not afraid +for herself. It was for <i>him</i>. His name was on her lips, a whisper +unspoken, a breathless prayer, and in that instant a bullet sped through the +opening in front of which he had stood a moment before, a hissing, writhing +serpent of death that struck something behind them in its venomous wrath. With +a cry she flung up her arms about his bent head. +</p> + +<p> +“My God, they will kill you if you stand there!” she moaned. +“Give me up to them, Alan. If you love me—give me up!” +</p> + +<p> +A sudden spurt of white dust shot out into the dim candle-glow, and then +another, so near Nawadlook that his blood went cold. Bullets were finding their +way through the moss and earth chinking between the logs of the cabin. His arms +closed in a fierce embrace about the girl’s slim body, and before she +could realize what was happening, he leaped to the trap with her and almost +flung her into its protection. Then he forced Nawadlook down beside her, and +after them he thrust in the empty gun and the apron with its weight of +cartridges. His face was demoniac in its command. +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t stay there, I’ll open the door and go outside +to fight! Do you understand? <i>Stay there!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +His clenched fist was in their faces, his voice almost a shout. He saw another +white spurt of dust; the bullet crashed in tinware, and following the crash +came a shriek from Keok in the attic. +</p> + +<p> +In that upper gloom Sokwenna’s gun had fallen with a clatter. The old +warrior bent himself over, nearly double, and with his two withered hands was +clutching his stomach. He was on his knees, and his breath suddenly came in a +panting, gasping cry. Then he straightened slowly and said something reassuring +to Keok, and faced the window again with the gun which she had loaded for him. +</p> + +<p> +The scream had scarcely gone from Keok’s lips when Alan was at the top of +the ladder, calling her. She came to him through the stark blackness of the +room, sobbing that Sokwenna was hit; and Alan reached out and seized her, and +dragged her down, and placed her with Nawadlook and Mary Standish. +</p> + +<p> +From them he turned to the window, and his soul cried out madly for the power +to see, to kill, to avenge. As if in answer to this prayer for light and vision +he saw his cabin strangely illumined; dancing, yellow radiance silhouetted the +windows, and a stream of it billowed out through an open door into the night. +It was so bright he could see the rain-mist, scarcely heavier than a dense, +slowly descending fog, a wet blanket of vapor moistening the earth. His heart +jumped as with each second the blaze of light increased. They had set fire to +his cabin. They were no longer white men, but savages. +</p> + +<p> +He was terribly cool, even as his heart throbbed so violently. He watched with +the eyes of a deadly hunter, wide-open over his rifle-barrel. Sokwenna was +still. Probably he was dead. Keok was sobbing in the cellar-pit. Then he saw a +shape growing in the illumination, three or four of them, moving, alive. He +waited until they were clearer, and he knew what they were thinking—that +the bullet-riddled cabin had lost its power to fight. He prayed God it was +Graham he was aiming at, and fired. The figure went down, sank into the earth +as a dead man falls. Steadily he fired at the others—one, two, three, +four—and two out of the four he hit, and the exultant thought flashed +upon him that it was good shooting under the circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +He sprang back for another gun, and it was Mary who was waiting for him, head +and shoulders out of the cellar-pit, the rifle in her hands. She was sobbing as +she looked straight at him, yet without moisture or tears in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep down!” he warned. “Keep down below the floor!” +</p> + +<p> +He guessed what was coming. He had shown his enemies that life still existed in +the cabin, life with death in its hands, and now—from the shelter of the +other cabins, from the darkness, from beyond the light of his flaming home, the +rifle fire continued to grow until it filled the night with a horrible din. He +flung himself face-down upon the floor, so that the lower log of the building +protected him. No living thing could have stood up against what was happening +in these moments. Bullets tore through the windows and between the moss-chinked +logs, crashing against metal and glass and tinware; one of the candles +sputtered and went out, and in this hell Alan heard a cry and saw Mary Standish +coming out of the cellar-pit toward him. He had flung himself down quickly, and +she thought he was hit! He shrieked at her, and his heart froze with horror as +he saw a heavy tress of her hair drop to the floor as she stood there in that +frightful moment, white and glorious in the face of the gun-fire. Before she +could move another step, he was at her side, and with her in his arms leaped +into the pit. +</p> + +<p> +A bullet sang over them. He crushed her so close that for a breath or two life +seemed to leave her body. +</p> + +<p> +A sudden draught of cool air struck his face. He missed Nawadlook. In the +deeper gloom farther under the floor he heard her moving, and saw a faint +square of light. She was creeping back. Her hands touched his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“We can get away—there!” she cried in a low voice. “I +have opened the little door. We can crawl through it and into the +ravine.” +</p> + +<p> +Her words and the square of light were an inspiration. He had not dreamed that +Graham would turn the cabin into a death-hole, and Nawadlook’s words +filled him with a sudden thrilling hope. The rifle fire was dying away again as +he gave voice to his plan in sharp, swift words. He would hold the cabin. As +long as he was there Graham and his men would not dare to rush it. At least +they would hesitate a considerable time before doing that. And meanwhile the +girls could steal down into the ravine. There was no one on that side to +intercept them, and both Keok and Nawadlook were well acquainted with the +trails into the mountains. It would mean safety for them. He would remain in +the cabin, and fight, until Stampede Smith and the herdsmen came. +</p> + +<p> +The white face against his breast was cold and almost expressionless. Something +in it frightened him. He knew his argument had failed and that Mary Standish +would not go; yet she did not answer him, nor did her lips move in the effort. +</p> + +<p> +“Go—for <i>their</i> sakes, if not for your own and mine,” he +insisted, holding her away from him. “Good God, think what it will mean +if beasts like those out there get hold of Keok and Nawadlook! Graham is your +husband and will protect you for himself, but for them there will be no hope, +no salvation, nothing but a fate more terrible than death. They will be +like—like two beautiful lambs thrown among +wolves—broken—destroyed—” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes were burning with horror. Keok was sobbing, and a moan which she +bravely tried to smother in her breast came from Nawadlook. +</p> + +<p> +“And <i>you!