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diff --git a/old/17745-h.htm b/old/17745-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5ec20f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/17745-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9251 @@ +<!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"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Courage of Marge O'Doone, by James Oliver Curwood + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + /*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ + <!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + hr {width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + hr.full {width:100%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.major {width:75%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right; } + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Courage of Marge O'Doone, by James Oliver Curwood + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Courage of Marge O'Doone + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Illustrator: Lester Ralph + +Release Date: February 10, 2006 [EBook #17745] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='center'> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h1>THE COURAGE OF<br /> +MARGE O'DOONE<br /></h1> +<br /> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD</h2> +<br /> +<span style="font-size: smaller">FRONTISPIECE BY</span><br /> +LESTER RALPH<br /> +<br /> +<span style="font-size: smaller">PUBLISHED BY</span><br /> +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br /> +<span style="font-size: smaller">FOR</span><br /> +P. F. COLLIER & SON COMPANY<br /> +NEW YORK<br /> +1925 +</div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 282px;"> +<a href="images/illus-fp-lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/illus-fp-sm.jpg" +alt="llustration: Against that savage background of mountain and gorge she stood out clear-cut as a cameo, slender as a reed; wild, palpitating, beautiful. She was more than a picture. She was Life." +title="Against that savage background of mountain and gorge she stood out clear-cut as a cameo, slender as a reed; wild, palpitating, beautiful. She was more than a picture. She was Life." /> +</a> +<p>Against that savage background of mountain and +gorge she stood out clear-cut as a cameo, slender as a reed; wild, +palpitating, beautiful. She was more than a picture. She was Life.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="center"> +<span style="font-style: italic">Copyright, 1918, by</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Doubleday, Page & Company<br /> +<br /> +all rights reserved<br /> +<br /> +printed in the united states<br /> +at<br /> +the country life press, garden city, n. y.<br /> +<br /> +copyright, 1916, by every week corporation, under the title<br /> +"the girl beyond the trail"</span><br /> +</div> + +<hr class="major"/> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER I</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_I">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER II</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_II">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER III</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_III">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER IV</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER V</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_V">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER VI</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">56</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER VII</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER VIII</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER IX</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER X</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_X">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XI</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XII</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XIII</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XIV</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XV</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XVI</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XVII</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">189</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XVIII</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XIX</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">207</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XX</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">220</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XXI</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">232</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XXII</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">243</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XXIII</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">252</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XXIV</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XXV</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">269</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XXVI</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">286</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><b>CHAPTER XXVII</b></td><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">297</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +<h1>THE COURAGE OF<br />MARGE O'DOONE</h1> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p>If you had stood there in the edge of the bleak spruce forest, with the +wind moaning dismally through the twisting trees—midnight of deep +December—the Transcontinental would have looked like a thing of fire; +dull fire, glowing with a smouldering warmth, but of strange ghostliness +and out of place. It was a weird shadow, helpless and without motion, +and black as the half-Arctic night save for the band of illumination +that cut it in twain from the first coach to the last, with a space like +an inky hyphen where the baggage car lay. Out of the North came armies +of snow-laden clouds that scudded just above the earth, and with these +clouds came now and then a shrieking mockery of wind to taunt this +stricken creation of man and the creatures it sheltered—men and women +who had begun to shiver, and whose tense white faces stared with +increasing anxiety into the mysterious darkness of the night that hung +like a sable curtain ten feet from the car windows.</p> + +<p>For three hours those faces had peered out into the night. Many of the +prisoners in the snowbound coaches had enjoyed the experience somewhat +at first, for there is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> pleasing and indefinable thrill to unexpected +adventure, and this, for a brief spell, had been adventure de luxe. +There had been warmth and light, men's laughter, women's voices, and +children's play. But the loudest jester among the men was now silent, +huddled deep in his great coat; and the young woman who had clapped her +hands in silly ecstasy when it was announced that the train was +snowbound was weeping and shivering by turns. It was cold—so cold that +the snow which came sweeping and swirling with the wind was like +granite-dust; it <i>clicked, clicked, clicked</i> against the glass—a +bombardment of untold billions of infinitesimal projectiles fighting to +break in. In the edge of the forest it was probably forty degrees below +zero. Within the coaches there still remained some little warmth. The +burning lamps radiated it and the presence of many people added to it. +But it was cold, and growing colder. A gray coating of congealed breath +covered the car windows. A few men had given their outer coats to women +and children. These men looked most frequently at their watches. The +adventure de luxe was becoming serious.</p> + +<p>For the twentieth time a passing train-man was asked the same question.</p> + +<p>"The good Lord only knows," he growled down into the face of the young +woman whose prettiness would have enticed the most chivalrous attention +from him earlier in the evening. "Engine and tender been gone three +hours and the divisional point only twenty miles up the line. Should +have been back with help long ago. Hell, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>The young woman did not reply, but her round mouth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> formed a quick and +silent approbation of his final remark.</p> + +<p>"Three hours!" the train-man continued his growling as he went on with +his lantern. "That's the hell o' railroading it along the edge of the +Arctic. When you git snowed in you're <i>snowed in</i>, an' there ain't no +two ways about it!"</p> + +<p>He paused at the smoking compartment, thrust in his head for a moment, +passed on and slammed the door of the car after him as he went into the +next coach.</p> + +<p>In that smoking compartment there were two men, facing each other across +the narrow space between the two seats. They had not looked up when the +train-man thrust in his head. They seemed, as one leaned over toward the +other, wholly oblivious of the storm.</p> + +<p>It was the older man who bent forward. He was about fifty. The hand that +rested for a moment on David Raine's knee was red and knotted. It was +the hand of a man who had lived his life in struggling with the +wilderness. And the face, too, was of such a man; a face coloured and +toughened by the tannin of wind and blizzard and hot northern sun, with +eyes cobwebbed about by a myriad of fine lines that spoke of years spent +under the strain of those things. He was not a large man. He was shorter +than David Raine. There was a slight droop to his shoulders. Yet about +him there was a strength, a suppressed energy ready to act, a zestful +eagerness for life and its daily mysteries which the other and younger +man did not possess. Throughout many thousands of square miles of the +great northern wilderness this older man was known as Father Roland, the +Missioner.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> + +<p>His companion was not more than thirty-eight. Perhaps he was a year or +two younger. It may be that the wailing of the wind outside, the strange +voices that were in it and the chilling gloom of their little +compartment made of him a more striking contrast to Father Roland than +he would have been under other conditions. His eyes were a clear and +steady gray as they met Father Roland's. They were eyes that one could +not easily forget. Except for his eyes he was like a man who had been +sick, and was still sick. The Missioner had made his own guess. And now, +with his hand on the other's knee, he said:</p> + +<p>"And you say—that you are afraid—for this friend of yours?"</p> + +<p>David Raine nodded his head. Lines deepened a little about his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am afraid." For a moment he turned to the night. A fiercer +volley of the little snow demons beat against the window, as though his +pale face just beyond their reach stirred them to greater fury. "I have +a most disturbing inclination to worry about him," he added, and +shrugged his shoulders slightly.</p> + +<p>He faced Father Roland again.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear of a man losing himself?" he asked. "I don't mean in +the woods, or in a desert, or by going mad. I mean in the other +way—heart, body, soul; losing one's grip, you might call it, until +there was no earth to stand on. Did you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—many years ago—I knew of a man who lost himself in that way," +replied the Missioner, straightening in his seat. "But he found himself +again. And this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> friend of yours? I am interested. This is the first +time in three years that I have been down to the edge of civilization, +and what you have to tell will be different—vastly different from what +I know. If you are betraying nothing would you mind telling me his +story?"</p> + +<p>"It is not a pleasant story," warned the younger man, "and on such a +night as this——"</p> + +<p>"It may be that one can see more clearly into the depths of misfortune +and tragedy," interrupted the Missioner quietly.</p> + +<p>A faint flush rose into David Raine's pale face. There was something of +nervous eagerness in the clasp of his fingers upon his knees.</p> + +<p>"Of course, there is the woman," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes—of course—the woman."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes I haven't been quite sure whether this man worshipped the +woman or the woman's beauty," David went on, with a strange glow in his +eyes. "He loved beauty. And this woman was beautiful, almost too +beautiful for the good of one's soul, I guess. And he must have loved +her, for when she went out of his life it was as if he had sunk into a +black pit out of which he could never rise. I have asked myself often if +he would have loved her if she had been less beautiful—even quite +plain, and I have answered myself as he answered that question, in the +affirmative. It was born in him to worship wherever he loved at all. Her +beauty made a certain sort of completeness for him. He treasured that. +He was proud of it. He counted himself the richest man in the world +because he possessed it. But deep under his worship of her beauty he +loved <i>her</i>. I am more and more sure of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> that, and I am equally sure +that time will prove it—that he will never rise again with his old hope +and faith out of that black pit into which he sank when he came face to +face with the realization that there were forces in life—in nature +perhaps, more potent than his love and his own strong will."</p> + +<p>Father Roland nodded.</p> + +<p>"I understand," he said, and he sank back farther in his corner by the +window, so that his face was shrouded a little in shadow. "This other +man loved a woman, too. And she was beautiful. He thought she was the +most beautiful thing in the world. It is great love that makes beauty."</p> + +<p>"But this woman—my friend's wife—was so beautiful that even the eyes +of other women were fascinated by her. I have seen her when it seemed +she must have come fresh from the hands of angels; and at first, when my +friend was the happiest man in the world, he was fond of telling her +that it must have been the angels who put the colour in her face and the +wonderful golden fires in her shining hair. It wasn't his love for her +that made her beautiful. She <i>was</i> beautiful."</p> + +<p>"And her soul?" softly questioned the shadowed lips of the Missioner.</p> + +<p>The other's hand tightened slowly.</p> + +<p>"In making her the angels forgot a soul, I guess," he said.</p> + +<p>"Then your friend did not love her." The Little Missioner's voice was +quick and decisive. "There can be no love where there is no soul."</p> + +<p>"That is impossible. He did love her. I know it."</p> + +<p>"I still disagree with you. Without knowing your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> friend, I say that he +worshipped her beauty. There were others who worshipped that same +loveliness—others who did not possess her, and who would have bartered +their souls for her had they possessed souls to barter. Is that not +true?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there were others. But to understand you must have known my friend +before he sank down into the pit—when he was still a man. He was a +great student. His fortune was sufficient to give him both time and +means for the pursuits he loved. He had his great library, and adjoining +it a laboratory. He wrote books which few people read because they were +filled with facts and odd theories. He believed that the world was very +old, and that there was less profit for men in discovering new luxuries +for an artificial civilization than in re-discovering a few of the great +laws and miracles buried in the dust of the past. He believed that the +nearer we get to the beginning of things, and not the farther we drift, +the clearer comprehension can we have of earth and sky and God, and the +meaning of it all. He did not consider it an argument for progress that +Christ and His disciples knew nothing of the telephone, of giant engines +run by steam, of electricity, or of instruments by which man could send +messages for thousands of miles through space. His theory was that the +patriarchs of old held a closer touch on the pulse of Life than progress +in its present forms will ever bring to us. He was not a fanatic. He was +not a crank. He was young, and filled with enthusiasm. He loved +children. He wanted to fill his home with them. But his wife knew that +she was too beautiful for that—and they had none."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> + +<p>He had leaned a little forward, and had pulled his hat a trifle over his +eyes. There was a moment's lull in the storm, and it was so quiet that +each could hear the ticking of Father Roland's big silver watch.</p> + +<p>Then he said:</p> + +<p>"I don't know why I tell you all this, Father, unless it is to relieve +my own mind. There can be no hope that it will benefit my friend. And +yet it cannot harm him. It seems very near to sacrilege to put into +words what I am going to say about—his wife. Perhaps there were +extenuating conditions for her. I have tried to convince myself of that, +just as he tried to believe it. It may be that a man who is born into +this age must consider himself a misfit unless he can tune himself in +sympathy with its manner of life. He cannot be too critical, I guess. If +he is to exist in a certain social order of our civilization unburdened +by great doubts and deep glooms he must not shiver when his wife tinkles +her champagne glass against another. He must learn to appreciate the +sinuous beauties of the cabaret dancer, and must train himself to take +no offence when he sees shimmering wines tilted down white throats. He +must train himself to many things, just as he trains himself to +classical music and grand opera. To do these things he must forget, as +much as he can, the sweet melodies and the sweeter women who are sinking +into oblivion together. He must accept life as a Grand Piano tuned by a +new sort of Tuning Master, and unless he can dance to its music he is a +misfit. That is what my friend said to extenuate <i>her</i>. She fitted into +this kind of life splendidly. He was in the other groove. She loved +light, laughter, wine, song,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> and excitement. He, the misfit, loved his +books, his work, and his home. His greatest joy would have been to go +with her, hand in hand, through some wonderful cathedral, pointing out +its ancient glories and mysteries to her. He wanted aloneness—just they +two. Such was his idea of love. And she—wanted other things. You +understand, Father?... The thing grew, and at last he saw that she was +getting away from him. Her passion for admiration and excitement became +a madness. I know, because I saw it. My friend said that it was madness, +even as he was going mad. And yet he did not suspect her. If another had +told him that she was unclean I am sure he would have killed him. Slowly +he came to experience the agony of knowing that the woman whom he +worshipped did not love him. But this did not lead him to believe that +she could love another—or others. Then, one day, he left the city. She +went with him to the train—his wife. She saw him go. She waved her +handkerchief at him. And as she stood there she was—glorious."</p> + +<p>Through partly closed eyes the Little Missioner saw his shoulders +tighten, and a hardness settle about his mouth. The voice, too, was +changed when it went on. It was almost emotionless.</p> + +<p>"It's sometimes curious how the Chief Arbiter of things plays His tricks +on men—and women, isn't it, Father? There was trouble on the line +ahead, and my friend came back. It was unexpected. It was late when he +reached home, and with his night key he went in quietly, because he did +not want to awaken <i>her</i>. It was very still in the house—until he came +to the door of her room. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> was a light. He heard voices—very low. +He listened. He went in."</p> + +<p>There was a terrible silence. The ticking of Father Roland's big silver +watch seemed like the beating of a tiny drum.</p> + +<p>"And what happened then, David?"</p> + +<p>"My friend went in," repeated David. His eyes sought Father Roland's +squarely, and he saw the question there. "No, he did not kill them," he +said. "He doesn't know what kept him from killing—the man. He was a +coward, that man. He crawled away like a worm. Perhaps that was why my +friend spared him. The wonderful part of it was that the woman—his +wife—was not afraid. She stood up in her ravishing dishevelment, with +that mantle of gold he had worshipped streaming about her to her knees, +<i>and she laughed</i>? Yes, she laughed—a mad sort of laugh; a laughter of +fear, perhaps—but—<i>laughter</i>. So he did not kill them. Her +laughter—the man's cowardice—saved them. He turned. He closed the +door. He left them. He went out into the night."</p> + +<p>He paused, as though his story was finished.</p> + +<p>"And that is—the end?" asked Father Roland softly.</p> + +<p>"Of his dreams, his hopes, his joy in life—yes, that was the end."</p> + +<p>"But of your friend's story? What happened after that?"</p> + +<p>"A miracle, I think," replied David hesitatingly, as though he could not +quite understand what had happened after that. "You see, this friend of +mine was not of the vacillating and irresolute sort. I had always given +him credit for that—credit for being a man who would measure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> up to a +situation. He was quite an athlete, and enjoyed boxing and fencing and +swimming. If at any time in his life he could have conceived of a +situation such as he encountered in his wife's room, he would have lived +in a moral certainty of killing the man. And when the situation did come +was it not a miracle that he should walk out into the night leaving them +not only unharmed, but together? I ask you, Father—was it not a +miracle?"</p> + +<p>Father Roland's eyes were gleaming strangely under the shadow of his +broad-brimmed black hat. He merely nodded.</p> + +<p>"Of course," resumed David, "it may be that he was too stunned to act. I +believe that the laughter—<i>her</i> laughter—acted upon him like a +powerful drug. Instead of plunging him into the passion of a murderous +desire for vengeance it curiously enough anesthetized his emotions. For +hours he heard that laughter. I believe he will never forget it. He +wandered the streets all that night. It was in New York, and of course +he passed many people. But he did not see them. When morning came he was +on Fifth Avenue many miles from his home. He wandered downtown in a +constantly growing human stream whose noise and bustle and many-keyed +voice acted on him as a tonic. For the first time he asked himself what +he would do. Stronger and stronger grew the desire in him to return, to +face again that situation in his home. I believe that he would have done +this—I believe that the red blood in him would have meted out its own +punishment had he not turned just in time, and at the right place. He +found himself in front of The Little Church Around the Corner, nestling +in its hiding-place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> just off the Avenue. He remembered its restful +quiet, the coolness of its aisles and alcoves. He was exhausted, and he +went in. He sat down facing the chancel, and as his eyes became +accustomed to the gloom he saw that the broad, low dais in front of the +organ was banked with great masses of hydrangeas. There had been a +wedding, probably the evening before. My friend told me of the +thickening that came in his throat, of the strange, terrible throb in +his heart as he sat there alone—the only soul in the church—and stared +at those hydrangeas. Hydrangeas had been their own wedding flower, +Father. And then——"</p> + +<p>For the first time there was something like a break in the younger man's +voice.</p> + +<p>"My friend thought he was alone," he went on. "But some one had come out +like a shadow beyond the chancel railing, and of a sudden, beginning +wonderfully low and sweet, the great organ began to fill the church with +its melody. The organist, too, thought he was alone. He was a little, +old man, his shoulders thin and drooped, his hair white. But in his soul +there must have been a great love and a great peace. He played something +low and sweet. When he had finished he rose and went away as quietly as +he had come, and for a long time after that my friend sat there—alone. +Something new was born in him, something which I hope will grow and +comfort him in the years to come. When he went out into the city again +the sun was shining. He did not go home. He did not see the woman—his +wife—again. He has never seen her since that night when she stood up in +her dishevelled beauty and <i>laughed</i> at him. Even the divorce<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +proceedings did not bring them together. I believe that he treated her +fairly. Through his attorneys he turned over to her a half of what he +possessed. Then he went away. That was a year ago. In that year I know +that he has fought desperately to bring himself back into his old health +of mind and body, and I am quite sure that he has failed."</p> + +<p>He paused, his story finished. He drew the brim of his hat lower over +his eyes, and then he rose to his feet. His build was slim and +clean-cut. He was perhaps five feet ten inches in height, which was four +inches taller than the Little Missioner. His shoulders were of good +breadth, his waist and hips of an athletic slimness. But his clothes +hung with a certain looseness. His hands were unnaturally thin, and in +his face still hovered the shadows of sickness and of mental suffering.</p> + +<p>Father Roland stood beside him now with eyes that shone with a deep +understanding. Under the sputter of the lamp above their heads the two +men clasped hands, and the Little Missioner's grip was like the grip of +iron.</p> + +<p>"David, I've preached a strange code through the wilderness for many a +long year," he said, and his voice was vibrant with a strong emotion. +"I'm not Catholic and I'm not Church of England. I've got no religion +that wears a name. I'm simply Father Roland, and all these years I've +helped to bury the dead in the forest, an' nurse the sick, an' marry the +living, an' it may be that I've learned one thing better than most of +you who live down in civilization. And that's how to find yourself when +you're down an' out. Boy, will you come with me?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>Their eyes met. A fiercer gust of the storm beat against the windows. +They could hear the wind wailing in the trees outside.</p> + +<p>"It was your story that you told me," said Father Roland, his voice +barely above a whisper. "She was your wife, David?"</p> + +<p>It was very still for a few moments. Then came the reply: "Yes, she was +my wife...."</p> + +<p>Suddenly David freed his hand from the Little Missioner's clasp. He had +stopped something that was almost like a cry on his lips. He pulled his +hat still lower over his eyes and went through the door out into the +main part of the coach.</p> + +<p>Father Roland did not follow. Some of the ruddiness had gone from his +cheeks, and as he stood facing the door through which David had +disappeared a smouldering fire began to burn far back in his eyes. After +a few moments this fire died out, and his face was gray and haggard as +he sat down again in his corner. His hands unclenched. With a great sigh +his head drooped forward on his chest, and for a long time he sat thus, +his eyes and face lost in shadow. One would not have known that he was +breathing.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> + +<p>Half a dozen times that night David had walked from end to end of the +five snowbound coaches that made up the Transcontinental. He believed +that for him it was an act of Providence that had delayed the train. +Otherwise a sleeping car would have been picked up at the next +divisional point, and he would not have unburdened himself to Father +Roland. They would not have sat up until that late hour in the smoking +compartment, and this strange little man of the forest would not have +told him the story of a lonely cabin up on the edge of the Barrens—a +story of strange pathos and human tragedy that had, in some mysterious +way, unsealed his own lips. David had kept to himself the shame and +heartbreak of his own affliction since the day he had been compelled to +tell it, coldly and without visible emotion, to gain his own freedom. He +had meant to keep it to himself always. And of a sudden it had all come +out. He was not sorry. He was glad. He was amazed at the change in +himself. That day had been a terrible day for him. He could not get +<i>her</i> out of his mind. Now a depressing hand seemed to have lifted +itself from his heart. He was quick to understand. His story had not +fallen upon ears eager with sensual curiosity. He had met a <i>man</i>, and +from the soul of that man there had reached out to him the spirit of a +deep and comfort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>ing strength. He would have revolted at compassion, and +words of pity would have shamed him. Father Roland had given voice to +neither of these. But the grip of his hand had been like the grip of an +iron man.</p> + +<p>In the third coach David sat down in an empty seat. For the first time +in many months there was a thrill of something in his blood which he +could not analyze. What had the Little Missioner meant when, with that +wonderful grip of his knotted hand, he had said, "I've learned how a man +can find himself when he's down and out"? And what had he meant when he +added, "Will you come with me"? Go with him? Where?</p> + +<p>There came a sudden crash of the storm against the window, a shrieking +blast of wind and snow, and David stared into the night. He could see +nothing. It was a black chaos outside. But he could hear. He could hear +the wailing and the moaning of the wind in the trees, and he almost +fancied that it was not darkness alone that shut out his vision, but the +thick walls of the forest.</p> + +<p>Was that what Father Roland had meant? Had he asked him to go with him +into <i>that</i>?</p> + +<p>His face touched the cold glass. He stared harder. That morning Father +Roland had boarded the train at a wilderness station and had taken a +seat beside him. They had become acquainted. And later the Little +Missioner had told him how those vast forests reached without a break +for hundreds of miles into the mysterious North. He loved them, even as +they lay cold and white outside the windows. There was gladness in his +voice when he had said that he was going back into them. They were a +part of <i>his</i> world—a world of "mystery and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> savage glory" he had +called it, stretching for a thousand miles to the edge of the Arctic, +and fifteen hundred miles from Hudson's Bay to the western mountains. +And to-night he had said, "Will you come with me?"</p> + +<p>David's pulse quickened. A thousand little snow demons beat in his face +to challenge his courage. The wind swept down, as if enraged at the +thought in his mind, and scooped up volley after volley of drifting snow +and hurled them at him. There was only the thin glass between. It was +like the defiance of a living thing. It threatened him. It dared him. It +invited him out like a great bully, with a brawling show of fists. He +had always been more or less pusillanimous in the face of winter. He +disliked cold. He hated snow. But this that beat and shrieked at him +outside the window had set something stirring strangely within him. It +was a desire, whimsical and undecided at first, to thrust his face out +into that darkness and feel the sting of the wind and snow. It was +Father Roland's world. And Father Roland had invited him to enter it. +That was the curious part of the situation, as it was impressed upon him +as he sat with his face flattened against the window. The Little +Missioner had invited him, and the night was daring him. For a single +moment the incongruity of it all made him forget himself, and he +laughed—a chuckling, half-broken, and out-of-tune sort of laugh. It was +the first time in a year that he had forgotten himself anywhere near to +a point resembling laughter, and in the sudden and inexplicable +spontaneity of it he was startled. He turned quickly, as though some one +at his side had laughed and he was about to demand an explanation. He +looked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> across the aisle and his eyes met squarely the eyes of a woman.</p> + +<p>He saw nothing but the eyes at first. They were big, dark, questing +eyes—eyes that had in them a hunting look, as though they hoped to find +in his face the answer to a great question. Never in his life had he +seen eyes that were so haunted by a great unrest, or that held in their +lustrous depths the smouldering glow of a deeper grief. Then the face +added itself to the eyes. It was not a young face. The woman was past +forty. But this age did not impress itself over a strange and appealing +beauty in her countenance which was like the beauty of a flower whose +petals are falling. Before David had seen more than this she turned her +eyes from him slowly and doubtfully, as if not quite convinced that she +had found what she sought, and faced the darkness beyond her own side of +the car.</p> + +<p>David was puzzled, and he looked at her with still deeper interest. Her +seat was turned so that it was facing him across the aisle, three seats +ahead, and he could look at her without conspicuous effort or rudeness. +Her hood had slipped down and hung by its long scarf about her +shoulders. She leaned toward the window, and as she stared out, her chin +rested in the cup of her hand. He noticed that her hand was thin, and +that there was a shadowy hollow in the white pallor of her cheek. Her +hair was heavy and done in thick coils that glowed dully in the +lamplight. It was a deep brown, almost black, shot through with little +silvery threads of gray.</p> + +<p>For a few moments David withdrew his gaze, subconsciously ashamed of the +directness of his scrutiny.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> But after a little his eyes drifted back to +her. Her head was sunk forward a little, he caught now a pathetic droop +of her shoulders, and he fancied that he saw a little shiver run through +her. Just as before he had felt the desire to thrust his face out into +the night, he felt now an equally unaccountable impulse to speak to her +and ask her if he could in any way be of service to her. But he could +see no excuse for this presumptuousness in himself. If she was in +distress it was not of a physical sort for which he might have suggested +his services as a remedy. She was neither hungry nor cold, for there was +a basket at her side in which he had a glimpse of broken bits of food; +and at her back, draped over the seat, was a heavy beaver-skin coat.</p> + +<p>He rose to his feet with the intention of returning to the smoking +compartment in which he had left Father Roland. His movement seemed to +rouse the woman. Again her dark eyes met his own. They looked straight +up at him as he stood in the aisle, and he stopped. Her lips trembled.</p> + +<p>"Are you ... acquainted ... between here and Lac Seul?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Her voice had in it the same haunting mystery that he had seen in her +eyes, the same apprehension, the same hope, as though some curious and +indefinable instinct was telling her that in this stranger she was very +near to the thing which she was seeking.</p> + +<p>"I am a stranger," he said. "This is the first time I have ever been in +this country."</p> + +<p>She sank back, the look of hope in her face dying out like a passing +flash.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I thank you," she murmured. "I thought perhaps you might know of a man +whom I am seeking—a man by the name of Michael O'Doone."</p> + +<p>She did not expect him to speak again. She drew her heavy coat about her +and turned her face toward the window. There was nothing that he could +say, nothing that he could do, and he went back to Father Roland.</p> + +<p>He was in the last coach when a sound came to him faintly. It was too +sharp for the wailing of the storm. Others heard it and grew suddenly +erect, with tense and listening faces. The young woman with the round +mouth gave a little gasp. A man pacing back and forth in the aisle +stopped as if at the point of a bayonet.</p> + +<p>It came again.</p> + +<p>The heavy-jowled man who had taken the adventure as a jest at first, and +who had rolled himself in his great coat like a hibernating woodchuck, +unloosed his voice in a rumble of joy.</p> + +<p>"It's the whistle!" he announced. "The damned thing's coming at last!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> + +<p>David came up quietly to the door of the smoking compartment where he +had left Father Roland. The Little Missioner was huddled in his corner +near the window. His head hung heavily forward and the shadows of his +black Stetson concealed his face. He was apparently asleep. His hands, +with their strangely developed joints and fingers, lay loosely upon his +knees. For fully half a minute David looked at him without moving or +making a sound, and as he looked, something warm and living seemed to +reach out from the lonely figure of the wilderness preacher that filled +him with a strangely new feeling of companionship. Again he made no +effort to analyze the change in himself; he accepted it as one of the +two or three inexplicable phenomena this night and the storm had +produced for him, and was chiefly concerned in the fact that he was no +longer oppressed by that torment of aloneness which had been a part of +his nights and days for so many months. He was about to speak when he +made up his mind not to disturb the other. So certain was he that Father +Roland was asleep that he drew away from the door on the tips of his +toes and reëntered the coach.</p> + +<p>He did not stop in the first or second car, though there were plenty of +empty seats and people were rousing themselves into more cheerful +activity. He passed through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> one and then the other to the third coach, +and sat down when he came to the seat he had formerly occupied. He did +not immediately look at the woman across the aisle. He did not want her +to suspect that he had come back for that purpose. When his eyes did +seek her in a casual sort of way he was disappointed.</p> + +<p>She was almost covered in her coat. He caught only the gleam of her +thick, dark hair, and the shape of one slim hand, white as paper in the +lampglow. He knew that she was not asleep, for he saw her shoulders +move, and the hand shifted its position to hold the coat closer about +her. The whistling of the approaching engine, which could be heard +distinctly now, had no apparent effect on her. For ten minutes he sat +staring at all he could see of her—the dark glow of her hair and the +one ghostly white hand. He moved, he shuffled his feet, he coughed; he +made sure she knew he was there, but she did not look up. He was sorry +that he had not brought Father Roland with him in the first place, for +he was certain that if the Little Missioner had seen the grief and the +despair in her eyes—the hope almost burned out—he would have gone to +her and said things which he had found it impossible to say when the +opportunity had come to him. He rose again from his seat as the powerful +snow-engine and its consort coupled on to the train. The shock almost +flung him off his feet. Even then she did not raise her head.</p> + +<p>A second time he returned to the smoking compartment.</p> + +<p>Father Roland was no longer huddled down in his corner. He was on his +feet, his hands thrust deep down into his trousers pockets, and he was +whistling softly as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> David came in. His hat lay on the seat. It was the +first time David had seen his round, rugged, weather-reddened face +without the big Stetson. He looked younger and yet older; his face, as +David saw it there in the lampglow, had something in the ruddy glow and +deeply lined strength of it that was almost youthful. But his thick, +shaggy hair was very gray. The train had begun to move. He turned to the +window for a moment, and then looked at David.</p> + +<p>"We are under way," he said. "Very soon I will be getting off."</p> + +<p>David sat down.</p> + +<p>"It is some distance beyond the divisional point ahead—this cabin where +you get off?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, twenty or twenty-five miles. There is nothing but a cabin and two +or three log outbuildings there—where Thoreau, the Frenchman, has his +fox pens, as I told you. It is not a regular stop, but the train will +slow down to throw off my dunnage and give me an easy jump. My dogs and +Indian are with Thoreau."</p> + +<p>"And from there—from Thoreau's—it is a long distance to the place you +call home?"</p> + +<p>The Little Missioner rubbed his hands in a queer rasping way. The +movement of those rugged hands and the curious, chuckling laugh that +accompanied it, radiated a sort of cheer. They were expressions of more +than satisfaction. "It's a great many miles to my own cabin, but it's +home—all home—after I get into the forests. My cabin is at the lower +end of God's Lake, three hundred miles by dogs and sledge from +Thoreau's—three hundred miles as straight north as a <i>niskuk</i> flies."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A <i>niskuk</i>?" said David.</p> + +<p>"Yes—a gray goose."</p> + +<p>"Don't you have crows?"</p> + +<p>"A few; but they're as crooked in flight as they are in morals. They're +scavengers, and they hang down pretty close to the line of rail—close +to civilization, where there's a lot of scavenging to be done, you +know."</p> + +<p>For the second time that night David found a laugh on his lips.</p> + +<p>"Then—you don't like civilization?"</p> + +<p>"My heart is in the Northland," replied Father Roland, and David saw a +sudden change in the other's face, a dying out of the light in his eyes, +a tenseness that came and went like a flash at the corners of his mouth. +In that same moment he saw the Missioner's hand tighten, and the fingers +knot themselves curiously and then slowly relax.</p> + +<p>One of these hands dropped on David's shoulder, and Father Roland became +the questioner.</p> + +<p>"You have been thinking, since you left me a little while ago?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I came back. But you were asleep."</p> + +<p>"I haven't been asleep. I have been awake every minute. I thought once +that I heard a movement at the door but when I looked up there was no +one there. You told me to-day that you were going west—to the British +Columbia mountains?"</p> + +<p>David nodded. Father Roland sat down beside him.</p> + +<p>"Of course you didn't tell me why you were going," he went on. "I have +made my own guess since you told me about the woman, David. Probably you +will never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> know just why your story has struck so deeply home with me +and why it seemed to make you more a son to me than a stranger. I have +guessed that in going west you are simply wandering. You are fighting in +a vain and foolish sort of way to run away from something. Isn't that +it? You are running away—trying to escape the one thing in the whole +wide world that you cannot lose by flight—and that's memory. You can +<i>think</i> just as hard in Japan or the South Sea Islands as you can on +Fifth Avenue in New York, and sometimes the farther away you get the +more maddening your thoughts become. It isn't travel you want, David. +It's blood—<i>red</i> blood. And for putting blood into you, and courage, +and joy of just living and breathing, there's nothing on the face of the +earth like—<i>that</i>!"</p> + +<p>He reached an arm past David and pointed to the night beyond the car +window.</p> + +<p>"You mean the storm, and the snow——"</p> + +<p>"Yes; storm, and snow, and sunshine, and forests—the tens of thousands +of miles of our Northland that you've seen only the edges of. That's +what I mean. But, first of all"—and again the Little Missioner rubbed +his hands—"first of all, I'm thinking of the supper that's waiting for +us at Thoreau's. Will you get off and have supper with me at the +Frenchman's, David? After that, if you decide not to go up to God's Lake +with me, Thoreau can bring you and your luggage back to the station with +his dog team. Such a supper—or breakfast—it will be! I can smell it +now, for I know Thoreau—his fish, his birds, the tenderest steaks in +the forests! I can hear Thoreau cursing because the train hasn't come, +and I'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> wager he's got fish and caribou tenderloin and partridges just +ready for a final turn in the roaster. What do you say? Will you get off +with me?"</p> + +<p>"It is a tempting offer to a hungry man, Father."</p> + +<p>The Little Missioner chuckled elatedly.</p> + +<p>"Hunger!—that's the real medicine of the gods, David, when the belt +isn't drawn too tight. If I want to know the nature and quality of a man +I ask about his stomach. Did you ever know a man who loved to eat who +wasn't of a pretty decent sort? Did you ever know of a man who loved +pie—who'd go out of his way to get pie—that didn't have a heart in him +bigger than a pumpkin? I guess you didn't. If a man's got a good stomach +he isn't a grouch, and he won't stick a knife into your back; but if he +eats from habit—or necessity—he isn't a beautiful character in the +eyes of nature, and there's pretty sure to be a cog loose somewhere in +his makeup. I'm a grub-scientist, David. I warn you of that before we +get off at Thoreau's. I love to eat, and the Frenchman knows it. That's +why I can smell things in that cabin, forty miles away."</p> + +<p>He was rubbing his hands briskly and his face radiated such joyous +anticipation as he talked that David unconsciously felt the spirit of +his enthusiasm. He had gripped one of Father Roland's hands and was +pumping it up and down almost before he realized what he was doing.</p> + +<p>"I'll get off with you at Thoreau's," he exclaimed, "and later, if I +feel as I do now, and you still want my company, I'll go on with you +into the north country!"</p> + +<p>A slight flush rose into his thin cheeks and his eyes shone with a +freshly lighted enthusiasm. As Father<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> Roland saw the change in him his +hands closed over David's.