</i>” whispered Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“I must remain here. It is the only way.” +</p> + +<p> +Dumbly she allowed him to lead her back with Keok and Nawadlook. Keok went +through the opening first, then Nawadlook, and Mary Standish last. She did not +touch him again. She made no movement toward him and said no word, and all he +remembered of her when she was gone in the gloom was her eyes. In that last +look she had given him her soul, and no whisper, no farewell caress came with +it. +</p> + +<p> +“Go cautiously until you are out of the ravine, then hurry toward the +mountains,” were his last words. +</p> + +<p> +He saw their forms fade into dim shadows, and the gray mist swallowed them. +</p> + +<p> +He hurried back, seized a loaded gun, and sprang to the window, knowing that he +must continue to deal death until he was killed. Only in that way could he hold +Graham back and give those who had escaped a chance for their lives. Cautiously +he looked out over his gun barrel. His cabin was a furnace red with flame; +streams of fire were licking out at the windows and through the door, and as he +sought vainly for a movement of life, the crackling roar of it came to his +ears, and so swiftly that his breath choked him, the pitch-filled walls became +sheets of conflagration, until the cabin was a seething, red-hot torch of fire +whose illumination was more dazzling than the sun of day. +</p> + +<p> +Out into this illumination suddenly stalked a figure waving a white sheet at +the end of a long pole. It advanced slowly, a little hesitatingly at first, as +if doubtful of what might happen; and then it stopped, full in the light, an +easy mark for a rifle aimed from Sokwenna’s cabin. He saw who it was +then, and drew in his rifle and watched the unexpected maneuver in amazement. +The man was Rossland. In spite of the dramatic tenseness of the moment Alan +could not repress the grim smile that came to his lips. Rossland was a man of +illogical resource, he meditated. Only a short time ago he had fled +ignominiously through fear of personal violence, while now, with a courage that +could not fail to rouse admiration, he was exposing himself to a swift and +sudden death, protected only by the symbol of truce over his head. That he owed +this symbol either regard or honor did not for an instant possess Alan. A +murderer held it, a man even more vile than a murderer if such a creature +existed on earth, and for such a man death was a righteous end. Only +Rossland’s nerve, and what he might have to say, held back the vengeance +within reach of Alan’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +He waited, and Rossland again advanced and did not stop until he was within a +hundred feet of the cabin. A sudden disturbing thought flashed upon Alan as he +heard his name called. He had seen no other figures, no other shadows beyond +Rossland, and the burning cabin now clearly illumined the windows of +Sokwenna’s place. Was it conceivable that Rossland was merely a lure, and +the instant he exposed himself in a parley a score of hidden rifles would +reveal their treachery? He shuddered and held himself below the opening of the +window. Graham and his men were more than capable of such a crime. +</p> + +<p> +Rossland’s voice rose above the crackle and roar of the burning cabin. +“Alan Holt! Are you there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I am here,” shouted Alan, “and I have a line on your +heart, Rossland, and my finger is on the trigger. What do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment of silence, as if the thought of what he was facing had at +last stricken Rossland dumb. Then he said: “We are giving you a last +chance, Holt. For God’s sake, don’t be a fool! The offer I made you +today is still good. If you don’t accept it—the law must take its +course.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>The law!</i>” Alan’s voice was a savage cry. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the law. The law is with us. We have the proper authority to +recover a stolen wife, a captive, a prisoner held in restraint with felonious +intent. But we don’t want to press the law unless we are forced to do so. +You and the old Eskimo have killed three of our men and wounded two others. +That means the hangman, if we take you alive. But we are willing to forget that +if you will accept the offer I made you today. What do you say?” +</p> + +<p> +Alan was stunned. Speech failed him as he realized the monstrous assurance with +which Graham and Rossland were playing their game. And when he made no answer +Rossland continued to drive home his arguments, believing that at last Alan was +at the point of surrender. +</p> + +<p> +Up in the dark attic the voices had come like ghost-land whispers to old +Sokwenna. He lay huddled at the window, and the chill of death was creeping +over him. But the voices roused him. They were not strange voices, but voices +which came up out of a past of many years ago, calling upon him, urging him, +persisting in his ears with cries of vengeance and of triumph, the call of +familiar names, a moaning of women, a sobbing of children. Shadowy hands helped +him, and a last time he raised himself to the window, and his eyes were filled +with the glare of the burning cabin. He struggled to lift his rifle, and behind +him he heard the exultation of his people as he rested it over the sill and +with gasping breath leveled it at something which moved between him and the +blazing light of that wonderful sun which was the burning cabin. And then, +slowly and with difficulty, he pressed the trigger, and Sokwenna’s last +shot sped on its mission. +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of the shot Alan looked through the window. For a moment Rossland +stood motionless. Then the pole in his hands wavered, drooped, and fell to the +earth, and Rossland sank down after it making no sound, and lay a dark and +huddled blot on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +The appalling swiftness and ease with which Rossland had passed from life into +death shocked every nerve in Alan’s body. Horror for a brief space +stupefied him, and he continued to stare at the dark and motionless blot, +forgetful of his own danger, while a grim and terrible silence followed the +shot. And then what seemed to be a single cry broke that silence, though it was +made up of many men’s voices. Deadly and thrilling, it was a message that +set Alan into action. Rossland had been killed under a flag of truce, and even +the men under Graham had something like respect for that symbol. He could +expect no mercy—nothing now but the most terrible of vengeance at their +hands, and as he dodged back from the window he cursed Sokwenna under his +breath, even as he felt the relief of knowing he was not dead. +</p> + +<p> +Before a shot had been fired from outside, he was up the ladder; in another +moment he was bending over the huddled form of the old Eskimo. +</p> + +<p> +“Come below!” he commanded. “We must be ready to leave +through the cellar-pit.” +</p> + +<p> +His hand touched Sokwenna’s face; it hesitated, groped in the darkness, +and then grew still over the old warrior’s heart. There was no tremor or +beat of life in the aged beast. Sokwenna was dead. +</p> + +<p> +The guns of Graham’s men opened fire again. Volley after volley crashed +into the cabin as Alan descended the ladder. He could hear bullets tearing +through the chinks and windows as he turned quickly to the shelter of the pit. +</p> + +<p> +He was amazed to find that Mary Standish had returned and was waiting for him +there. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<p> +In the astonishment with which Mary’s unexpected presence confused him +for a moment, Alan stood at the edge of the trap, staring down at her pale +face, heedless of the terrific gun-fire that was assailing the cabin. That she +had not gone with Keok and Nawadlook, but had come back to him, filled him with +instant dread, for the precious minutes he had fought for were lost, and the +priceless time gained during the parley with Rossland counted for nothing. +</p> + +<p> +She saw his disappointment and his danger, and sprang up to seize his hand and +pull him down beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you didn’t expect me to go,” she said, in a voice +that no longer trembled or betrayed excitement. “You didn’t want me +to be a coward. My place is with you.” +</p> + +<p> +He could make no answer to that, with her beautiful eyes looking at him as they +were, but he felt his heart grow warmer and something rise up chokingly in his +throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Sokwenna is dead, and Rossland lies out there—shot under a flag of +truce,” he said. “We can’t have many minutes left to +us.” +</p> + +<p> +He was looking at the square of light where the tunnel from the cellar-pit +opened into the ravine. He had planned to escape through +it—alone—and keep up a fight in the open, but with Mary at his side +it would be a desperate gantlet to run. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are Keok and Nawadlook?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“On the tundra, hurrying for the mountains. I told them it was your plan +that I should return to you. When they doubted, I threatened to give myself up +unless they did as I commanded them. And—Alan—the ravine is filled +with the rain-mist, and dark—” She was holding his free hand +closely to her breast. +</p> + +<p> +“It is our one chance,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“And aren’t you glad—a little glad—that I didn’t +run away without you?” +</p> + +<p> +Even then he saw the sweet and tremulous play of her lips as they smiled at him +in the gloom, and heard the soft note in her voice that was almost playfully +chiding; and the glory of her love as she had proved it to him there drew from +him what he knew to be the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—I am glad. It is strange that I should be so happy in a moment +like this. If they will give us a quarter of an hour—” +</p> + +<p> +He led the way quickly to the square of light and was first to creep forth into +the thick mist. It was scarcely rain, yet he could feel the wet particles of +it, and through this saturated gloom whining bullets cut like knives over his +head. The blazing cabin illumined the open on each side of Sokwenna’s +place, but deepened the shadows in the ravine, and a few seconds later they +stood hand in hand in the blanket of fog that hid the coulée. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the shots grew scattering above them, then ceased entirely. This was +not what Alan had hoped for. Graham’s men, enraged and made desperate by +Rossland’s death, would rush the cabin immediately. Scarcely had the +thought leaped into his mind when he heard swiftly approaching shouts, the +trampling of feet, and then the battering of some heavy object at the +barricaded door of Sokwenna’s cabin. In another minute or two their +escape would be discovered and a horde of men would pour down into the ravine. +</p> + +<p> +Mary tugged at his hand. “Let us hurry,” she pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +What happened then seemed madness to the girl, for Alan turned and with her +hand held tightly in his started up the side of the ravine, apparently in the +face of their enemies. Her heart throbbed with sudden fear when their course +came almost within the circle of light made by the burning cabin. Like shadows +they sped into the deeper shelter of the corral buildings, and not until they +paused there did she understand the significance of the hazardous chance they +had taken. Already Graham’s men were pouring into the ravine. +</p> + +<p> +“They won’t suspect we’ve doubled on them until it is too +late,” said Alan exultantly. “We’ll make for the kloof. +Stampede and the herdsmen should arrive within a few hours, and when that +happens—” +</p> + +<p> +A stifled moan interrupted him. Half a dozen paces away a crumpled figure lay +huddled against one of the corral gates. +</p> + +<p> +“He is hurt,” whispered Mary, after a moment of silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so,” replied Alan pitilessly. “It will be unfortunate +for us if he lives to tell his comrades we have passed this way.” +</p> + +<p> +Something in his voice made the girl shiver. It was as if the vanishing point +of mercy had been reached, and savages were at their backs. She heard the +wounded man moan again as they stole through the deeper shadows of the corrals +toward the nigger-head bottom. And then she noticed that the mist was no longer +in her face. The sky was clearing. She could see Alan more clearly, and when +they came to the narrow trail over which they had fled once before that night +it reached out ahead of them like a thin, dark ribbon. Scarcely had they +reached this point when a rifle shot sounded not far behind. It was followed by +a second and a third, and after that came a shout. It was not a loud shout. +There was something strained and ghastly about it, and yet it came distinctly +to them. +</p> + +<p> +“The wounded man,” said Alan, in a voice of dismay. “He is +calling the others. I should have killed him!” +</p> + +<p> +He traveled at a half-trot, and the girl ran lightly at his side. All her +courage and endurance had returned. She breathed easily and quickened her +steps, so that she was setting the pace for Alan. They passed along the crest +of the ridge under which lay the willows and the pool, and at the end of this +they paused to rest and listen. Trained to the varied night whisperings of the +tundras Alan’s ears caught faint sounds which his companion did not hear. +The wounded man had succeeded in giving his message, and pursuers were +scattering over the plain behind them. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you run a little farther?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed, and she darted ahead of him, her dark hair streaming in a cloud +that began to catch a faint luster of increasing light. Alan ran a little +behind her. He was afraid of the light. Only gloom had saved them this night, +and if the darkness of mist and fog and cloud gave way to clear twilight and +the sun-glow of approaching day before they reached the kloof he would have to +fight in the open. With Stampede at his side he would have welcomed such an +opportunity of matching rifles with their enemies, for there were many vantage +points in the open tundra from which they might have defied assault. But the +nearness of the girl frightened him. She, after all, was the hunted thing. He +was only an incident. From him could be exacted nothing more than the price of +death; he would be made to pay that, as Sokwenna had paid. For her remained the +unspeakable horror of Graham’s lust and passion. But if they could reach +the kloof, and the hiding-place in the face of the cliff, they could laugh at +Graham’s pack of beasts while they waited for the swift vengeance that +would come with Stampede and the herdsmen. +</p> + +<p> +He watched the sky. It was clearing steadily. Even the mists in the hollows +were beginning to melt away, and in place of their dissolution came faintly +rose-tinted lights. It was the hour of dawn; the sun sent a golden glow over +the disintegrating curtain of gloom that still lay between it and the tundras, +and objects a hundred paces away no longer held shadow or illusionment. +</p> + +<p> +The girl did not pause, but continued to run lightly and with surprising speed, +heeding only the direction which he gave her. Her endurance amazed him. And he +knew that without questioning him she had guessed the truth of what lay behind +them. Then, all at once, she stopped, swayed like a reed, and would have fallen +if his arms had not caught her. +</p> + +<p> +“Splendid!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +She lay gasping for breath, her face against his breast. Her heart was a +swiftly beating little dynamo. +</p> + +<p> +They had gained the edge of a shallow ravine that reached within half a mile of +the kloof. It was this shelter he had hoped for, and Mary’s splendid +courage had won it for them. +</p> + +<p> +He picked her up in his arms and carried her again, as he had carried her +through the nigger-head bottom. Every minute, every foot of progress, counted +now. Range of vision was widening. Pools of sunlight were flecking the plains. +In another quarter of an hour moving objects would be distinctly visible a mile +away. +</p> + +<p> +With his precious burden in his arms, her lips so near that he could feel their +breath, her heart throbbing, he became suddenly conscious of the incongruity of +the bird-song that was wakening all about them. It seemed inconceivable that +this day, glorious in its freshness, and welcomed by the glad voice of all +living things, should be a day of tragedy, of horror, and of impending doom for +him. He wanted to shout out his protest and say that it was all a lie, and it +seemed absurd that he should handicap himself with the weight and inconvenient +bulk of his rifle when his arms wanted to hold only that softer treasure which +they bore. +</p> + +<p> +In a little while Mary was traveling at his side again. And from then on he +climbed at intervals to the higher swellings of the gully edge and scanned the +tundra. Twice he saw men, and from their movements he concluded their enemies +believed they were hidden somewhere on the tundra not far from the +range-houses. +</p> + +<p> +Three-quarters of an hour later they came to the end of the shallow ravine, and +half a mile of level plain lay between them and the kloof. For a space they +rested, and in this interval Mary smoothed her long hair and plaited it in two +braids. In these moments Alan encouraged her, but he did not lie. He told her +the half-mile of tundra was their greatest hazard, and described the risks they +would run. Carefully he explained what she was to do under certain +circumstances. There was scarcely a chance they could cross it unobserved, but +they might be so far ahead of the searchers that they could beat them out to +the kloof. If enemies appeared between them and the kloof, it would be +necessary to find a dip or shelter of rock, and fight; and if pursuers from +behind succeeded in out-stripping them in the race, she was to continue in the +direction of the kloof as fast as she could go, while he followed more slowly, +holding Graham’s men back with his rifle until she reached the edge of +the gorge. After that he would come to her as swiftly as he could run. +</p> + +<p> +They started. Within five minutes they were on the floor of the tundra. About +them in all directions stretched the sunlit plains. Half a mile back toward the +range were moving figures; farther west were others, and eastward, almost at +the edge of the ravine, were two men who would have discovered them in another +moment if they had not descended into the hollow. Alan could see them kneeling +to drink at the little coulée which ran through it. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t hurry,” he said, with a sudden swift thought. +“Keep parallel with me and a distance away. They may not discover you are +a woman and possibly may think we are searchers like themselves. Stop when I +stop. Follow my movements.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +Now, in the sunlight, she was not afraid. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes +bright as stars as she nodded at him. Her face and hands were soiled with +muck-stain, her dress spotted and torn, and looking at her thus Alan laughed +and cried out softly: +</p> + +<p> +“You beautiful little vagabond!” +</p> + +<p> +She sent the laugh back, a soft, sweet laugh to give him courage, and after +that she watched him closely, falling in with his scheme so cleverly that her +action was better than his own—and so they had made their way over a +third of the plain when Alan came toward her suddenly and cried, “Now, +<i>run!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +A glance showed her what was happening. The two men had come out of the ravine +and were running toward them. +</p> + +<p> +Swift as a bird she was ahead of Alan, making for a pinnacle of rock which he +had pointed out to her at the edge of the kloof. +</p> + +<p> +Close behind her, he said: “Don’t hesitate a second. Keep on going. +When they are a little nearer I am going to kill them. But you mustn’t +stop.” +</p> + +<p> +At intervals he looked behind him. The two men were gaining rapidly. He +measured the time when less than two hundred yards would separate them. Then he +drew close to Mary’s side. +</p> + +<p> +“See that level place ahead? We’ll cross it in another minute or +two. When they come to it I’m going to stop, and catch them where they +can’t find shelter. But you must keep on going. I’ll overtake you +by the time you reach the edge of the kloof.” +</p> + +<p> +She made no answer, but ran faster; and when they had passed the level space +she heard his footsteps growing fainter, and her heart was ready to choke her +when she knew the time had come for him to turn upon their enemies. But in her +mind burned the low words of his command, his warning, and she did not look +back, but kept her eyes on the pinnacle of rock, which was now very near. She +had almost reached it when the first shot came from behind her. +</p> + +<p> +Without making a sound that would alarm her, Alan had stumbled, and made +pretense of falling. He lay upon his face for a moment, as if stunned, and then +rose to his knees. An instant too late Graham’s men saw his ruse when his +leveled rifle gleamed in the sunshine. The speed of their pursuit was their +undoing. Trying to catch themselves so that they might use their rifles, or +fling themselves upon the ground, they brought themselves into a brief but +deadly interval of inaction, and in that flash one of the men went down under +Alan’s first shot. Before he could fire again the second had flattened +himself upon the earth, and swift as a fox Alan was on his feet and racing for +the kloof. Mary stood with her back against the huge rock, gasping for breath, +when he joined her. A bullet sang over their heads with its angry menace. He +did not return the fire, but drew the girl quickly behind the rock. +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t dare to stand up until the others join him,” he +encouraged her. “We’re beating them to it, little girl! If you can +keep up a few minutes longer—” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled at him, even as she struggled to regain her breath. It seemed to her +there was no way of descending into the chaos of rock between the gloomy walls +of the kloof, and she gave a little cry when Alan caught her by her hands and +lowered her over the face of a ledge to a table-like escarpment below. He +laughed at her fear when he dropped down beside her, and held her close as they +crept back under the shelving face of the cliff to a hidden path that led +downward, with a yawning chasm at their side. The trail widened as they +descended, and at the last they reached the bottom, with the gloom and shelter +of a million-year-old crevasse hovering over them. Grim and monstrous rocks, +black and slippery with age, lay about them, and among these they picked their +way, while the trickle and drip of water and the flesh-like clamminess of the +air sent a strange shiver of awe through Mary Standish. There was no life +here—only an age-old whisper that seemed a part of death; and when voices +came from above, where Graham’s men were gathering, they were ghostly and +far away. +</p> + +<p> +But here, too, was refuge and safety. Mary could feel it as they picked their +way through the chill and gloom that lay in the silent passages between the +Gargantuan rocks. When her hands touched their naked sides an uncontrollable +impulse made her shrink closer to Alan, even though she sensed the protection +of their presence. They were like colossi, carved by hands long dead, and now +guarded by spirits whose voices guttered low and secretly in the mysterious +drip and trickle of unseen water. This was the haunted place. In this chasm +death and vengeance had glutted themselves long before she was born; and when a +rock crashed behind them, accidentally sent down by one of the men above, a cry +broke from her lips. She was frightened, and in a way she had never known +before. It was not death she feared here, nor the horror from which she had +escaped above, but something unknown and indescribable, for which she would +never be able to give a reason. She clung to Alan, and when at last the narrow +fissure widened over their heads, and light came down and softened their way, +he saw that her face was deathly white. +</p> + +<p> +“We are almost there,” he comforted. “And—some +day—you will love this gloomy kloof as I love it, and we will travel it +together all the way to the mountains.” +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later they came to an avalanche of broken sandstone that was +heaped half-way up the face of the precipitous wall, and up this climbed until +they came to a level shelf of rock, and back of this was a great depression in +the rock, forty feet deep and half as wide, with a floor as level as a table +and covered with soft white sand. Mary would never forget her first glimpse of +this place; it was unreal, strange, as if a band of outlaw fairies had brought +the white sand for a carpet, and had made this their hiding-place, where wind +and rain and snow could never blow. And up the face of the cavern, as if to +make her thought more real, led a ragged fissure which it seemed to her only +fairies’ feet could travel, and which ended at the level of the plain. So +they were tundra fairies, coming down from flowers and sunlight through that +fissure, and it was from the evil spirits in the kloof itself that they must +have hidden themselves. Something in the humor and gentle thought of it all +made her smile at Alan. But his face had turned suddenly grim, and she looked +up the kloof, where they had traveled through danger and come to safety. And +then she saw that which froze all thought of fairies out of her heart. +</p> + +<p> +Men were coming through the chaos and upheaval of rock. There were many of +them, appearing out of the darker neck of the gorge into the clearer light, and +at their head was a man upon whom Mary’s eyes fixed themselves in horror. +White-faced she looked at Alan. He had guessed the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“That man in front?