</p> + +<p>"I knew you had a splendid stomach in you from the moment you finished +telling me about the woman," he cried exultantly. "I knew it, David. And +I do want your company—I want it as I never wanted the company of +another man!"</p> + +<p>"That is the strange part of it," replied David, a slight quiver in his +voice. He drew away his hands suddenly and with a jerk brought himself +to his feet. "Good God! look at me!" he cried. "I am a wreck, +physically. It would be a lie if you told me I am not. See these +hands—these arms! I'm down and out. I'm weak as a dog, and the stomach +you speak of is a myth. I haven't eaten a square meal in a year. Why do +you want me as a companion? Why do you think it would be a pleasure for +you to drag a decrepit misfit like myself up into a country like yours? +Is it because of your—your code of faith? Is it because you think you +may save a soul?"</p> + +<p>He was breathing deeply. As he excoriated himself and bared his weakness +the hot blood crept slowly into his face.</p> + +<p>"Why do you want me to go?" he demanded. "Why don't you ask some man +with red blood in his veins and a heart that hasn't been burned out? Why +have you asked me?"</p> + +<p>Father Roland made as if to speak, and then caught himself. Again for a +passing flash there came that mysterious change in him, a sudden dying +out of the enthusiasm in his eyes, and a grayness in his face that came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +and went like a shadow of pain. In another moment he was saying:</p> + +<p>"I'm not playing the part of the good Samaritan, David. I've got a +personal and a selfish reason for wanting you with me. It may be +possible—just possible, I say—that I need you even more than you will +need me." He held out his hand. "Let me have your checks and I'll go +ahead to the baggage car and arrange to have your dunnage thrown off +with mine at the Frenchman's."</p> + +<p>David gave him the checks, and sat down after he had gone. He began to +realize that, for the first time in many months, he was taking a deep +and growing interest in matters outside his own life. The night and its +happenings had kindled a strange fire within him, and the warmth of this +fire ran through his veins and set his body and his brain tingling +curiously. New forces were beginning to fight his own malady. As he sat +alone after Father Roland had gone, his mind had dragged itself away +from the East; he thought of a woman, but it was the woman in the third +coach back. Her wonderful eyes haunted him—their questing despair, the +strange pain that seemed to burn like glowing coals in their depths. He +had seen not only misery and hopelessness in them; he had seen tragedy; +and they troubled him. He made up his mind to tell Father Roland about +her when he returned from the baggage car, and take him to her.</p> + +<p>And who was Father Roland? For the first time he asked himself the +question. There was something of mystery about the Little Missioner that +he found as strange and unanswerable as the thing he had seen in the +eyes of the woman in the third car back. Father<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> Roland had not been +asleep when he looked in and saw him hunched down in his corner near the +window, just as a little later he had seen the woman crumpled down in +hers. It was as if the same oppressing hand had been upon them in those +moments. And why had Father Roland asked him of all men to go with him +as a comrade into the North? Following this he asked himself the still +more puzzling question: Why had he accepted the invitation?</p> + +<p>He stared out into the night, as if that night held an answer for him. +He had not noticed until now that the storm had ceased its beating +against the window. It was not so black outside. With his face close to +the glass he could make out the dark wall of the forest. From the rumble +of the trucks under him he knew that the two engines were making good +time. He looked at his watch. It was a quarter of twelve. They had been +travelling for half an hour and he figured that the divisional point +ahead would be reached by midnight. It seemed a very short time after +that when he heard the tiny bell in his watch tinkle off the hour of +twelve. The last strokes were drowned in a shrill blast of the engine +whistle, and a moment later he caught the dull glow of lights in the +hollow of a wide curve the train was making.</p> + +<p>Father Roland had told him the train would wait at this point fifteen +minutes, and even now he heard the clanging of handbells announcing the +fact that hot coffee, sandwiches, and ready-prepared suppers were +awaiting the half-starved passengers. The trucks grated harshly, the +whirring groan of the air-brakes ran under him like a great sigh, and +suddenly he was looking down into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> face of a pop-eyed man who was +clanging a bell, with all the strength of his right arm, under his +window, and who, with this labour, was emitting a husky din of +"Supper—supper 'ot an' ready at the Royal" in his vain effort to drown +the competition of a still more raucous voice that was bellowing: "'Ot +steaks <i>an</i>' liver'n onions at the Queen Alexandry!" As David made no +movement the man under his window stretched up his neck and yelled a +personal invitation, "W'y don't you come out and eat, old chap? You've +got fifteen minutes an' mebby 'arf an 'our; supper—supper 'ot an' ready +at the Royal!" Up and down the length of the dimly lighted platform +David heard that clangor of bells, and as if determined to capture his +stomach or die, the pop-eyed man never moved an inch from his window, +while behind him there jostled and hurried an eager and steadily growing +crowd of hungry people.</p> + +<p>David thought again of the woman in the third coach back. Was she +getting off here, he wondered? He went to the door of the smoking +compartment and waited another half minute for Father Roland. It was +quite evident that his delay was occasioned by some difficulty in the +baggage car, a difficulty which perhaps his own presence might help to +straighten out. He hesitated between the thought of joining the +Missioner and the stronger impulse to go back into the third coach. He +was conscious of a certain feeling of embarrassment as he returned for +the third time to look at her. He was not anxious for her to see him +again unless Father Roland was with him. His hesitancy, if it was not +altogether embarrassment, was caused by the fear that she might quite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +naturally regard his interest in a wrong light. He was especially +sensitive upon that point, and had always been. The fact that she was +not a young woman, and that he had seen her dark hair finely threaded +with gray, made no difference with him in his peculiarly chivalric +conception of man's attitude toward woman. He did not mean to impress +himself upon her; this time he merely wanted to see whether she had +roused herself, or had left the car. At least this was the trend of his +mental argument as he entered the third coach.</p> + +<p>The car was empty. The woman was gone. Even the old man who had hobbled +in on crutches at the last station had hobbled out again in response to +the clanging bells. When he came to the seat where the woman had been, +David paused, and would have turned back had he not chanced to look out +through the window. He was just in time to catch the quick upturn of a +passing face. It was <i>her</i> face. She saw him and recognized him; she +seemed for a moment to hesitate; her eyes were filled again with that +haunting fire; her lips trembled as if about to speak; and then, like a +mysterious shadow, she drifted out of his vision into darkness.</p> + +<p>For a space he remained in his bent and staring attitude, trying to +pierce the gloom into which she had disappeared. As he drew back from +the window, wondering what she must think of him, his eyes fell to the +seat where she had been sitting, and he saw that she had left something +behind.</p> + +<p>It was a very thin package, done up in a bit of newspaper and tied with +a red string. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It was +five or six inches in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> width and perhaps eight in length, and was not +more than half an inch in thickness. The newspaper in which the object +was wrapped was worn until the print was almost obliterated.</p> + +<p>Again he looked out through the window. Was it a trick of his eyes, he +wondered, or did he see once more that pale and haunting face in the +gloom just beyond the lampglow? His fingers closed a little tighter upon +the thin packet in his hand. At least he had found an excuse; if she was +still there—if he could find her—he had an adequate apology for going +to her. She had forgotten something; it was simply a matter of courtesy +on his part to return it. As he alighted into the half foot of snow on +the platform he could have given no other reason for his action. His +mind could not clarify itself; it had no cohesiveness of purpose or of +emotion at this particular juncture. It was as if a strange and magnetic +undertow were drawing him after her. And he obeyed the impulse. He began +seeking for her, with the thin packet in his hand.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> + +<p>David followed where he fancied he had last seen the woman's face and +caught himself just in time to keep from pitching over the edge of the +platform. Beyond that there was a pit of blackness. Surely she had not +gone there.</p> + +<p>Two or three of the bells were still clanging, but with abated +enthusiasm; from the dimly lighted platform, grayish-white in the +ghostly flicker of the oil lamps, the crowd of hungry passengers was +ebbing swiftly in its quest of food and drink; a last half-hearted +bawling of the virtue to be found in the "hot steak <i>an</i>' liver'n onions +at the Royal Alexandry" gave way to a comforting silence—a silence +broken only by a growing clatter of dishes, the subdued wheezing of the +engines, and the raucous voice of a train-man telling the baggage-man +that the hump between his shoulders was not a head but a knot kindly +tied there by his Creator to keep him from unravelling. Even the promise +of a fight—at least of a blow or two delivered in the gray gloom of the +baggage-man's door—did not turn David from his quest. When he returned, +a few minutes later, two or three sympathetic friends were nursing the +baggage-man back into consciousness. He was about to pass the group when +some one gripped his arm, and a familiar and joyous chuckle sounded in +his ear. Father Roland stood beside him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dear Father in Heaven, but it was a <i>terrible</i> blow, David!" cried the +Little Missioner, his face dancing in the flare of the baggage-room +lamps. "It was a tre<i>men</i>dous blow—straight out from his shoulders like +a battering ram, and hard as rock! It put him to sleep like a baby. Did +you see it?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't," said David, staring at the other in amazement.</p> + +<p>"He deserved it," explained Father Roland. "I love to see a good, clean +blow when it's delivered in the right, David. I've seen the time when a +hard fist was worth more than a preacher and his prayers." He was +chuckling delightedly as they turned back to the train. "The baggage is +arranged for," he added. "They'll put us off together at the +Frenchman's."</p> + +<p>David had slipped the thin packet into his pocket. He no longer felt so +keenly the desire to tell Father Roland about the woman—at least not at +the present time. His quest had been futile. The woman had disappeared +as completely as though she had actually floated away into that pit of +darkness beyond the far end of the platform. He had drawn but one +conclusion. This place—Graham—was her home; undoubtedly friends had +been at the station to meet her; even now she might be telling them, or +a husband, or a grown-up son, of the strange fellow who had stared at +her in such a curious fashion. Disappointment in not finding her had +brought a reaction. He had an inward and uncomfortable feeling of having +been very silly, and of having allowed his imagination to get the better +of his common sense. He had persuaded himself to believe that she had +been in very great dis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>tress. He had acted honestly and with chivalric +intentions. And yet, after what had passed between him and Father Roland +in the smoking compartment—and in view of his failure to establish a +proof of his own convictions—he was determined to keep this particular +event of the night to himself.</p> + +<p>A loud voice began to announce that the moment of departure had arrived, +and as the passengers began scrambling back into their coaches, Father +Roland led the way to the baggage car.</p> + +<p>"They're going to let us ride with the dunnage so there won't be any +mistake or time lost when we get to Thoreau's," he said.</p> + +<p>They climbed up into the warm and lighted car, and after the baggage-man +in charge had given them a sour nod of recognition the first thing that +David noticed was his own and Father Roland's property stacked up near +the door. His own belongings were a steamer trunk and two black morocco +bags, while Father Roland's share of the pile consisted mostly of boxes +and bulging gunny sacks that must have weighed close to half a ton. Near +the pile was a pair of scales, shoved back against the wall of the car. +David laughed queerly as he nodded toward them. They gave him a rather +satisfying inspiration. With them he could prove the incongruity of the +partnership that had already begun to exist between him and the +Missioner. He weighed himself, with Father Roland looking on. The scales +balanced at 132.</p> + +<p>"And I'm five feet nine in height," he said, disgustedly; "it should be +160. You see where I'm at!"</p> + +<p>"I knew a 200-pound pig once that worried himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> down to ninety +because the man who kept him also kept skunks," replied Father Roland, +with his odd chuckle. "Next to small-pox and a bullet through your +heart, worry is about the blackest, man-killingest thing on earth, +David. See that bag?"</p> + +<p>He pointed to one of the bulging gunny sacks.</p> + +<p>"That's the antidote," he said. "It's the best medicine I know of in the +grub line for a man who's lost his grip. There's the making of three men +in that sack."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked David, curiously.</p> + +<p>The Missioner bent over to examine a card attached to the neck of the +bag.</p> + +<p>"To be perfectly accurate it contains 110 pounds of beans," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Beans! Great Heavens! I loathe them!"</p> + +<p>"So do most down-and-outs," affirmed Father Roland, cheerfully. "That's +one reason for the peculiar psychological value of beans. They begin to +tell you when you're getting weaned away from a lobster palate and a +stuffed-crab stomach, and when you get to the point where you want 'em +on your regular bill of fare you'll find more fun in chopping down a +tree than in going to a grand opera. But the beans must be <i>cooked</i> +right, David—browned like a nut, juicy to the heart of 'em, and +seasoned alongside a broiling duck or partridge, or a tender rabbit. +Ah!"</p> + +<p>The Little Missioner rubbed his hands ecstatically.</p> + +<p>David's rejoinder, if one was on his lips, was interrupted by a violent +cursing. The train was well under way, and the baggage-man had sat down +to a small table with his back toward them. He had leaped to his feet +now, his face furious, and with another demoniac curse he gave the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> coal +skuttle a kick that sent it with a bang to the far end of the car. The +table was littered with playing cards.</p> + +<p>"Damn 'em—they beat me this time in ten plays!" he yelled. "They've got +the devil in 'em! If they was alive I'd jump on 'em! I've played this +game of solitaire for nineteen years—I've played a million games—an' +damned if I ever got beat in my life as it's beat me since we left +Halifax!"</p> + +<p>"Dear Heaven!" gasped Father Roland. "Have you been playing all the way +from Halifax?"</p> + +<p>The solitaire fiend seemed not to hear, and resuming his seat with a low +and ominous muttering, he dealt himself another hand. In less than a +minute he was on his feet again, shaking the cards angrily under the +Little Missioner's nose as though that individual were entirely +accountable for his bad luck.</p> + +<p>"Look at that accursed trey of hearts!" he demanded. "First card, ain't +it? First card!—an' if it had been the third, 'r the sixth, 'r the +ninth, 'r anything except that confounded Number One, I'd have slipped +the game up my sleeve. Ain't it enough to wreck any honest man's soul? I +ask you—ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Why don't you change the trey of hearts to the place that suits you?" +asked David, innocently. "It seems to me it would be very easy to move +it to third place in the deck if you want it there."</p> + +<p>The baggage-man's bulging eyes seemed ready to pop as he stared at +David, and when he saw that David really meant what he had said a look +of unutterable disgust spread over his countenance. Then he grinned—a +sickly and malicious sort of grin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Say, mister, you've never played solitaire, have you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Never," confessed David.</p> + +<p>Without another word the baggage-man hunched himself over his table, +dealt himself another hand, and not until the train began slowing up for +Thoreau's place did he rise from his seat or cease his low mutterings +and grumblings. In response to the engineer's whistle he jumped to his +feet and rolled back the car door.</p> + +<p>"Now step lively!" he demanded. "We've got no orders to stop here and +we'll have to dump this stuff out on the move!"</p> + +<p>As he spoke he gave the hundred and ten pounds of beans a heave out into +the night. Father Roland jumped to his assistance, and David saw his +steamer trunk and his hand-bags follow the beans.</p> + +<p>"The snow is soft and deep, an' there won't be any harm done," Father +Roland assured him as he tossed out a 50-pound box of prunes.</p> + +<p>David heard sounds now: a man's shout, a fiendish tonguing of dogs, and +above that a steady chorus of yapping which he guessed came from the +foxes. Suddenly a lantern gleamed, then a second and a third, and a +dark, bearded face—a fierce and piratical-looking face—began running +along outside the door. The last box and the last bag went off, and with +a sudden movement the train-man hauled David to the door.</p> + +<p>"Jump!" he cried.</p> + +<p>The face and the lantern had fallen behind, and it was as black as an +abyss outside. With a mute prayer David launched himself much as he had +seen the bags and boxes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> sent out. He fell with a thud in a soft blanket +of snow. He looked up in time to see the Little Missioner flying out +like a curious gargoyle through the door; the baggage-man's lantern +waved, the engineer's whistle gave a responding screech, and the train +whirred past. Not until the tail-light of the last coach was receding +like a great red firefly in the gloom did David get up. Father Roland +was on his feet, and down the track came two of the three lanterns on +the run.</p> + +<p>It was all unusually weird and strangely interesting to David. He was +breathing deeply. There was a warmth in his body which was new to him. +It struck him all at once, as he heard Father Roland crunching through +the snow, that he was experiencing an entirely new phase of life—a life +he had read about at times and dreamed of at other times, but which he +had never come physically in contact with. The yapping of the foxes, the +crying of the dogs, those lanterns hurrying down the track, the +blackness of the night, and the strong perfume of balsam in the cold +air—an odour that he breathed deep into his lungs like the fumes of an +exhilarating drink—quickened sharply a pulse that a few hours before he +thought was almost lifeless. He had no time to ask himself whether he +was enjoying these new sensations; he felt only the thrill of them as +Thoreau and the Indian came up out of the night with their lanterns. In +Thoreau himself, as he stood a moment later in the glow of the lanterns, +was embodied the living, breathing spirit of this new world into which +David's leap out of the baggage car had plunged him. He was +picturesquely of the wild; his face was darkly bearded; his ivory-white +teeth shining as he smiled a welcome; his tri<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>coloured, Hudson's Bay +coat of wool, with its frivolous red fringes, thrown open at the throat; +the bushy tail of his fisher-skin cap hanging over a shoulder—and with +these things his voice rattling forth, in French and half Indian, his +joy that Father Roland was not dead but had arrived at last. Behind him +stood the Indian—his face without expression, dark, shrouded—a bronze +sphinx of mystery. But his eyes shone as the Little Missioner greeted +him—shone so darkly and so full of fire that for a moment David was +fascinated by them. Then David was introduced.</p> + +<p>"I am happy to meet you, m'sieu," said the Frenchman. His race was +softly polite, even in the forests, and Thoreau's voice, now mildly +subdued, came strangely from the bearded wildness of his face. The grip +of his hand was like Father Roland's—something David had never felt +among his friends back in the city. He winced in the darkness, and for a +long time afterward his fingers tingled.</p> + +<p>It was then that David made his first break in the etiquette of the +forests; a fortunate one, as time proved. He did not know that shaking +hands with an Indian was a matter of some formality, and so when Father +Roland said, "This is Mukoki, who has been with me for many years," +David thrust out his hand. Mukoki looked him straight in the eye for a +moment, and then his blanket-coat parted and his slim, dark hand reached +out. Having received his lesson from both the Missioner and the +Frenchman, David put into his grip all the strength that was in him—the +warmest hand-shake Mukoki had ever received in his life from a white +man, with the exception of his master, the Missioner.</p> + +<p>The next thing David heard was Father Roland's voice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> inquiring eagerly +about supper. Thoreau's reply was in French.</p> + +<p>"He says the cabin is like the inside of a great, roast duck," chuckled +the Missioner. "Come, David. We'll leave Mukoki to gather up our +freight."</p> + +<p>A short walk up the track and David saw the cabin. It was back in the +shelter of the black spruce and balsam, its two windows that faced the +railroad warmly illumined by the light inside. The foxes had ceased +their yapping, but the snarling and howling of dogs became more +bloodthirsty as they drew nearer, and David could hear an ominous +clinking of chains and snapping of teeth. A few steps more and they were +at the door. Thoreau himself opened it, and stood back.</p> + +<p>"<i>Après vous, m'sieu</i>," he said, his white teeth shining at David. "It +would give me bad luck and possibly all my foxes would die, if I went +into my house ahead of a stranger."