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She nodded. “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is John Graham.” +</p> + +<p> +He heard the words choking in her throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, John Graham.” +</p> + +<p> +He swung his rifle slowly, his eyes burning with a steely fire. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” he said, “that from here I can easily kill +him!” +</p> + +<p> +Her hand touched his arm; she was looking into his eyes. Fear had gone out of +them, and in its place was a soft and gentle radiance, a prayer to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I am thinking of tomorrow—the next day—the years and years +to come, <i>with you</i>,” she whispered. “Alan, you can’t +kill John Graham—not until God shows us it is the only thing left for us +to do. You can’t—” +</p> + +<p> +The crash of a rifle between the rock walls interrupted her. The snarl of a +bullet followed the shot. She heard it strike, and her heart stopped beating, +and the rigidity of death came into her limbs and body as she saw the swift and +terrible change in the stricken face of the man she loved. He tried to smile at +her, even as a red blot came where the streak of gray in his hair touched his +forehead. And then he crumpled down at her feet, and his rifle rattled against +the rocks. +</p> + +<p> +She knew it was death. Something seemed to burst in her head and fill her brain +with the roar of a flood. She screamed. Even the men below hesitated and their +hearts jumped with a new sensation as the terrible cry of a woman rang between +the rock walls of the chasm. And following the cry a voice came down to them. +</p> + +<p> +“John Graham, I’m going to kill you—<i>kill +you</i>—” +</p> + +<p> +And snatching up the fallen rifle Mary Standish set herself to the task of +vengeance. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<p> +She waited. The ferocity of a mother defending her young filled her soul, and +she moaned in her grief and despair as the seconds passed. But she did not fire +blindly, for she knew she must kill John Graham. The troublesome thing was a +strange film that persisted in gathering before her eyes, something she tried +to brush away, but which obstinately refused to go. She did not know she was +sobbing as she looked over the rifle barrel. The figures came swiftly, but she +had lost sight of John Graham. They reached the upheaval of shattered rock and +began climbing it, and in her desire to make out the man she hated she stood +above the rampart that had sheltered her. The men looked alike, jumping and +dodging like so many big tundra hares as they came nearer, and suddenly it +occurred to her that <i>all</i> of them were John Grahams, and that she must +kill swiftly and accurately. Only the hiding fairies might have guessed how her +reason trembled and almost fell in those moments when she began firing. +Certainly John Graham and his men did not, for her first shot was a lucky one, +and a man slipped down among the rocks at the crack of it. After that she +continued to fire until the responseless click of the hammer told her the gun +was empty. The explosions and the shock against her slight shoulder cleared her +vision and her brain. She saw the men still coming, and they were so near she +could see their faces clearly. And again her soul cried out in its desire to +kill John Graham. +</p> + +<p> +She turned, and for an instant fell upon her knees beside Alan. His face was +hidden in his arm. Swiftly she tore his automatic from its holster, and sprang +back to her rock. There was no time to wait or choose now, for his murderers +were almost upon her. With all her strength she tried to fire accurately, but +Alan’s big gun leaped and twisted in her hand as she poured its fire +wildly down among the rocks until it was empty. Her own smaller weapon she had +lost somewhere in the race to the kloof, and now when she found she had fired +her last shot she waited through another instant of horror, until she was +striking at faces that came within the reach of her arm. And then, like a +monster created suddenly by an evil spirit, Graham was at her side. She had a +moment’s vision of his cruel, exultant face, his eyes blazing with a +passion that was almost madness, his powerful body lunging upon her. Then his +arms came about her. She could feel herself crushing inside them, and fought +against their cruel pressure, then broke limply and hung a resistless weight +against him. She was not unconscious, but her strength was gone, and if the +arms had closed a little more they would have killed her. +</p> + +<p> +And she could hear—clearly. She heard suddenly the shots that came from +up the kloof, scattered shots, then many of them, and after that the strange, +wild cries that only the Eskimo herdsmen make. +</p> + +<p> +Graham’s arms relaxed. His eyes swept the fairies’ hiding-place +with its white sand floor, and fierce joy lit up his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Martens, it couldn’t happen in a better place,” he said to a +man who stood near him. “Leave me five men. Take the others and help +Schneider. If you don’t clean them out, retreat this way, and six rifles +from this ambuscade will do the business in a hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary heard the names of the men called who were to stay. The others hurried +away. The firing in the kloof was steady now. But there were no cries, no +shouts—nothing but the ominous crack of the rifles. +</p> + +<p> +Graham’s arms closed about her again. Then he picked her up and carried +her back into the cavern, and in a place where the rock wall sagged inward, +making a pocket of gloom which was shut out from the light of day, he laid her +upon the carpet of sand. +</p> + +<p> +Where the erosion of many centuries of dripping water had eaten its first step +in the making of the ragged fissure a fairy had begun to climb down from the +edge of the tundra. He was a swift and agile fairy, very red in the face, +breathing fast from hard running, but making not a sound as he came like a +gopher where it seemed no living thing could find a hold. And the fairy was +Stampede Smith. +</p> + +<p> +From the lips of the kloof he had seen the last few seconds of the tragedy +below, and where death would have claimed him in a more reasonable moment he +came down in safety now. In his