</p> + +<p>David went in. An Indian woman stood with her back to him, bending over +a table. She was as slim as a reed, and had the longest and sleekest +black hair he had ever seen, done in two heavy braids that hung down her +back. In another moment she had turned her round, brown face, and her +teeth and eyes were shining, but she spoke no word. Thoreau did not +introduce his wild-flower wife. He had opened his cabin door, and had +let David enter before him, which was accepting him as a friend in his +home, and therefore, in his understanding of things, an introduction was +unnecessary and out of place. Father Roland chuckled, rubbed his hands +briskly, and said something to the woman in her own language that made +her giggle shyly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> It was contagious. David smiled. Father Roland's face +was crinkled with little lines of joy. The Frenchman's teeth gleamed. In +the big cook-stove the fire snapped and crackled and popped. Marie +opened the stove door to put in more wood and her face shone rosy and +her teeth were like milk in the fire-flash. Thoreau went to her and laid +his big, heavy hand fondly on her sleek head, and said something in soft +Cree that brought another giggle into Marie's throat, like the curious +note of a bird.</p> + +<p>In David there was a slow and wonderful awakening. Every fibre of him +was stirred by the cheer of this cabin builded from logs rough-hewn out +of the forest; his body, weakened by the months of mental and physical +anguish which had been his burden, seemed filled with a new strength. +Unconsciously he was smiling and his soul was rising out of its dark +prison as he saw Thoreau's big hand stroking Marie's shining hair. He +was watching Thoreau when, at a word from Marie, the Frenchman suddenly +swung open the oven door and pulled forth a huge roasting pan.</p> + +<p>At sight of the pan Father Roland gave a joyous cry, and he rubbed his +hands raspingly together. The rich aroma of that pan! A delicious whiff +of it had struck their nostrils even before the cabin door had +opened—that and a perfume of coffee; but not until now did the +fragrance of the oven and the pan smite them with all its potency.</p> + +<p>"Mallards fattened on wild rice, and a rabbit—my favourite—a rabbit +roasted with an onion where his heart was, and well peppered," gloated +the Little Missioner. "Dear Heaven! was there ever such a mess to put +strength into a man's gizzard, David? And coffee—this coffee of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +Marie's! It is more than ambrosia. It is an elixir which transforms a +cup into a fountain of youth. Take off your coat, David; take off your +coat and make yourself at home!"</p> + +<p>As David stripped off his coat, and followed that with his collar and +tie, he thought of his steamer trunk with its Tuxedo and dress-coat, its +piqué shirts and poke collars, its suede gloves and kid-topped patent +leathers, and he felt the tips of his ears beginning to burn. He was +sorry now that he had given the Missioner the check to that trunk.</p> + +<p>A minute later he was sousing his face in a big tin wash-basin, and then +drying it on a towel that had once been a burlap bag. But he had noticed +that it was clean—as clean as the pink-flushed face of Marie. And the +Frenchman himself, with all his hair, and his beard, and his rough-worn +clothing, was as clean as the burlap towelling. Being a stranger, +suddenly plunged into a life entirely new to him, these things impressed +David.</p> + +<p>When they sat down to the table—Thoreau sitting for company, and Marie +standing behind them—he was at a loss at first to know how to begin. +His plate was of tin and a foot in diameter, and on it was a three-pound +mallard duck, dripping with juice and as brown as a ripe hazel-nut. He +made a business of arranging his sleeves and drinking a glass of water +while he watched the famished Little Missioner. With a chuckle of +delight Father Roland plunged the tines of his fork hilt deep into the +breast of the duck, seized a leg in his fingers, and dismembered the +luscious anatomy of his plate with a deft twist and a sudden pull. With +his teeth buried in the leg he looked across at David. David had eaten +duck before; that is, he had eaten of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> family <i>anas boschas</i> +disguised in thick gravies and highbrow sauces, but this duck that he +ate at Thoreau's table was like no other duck that he had ever tasted in +all his life. He began with misgivings at the three-pound carcass, and +he ended with an entirely new feeling of stuffed satisfaction. He +explored at will into its structure, and he found succulent morsels +which he had never dreamed of as existing in this particular bird, for +his experience had never before gone beyond a leg of duck and thinly +carved slices of breast of duck, at from eighty cents to a dollar and a +quarter an order. He would have been ashamed of himself when he had +finished had it not been that Father Roland seemed only at the +beginning, and was turning the vigour of his attack from duck to rabbit +and onion. From then on David kept him company by drinking a third cup +of coffee.</p> + +<p>When he had finished Father Roland settled back with a sigh of content, +and drew a worn buckskin pouch from one of the voluminous pockets of his +trousers. Out of this he produced a black pipe and tobacco. At the same +time Thoreau was filling and lighting his own. In his studies and +late-hour work at home David himself had been a pipe smoker, but of late +his pipe had been distasteful to him, and it had been many weeks since +he had indulged in anything but cigars and an occasional cigarette. He +looked at the placid satisfaction in the Little Missioner's face, and +saw Thoreau's head wreathed in smoke, and he felt for the first time in +those weeks the return of his old desire. While they were eating, Mukoki +and another Indian had brought in his trunk and bags, and he went now to +one of the bags, opened it, and got his own pipe and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> tobacco. As he +stuffed the bowl of his English briar, and lighted the tobacco, Father +Roland's glowing face beamed at him through the fragrant fumes of his +Hudson's Bay Mixture.</p> + +<p>Against the wall, a little in shadow, so that she would not be a part of +their company or whatever conversation they might have, Marie had seated +herself, her round chin in the cup of her brown hand, her dark eyes +shining at this comfort and satisfaction of men. Such scenes as this +amply repaid her for all her toil in life. She was happy. There was +content in this cabin. David felt it. It impinged itself upon him, and +through him, in a strange and mysterious way. Within these log walls he +felt the presence of that spirit—the joy of companionship and of +life—which had so terribly eluded and escaped him in his own home of +wealth and luxury. He heard Marie speak only once that night—once, in a +low, soft voice to Thoreau. She was silent with the silence of the Cree +wife in the presence of a stranger, but he knew that her heart was +throbbing with the soft pulse of happiness, and for some reason he was +glad when Thoreau nodded proudly toward a closed door and let him know +that she was a mother. Marie heard him, and in that moment David caught +in her face a look that made his heart ache—a look that should have +been a part of his own life, and which he had missed.</p> + +<p>A little later Thoreau led the way into the room which David was to +occupy for the night. It was a small room, with a sapling partition +between it and the one in which the Missioner was to sleep. The fox +breeder placed a lamp on the table near the bed, and bade David +good-night.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was past two o'clock, and yet David felt at the present moment no +desire for sleep. After he had taken off his shoes and partially +undressed, he sat on the edge of his bed and allowed his mind to sweep +back over the events of the last few hours. Again he thought of the +woman in the coach—the woman with those wonderful, dark eyes and +haunting face—and he drew forth from his coat pocket the package which +she had forgotten. He handled it curiously. He looked at the red string, +noted how tightly the knot was tied, and turned it over and over in his +hands before he snapped the string. He was a little ashamed at his +eagerness to know what was within its worn newspaper wrapping. He felt +the disgrace of his curiosity, even though he assured himself there was +no reason why he should not investigate the package now when all +ownership was lost. He knew that he would never see the woman again, and +that she would always remain a mystery to him unless what he held in his +hands revealed the secret of her identity.</p> + +<p>A half minute more and he was leaning over in the full light of the +lamp, his two hands clutching the thing which the paper had disclosed +when it dropped to the floor, his eyes staring, his lips parted, and his +heart seeming to stand still in the utter amazement of the moment!</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> + +<p>David held in his hands a photograph—the picture of a girl. He had half +guessed what he would find when he began to unfold the newspaper +wrapping and saw the edge of gray cardboard. In the same breath had come +his astonishment—a surprise that was almost a shock. The night had been +filled with changes for him; forces which he had not yet begun to +comprehend had drawn him into the beginning of a strange adventure; they +had purged his thoughts of <i>himself</i>; they had forced upon him other +things, other people, and a glimpse or two of another sort of life; he +had seen tragedy, and happiness—a bit of something to laugh at; and he +had felt the thrill of it all. A few hours had made him the bewildered +and yet passive object of the unexpected. And now, as he sat alone on +the edge of his bed, had come the climax of the unexpected.</p> + +<p>The girl in the picture was not dead—not merely a lifeless shadow put +there by the art of a camera. She was alive! That was his first +thought—his first impression. It was as if he had come upon her +suddenly, and by his presence had startled her—had made her face him +squarely, tensely, a little frightened, and yet defiant, and ready for +flight. In that first moment he would not have disbelieved his eyes if +she had moved, if she had drawn away from him and disappeared out of the +picture with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> swiftness of a bird. For he—some one—had startled +her; some one had frightened her; some one had made her afraid, and yet +defiant; some one had roused in her that bird-like impulse of flight +even as the camera had clicked.</p> + +<p>He bent closer into the lampglow, and stared. The girl was standing on a +flat slab of rock close to the edge of a pool. Behind her was a carpet +of white sand, and beyond that a rock-cluttered gorge and the side of a +mountain. She was barefooted. Her feet were white against the dark rock. +Her arms were bare to the elbows, and shone with that same whiteness. He +took these things in one by one, as if it were impossible for the +picture to impress itself upon him all at once. She stood leaning a +little forward on the rock slab, her dress only a little below her +knees, and as she leaned thus, her eyes flashing and her lips parted, +the wind had flung a wonderful disarray of curls over her shoulder and +breast. He saw the sunlight in them; in the lampglow they seemed to +move; the throb of her breast seemed to give them life; one hand seemed +about to fling them back from her face; her lips quivered as if about to +speak to him. Against the savage background of mountain and gorge she +stood out clear-cut as a cameo, slender as a reed, wild, palpitating, +beautiful. She was more than a picture. She was life. She was +there—with David in his room—as surely as the woman had been with him +in the coach.</p> + +<p>He drew a deep breath and sat back on the edge of his bed. He heard +Father Roland getting into his creaky bed in the adjoining room. Then +came the Missioner's voice.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, David."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Father."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>For a space after that he sat staring blankly at the log of his room. +Then he leaned over again and held the photograph a second time in the +lampglow. The first strange spell of the picture was broken, and he +looked at it more coolly, more critically, a little disgusted with +himself for having allowed his imagination to play a trick on him. He +turned it over in his hands, and on the back of the cardboard mount he +saw there had been writing. He examined it closely, and made out faintly +the words, "Firepan Creek, Stikine River, August...." and the date was +gone. That was all. There was no name, no word that might give him a +clue as to the identity of the mysterious woman in the coach, or her +relationship to the strange picture she had left in her seat when she +disappeared at Graham.</p> + +<p>Once more his puzzled eyes tried to find some solution to the mystery of +this night in the picture of the girl herself, and as he looked, +question after question pounded through his head. What had startled her? +Who had frightened her? What had brought that hunted look—that +half-defiance—into her poise and eyes, just as he had seen the strange +questing and suppressed fear in the eyes and face of the woman in the +coach? He made no effort to answer, but accepted the visual facts as +they came to him. She was young, the girl in the picture; almost a child +as he regarded childhood. Perhaps seventeen, or a month or two older; he +was curiously precise in adding that month or two. Something in the +<i>woman</i> of her as she stood on the rock made it occur to him as +necessary. He saw, now, that she had been wading in the pool, for she +had dropped a stocking on the white sand, and near it lay an object +that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> was a shoe or a moccasin, he could not make out which. It was +while she had been wading—alone—that the interruption had come; she +had turned; she had sprung to the flat rock, her hands a little +clenched, her eyes flashing, her breast panting under the smother of her +hair; and it was in this moment, as she stood ready to fight—or +fly—that the camera had caught her.</p> + +<p>Now, as he scanned this picture, as it lived before his eyes, a faint +smile played over his lips, a smile in which there was a little humour +and much irony. He had been a fool that day, twice a fool, perhaps three +times a fool. Nothing but folly, a diseased conception of things, could +have made him see tragedy in the face of the woman in the coach, or have +induced him to follow her. Sleeplessness—a mental exhaustion to which +his body had not responded in two days and two nights—had dulled his +senses and his reason. He felt an unpleasant desire to laugh at himself. +Tragedy! A woman in distress! He shrugged his shoulders, and his teeth +gleamed in a cold smile at the girl in the picture. Surely there was no +tragedy or mystery in her poise on that rock! She had been bathing, +alone, hidden away as she thought; some one had crept up, had disturbed +her, and the camera had clicked at the psychological moment of her +bird-like poise when she was not yet decided whether to turn in flight +or remain and punish the intruder with her anger. It was quite clear to +him. Any girl caught in the same way might have betrayed the same +emotions. But—Firepan Creek—Stikine River.... And she was wild. She +was a creature of those mountains and that wild gorge, wherever they +were—and beautiful—slender as a flower—lovelier than....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>David set his lips tight. They shut off a quick breath, a gasp, the +sharp surge of a sudden pain. Swift as his thoughts there had come a +transformation in the picture before his eyes—a drawing of a curtain +over it, like a golden veil; and then <i>she</i> was standing there, and the +gold had gathered about her in the wonderful mantle of her +hair—shining, dishevelled hair—a bare, white arm thrust upward through +its sheen, and <i>her</i> face—taunting, unafraid—<i>laughing at him</i>! Good +God! could he never kill that memory? Was it upon him again to-night, +clutching at his throat, stifling his heart, grinding him into the agony +he could not fight—that vision of her—<i>his wife?</i> That girl on her +rock, so like a slender flower! That woman in her room, so like a golden +goddess! Both caught—unexpectedly! What devil-spirit had made him pick +up this picture from the woman's seat? What....</p> + +<p>His fingers tightened upon the photograph, ready to tear it into bits. +The cardboard ripped an inch—and he stopped suddenly his impulse to +destroy. The girl was looking at him again from out of the +picture—looking at him with clear, wide eyes, surprised at his +weakness, startled by the fierceness of his assault upon her, wondering, +amazed, questioning him! For the first time he saw what he had missed +before—that <i>questioning</i> in her eyes. It was as if she were on the +point of asking him something—as if her voice had just come from +between her parted lips, or were about to come. And for <i>him;</i> that was +it—for <i>him!</i></p> + +<p>His fingers relaxed. He smoothed down the torn edge of the cardboard, as +if it had been a wound in his own flesh. After all, this inanimate thing +was very much like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> himself. It was lost, a thing out of place, and out +of home; a wanderer from now on depending largely, like himself, on the +charity of fate. Almost gently he returned it to its newspaper wrapping. +Deep within him there was a sentiment which made him cherish little +things which had belonged to the past—a baby's shoe, a faded ribbon, a +withered flower that <i>she</i> had worn on the night they were married; and +memories—memories that he might better have let droop and die. +Something of this spirit was in the touch of his fingers as he placed +the photograph on the table.</p> + +<p>He finished undressing quietly. Before he turned in he placed a hand on +his head. It was hot, feverish. This was not unusual, and it did not +alarm him. Quite often of late these hot and feverish spells had come +upon him, nearly always at night. Usually they were followed the next +day by a terrific headache. More and more frequently they had been +warning him how nearly down and out he was, and he knew what to expect. +He put out his light and stretched himself between the warm blankets of +his bed, knowing that he was about to begin again the fight he +dreaded—the struggle that always came at night with the demon that +lived within him, the demon that was feeding on his life as a leech +feeds on blood, the demon that was killing him inch by inch. Nerves +altogether unstrung! Nerves frayed and broken until they were bleeding! +Worry—emptiness of heart and soul—a world turned black! And all +because of <i>her</i>—the golden goddess who had laughed at him in her room, +whose laughter would never die out of his ears. He gritted his teeth; +his hands clenched under his blankets; a surge of anger swept<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> through +him—for an instant it was almost hatred. Was it possible that she—that +woman who had been his wife—could chain him now, enslave his thoughts, +fill his mind, his brain, his body, <i>after what had happened?</i> Why was +it that he could not rise up and laugh and shrug his shoulders, and +thank God that, after all, there had been no children? Why couldn't he +do that? <i>Why? Why?</i></p> + +<p>A long time afterward he seemed to be asking that question. He seemed to +be crying it out aloud, over and over again, in a strange and mysterious +wilderness; and at last he seemed to be very near to a girl who was +standing on a rock waiting for him; a girl who bent toward him like a +wonderful flower, her arms reaching out, her lips parted, her eyes +shining through the glory of her windswept hair as she listened to his +cry of "<i>Why? Why?</i>"</p> + +<p>He slept. It was a deep, cool sleep; a slumber beside a shadowed pool, +with the wind whispering gently in strange tree tops, and water rippling +softly in a strange stream.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> + +<p>Sunshine followed storm. The winter sun was cresting the tree tops when +Thoreau got out of his bed to build a fire in the big stove. It was nine +o'clock, and bitterly cold. The frost lay thick upon the windows, with +the sun staining it like the silver and gold of old cathedral glass, and +as the fox breeder opened the cabin door to look at his thermometer he +heard the snap and crack of that cold in the trees outside, and in the +timbers of the log walls. He always looked at the thermometer before he +built his fire—a fixed habit in him; he wanted to know, first of all, +whether it had been a good night for his foxes, and whether it had been +too cold for the furred creatures of the forest to travel. Fifty degrees +below zero was bad for fisher and marten and lynx; on such nights they +preferred the warmth of snug holes and deep windfalls to full stomachs, +and his traps were usually empty. This morning it was forty-seven +degrees below zero. Cold enough! He turned, closed the door, shivered. +Then he stopped halfway to the stove, and stared.</p> + +<p>Last night, or rather in that black part of the early day when they had +gone to bed, Father Roland had warned him to make no noise in the +morning; that they would let David sleep until noon; that he was sick, +worn out, and needed rest. And there he stood now in the doorway of his +room, even before the fire was started—looking five<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> years younger than +he looked last night, nodding cheerfully.</p> + +<p>Thoreau grinned.</p> + +<p>"<i>Boo-jou, m'sieu</i>," he said in his Cree-French. "My order was to make +no noise and to let you sleep," and he nodded toward the Missioner's +room.</p> + +<p>"The sun woke me," said David. "Come here. I want you to see it!"</p> + +<p>Thoreau went and stood beside him, and David pointed to the one window +of his room, which faced the rising sun. The window was covered with +frost, and the frost as they looked at it was like a golden fire.</p> + +<p>"I think that was what woke me," he said. "At least my eyes were on it +when I opened them. It is wonderful!"</p> + +<p>"It is very cold, and the frost is thick," said Thoreau. "It will go +quickly after I have built a fire, m'sieu. And then you will see the +sun—the real sun."</p> + +<p>David watched him as he built the fire. The first crackling of it sent a +comfort through him. He had slept well, so soundly that not once had he +roused himself during his six hours in bed. It was the first time he had +slept like that in months. His blood tingled with a new warmth. He had +no headache. There was not that dull pain behind his eyes. He breathed +more easily—the air passed like a tonic into his lungs. It was as if +those wonderful hours of sleep had wrested some deadly obstruction out +of his veins. The fire crackled. It roared up the big chimney. The +jack-pine knots, heavy with pitch, gave to the top of the stove a rosy +glow. Thoreau stuffed more fuel into the blazing firepot, and the glow +spread cheerfully, and with the warmth that was filling the cabin there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +mingled the sweet scent of the pine-pitch and burning balsam. David +rubbed his hands. He was rubbing them when Marie came into the room, +plaiting the second of her two great ropes of shining black hair. He +nodded. Marie smiled, showing her white teeth, her dark eyes clear as a +fawn's. He felt within him a strange rejoicing—for Thoreau. Thoreau was +a lucky man. He could see proof of it in the Cree woman's face. Both +were lucky. They were happy—a man and woman together, as things should +be.