finger-ends was the old tingling of years ago, +and in his blood the thrill which he had thought was long dead—the thrill +of looking over leveled guns into the eyes of other men. Time had rolled back, +and he was the old Stampede Smith. He saw under him lust and passion and +murder, as in other days he had seen them, and between him and desire there was +neither law nor conscience to bar the way, and his dream—a last great +fight—was here to fill the final unwritten page of a life’s drama +that was almost closed. And what a fight, if he could make that carpet of soft, +white sand unheard and unseen. Six to one! Six men with guns at their sides and +rifles in their hands. What a glorious end it would be, for a woman—and +Alan Holt! +</p> + +<p> +He blessed the firing up the kloof which kept the men’s faces turned that +way; he thanked God for the sound of combat, which made the scraping of rock +and the rattle of stones under his feet unheard. He was almost down when a +larger rock broke loose, and fell to the ledge. Two of the men turned, but in +that same instant came a more thrilling interruption. A cry, a shrill scream, a +woman’s voice filled with madness and despair, came from the depth of the +cavern, and the five men stared in the direction of its agony. Close upon the +cries came Mary Standish, with Graham behind her, reaching out his hands for +her. The girl’s hair was flying, her face the color of the white sand, +and Graham’s eyes were the eyes of a demon forgetful of all else but her. +He caught her. The slim body crumpled in his arms again while pitifully weak +hands beat futilely in his face. +</p> + +<p> +And then came a cry such as no man had ever heard in Ghost Kloof before. +</p> + +<p> +It was Stampede Smith. A sheer twenty feet he had leaped to the carpet of sand, +and as he jumped his hands whipped out his two guns, and scarcely had his feet +touched the floor of the soft pocket in the ledge when death crashed from them +swift as lightning flashes, and three of the five were tottering or falling +before the other two could draw or swing a rifle. Only one of them had fired a +shot. The other went down as if his legs had been knocked from under him by a +club, and the one who fired bent forward then, as if making a bow to death, and +pitched on his face. +</p> + +<p> +And then Stampede Smith whirled upon John Graham. +</p> + +<p> +During these few swift seconds Graham had stood stunned, with the girl crushed +against his breast. He was behind her, sheltered by her body, her head +protecting his heart, and as Stampede turned he was drawing a gun, his dark +face blazing with the fiendish knowledge that the other could not shoot without +killing the girl. The horror of the situation gripped Stampede. He saw +Graham’s pistol rise slowly and deliberately. He watched it, fascinated. +And the look in Graham’s face was the cold and unexcited triumph of a +devil. Stampede saw only that face. It was four inches—perhaps +five—away from the girl’s. There was only that—and the +extending arm, the crooking finger, the black mouth of the automatic seeking +his heart. And then, in that last second, straight into the girl’s +staring eyes blazed Stampede’s gun, and the four inches of leering face +behind her was suddenly blotted out. It was Stampede, and not the girl, who +closed his eyes then; and when he opened them and saw Mary Standish sobbing +over Alan’s body, and Graham lying face down in the sand, he reverently +raised the gun from which he had fired the last shot, and pressed its hot +barrel to his thin lips. +</p> + +<p> +Then he went to Alan. He raised the limp head, while Mary bowed her face in her +hands. In her anguish she prayed that she, too, might die, for in this hour of +triumph over Graham there was no hope or joy for her. Alan was gone. Only death +could have come with that terrible red blot on his forehead, just under the +gray streak in his hair. And without him there was no longer a reason for her +to live. +</p> + +<p> +She reached out her arms. “Give him to me,” she whispered. +“Give him to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Through the agony that burned in her eyes she did not see the look in +Stampede’s face. But she heard his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t a bullet that hit him,” Stampede was saying. +“The bullet hit a rock, an’ it was a chip from the rock that caught +him square between the eyes. He isn’t dead, <i>and he ain’t going +to die!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +How many weeks or months or years it was after his last memory of the +fairies’ hiding-place before he came back to life, Alan could make no +manner of guess. But he did know that for a long, long time he was riding +through space on a soft, white cloud, vainly trying to overtake a girl with +streaming hair who fled on another cloud ahead of him; and at last this cloud +broke up, like a great cake of ice, and the girl plunged into the immeasurable +depths over which they were sailing, and he leaped after her. Then came strange +lights, and darkness, and sounds like the clashing of cymbals, and voices; and +after those things a long sleep, from which he opened his eyes to find himself +in a bed, and a face very near, with shining eyes that looked at him through a +sea of tears. +</p> + +<p> +And a voice whispered to him, sweetly, softly, joyously, “Alan!” +</p> + +<p> +He tried to reach up his arms. The face came nearer; it was pressed against his +own, soft arms crept about him, softer lips kissed his mouth and eyes, and +sobbing whispers came with their love, and he knew the end of the race had +come, and he had won. +</p> + +<p> +This was the fifth day after the fight in the kloof; and on the sixth he sat up +in his bed, bolstered with pillows, and Stampede came to see him, and then Keok +and Nawadlook and Tatpan and Topkok and Wegaruk, his old housekeeper, and only +for a few minutes at a time was Mary away from him. But Tautuk and Amuk Toolik +did not come, and he saw the strange change in Keok, and knew that they were +dead. Yet he dreaded to ask the question, for more than any others of his +people did he love these two missing comrades of the tundras. +</p> + +<p> +It was Stampede who first told him in detail what had happened—but he +would say little of the fight on the ledge, and it was Mary who told him of +that. +</p> + +<p> +“Graham had over thirty men with him, and only ten got away,” he +said. “We have buried sixteen and are caring for seven wounded at the +corrals. Now that Graham is dead, they’re frightened stiff—afraid +we’re going to hand them over to the law. And without Graham or Rossland +to fight for them, they know they’re lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“And our men—my people?” asked Alan faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“Fought like devils.