</p> + +<p>Thoreau had broken the ice in a pail and now he filled the wash-basin +for him. Ice water for his morning ablution was a new thing for David. +But he plunged his face into it recklessly. Little particles of ice +pricked his skin, and the chill of the water seemed to sink into his +vitals. It was a sudden change from water as hot as he could stand—to +this. His teeth clicked as he wiped himself on the burlap towelling. +Marie used the basin next, and then Thoreau. When Marie had dried her +face he noted the old-rose flush in her cheeks, the fire of rich, red +blood glowing under her dark skin. Thoreau himself blubbered and spouted +in his ice-water bath like a joyous porpoise, and he rubbed himself on +the burlap until the two apple-red spots above his beard shone like the +glow that had spread over the top of the stove. David found himself +noticing these things—very small things though they were; he discovered +himself taking a sudden and curious interest in events and things of no +importance at all, even in the quick, deft slash of the Frenchman's long +knife as he cut up the huge whitefish that was to be their breakfast. He +watched Marie as she wallowed the thick slices in yellow corn-meal, and +listened to the first hissing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> sputter of them as they were dropped into +the hot grease of the skillet. And the odour of the fish, taken only +yesterday from the net which Thoreau kept in the frozen lake, made him +hungry. This was unusual. It was unexpected as other things that had +happened. It puzzled him.</p> + +<p>He returned to his room, with a suspicion in his mind that he should put +on a collar and tie, and his coat. He changed his mind when he saw the +photograph in its newspaper wrapping on the table. In another moment it +was in his hands. Now, with day in the room, the sun shining, he +expected to see a change. But there was no change in her; she was there, +as he had left her last night; the question was in her eyes, unspoken +words still on her lips. Then, suddenly, it swept upon him where he had +been in those first hours of peaceful slumber that had come to +him—beside a quiet, dark pool—gently whispering forests about him—an +angel standing close to him, on a rock, shrouded in her hair—watching +over him. A thrill passed through him. Was it possible?... He did not +finish the question. He could not bring himself to ask whether this +picture—some strange spirit it might possess—had reached out to him, +quieted him, made him sleep, brought him dreams that were like a healing +medicine. And yet....</p> + +<p>He remembered that in one of his leather bags there was a magnifying +glass, and he assured himself that he was merely curious—most casually +curious—as he hunted it out from among his belongings and scanned the +almost illegible writing on the back of the cardboard mount. He made out +the date quite easily now, impressed in the cardboard by the point of a +pencil. It was only a little more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> than a year old. It was unaccountable +why this discovery should affect him as it did. He made no effort to +measure or sound the satisfaction it gave him—this knowledge that the +girl had stood so recently on that rock beside the pool. He was +beginning to personalize her unconsciously, beginning to think of her +mentally as the Girl. She was a bit friendly. With her looking at him +like that he did not feel quite so alone with himself. And there could +not be much of a change in her since that yesterday of a year ago, when +some one had startled her there.</p> + +<p>It was Father Roland's voice that made him wrap up the picture again, +this time not in its old covering, but in a silk handkerchief which he +had pawed out of his bag, and which he dropped back again, and locked +in. Thoreau was telling the Missioner about David's early rising when +the latter reappeared. They shook hands, and the Missioner, looking +David keenly in the eyes, saw the change in him.</p> + +<p>"No need to tell me you had a good night!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Splendid," affirmed David.</p> + +<p>The window was blazing with the golden sun now; it shot through where +the frost was giving way, and a ray of it fell like a fiery shaft on +Marie's glossy head as she bent over the table. Father Roland pointed to +the window with one hand on David's arm.</p> + +<p>"Wait until you get out into <i>that</i>," he said. "This is just a +beginning, David—just a beginning!"</p> + +<p>They sat down to breakfast, fish and coffee, bread and potatoes—and +beans. It was almost finished when David split open his third piece of +fish, white as snow under its crisp brown, and asked quite casually:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear of the Stikine River, Father?"</p> + +<p>Father Roland sat up, stopped his eating, and looked at David for a +moment as though the question struck an unusual personal interest in +him.</p> + +<p>"I know a man who lived for a great many years along the Stikine," he +replied then. "He knows every mile of it from where it empties into the +sea at Point Rothshay to the Lost Country between Mount Finlay and the +Sheep Mountains. It's in the northern part of British Columbia, with its +upper waters reaching into the Yukon. A wild country. A country less +known than it was sixty years ago, when there was a gold rush up over +the old telegraph trail. Tavish has told me a lot about it. A queer +man—this Tavish. We hit his cabin on our way to God's Lake."</p> + +<p>"Did he ever tell you," said David, with an odd quiver in his +throat—"Did he ever tell you of a stream, a tributary stream, called +Firepan Creek?"</p> + +<p>"Firepan Creek—Firepan Creek," mumbled the Little Missioner. "He has +told me a great many things, this Tavish, but I can't remember that. +<i>Firepan Creek!</i> Yes, he did! I remember, now. He had a cabin on it one +year, the year he had small-pox. He almost died there. I want you to +meet Tavish, David. We will stay overnight at his cabin. He is a strange +character—a great object lesson." Suddenly he came back to David's +question. "What do you want to know about Stikine River and Firepan +Creek?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I was reading something about them that interested me," replied David. +"A <i>very</i> wild country, I take it, from what Tavish has told you. +Probably no white people."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Always, everywhere, there are a few white people," said Father Roland. +"Tavish is white, and he was there. Sixty years ago, in the gold rush, +there must have been many. But I fancy there are very few now. Tavish +can tell us. He came from there only a year ago this last September."</p> + +<p>David asked no more questions. He turned his attention entirely to his +fish. In that same moment there came an outburst from the foxes that +made Thoreau grin. Their yapping rose until it was a clamorous demand. +Then the dogs joined in. To David it seemed as though there must be a +thousand foxes out in the Frenchman's pens, and at least a hundred dogs +just beyond the cabin walls. The sound was blood-curdling in a way. He +had heard nothing like it before in all his life; it almost made one +shiver to think of going outside. The chorus kept up for fully a minute. +Then it began to die out, and David could hear the chill clink of +chains. Through it all Thoreau was grinning.</p> + +<p>"It's two hours over feeding time for the foxes, and they know it, +m'sieur," he explained to David. "Their outcry excites the huskies, and +when the two go together—<i>Mon Dieu</i>! it is enough to raise the dead." +He pushed himself back from the table and rose to his feet. "I am going +to feed them now. Would you like to see it, m'sieu?"</p> + +<p>Father Roland answered for him.</p> + +<p>"Give us ten minutes and we shall be ready," he said, seizing David by +the arm, and speaking to Thoreau. "Come with me, David. I have something +waiting for you."</p> + +<p>They went into the Little Missioner's room, and pointing to his tumbled +bed, Father Roland said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now, David, strip!"</p> + +<p>David had noticed with some concern the garments worn that morning by +Father Roland and the Frenchman—their thick woollen shirts, their +strange-looking, heavy trousers that were met just below the knees by +the tops of bulky German socks, turned over as he had worn his more +fashionable hosiery in the college days when golf suits, bulldog pipes, +and white terriers were the rage. He had stared furtively at Thoreau's +great feet in their moose-hide moccasins, thinking of his own vici kids, +the heaviest footwear he had brought with him. The problem of outfitting +was solved for him now, as he looked at the bed, and as Father Roland +withdrew, rubbing his hands until they cracked, David began undressing. +In less than a quarter of an hour he was ready for the big outdoors. +When the Missioner returned to give him a first lesson in properly +"stringing up" his moccasins, he brought with him a fur cap very similar +to that worn by Thoreau. He was amazed to find how perfectly it fitted.</p> + +<p>"You see," said Father Roland, pleased at David's wonder, "I always take +back a bale of this stuff with me, of different sizes; it comes in +handy, you know. And the cap...."</p> + +<p>He chuckled as David surveyed as much as he could see of himself in a +small mirror.</p> + +<p>"The cap is Marie's work," he finished. "She got the size from your hat +and made it while we were asleep. A fine fisher-coat that—Thoreau's +best. And a good fit, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Marie ... did this ... for me?" demanded David.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Missioner nodded.</p> + +<p>"And the pay, Father...."</p> + +<p>"Among friends of the forests, David, never speak of pay."</p> + +<p>"But this skin! It is beautiful—valuable...."</p> + +<p>"And it is yours," said Father Roland. "I am glad you mentioned payment +to me, and not to Thoreau or Marie. They might not have understood, and +it would have hurt them. If there had been anything to pay, <i>they</i> would +have mentioned it in the giving; <i>I</i> would have mentioned it. That is a +fine point of etiquette, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Slowly there came a look into David's face which the other did not at +first understand. After a moment he said, without looking at the +Missioner, and in a voice that had a curious hard note in it:</p> + +<p>"But for this ... Marie will let me give her something in return—a +little something I have no use for now? A little gift—my thanks—my +friendship...."</p> + +<p>He did not wait for the Missioner to reply, but went to one of his two +leather bags. He unlocked the one in which he had placed the photograph +of the girl. Out of it he took a small plush box. It was so small that +it lay in the palm of his hand as he held it out to Father Roland.</p> + +<p>Deeper lines had gathered about his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Give this to Marie—for me."</p> + +<p>Father Roland took the box. He did not look at it. Steadily he gazed +into David's eyes.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"A locket," replied David. "It belonged to <i>her</i>. In it is a +picture—her picture—the only one I have. Will you—please—destroy the +picture before you give the locket to Marie?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>Father Roland saw the quick, sudden throb in David's throat. He gripped +the little box in his hand until it seemed as though he would crush it, +and his heart was beating with the triumph of a drum. He spoke but one +word, his eyes meeting David's eyes, but that one word was a whisper +from straight out of his soul, and the word was:</p> + +<p>"<i>Victory!</i>"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> + +<p>Father Roland slipped the little plush box into his pocket as he and +David went out to join Thoreau. They left the cabin together, Marie +lifting her eyes from her work in a furtive glance to see if the +stranger was wearing her cap.</p> + +<p>A wild outcry from the dogs greeted the three men as they appeared +outside the door, and for the first time David saw with his eyes what he +had only heard last night. Among the balsams and spruce close to the +cabin there were fully a score of the wildest and most savage-looking +dogs he had ever beheld. As he stood for a moment, gazing about him, +three things impressed themselves upon him in a flash: it was a glorious +day, it was so cold that he felt a curious sting in the air, and not one +of those long-haired, white-fanged beasts straining at their leashes +possessed a kennel, or even a brush shelter. It was this last fact that +struck him most forcefully. Inherently he was a lover of animals, and he +believed these four-footed creatures of Thoreau's must have suffered +terribly during the night. He noticed that at the foot of each tree to +which a dog was attached there was a round, smooth depression in the +snow, where the animal had slept. The next few minutes added to his +conviction that the Frenchman and the Missioner were heartless masters, +though open-handed hosts. Mukoki and another Indian had come up with two +gunny<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> sacks, and from one of these a bushel of fish was emptied out +upon the snow. They were frozen stiff, so that Mukoki had to separate +them with his belt-axe; David fancied they must be hard as rock. Thoreau +proceeded to toss these fish to the dogs, one at a time, and one to each +dog. The watchful and apparently famished beasts caught the fish in +mid-air, and there followed a snarling and grinding of teeth and +smashing of bones and frozen flesh that made David shiver. He was half +disgusted. Thoreau might at least have boiled the fish, or thawed them +out. A fish weighing from one and a half to two pounds was each dog's +allotment, and the work—if this feeding process could be called +work—was done. Father Roland watched the dogs, rubbing his hands with +satisfaction. Thoreau was showing his big, white teeth, as if proud of +something.</p> + +<p>"Not a bad tooth among them, <i>mon Père</i>," he said. "Not one!"</p> + +<p>"Fine—fine—but a little too fat, Thoreau. You're feeding them too well +for dogs out of the traces," replied Father Roland.</p> + +<p>David gasped.</p> + +<p>"Too <i>well</i>!" he exclaimed. "They're half starved, and almost frozen! +Look at the poor devils swallow those fish, ice and all! Why don't you +cook the fish? Why don't you give them some sort of shelter to sleep +in?"</p> + +<p>Father Roland and the Frenchman stared at him as if they did not quite +catch his meaning. Then a look of comprehension swept over the +Missioner's face. He chuckled, the chuckle grew, it shook his body, and +he laughed—laughed until the forest flung back the echoes of his +merriment, and even the leathery faces of the Indians<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> crinkled in +sympathy. David could see no reason for his levity. He looked at +Thoreau. His host was grinning broadly.</p> + +<p>"God bless my soul!" said the Little Missioner at last. "Starved? Cold? +<i>Boil</i> their fish? Give 'em <i>beds</i>!" He stopped himself as he saw a +flush rising in David's face. "Forgive me, David," he begged, laying a +hand on the other's arm. "You can't understand how funny that was—what +you said. If you gave those fellows the warmest kennels in New York +City, lined with bear skins, they wouldn't sleep in them, but would come +outside and burrow those little round holes in the snow. That's their +nature. I've felt sorry for them, like you—when the thermometer was +down to sixty. But it's no use. As for the fish—they want 'em fresh or +frozen. I suppose you might educate them to eat cooked meat, but it +would be like making over a lynx or a fox or a wolf. They're mighty +comfortable, those dogs, David. That bunch of eight over there is mine. +They'll take us north. And I want to warn you, don't put yourself in +reach of them until they get acquainted with you. They're not pets, you +know; I guess they'd appreciate petting just about as much as they would +boiled fish, or poison. There's nothing on earth like a husky or an +Eskimo dog when it comes to lookin' you in the eye with a friendly and +lovable look and snapping your hand off at the same time. But you'll +like 'em, David. You can't help feeling they're pretty good comrades +when you see what they do in the traces."</p> + +<p>Thoreau had shouldered the second gunny sack and now led the way into +the thicker spruce and balsam behind the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> cabin. David and Father Roland +followed, the latter explaining more fully why it was necessary to keep +the sledge dogs "hard as rocks," and how the trick was done. He was +still talking, with the fingers of one hand closed about the little +plush box in his pocket, when they came to the first of the fox pens. He +was watching David closely, a little anxiously—thrilled by the touch of +that box. He read men as he read books, seeing much that was not in +print, and feeling by a wonderful intuitive power emotions not visible +in a face, and he believed that in David there were strange and +conflicting forces struggling now for mastery. It was not in the +surrender of the box that he had felt David's triumph, but in the +voluntary sacrifice of what that box contained. He wanted to rid himself +of the picture, and quickly. He was filled with apprehension lest David +should weaken again, and ask for its return. The locket meant nothing. +It was a bauble—cold, emotionless, easily forgotten; but the other—the +picture of the woman who had almost destroyed him—was a deadly menace, +a poison to David's soul and body as long as it remained in his +possession, and the Little Missioner's fingers itched to tear it from +the velvet casket and destroy it.</p> + +<p>He watched his opportunity. As Thoreau tossed three fish over the high +wire netting of the first pen the Frenchman was explaining to David why +there were two female foxes and one male in each of his nine pens, and +why warm houses partly covered with earth were necessary for their +comfort and health, while the sledge dogs required nothing more than a +bed of snow. Father Roland seized this opportunity to drop back toward +the cabin, calling in Cree<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> to Mukoki. Five seconds after the cabin +concealed him from David he had the plush box out of his pocket; another +five and he had opened it and the locket itself was in his hand. And +then, his breath coming in a sudden, hissing spurt between his teeth, he +was looking upon the face of the woman. Again in Cree he spoke to +Mukoki, asking him for his knife. The Indian drew it from his sheath and +watched in silence while Father Roland accomplished his work of +destruction. The Missioner's teeth were set tight. There was a strange +gleam of fire in his eyes. An unspoken malediction rose out of his soul. +The work was done! He wanted to hurl the yellow trinket, shaped so +sacrilegiously in the image of a heart, as far as he could fling it into +the forest. It seemed to burn his fingers, and he held for it a personal +hatred. But it was for Marie! Marie would prize it, and Marie would +purify it. Against her breast, where beat a heart of his beloved +Northland, it would cease to be a polluted thing. This was his thought +as he replaced it in the casket and retraced his steps to the fox pens.</p> + +<p>Thoreau was tossing fish into the last pen when Father Roland came up. +David was not with him. In answer to the Missioner's inquiry he nodded +toward the thicker growth of the forest where as yet his axe had not +scarred the trees.</p> + +<p>"He said that he would walk a little distance into the timber."</p> + +<p>Father Roland muttered something that Thoreau did not catch, and then, a +sudden brightness lighting up his eyes:</p> + +<p>"I am going to leave you to-day."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>"To-day, <i>mon Père</i>!" Thoreau made a muffled exclamation of +astonishment. "To-day? And it is fairly well along toward noon!"</p> + +<p>"He cannot travel far." The Missioner nodded in the direction of the +unthinned timber. "It will give us four hours, between noon and dark. He +is soft. You understand? We will make as far as the old trapping shack +you abandoned two winters ago over on Moose Creek. It is only eight +miles, but it will be a bit of hardening for him. And, besides...."</p> + +<p>He was silent for a moment, as if turning a matter over again in his own +mind.</p> + +<p>"I want to get him away."</p> + +<p>He turned a searching, quietly analytic gaze upon Thoreau to see whether +the Frenchman would understand without further explanation.</p> + +<p>The fox breeder picked up the empty gunny sack.</p> + +<p>"We will begin to pack the sledge, <i>mon Père</i>. There must be a good +hundred pounds to the dog."</p> + +<p>As they turned back to the cabin Father Roland cast a look over his +shoulder to see whether David was returning.</p> + +<p>Three or four hundred yards in the forest David stood in a mute and +increasing wonder. He was in a tiny open, and about him the spruce and +balsam hung still as death under their heavy cloaks of freshly fallen +snow. It was as if he had entered unexpectedly into a wonderland of +amazing beauty, and that from its dark and hidden bowers, crusted with +their glittering mantles of white, snow naiads must be peeping forth at +him, holding their breath for fear of betraying themselves to his eyes. +There was not the chirp of a bird nor the flutter of a wing—not the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +breath of a sound to disturb the wonderful silence. He was encompassed +in a white, soft world that seemed tremendously unreal—that for some +strange reason made him breathe very softly, that made him stand without +a movement, and made him listen, as though he had come to the edge of +the universe and that there were mysterious things to hear, and possibly +to see, if he remained very quiet. It was the first sensation of its +kind he had ever experienced; it was disquieting, and yet soothing; it +filled him with an indefinable uneasiness, and yet with a strange +yearning. He stood, in these moments, at the inscrutable threshold of +the great North; he felt the enigmatical, voiceless spirit of it; it +passed into his blood; it made his heart beat a little faster; it made +him afraid, and yet daring. In his breast the spirit of adventure was +waking—had awakened; he felt the call of the Northland, and it alarmed +even as it thrilled him. He knew, now, that this was the beginning—the +door opening to him—of a world that reached for hundreds of miles up +there. Yes, there were thousands of miles of it, many thousands; white, +as he saw it here; beautiful, terrible, and deathly still. And into this +world Father Roland had asked him to go, and he had as good as pledged +himself!</p> + +<p>Before he could think, or stop himself, he had laughed. For an instant +it struck him like mirth in a tomb, an unpleasant, soulless sort of +mirth, for his laugh had in it a jarring incredulity, a mocking lack of +faith in himself. What right had <i>he</i> to enter into a world like that? +Why, even now, his legs ached because of his exertion in furrowing +through a few hundred steps of foot-and-a-half snow!</p> + +<p>But the laugh succeeded in bringing him back into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> reality of +things. He started at right angles, pushed into the maze of white-robed +spruce and balsam, and turned back in the direction of the cabin over a +new trail. He was not in a good humour. There possessed him an ingrowing +and acute feeling of animosity toward himself. Since the day—or +night—fate had drawn that great, black curtain over his life, shutting +out his sun, he had been drifting; he had been floating along on +currents of the least resistance, making no fight, and, in the +completeness of his grief and despair, allowing himself to disintegrate +physically as well as mentally. He had sorrowed with himself; he had +told himself that everything worth having was gone; but now, for the +first time, he cursed himself. To-day—these few hundred yards out in +the snow—had come as a test. They had proved his weakness. He had +degenerated into less than a man! He was....</p> + +<p>He clenched his hands inside his thick mittens, and a rage burned within +him like a fire. Go with Father Roland? Go up into that world where he +knew that the one great law of life was the survival of the fittest? +Yes, he <i>would go</i>! This body and brain of his needed their +punishment—and they should have it! He would go. And his body would +fight for it, or die. The thought gave him an atrocious satisfaction. He +was filled with a sudden contempt for himself. If Father Roland had +known, he would have uttered a paean of joy.</p> + +<p>Out of the darkness of the humour into which he had fallen, David was +suddenly flung by a low and ferocious growl. He had stepped around a +young balsam that stood like a seven-foot ghost in his path, and found +himself face to face with a beast that was cringing at the butt of a +thick<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> spruce. It was a dog. The animal was not more than four or five +short paces from him, and was chained to the tree. David surveyed him +with sudden interest, wondering first of all why he was larger than the +other dogs. As he lay crouched there against his tree, his ivory fangs +gleaming between half-uplifted lips, he looked like a great wolf. In the +other dogs David had witnessed an avaricious excitement at the approach +of men, a hungry demand for food, a straining at leash ends, a whining +and snarling comradeship. Here he saw none of those things. The big, +wolf-like beast made no sound after that first growl, and made no +movement. And yet every muscle in his body seemed gathered in a tense +readiness to spring, and his gleaming fangs threatened. He was +ferocious, and yet shrinking; ready to leap, and yet afraid. He was like +a thing at bay—a hunted creature that had been prisoned. And then David +noticed that he had but one good eye. It was bloodshot, balefully alert, +and fixed on him like a round ball of fire. The lids had closed over his +other eye; they were swollen; there was a big lump just over where the +eye should have been. Then he saw that the beast's lips were cut and +bleeding. There was blood on the snow; and suddenly the big brute +covered his fangs to give a racking cough, as though he had swallowed a +sharp fish-bone, and fresh blood dripped out of his mouth on the snow +between his forepaws. One of these forepaws was twisted; it had been +broken.</p> + +<p>"You poor devil!" said David aloud.</p> + +<p>He sat down on a birch log within six feet of the end of the chain, and +looked steadily into the big husky's one bloodshot eye as he said +again:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You poor devil!"</p> + +<p>Baree, the dog, did not understand. It puzzled him that this man did not +carry a club. He was used to clubs. So far back as he could remember the +club had been the one dominant thing in his life. It was a club that had +closed his eye. It was a club that had broken one of his teeth and cut +his lips, and it was a club that had beat against his ribs +until—now—the blood came up into his throat and choked him, and +dripped out of his mouth. But this man had no club, and he looked +friendly.</p> + +<p>"You poor devil!" said David for the third time.</p> + +<p>Then he added, dark indignation in his voice:</p> + +<p>"What, in God's name, has Thoreau been doing to you?"</p> + +<p>There was something sickening in the spectacle—that battered, bleeding, +broken creature huddling there against the tree, coughing up the red +stuff that discoloured the snow. Loving dogs, he was not afraid of them, +and forgetting Father Roland's warning he rose from the log and went +nearer. From where he stood, looking down, Baree could have reached his +throat. But he made no movement, unless it was that his thickly haired +body was trembling a little. His one red eye looked steadily up at +David.</p> + +<p>For the fourth time David spoke;</p> + +<p>"You poor, God-forsaken brute!"</p> + +<p>There was friendliness, compassion, wonderment in his voice, and he held +down a hand that he had drawn from one of the thick mittens. Another +moment and he would have bent over, but a cry stopped him so sharply and +suddenly that he jumped back.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>Thoreau stood within ten feet of him, horrified. He clutched a rifle in +one hand.</p> + +<p>"Back—back, m'sieu!" he cried sharply. "For the love of God, jump +back."</p> + +<p>He swung his rifle into the crook of his arm. David did not move, and +from Thoreau he looked down coolly at the dog. Baree was a changed +beast. His one eye was fastened upon the fox breeder. His bared, +bleeding lips revealed inch-long fangs between which there came now a +low and menacing snarl. The tawny crest along his spine was like a +brush; from a puzzled toleration of David his posture and look had +changed into deadly hatred for Thoreau, and fear of him. For a moment +after his first warning the Frenchman's voice seemed to stick in his +throat as he saw what he believed to be David's fatal disregard of his +peril. He did not speak to him again. His eyes were on the dog. Slowly +he raised his rifle; David heard the click of the hammer—and Baree +heard it. There was something in the sharp, metallic thrill of it that +stirred his brute instinct. His lips fell over his fangs, he whined, and +then, on his belly, he dragged himself slowly toward David!</p> + +<p>It was a miracle that Thoreau the Frenchman looked upon then. He would +have staked his very soul—wagered his hopes of paradise against a +<i>babiche</i> thread—that what he saw could never have happened between +Baree and man. In utter amazement he lowered his gun. David, looking +down, was smiling into that one, wide-open, bloodshot eye of Baree's, +his hand reaching out. Foot by foot Baree slunk to him on his belly, and +when at last he was at David's feet he faced Thoreau again, his +terrible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> teeth snarling, a low, rumbling growl in his throat. David +reached down and touched him, even as he heard the fox breeder make an +incoherent sound in his beard. At the caress of his hand a great shudder +passed through Baree's body, as if he had been stung. That touch was the +connecting link through which passed the electrifying thrill of a man's +soul reaching out to a brute instinct.</p> + +<p>Baree had found a man friend!</p> + +<p>When David stepped away from him to Thoreau's side as much of the +Frenchman's face as was not hidden under his beard was of a curious +ashen pallor. He seemed to make a struggle before he could get his +voice.</p> + +<p>And then: "M'sieu, I tell you it is incredible! I cannot believe what I +have seen. It was a miracle!"</p> + +<p>He shuddered. David was looking at him, a bit puzzled. He could not +quite comprehend the fear that had possessed him. Thoreau saw this, and +pointing to Baree—a gesture that brought a snarl from the beast—he +said:</p> + +<p>"He is bad, m'sieu, <i>bad</i>! He is the worst dog in all this country. He +was born an outcast—among the wolves—and his heart is filled with +murder. He is a quarter wolf, and you can't club it out of him. Half a +dozen masters have owned him, and none of them has been able to club it +out of him. I, myself, have beaten him until he lay as if dead, but it +did no good. He has killed two of my dogs. He has leaped at my throat. I +am afraid of him. I chained him to that tree a month ago to keep him +away from the other dogs, and since then I have not been able to unleash +him. He would tear me into pieces. Yesterday I beat him until he was +almost dead, and still he was ready to go at my throat. So I am +determined to kill him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> He is no good. Step a little aside, m'sieu, +while I put a bullet through his head!"</p> + +<p>He raised his rifle again. David put a hand on it.</p> + +<p>"I can unleash him," he said.</p> + +<p>Before the other could speak, he had walked boldly to the tree. Baree +did not turn his head—did not for an instant take his eye from Thoreau. +There came the click of the snap that fastened the chain around the body +of the spruce, and David stood with the loose end of the chain in his +hand.</p> + +<p>"There!"</p> + +<p>He laughed a little proudly.</p> + +<p>"And I didn't use a club," he added.</p> + +<p>Thoreau gasped "<i>Mon Dieu!</i>" and sat down on the birch log as though the +strength had gone from his legs.</p> + +<p>David rattled the chain and then re-fastened it about the spruce. Baree +was still watching Thoreau, who sat staring at him as if the beast had +suddenly changed his shape and species.</p> + +<p>In David's breast there was the thrill of a new triumph. He had done it +unconsciously, without fear, and without feeling that there had been any +great danger. In those few minutes something of his old self had +returned into him; he felt a new excitement pumping the blood through +his heart, and he felt the warm glow of it in his body. Baree had +awakened something within him—Baree and the <i>club</i>. He went to Thoreau, +who had risen from the log. He laughed again, a bit exultantly.</p> + +<p>"I am going north with Father Roland," he said. "Will you let me have +the dog, Thoreau? It will save you the trouble of killing him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + +<p>Thoreau stared at him blankly for a moment before he answered.</p> + +<p>"That dog? You? Into the North?" He shot a look full of hatred and +disgust at Baree. "Would you risk it, m'sieu?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It is an adventure I would very much like to try. You may think it +strange, Thoreau, but that dog—ugly and fierce as he is—has found a +place with me. I like him. And I fancy he has begun to like me."</p> + +<p>"But look at his eye, m'sieu——"</p> + +<p>"Which eye?" demanded David. "The one you have shut with a club?"</p> + +<p>"He deserved it," muttered Thoreau. "He snapped at my hand. But I mean +the other eye, m'sieu—the one that is glaring at us now like a red +bloodstone with the heart of a devil in it! I tell you he is a quarter +wolf...."</p> + +<p>"And the broken paw. I suppose that was done by a club, too?" +interrupted David.</p> + +<p>"It was broken like that when I traded for him a year ago, m'sieu. I +have not maimed him. And ... yes, you may have the beast! May the saints +preserve you!"</p> + +<p>"And his name?"</p> + +<p>"The Indian who owned him as a puppy five years ago called him Baree, +which among the Dog Ribs means Wild Blood. He should have been called +The Devil."</p> + +<p>Thoreau shrugged his shoulders, as though the matter and its +consequences were now off his hands, and turned in the direction of the +cabin. As he followed the Frenchman, David looked back at Baree. The big +husky had risen from the snow. He was standing at the full length<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> of +his chain, and as David disappeared among the spruce a low whine that +was filled with a strange yearning followed him. He did not hear the +whine, but there came to him distinctly a moment later the dog's racking +cough, and he shivered, and his eyes burned into Thoreau's broad back as +he thought of the fresh blood-clots that were staining the white snow.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> + +<p>Much to Thoreau's amazement Father Roland made no objection to David's +ownership of Baree, and when the Frenchman described with many +gesticulations of wonder what had happened between that devil-dog and +the man, he was still more puzzled by the look of satisfaction in the +Little Missioner's face. In David there had come the sudden awakening of +something which had for a long time been dormant within him, and Father +Roland saw this change, and felt it, even before David said, when +Thoreau had turned away with a darkly suggestive shrug of his shoulders:</p> + +<p>"That poor devil of a beast is down and out, <i>mon Père</i>. I have never +been so bad as that; never. Kill him? Bah! If this magical north country +of yours will make a man out of a human derelict it will surely work +some sort of a transformation in a dog that has been clubbed into +imbecility. Will it not?"</p> + +<p>It was not the David of yesterday or the day before that was speaking. +There was a passion in his voice, a deep contempt, a half taunt, a +tremble of anger. There was a flush in his cheeks, too, and a spark of +fire in his eyes. In his heart Father Roland whispered to himself that +this change in David was like a conflagration, and he rejoiced without +speaking, fearing that words might quench the effect of it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>David was looking at him as if he expected an answer.</p> + +<p>"What an accursed fool a man is to waste his soul and voice in +lamentation—especially his voice," he went on harshly, his teeth +gleaming for an instant in a bitter smile. "One ought to act and not +whine. That beast back there is ready to act. He would tear Thoreau's +jugular out if he had half a chance. And I ... why, I sneaked off like a +whipped cur. That's why Baree is better than I am, even though he is +nothing more than a four-footed brute. In that room I should have had +the moral courage that Baree has; I should have killed—killed them +both!" He shrugged his shoulders. "I am quite convinced that it would +have been justice, <i>mon Père</i>. What do you think?"</p> + +<p>The Missioner smiled enigmatically.</p> + +<p>"The soul of many a man has gone from behind steel bars to heaven or I +vastly miss my guess," he said. "But—we don't like the thought of steel +bars, do we, David? Man-made laws and justice don't always run tandem. +But God evens things up in the final balance. You'll live to see that. +He's back there now, meting out your vengeance to them. <i>Your</i> +vengeance. Do you understand? And you won't be called to take a hand in +the business." Suddenly he pointed toward the cabin, where Thoreau and +Mukoki were already at work packing a sledge. "It's a glorious day. We +start right after dinner. Let us get your things in a bundle."</p> + +<p>David made no answer, but three minutes later he was on his knees +unlocking his trunk, with Father Roland standing close beside him. +Something of the humour of the situation possessed him as he flung out, +one by one,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> the various articles of his worthless apparel, and when he +had all but finished he looked up into the Missioner's face. Father +Roland was staring into the trunk, an expression of great surprise in +his countenance which slowly changed to one of eager joy. He made a +sudden dive, and stood back with a pair of boxing gloves in his hands. +From the gloves he looked at David, and then back at the gloves, +fondling them as if they had been alive, his hands almost trembling at +the smooth touch of them, his eyes glowing like the eyes of a child that +had come into possession of a wonderful toy. David reached into the +trunk and produced a second pair. The Missioner seized upon them.</p> + +<p>"Dear Heaven, what a gift from the gods!" he chortled. "David, you will +teach me to use them?" There was almost anxiety in his manner as he +added, "You know how to use them well, David?"</p> + +<p>"My chief pastime at home was boxing," assured David. There was a touch +of pride in his voice. "It is a scientific recreation. I loved it—that, +and swimming. Yes, I will teach you."</p> + +<p>Father Roland went out of the room a moment later, chuckling +mysteriously, with the four gloves hugged against the pit of his +stomach.</p> + +<p>David followed a little later, all his belongings in one of the leather +bags. For some time he had hesitated over the portrait of the Girl; +twice he had shut the lock on it; the third time he placed it in the +big, breast pocket inside the coat Father Roland had provided for him, +making a mental apology for that act by assuring himself that sooner or +later he would show the picture to the Missioner, so would want it near +at hand. Father Roland had disposed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> of the gloves, and introduced David +to the rest of his equipment when he came from the cabin. It was very +business-like, this accoutrement that was to be the final physical touch +to his transition; it did not allow of skepticism; about it there was +also a quiet and cold touch of romance. The rifle chilled David's bare +fingers when he touched it. It was short-barrelled, but heavy in the +breech, with an appearance of indubitable efficiency about it. It looked +like an honest weapon to David, who was unaccustomed to firearms—and +this was more than he could say for the heavy, 38-calibre automatic +pistol which Father Roland thrust into his hand, and which looked and +felt murderously mysterious. He frankly confessed his ignorance of these +things, and the Missioner chuckled good-humouredly as he buckled the +belt and holster about his waist and told him on which hip to keep the +pistol, and where to carry the leather sheath that held a long and +keen-edged hunting knife. Then he turned to the snow shoes. They were +the long, narrow, bush-country shoe. He placed them side by side on the +snow and showed David how to fasten his moccasined feet in them without +using his hands. For three quarters of an hour after that, out in the +soft, deep snow in the edge of the spruce, he gave him his first lesson +in that slow, swinging, <i>out</i>-stepping stride of the north-man on the +trail. At first it was embarrassing for David, with Thoreau and the +Indians grinning openly, and Marie's face peering cautiously and +joyously from the cabin door. Three times he entangled his feet +hopelessly and floundered like a great fish in the snow; then he caught +the "swing" of it and at the end of half an hour began to find a +pleasurable exhilaration, even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> excitement, in his ability to skim over +the feathery surface of this great white sea without so much as sinking +to his ankle bones. When he slipped the shoes off and stood them up +beside his rifle against the cabin, he was panting. His heart was +pounding. His lungs drank in the cold, balsam-scented air like a suction +pump and expelled each breath with the sibilancy of steam escaping from +a valve.</p> + +<p>"Winded!" he gasped. And then, gulping for breath as he looked at Father +Roland, he demanded: "How the devil am I going to keep up with you +fellows on the trail? I'll go bust inside of a mile!"</p> + +<p>"And every time you go bust we'll load you on the sledge," comforted the +Missioner, his round face glowing with enthusiastic approval. "You've +done finely, David. Within a fortnight you'll be travelling twenty miles +a day on snow shoes."</p> + +<p>He suddenly seemed to think of something that he had forgotten and +fidgeted with his mittens in his hesitation, as if there lay an +unpleasant duty ahead of him. Then he said:</p> + +<p>"If there are any letters to write, David ... any business matters...."</p> + +<p>"There are no letters," cut in David quickly. "I attended to my affairs +some weeks ago. I am ready."</p> + +<p>With a frozen whitefish he returned to Baree. The dog scented him before +the crunch of his footsteps could be heard in the snow, and when he came +out from the thick spruce and balsam into the little open, Baree was +stretched out flat on his belly, his gaunt gray muzzle resting on the +snow between his forepaws. He made no movement as David drew near, +except that curious shivers ran through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> his body, and his throat +twitched. Thoreau would have analyzed that impassive posture as one of +waiting and watchful treachery; David saw in it a strange yearning, a +deep fear, a hope. Baree, outlawed by man, battered and bleeding as he +lay there, felt for perhaps the first time in his life the thrilling +presence of a friend—a man friend. David approached boldly, and stood +over him. He had forgotten the Frenchman's warning. He was not afraid. +He leaned over and one of his mittened hands touched Baree's neck. A +tremor shot through the dog that was like an electric shock; a snarl +gathered in his throat, broke down, and ended in a low whine. He lay as +if dead under the weight of David's hand. Not until David had ceased +talking to him, and had disappeared once more in the direction of the +cabin, did Baree begin devouring the frozen whitefish.</p> + +<p>Father Roland meditated in some perplexity when it came to the final +question of Baree.</p> + +<p>"We can't put him in with the team," he protested. "All my dogs would be +dead before we reached God's Lake."</p> + +<p>David had been thinking of that.</p> + +<p>"He will follow me," he said confidently. "We'll simply turn him loose +when we're ready to start."</p> + +<p>The Missioner nodded indulgently. Thoreau, who had overheard, shrugged +his shoulders contemptuously. He hated Baree, the beast that would not +yield to a club, and he muttered gruffly:</p> + +<p>"And to-night he will join the wolves, m'sieu, and prey like the very +devil on my traps. There will be only one cure for that—a +fox-bait!—poison!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>And the last hour seemed to prove that what Thoreau had said was true. +After dinner the three of them went to Baree, and David unfastened the +chain from the big husky's collar. For a few moments the dog did not +seem to sense his freedom; then, like a shot—so unexpectedly that he +almost took David off his feet—he leaped over the birch log and +disappeared in the forest. The Frenchman was amused.</p> + +<p>"The wolves," he reminded softly. "He will be with them to-night, +m'sieu—that outlaw!"</p> + +<p>Not until the crack of Mukoki's long, caribou-gut whip had set the +Missioner's eight dogs tense and alert in their traces did Father Roland +return for a moment into the cabin to give Marie the locket. He came +back quickly, and at a signal from him Mukoki wound up the 9-foot lash +of his whip and set out ahead of the dogs. They followed him slowly and +steadily, keeping the broad runners of the sledge in the trail he made. +The Missioner dropped in immediately behind the sledge, and David behind +him. Thoreau spoke a last word to David, in a voice intended for his +ears alone.