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know. But—” +</p> + +<p> +“They didn’t rest an hour in coming from the mountains.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know what I mean, Stampede.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not many, Alan. Seven were killed, including Sokwenna,” and he +counted over the names of the slain. Tautuk and Amuk Toolik were not among +them. +</p> + +<p> +“And Tautuk?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is wounded. Missed death by an inch, and it has almost killed Keok. +She is with him night and day, and as jealous as a little cat if anyone else +attempts to do anything for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then—I am glad Tautuk was hit,” smiled Alan. And he asked, +“Where is Amuk Toolik?” +</p> + +<p> +Stampede hung his head and blushed like a boy. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have to ask <i>her</i>, Alan.” +</p> + +<p> +And a little later Alan put the question to Mary. +</p> + +<p> +She, too, blushed, and in her eyes was a mysterious radiance that puzzled him. +</p> + +<p> +“You must wait,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Beyond that she would say no word, though he pulled her head down, and with his +hands in her soft, smooth hair threatened to hold her until she told him the +secret. Her answer was a satisfied little sigh, and she nestled her pink face +against his neck, and whispered that she was content to accept the punishment. +So where Amuk Toolik had gone, and what he was doing, still remained a mystery. +</p> + +<p> +A little later he knew he had guessed the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t need a doctor,” he said, “but it was mighty +thoughtful of you to send Amuk Toolik for one.” Then he caught himself +suddenly. “What a senseless fool I am! Of course there are others who +need a doctor more than I do.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary nodded. “But I was thinking chiefly of you when I sent Amuk Toolik +to Tanana. He is riding Kauk, and should return almost any time now.” And +she turned her face away so that he could see only the pink tip of her ear. +</p> + +<p> +“Very soon I will be on my feet and ready for travel,” he said. +“Then we will start for the States, as we planned.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will have to go alone, Alan, for I shall be too busy fitting up the +new house,” she replied, in such a quiet, composed, little voice that he +was stunned. “I have already given orders for the cutting of timber in +the foothills, and Stampede and Amuk Toolik will begin construction very soon. +I am sorry you find your business in the States so important, Alan. It will be +a little lonesome with you away.” +</p> + +<p> +He gasped. “Mary!” +</p> + +<p> +She did not turn. “<i>Mary!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +He could see again that little, heart-like throb in her throat when she faced +him. +</p> + +<p> +And then he learned the secret, softly whispered, with sweet, warm lips pressed +to his. +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t a doctor I sent for, Alan. It was a minister. We need +one to marry Stampede and Nawadlook and Tautuk and Keok. Of course, you and I +can wait—” +</p> + +<p> +But she never finished, for her lips were smothered with a love that brought a +little sob of joy from her heart. +</p> + +<p> +And then she whispered things to him which he had never guessed of Mary +Standish, and never quite hoped to hear. She was a little wild, a little +reckless it may be, but what she said filled him with a happiness which he +believed had never come to any other man in the world. It was not her desire to +return to the States at all. She never wanted to return. She wanted nothing +down there, nothing that the Standish fortune-builders had left her, unless he +could find some way of using it for the good of Alaska. And even then she was +afraid it might lead to the breaking of her dream. For there was only one thing +that would make her happy, and that was <i>his</i> world. She wanted it just as +it was—the big tundras, his people, the herds, the mountains—with +the glory and greatness of God all about them in the open spaces. She now +understood what he had meant when he said he was an Alaskan and not an +American; she was that, too, an Alaskan first of all, and for Alaska she would +go on fighting with him, hand in hand, until the very end. His heart throbbed +until it seemed it would break, and all the time she was whispering her hopes +and secrets to him he stroked her silken hair, until it lay spread over his +breast, and against his lips, and for the first time in years a hot flood of +tears filled his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +So happiness came to them; and only strange voices outside raised Mary’s +head from where it lay, and took her quickly to the window where she stood a +vision of sweet loveliness, radiant in the tumbled confusion and glory of her +hair. Then she turned with a little cry, and her eyes were shining like stars +as she looked at Alan. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Amuk Toolik,” she said. “He has returned.” +</p> + +<p> +“And—is he alone?” Alan asked, and his heart stood still +while he waited for her answer. +</p> + +<p> +Demurely she came to his side, and smoothed his pillow, and stroked back his +hair. “I must go and do up my hair, Alan,” she said then. “It +would never do for them to find me like this.” +</p> + +<p> +And suddenly, in a moment, their fingers entwined and tightened, for on the +roof of Sokwenna’s cabin the little gray-cheeked thrush was singing +again. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11867 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/11867-h/images/331.jpg b/11867-h/images/331.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0c8d5c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/11867-h/images/331.jpg diff --git a/11867-h/images/332.jpg b/11867-h/images/332.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dfd1245 --- /dev/null +++ b/11867-h/images/332.jpg diff --git a/11867-h/images/333.jpg b/11867-h/images/333.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7906641 --- /dev/null +++ b/11867-h/images/333.jpg diff --git a/11867-h/images/334.jpg b/11867-h/images/334.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c248244 --- /dev/null +++ b/11867-h/images/334.jpg diff --git a/11867-h/images/cover.jpg b/11867-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e5fe32 --- /dev/null +++ b/11867-h/images/cover.jpg |