</p> + +<p>"It is a long way to God's Lake, m'sieu, and you are going with a +strange man—a strange man. Some day, if you have not forgotten Pierre +Thoreau, you may tell me what it has been a long time in my heart to +know. The saints be with you, m'sieu!"</p> + +<p>He dropped back. His voice rolled after them in a last farewell, in +French, and in Cree, and as David followed close behind the Missioner he +wondered what Thoreau's mysterious words had meant, and why he had not +spoken them until that final moment of their departure. "A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> strange man! +The saints be with you!" That last had seemed to him almost a warning. +He looked at Father Roland's broad back; for the first time he noticed +how heavy and powerful his shoulders were for his height. Then the +forest swallowed them—a vast, white, engulfing world of silence and +mystery. What did it hold for him? What did it portend? His blood was +stirred by an unfamiliar and subdued excitement. An almost unconscious +movement carried one of his mittened hands to his breast pocket. Through +the thickness of his coat he could feel it—the picture. It did not seem +like a dead thing. It beat with life. It made him strangely unafraid of +what might be ahead of him.</p> + +<p>Back at the door of the cabin Thoreau stood with one of his big arms +encircling Marie's slim shoulders.</p> + +<p>"I tell you it is like taking the life of a puppy, <i>ma cherie</i>," he was +saying. "It is inconceivable. It is bloodthirsty. And yet...."</p> + +<p>He opened the door behind them.</p> + +<p>"They are gone," he finished. "<i>Ka Sakhet</i>—they are gone—and they will +not come back!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> + +<p>In spite of the portentous significance of this day in his life David +could not help seeing and feeling in his suddenly changed environment, +as he puffed along behind Father Roland, something that was neither +adventure nor romance, but humour. A whimsical humour at first, but +growing grimmer as his thoughts sped. All his life he had lived in a +great city, he had been a part of its life—a discordant note in it, and +yet a part of it for all that. He had been a fixture in a certain lap of +luxury. That luxury had refined him. It had manicured him down to a fine +point of civilization. A fine point! He wanted to laugh, but he had need +of all his breath as he <i>clip-clip-clipped</i> on his snow shoes behind the +Missioner. This was the last thing in the world he had dreamed of, all +this snow, all this emptiness that loomed up ahead of him, a great world +filled only with trees and winter. He disliked winter; he had always +possessed a physical antipathy for snow; romance, for him, was environed +in warm climes and sunny seas. He had made a mistake in telling Father +Roland that he was going to British Columbia—a great mistake. +Undoubtedly he would have kept on. Japan had been in his mind. And now +here he was headed straight for the north pole—the Arctic Ocean. It was +enough to make him want to laugh. Enough to make any sane person laugh. +Even now, only half a mile from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> Thoreau's cabin, his knees were +beginning to ache and his ankles were growing heavy. It was ridiculous. +Inconceivable, as the Frenchman had said to Marie. He was soft. He was +only half a man. How long would he last? How long before he would have +to cry quits, like a whipped boy? How long before his legs would crumple +up under him, and his lungs give out? How long before Father Roland, +hiding his contempt, would have to send him back?</p> + +<p>A sense of shame—shame and anger—swept through him, heating his brain, +setting his teeth hard, filling him again with a grim determination. For +the second time that day his fighting blood rose. It surged through his +veins in a flood, beating down the old barriers, clearing away the +obstructions of his doubts and his fears, and filling him with the +<i>desire</i> to go on—the desire to fight it out, to punish himself as he +deserved to be punished, and to win in the end. Father Roland, glancing +back in benignant solicitude, saw the new glow in David's eyes. He saw, +also, his parted lips and the quickness of his breath. With a sharp +command he stopped Mukoki and the dogs.</p> + +<p>"Half a mile at a time is enough for a beginner," he said to David. +"Back off your shoes and ride the next half mile."</p> + +<p>David shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Go on," he said, tersely, saving his wind. "I'm just finding myself."</p> + +<p>Father Roland loaded and lighted his pipe. The aroma of the tobacco +filled David's nostrils as they went on. Clouds of smoke wreathed the +Little Missioner's shoulders<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> as he followed the trail ahead of him. It +was comforting, that smoke. It warmed David with a fresh desire. His +exertion was clearing out his lungs. He was inhaling balsam and spruce, +a mighty tonic of dry forest air, and he felt also the craving to smoke. +But he knew that he could not afford the waste of breath. His snow shoes +were growing heavier and heavier, and back of his knees the tendons +seemed preparing to snap. He kept on, at last counting his steps. He was +determined to make a mile. He was ready to groan when a sudden twist in +the trail brought them out of the forest to the edge of a lake whose +frozen surface stretched ahead of them for miles. Mukoki stopped the +dogs. With a gasp David floundered to the sledge and sat down.</p> + +<p>"Finding myself," he managed to say. "Just—finding myself!"</p> + +<p>It was a triumph for him—the last half of that mile. He knew it. He +felt it. Through the white haze of his breath he looked out over the +lake. It was wonderfully clear, and the sun was shining. The surface of +the lake was like an untracked carpet of white sprinkled thickly with +tiny diamonds where the sunlight fell on its countless billions of snow +crystals. Three or four miles away he could see the dark edge of the +forest on the other side. Up and down the lake the distance was greater. +He had never seen anything like it. It was marvellous—like a dream +picture. And he was not cold as he looked at it. He was warm, even +uncomfortably warm. The air he breathed was like a new kind of fuel. It +gave him the peculiar sensation of feeling <i>larger</i> inside; he seemed to +drink it in; it expanded his lungs; he could feel his heart<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> pumping +with an audible sound. There was nothing in the majesty and wonder of +the scene about him to make him laugh, but he laughed. It was +exultation, an involuntary outburst of the change that was working +within him. He felt, suddenly, that a dark and purposeless world had +slipped behind him. It was gone. It was as if he had come out of a dark +and gloomy cavern, in which the air had been vitiated and in which he +had been cramped for breath—a cavern which fluttered with the uneasy +ghosts of things, poisonous things. Here was the sun. A sky blue as +sapphire. A great expanse. A wonder-world. Into this he had escaped!</p> + +<p>That was the thought in his mind as he looked at Father Roland. The +Little Missioner was looking at him with an effulgent satisfaction in +his face, a satisfaction that was half pride, as though he had achieved +something that was to his own personal glory.</p> + +<p>"You've beat me, David," he exulted. "The first time I had snow shoes on +I didn't make one half that distance before I was tangled up like a fish +in a net!" He turned to Mukoki. "<i>Mey-oo iss e chikao!</i>" he cried. +"Remember?" and the Indian nodded, his leathery face breaking into a +grin.</p> + +<p>David felt a new pleasure at their approbation. He had evidently done +well, exceedingly well. And he had been afraid of himself! Apprehension +gave way to confidence. He was beginning to experience the exquisite +thrill of fighting against odds.</p> + +<p>He made no objection this time when Father Roland made a place for him +on the sledge.</p> + +<p>"We'll have four miles of this lake," the Missioner ex<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>plained to him, +"and the dogs will make it in an hour. Mukoki and I will both break +trail."</p> + +<p>As they set off David found his first opportunity to see the real +Northland in action—the clean, sinuous movement of the men ahead of +him, the splendid eagerness with which the long, wolfish line of beasts +stretched forth in their traces and followed in the snow-shoe trail. +There was something imposing about it all, something that struck deep +within him and roused strange thoughts. This that he saw was not the +mere labour of man and beast; it was not the humdrum toil of life, not +the daily slaving of living creatures for existence—for food, and +drink, and a sleeping place. It had risen above that. He had seen ships +and castles rise up from heaps of steel and stone; achievements of +science and the handiwork of genius had interested and sometimes amazed +him, but never had he looked upon physical effort that thrilled him as +did this that he was looking upon now. There was almost the spirit of +the epic about it. They <i>were</i> the survival of the fittest—these men +and dogs. They had gone through the great test of life in the raw, as +the pyramids and the sphinx had outlived the ordeals of the centuries; +they were different; they were proven; they were of another kind of +flesh and blood than he had known—and they fascinated him. They stood +for more than romance and adventure, for more than tragedy or possible +joy; they were making no fight for riches—no fight for power, or fame, +or great personal achievement. Their struggle in this great, white +world—terrible in its emptiness, its vastness, and its mercilessness +for the weak—was simply a struggle that they might <i>live</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>The thought staggered him. Could there be joy in that—in a mere +existence without the thousand pleasures and luxuries and excitements +that he had known? He drank deeply of the keen air as he asked himself +the question. His eyes rested on the shaggy, undulating backs of the big +huskies; he noted their half-open jaws, the sharp alertness of their +pointed ears, the almost joyous unction with which they entered into +their task, their eagerness to keep their load close upon the heels of +their masters. He heard Mukoki's short, sharp, and unnecessary commands, +his <i>hi-yi's</i> and his <i>ki-yi's</i>, as though he were crying out for no +other reason than from sheer physical exuberance. He saw Father Roland's +face turned backward for a moment, and it was smiling. They were +happy—now! Men and beasts were happy. And he could see no reason for +their happiness except that their blood was pounding through their +veins, even as it was pounding through his own. That was it—the blood. +The heart. The lungs. The brain. All were clear—clear and unfettered in +that marvellous air and sunlight, washed clean by the swift pulse of +life. It was a wonderful world! A glorious world! He was almost on the +point of crying aloud his discovery.</p> + +<p>The thrill grew in him as he found time now to look about. Under him the +broad, steel runners of the sledge made a cold, creaking sound as they +slipped over the snow that lay on the ice of the lake; he heard the +swift <i>tap</i>, <i>tap</i>, <i>tap</i> of the dogs' feet, their panting breath that +was almost like laughter, low throat whines, and the steady swish of the +snow shoes ahead. Beyond those sounds a vast silence encompassed him. He +looked out into it, east and west to the dark rims of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> forest, north and +south over the distance of that diamond-sprinkled <i>tundra</i> of unbroken +white. He drew out his pipe, loaded it with tobacco, and began to smoke. +The bitterness of the weed was gone. It was delicious. He puffed +luxuriously. And then, suddenly, as he looked at the purplish bulwarks +of the forest, his mind swept back. For the first time since that night +many months ago he thought of the Woman—the Golden Goddess—without a +red-hot fire in his brain. He thought of her coolly. This new world was +already giving back to him a power of analysis, a perspective, a +healthier conception of truths and measurements. What a horrible blot +they had made in his life—that man and that woman! What a foul trick +they had played him! What filth they had wallowed in! And he—he had +thought her the most beautiful creature in the world, an angel, a thing +to be worshipped. He laughed, almost without sound, his teeth biting +hard on the stem of his pipe. And the world he was looking upon laughed; +the snow diamonds, lying thickly as dust, laughed; there was laughter in +the sun, the warmth of chuckling humour in those glowing walls of +forest, laughter in the blue sky above.</p> + +<p>His hands gripped hard.</p> + +<p>In this world he knew there could not be another woman such as she. +Here, in all this emptiness and glory, her shallow soul would have +shrieked in agony; she would have shrivelled up and died. It was too +clean. Too white. Too pure. It would have frightened her, tortured her. +She could not have found the poison she required to give her life. Her +unclean desires would have driven her mad. So he arraigned her, +terribly, without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> malice, and without pity. And then, like the quieting +touch of a gentle hand in his brain, came the thought of the other +woman—the Girl—whose picture he carried in his pocket. This was <i>her</i> +world that he was entering. She was up there—somewhere—and he looked +over the barriers of the forest to the northwest. Hundreds of miles +away. A thousand. It was a big world, so vast that he still could not +comprehend it. But she was there, living, breathing, <i>alive</i>! A sudden +impulse made him draw the picture from his pocket. He held it down +behind a bale, so that Father Roland would not chance to see it if he +looked back. He unwrapped the picture, and ceased to puff at his pipe. +The Girl was wonderful to-day, under the sunlight and the blue halo of +the skies, and she wanted to speak to him. That thought always came to +him first of all when he looked at her. She wanted to speak. Her lips +were trembling, her eyes were looking straight into his, the sun above +him seemed to gleam in her hair. It was as if she knew of the thoughts +that were in his mind, and of the fight he was making; as though through +space she had seen him, and watched him, and wanted to cry out for him +the way to come. There was a curious tremble in his fingers as he +restored the picture to his pocket. He whispered something. His pipe had +gone out. In the same moment a sharp cry from Father Roland startled +him. The dogs halted suddenly. The creaking of the sledge runners +ceased.</p> + +<p>Father Roland had turned his face down the lake, and was pointing.</p> + +<p>"Look!" he cried.</p> + +<p>David jumped from the sledge and stared back over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> their trail. The +scintillating gleams of the snow crystals were beginning to prick his +eyes, and for a few moments he could see nothing new. He heard a muffled +ejaculation of surprise from Mukoki. And then, far back—probably half a +mile—he saw a dark object travelling slowly toward them. It stopped. It +was motionless as a dark rock now. Close beside him the Little Missioner +said:</p> + +<p>"You've won again, David. Baree is following us!"</p> + +<p>The dog came no nearer as they watched. After a moment David pursed his +lips and sent back a curious, piercing whistle. In days to come Baree +was to recognize that call, but he gave no attention to it now. For +several minutes they stood gazing back at him. When they were ready to +go on David for a third time that day put on his snow shoes. His task +seemed less difficult. He was getting the "swing" of the shoes, and his +breath came more easily. At the end of half an hour Father Roland halted +the team again to give him a "winding" spell. Baree had come nearer. He +was not more than a quarter of a mile behind. It was three o'clock when +they struck off the lake into the edge of the forest to the northwest. +The sun had grown cold and pale. The snow crystals no longer sparkled so +furiously. In the forest there was gathering a gray, silent gloom. They +halted again in the edge of that gloom. The Missioner slipped off his +mittens and filled his pipe with fresh tobacco. The pipe fell from his +fingers and buried itself in the soft snow at his feet. As he bent down +for it Father Roland said quite audibly:</p> + +<p>"<i>Damn!</i>"</p> + +<p>He was smiling when he rose. David, also, was smiling.</p> + +<p>"I was thinking," he said—as though the other had de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>manded an +explanation of his thoughts—"what a curious man of God you are, <i>mon +Père</i>!"</p> + +<p>The Little Missioner chuckled, and then he muttered, half to himself as +he lighted the tobacco, "True—very true." When the top of the bowl was +glowing, he added: "How are your legs? It is still a good mile to the +shack."</p> + +<p>"I am going to make it or drop," declared David.</p> + +<p>He wanted to ask a question. It had been in his mind for some time, and +he burned with a strange eagerness to have it answered. He looked back, +and saw Baree circling slowly over the surface of the lake toward the +forest. Casually he inquired:</p> + +<p>"How far is it to Tavish's, <i>mon Père</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Four days," said the Missioner. "Four days, if we make good time, and +another week from there to God's Lake. I have paid Tavish a visit in +five days, and once Tavish made God's Lake in two days and a night with +seven dogs. Two days and a night! Through darkness he came—darkness and +a storm. That is what fear will do, David. Fear drove him. I have +promised to tell you about it to-night. You must know, to understand +him. He is a strange man—a very strange man!"</p> + +<p>He spoke to Mukoki in Cree, and the Indian responded with a sharp +command to the dogs. The huskies sprang from their bellies and strained +forward in their traces. The Cree picked his way slowly ahead of them. +Father Roland dropped in behind him. Again David followed the sledge. He +was struck with wonder at the suddenness with which the sun had gone +out. In the thick forest it was like the beginning of night. The deep +shadows and darkly growing caverns of gloom seemed to give birth to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> new +sounds. He heard the <i>whit</i>, <i>whit</i>, <i>whit</i>, of something close to him, +and the next moment a great snow owl flitted like a ghostly apparition +over his head; he heard the patter of snow as it fell from the bending +limbs; from out of a patch of darkness two trees, rubbing slightly +against each other, emitted a shivering wail that startled him—it had +seemed so like the cry of a child. He was straining his ears so tensely +to hear, and his eyes to see, that he forgot the soreness of his knees +and ankles. Now and then the dogs stopped while Mukoki and the Missioner +dragged a log or a bit of brushwood from their path. During one of these +intervals there came to them, from a great distance, a long, mournful +howl.</p> + +<p>"A wolf!" said Father Roland, his face a gray shadow as he nodded at +David. "Listen!"</p> + +<p>From behind them came another cry. It was Baree.</p> + +<p>They went on, circling around the edge of a great windfall. A low wind +was beginning to move in the tops of the spruce and cedar, and soft +splashes of snow fell on their heads and shoulders, as if unseen and +playful hands were pelting them from above. Again and again David caught +the swift, ghostly flutter of the snow owls; three times he heard the +wolf-howl; once again Baree's dismal, homeless cry; and then they came +suddenly out of the thick gloom of the forest into the twilight gray of +a clearing. Twenty paces from them was a cabin. The dogs stopped. Father +Roland fumbled at his big silver watch, and held it close up to his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Half-past four," he said. "Fairly good time for a beginner, David!"</p> + +<p>He broke into a cheerful whistle. The dogs were whin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>ing and snapping +like joyous puppies as Mukoki unfastened them. The Cree himself was +voluble in a chuckling and meaningless way. There was a great +contentment in the air, an indefinable inspiration that seemed to lift +the gloom. David could not understand it, though in an elusive sort of +way he felt it. He did not understand until Father Roland said, across +the sledge, which he had begun to unpack:</p> + +<p>"Seems good to be on the trail again, David."</p> + +<p>That was it—the trail! This was the end of a day's achievement. He +looked at the cabin, dark and unlighted in the open, with its big white +cap of snow. It looked friendly for all its darkness. He was filled with +the desire to become a partner in the activities of Mukoki and the +Missioner. He wanted to help, not because he placed any value on his +assistance, but simply because his blood and his brain were imposing new +desires upon him. He kicked off his snow shoes, and went with Mukoki to +the door of the cabin, which was fastened with a wooden bolt. When they +entered he could make out things indistinctly—a stove at first, a +stool, a box, a small table, and a bunk against the wall. Mukoki was +rattling the lids of the stove when Father Roland entered with his arms +filled. He dropped his load on the floor, and David went back to the +sledge with him. By the time they had brought its burden into the cabin +a fire was roaring in the stove, and Mukoki had hung a lighted lantern +over the table. Then Father Roland seized an axe, tested its keen edge +with his thumb, and said to David: "Let's go cut our beds before it's +too dark." Cut their beds! But the Missioner's broad back was +disappearing through the door in a very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> purposeful way, and David +caught up a second axe and followed. Young balsams twice as tall as a +man were growing about the cabin, and from these Father Roland began +stripping the branches. They carried armfuls into the cabin until the +one bunk was heaped high, and meanwhile Mukoki had half a dozen pots and +kettles and pans on the glowing top of the sheet-iron stove, and thick +caribou steaks were sizzling in a homelike and comforting way. A little +later David ate as though he had gone hungry all day. Ordinarily he +wanted his meat well done; to-night he devoured an inch-and-a quarter +sirloin steak that floated in its own gravy, and was red to the heart of +it. When they had finished they lighted their pipes and went out to feed +the dogs a frozen fish apiece.</p> + +<p>An immense satisfaction possessed David. It was like something soft and +purring inside of him. He made no effort to explain things. He was +accepting facts, and changes. He felt bigger to-night, as though his +lungs were stretching themselves, and his chest expanding. His fears +were gone. He no longer saw anything to dread in the white wilderness. +He was eager to go on, eager to reach Tavish's. Ever since Father Roland +had spoken of Tavish that desire had been growing within him. Tavish had +not only come from the Stikine River; he had lived on Firepan Creek. It +was incredible that he should not know of the Girl: who she was; just +where she lived; why she was there. White people were few in that far +country. Tavish would surely know of her. He had made up his mind that +he would show Tavish the picture, keeping to himself the manner in which +he had come into possession of it. The daughter of a friend, he would +tell them—both<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> Father Roland and Tavish. Or of an acquaintance. That, +at least, was half truth.</p> + +<p>A dozen things Father Roland spoke about that night before he alluded to +Tavish. David waited. He did not want to appear too deeply interested. +He desired to have the thing work itself out in a fortuitous sort of +way, governed, as he was, by a strong feeling that he could not explain +his position, or his strange and growing interest in the Girl, if the +Missioner should by any chance discover the part he had played in the +haunting though incidental encounter with the woman on the train.</p> + +<p>"Fear—a great fear—his life is haunted by it," said Father Roland, +when at last he began talking about Tavish. He was seated on a pile of +balsams, his legs stretched out flat on the floor, his back to the wall, +and he smoked thoughtfully as he looked at David. "A coward? I don't +know. I have seen him jump at the snap of a twig. I have seen him +tremble at nothing at all. I have seen him shrink at darkness, and then, +again, he came through a terrible darkness to reach my cabin that night. +Mad? Perhaps. It is hard to believe he is a coward. Would a coward live +alone, as he does? That seems impossible, too. And yet he is afraid. +That fear is always close at his heels, especially at night. It follows +him like a hungry dog. There are times when I would swear it is not fear +of a living thing. That is what makes it—disturbing. It is +weird—distressing. It makes one shiver."</p> + +<p>The Missioner was silent for some moments, as if lost in a reverie. Then +he said, reflectively:</p> + +<p>"I have seen strange things. I have had many penitents. My ears have +heard much that you would not be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>lieve. It has all come in my long day's +work in the wilderness. But never, never have I seen a fight like this +that is being made by Tavish—a fight against that mysterious fear, of +which he will not speak. I would give a year of my life—yes, even +more—to help him. There is something about him that is lovable, that +makes you want to cling to him, be near him. But he will have none of +that. He wants to be alone with his fear. Is it not strange? I have +pieced little things together, and that night—when terror drove him to +my cabin—he betrayed himself, and I learned one thing. He is afraid of +a <i>woman</i>!"</p> + +<p>"A woman!" gasped David.</p> + +<p>"Yes, a woman—a woman who lives—or lived—up in the Stikine River +country you mentioned to-day."</p> + +<p>David's heart stirred strangely.</p> + +<p>"The Stikine River, or—or—Firepan Creek?" he asked.</p> + +<p>It seemed a long time to him before Father Roland answered. He was +thinking deeply, with his eyes half closed, as though striving to recall +things that he had forgotten.</p> + +<p>"Yes—it was on the Firepan. I am sure of it," he said slowly. "He was +sick—small-pox, as I told you—and it was on the Firepan. I remember +that. And whoever the woman was, she was there. A woman! And he—afraid! +Afraid, even <i>now</i>, with her a thousand miles away, if she lives. Can +you account for it? I would give a great deal to know. But he will say +nothing. And—it is not my business to intrude. Yet I have guessed. I +have my own conviction. It is terrible."</p> + +<p>He spoke in a low voice, looking straight at David.</p> + +<p>"And that conviction, Father?" David barely whispered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tavish is afraid of some one who is <i>dead</i>."</p> + +<p>"Dead!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a woman—or a girl—who is dead; dead in the flesh, but living in +the spirit to haunt him. It is that. I know it. And he will not bare his +soul to me."</p> + +<p>"A girl ... who is dead ... on Firepan Creek. Her spirit...."</p> + +<p>A cold, invisible hand was clutching at David's throat. Shadows hid his +face, or Father Roland would have seen. His voice was strained. He +forced it between his lips.</p> + +<p>"Yes, her spirit," came the Missioner's answer, and David heard the +scrape of his knife as he cleaned out the bowl of his pipe. "It haunts +Tavish. It is with him always. <i>And he is afraid of it!</i>"</p> + +<p>David rose slowly to his feet and went toward the door, slipping on his +coat and cap. "I'm going to whistle for Baree," he said, and went out. +The white world was brilliant under the glow of a full moon and a +billion stars. It was the most wonderful night he had ever seen, and yet +for a few moments he was as oblivious of its amazing beauty, its almost +startling vividness, as though he had passed out into darkness.</p> + +<p>"A girl ... Firepan ... dead ... haunting Tavish...."</p> + +<p>He did not hear the whining of the dogs. He was again piecing together +in his mind that picture—the barefooted girl standing on the rock, +disturbed, startled, terrified, poised as if about to fly from a great +danger. What had happened after the taking of that picture? Was it +Tavish who had taken it? Was it Tavish who had surprised her there? Was +it Tavish—Tavish—Tavish....?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> + +<p>His mind could not go on. He steadied himself, one hand clutching at the +breast of his coat, where the picture lay.</p> + +<p>The cabin door opened behind him. The Missioner came out. He coughed, +and looked up at the sky.</p> + +<p>"A splendid night, David," he said softly. "A splendid night!"</p> + +<p>He spoke in a strange, quiet voice that made David turn. The Little +Missioner was facing the moon. He was gazing off into that wonder-world +of forests and snow and stars and moonlight in a fixed and steady gaze, +and it seemed to David that he aged, and shrank into smaller form, and +that his shoulders drooped as if under a weight. And all at once David +saw in his face what he had seen before when in the coach—a +forgetfulness of all things but one, the lifting of a strange curtain, +the baring of a soul; and for a few moments Father Roland stood with his +face turned to the light of the skies, as if preoccupied by an +all-pervading and hopeless grief.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> + +<p>It was Baree who disturbed the silent tableau in the moonlight. David +was staring at the Missioner, held by the look of anguish that had +settled so quickly and so strangely in his face, as if this bright night +with its moon and stars had recalled to him a great sorrow, when they +heard again the wolf-dog's howl out in the forest. It was quite near. +David, with his eyes still on the other, saw Father Roland start, as if +for an instant he had forgotten where he was. The Missioner looked his +way, and straightened his shoulders slowly, with a smile on his lips +that was strained and wan as the smile of one worn out by an arduous +toil.</p> + +<p>"A splendid night," he repeated, and he raised a naked hand to his head, +as if slowly brushing away something from before his eyes. "It was a +night like this—this—fifteen years ago...."</p> + +<p>He stopped. In the moonlight he brought himself together with a jerk. He +came and laid a hand on David's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"That was Baree," he said. "The dog has followed us."</p> + +<p>"He is not very far in the forest," answered David.</p> + +<p>"No. He smells us. He is waiting out there for you."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence between them as they listened.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will take him a fish," said David, then. "I am sure he will come to +me."</p> + +<p>Mukoki had hoisted the gunny sack full of fish well up against the roof +of the cabin to keep it from chance marauders of the night, and Father +Roland stood by while David lowered it and made a choice for Baree's +supper. Then he reëntered the cabin.</p> + +<p>It was not Baree who drew David slowly into the forest. He wanted to be +alone, away from Father Roland and the quiet, insistent scrutiny of the +Cree. He wanted to think, ask himself questions, find answers for them +if he could. His mind was just beginning to rouse itself to the +significance of the events of the past day and night, and he was like +one bewildered by a great mystery, and startled by visions of a possible +tragedy. Fate had played with him strangely. It had linked him with +happenings that were inexplicable and unusual, and he believed that they +were not without their meaning for him. More or less of a fatalist, he +was inspired by the sudden and disturbing thought that they had happened +by inevitable necessity.</p> + +<p>Vividly he saw again the dark, haunting eyes of the woman in the coach, +and heard again the few low, tense words with which she had revealed to +him her quest of a man—a man by the name of Michael O'Doone. In her +presence he had felt the nearness of tragedy. It had stirred him deeply, +almost as deeply as the picture she had left in her seat—the picture +hidden now against his breast—like a thing which must not be betrayed, +and which a strange and compelling instinct had made him associate in +such a startling way with Tavish. He could not get Tavish out of his +mind; Tavish, the haunted man; Tavish the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> man who had fled from the +Firepan Creek country at just about the time the girl in the picture had +stood on the rock beside the pool; Tavish, terror-driven by a spirit of +the dead! He did not attempt to reason the matter, or bare the folly of +his alarm. He did not ask himself about the improbability of it all, but +accepted without equivocation that strong impression as it had come to +him—the conviction that the girl on the rock and the woman in the coach +were in some way identified with the flight of Tavish, the man he had +never seen, from that far valley in the northwest mountains.</p> + +<p>The questions he asked himself now were not to establish in his own mind +either the truth or the absurdity of this conviction. He was determining +with himself whether or not to confide in Father Roland. It was more +than delicacy that made him hesitate; it was almost a personal shame. +For a long time he had kept within his breast the secret of his own +tragedy and dishonour. That it was <i>his</i> dishonour, almost as much as +the woman's, had been his own conviction; and how, at last, he had come +to reveal that corroding sickness in his soul to a man who was almost a +stranger was more than he could understand. But he had done just that. +Father Roland had seen him stripped down to the naked truth in an hour +of great need, and he had put out a hand in time to save him. He no +longer doubted this last immeasurable fact. Twenty times since then, +coldly and critically, he had thought of the woman who had been his +wife, and slowly and terribly the enormity of her crime had swept +further and further away from him the anguish of her loss. He was like a +man risen from a sick bed, breathing freely again, tasting once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> more +the flavour of the air that filled his lungs. All this he owed to Father +Roland, and because of this—and his confession of only two nights +ago—he felt a burning humiliation at the thought of telling the +Missioner that another face had come to fill his thoughts, and stir his +anxieties. And what less could he tell, if he confided in him at all?</p> + +<p>He had gone a hundred yards or more into the forest, and in a little +open space, lighted up like a tiny amphitheatre in the glow of the moon, +he stopped. Suddenly there came to him, thrilling in its promise, a key +to the situation. He would wait until they reached Tavish's. And then, +in the presence of the Missioner, he would suddenly show Tavish the +picture. His heart throbbed uneasily as he anticipated the possible +tragedy—the sudden betrayal—of that moment, for Father Roland had +said, like one who had glimpsed beyond the ken of human eyes, that +Tavish was haunted by a vision of the dead. The dead! Could it be that +she, the girl in the picture....? He shook himself, set his lips tight +to get the thought away from him. And the woman—the woman in the coach, +the woman who had left in her seat this picture that was growing in his +heart like a living thing—who was she? Was her quest one of +vengeance—of retribution? Was Tavish the man she was seeking? Up in +that mountain valley—where the girl had stood on that rock—had his +name been Michael O'Doone?</p> + +<p>He was trembling when he went on, deeper into the forest. But of his +determination there was no longer a doubt. He would say nothing to +Father Roland until Tavish had seen the picture.</p> + +<p>Until now he had forgotten Baree. In the disquieting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> fear with which +his thoughts were weighted he had lost hold of the fact that in his hand +he still carried the slightly curved and solidly frozen substance of a +fish. The movement of a body near him, so unexpected and alarmingly +close that a cry broke from his lips as he leaped to one side, roused +him with a sudden mental shock. The beast, whatever it was, had passed +within six feet of him, and now, twice that distance away, stood like a +statue hewn out of stone levelling at him the fiery gleam of a solitary +eye. Until he saw that one eye, and not two, David did not breathe. Then +he gasped. The fish had fallen from his fingers. He stooped, picked it +up, and called softly:</p> + +<p>"Baree!"</p> + +<p>The dog was waiting for his voice. His one eye shifted, slanting like a +searchlight in the direction of the cabin, and turned swiftly back to +David. He whined, and David spoke to him again, calling his name, and +holding out the fish. For several moments Baree did not move, but eyed +him with the immobility of a half-blinded sphinx. Then, suddenly, he +dropped on his belly and began crawling toward him.</p> + +<p>A spatter of moonlight fell upon them as David, crouching on his heels, +gave Baree the fish, holding for a moment to the tail of it while the +hungry beast seized its head between his powerful jaws with a grinding +crunch. The power of those jaws sent a little shiver through the man so +close to them. They were terrible—and splendid. A man's leg-bone would +have cracked between them like a pipe stem. And Baree, with that power +of death in his jaws, had a second time crept to him on his belly—not +fearingly, in the shadow of a club, but like a thing tamed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> into slavery +by a yearning adoration. It was a fact that seized upon David with a +peculiar hold. It built up between them—between this down-and-out beast +and a man fighting to find himself—a comradeship which perhaps only the +man and the beast could understand. Even as he devoured the fish Baree +kept his one eye on David, as though fearing he might lose him again if +he allowed his gaze to falter for an instant. The truculency and the +menace of that eye were gone. It was still bloodshot, still burned with +a reddish fire, and a great pity swept through David, as he thought of +the blows the club must have given. He noticed, then, that Baree was +making efforts to open the other eye; he saw the swollen lid flutter, +the muscle twitch. Impulsively he put out a hand. It fell unflinchingly +on Baree's head, and in an instant the crunching of the dog's jaw had +ceased, and he lay as if dead. David bent nearer. With the thumb and +forefinger of his other hand he gently lifted the swollen lid. It caused +a hurt. Baree whined softly. His great body trembled. His ivory fangs +clicked like the teeth of a man with ague. To his wolfish soul, +trembling in a body that had been condemned, beaten, clubbed almost to +the door of death, that hurt caused by David's fingers was a caress. He +understood. He saw with a vision that was keener than sight. Faith was +born in him, and burned like a conflagration. His head dropped to the +snow; a great, gasping sigh ran through him, and his trembling ceased. +His good eye closed slowly as David gently and persistently massaged the +muscles of the other with his thumb and forefinger. When at last he rose +to his feet and returned to the cabin, Baree followed him to the edge of +the clearing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mukoki and the Missioner had made their beds of balsam boughs, two on +the floor and one in the bunk, and the Cree had already rolled himself +in his blanket when David entered the shack. Father Roland was wiping +David's gun.</p> + +<p>"We'll give you a little practice with this to-morrow," he promised. "Do +you suppose you can hit a moose?"</p> + +<p>"I have my doubts, <i>mon Père</i>."</p> + +<p>Father Roland gave vent to his curious chuckle.</p> + +<p>"I have promised to make a marksman of you in exchange for your—your +trouble in teaching me how to use the gloves," he said, polishing +furiously. There was a twinkle in his eyes, as if a moment before he had +been laughing to himself. The gloves were on the table. He had been +examining them again, and David found himself smiling at the childlike +and eager interest he had taken in them. Suddenly Father Roland rubbed +still a little faster, and said:</p> + +<p>"If you can't hit a moose with a bullet you surely can hit me with these +gloves—eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite positively. But I shall be merciful if you, in turn, show +some charity in teaching me how to shoot."</p> + +<p>The Little Missioner finished his polishing, set the rifle against the +wall, and took the gloves in his hands.</p> + +<p>"It is bright—almost like day—outside," he said a little yearningly. +"Are you—tired?"</p> + +<p>His hint was obvious, even to Mukoki, who stared at him from under his +blanket. And David was not tired. If his afternoon's work had fatigued +him his exhaustion was forgotten in the mental excitement that had +followed the Missioner's story of Tavish. He took a pair of the gloves +in his hands, and nodded toward the door.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You mean...."</p> + +<p>Father Roland was on his feet.</p> + +<p>"If you are not tired. It would give us a better stomach for sleep."</p> + +<p>Mukoki rolled from his blanket, a grin on his leathery face. He tied the +wrist laces for them, and followed them out into the moonlit night, his +face a copper-coloured gargoyle illuminated by that fixed and joyous +grin. David saw the look and wondered if it would change when he sent +the Little Missioner bowling over in the snow, which he was quite sure +to do, even if he was careful. He was a splendid boxer. In the days of +his practice he had struck a terrific blow for his weight. At the +Athletic Club he had been noted for a subtle strategy and a cleverness +of defence that were his own. But he felt that he had grown rusty during +the past year and a half. This thought was in his mind when he tapped +the Missioner on the end of his ruddy nose. They squared away in the +moonlight, eight inches deep in the snow, and there was a joyous and +eager light in Father Roland's eyes. The tap on his nose did not dim it. +His teeth gleamed, even as David's gloves went <i>plunk</i>, <i>plunk</i>, against +his nose again. Mukoki, still grinning like a carven thing, chuckled +audibly. David pranced carelessly about the Little Missioner, poking him +beautifully as he offered suggestions and criticism.</p> + +<p>"You should protect your nose, <i>mon Père</i>"—<i>plunk</i>! "And the pit of +your stomach"—<i>plunk</i>! "And also your ears"—<i>plunk</i>, <i>plunk</i>! "But +especially your nose, <i>mon Père</i>"—<i>plunk</i>, <i>plunk</i>!</p> + +<p>"And sometimes the tip of your jaw, David," gurgled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> Father Roland, and +for a few moments night closed in darkly about David.</p> + +<p>When he came fully into his senses again he was sitting in the snow, +with the Little Missioner bending over him anxiously, and Mukoki +grinning down at him like a fiend.</p> + +<p>"Dear Heaven, forgive me!" he heard Father Roland saying. "I didn't mean +it so hard, David—I didn't! But oh, man, it was such a chance—such a +beautiful chance! And now I've spoiled it. I've spoiled our fun."</p> + +<p>"Not unless you're—tired," said David, getting up on his feet. "You +took me at a disadvantage, <i>mon Père</i>. I thought you were green."</p> + +<p>"And you were pulverizing my nose," apologized Father Roland.</p> + +<p>They went at it again, and this time David spared none of his caution, +and offered no advice, and the Missioner no longer posed, but became +suddenly as elusive and as agile as a cat. David was amazed, but he +wasted no breath to demand an explanation. Father Roland was parrying +his straight blows like an adept. Three times in as many minutes he felt +the sting of the Missioner's glove in his face. In straight-away boxing, +without the finer tricks and artifice of the game, he was soon convinced +that the forest man was almost his match. Little by little he began to +exert the cleverness of his training. At the end of ten minutes Father +Roland was sitting dazedly in the snow, and the grin had gone from +Mukoki's face. He had succumbed to a trick—a swift side step, a feint +that had held in it an ambush, and the seat of the Little Missioner's +faculties had rocked. But he was gurgling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> joyously when he rose to his +feet, and with one arm he hugged David as they returned to the cabin.</p> + +<p>"Only one other man has given me a jolt like that in many a year," he +boasted, a bit proudly. "And that was Tavish. Tavish is good. He must +have lived long among fighting men. Perhaps that is why I think so +kindly of him. I love a fighting man if he fights honourably with either +brain or brawn, even more than I despise a coward."</p> + +<p>"And yet this Tavish, you say, is pursued by a great fear. Can he be so +much of a fighting man, in the way you mean, and still live in terror +of...."</p> + +<p>"<i>What?</i>"</p> + +<p>That single word broke from the Missioner like the sharp crack of a +whip.</p> + +<p>"Of <i>what</i> is he afraid?" he repeated. "Can you tell me? Can you guess +more than I have guessed? Is one a coward because he fears whispers that +tremble in the air and sees a face in the darkness of night that is +neither living nor dead? Is he?"</p> + +<p>For a long time after he had gone to bed David lay wide awake in the +darkness, his mind working until it seemed to him that it was prisoned +in an iron chamber from which it was making futile efforts to escape. He +could hear the steady breathing of Father Roland and Mukoki, who were +asleep. His own eyes he could close only by forced efforts to bring upon +himself the unconsciousness of rest. Tavish filled his mind—Tavish and +the girl—and along with them the mysterious woman in the coach. He +struggled with himself. He told himself how absurd it all was, how +grotesquely his imagination was employing itself with him—how +incredible it was that Tavish and the girl in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> picture should be +associated in that terrible way that had occurred to him. But he failed +to convince himself. He fell asleep at last, and his slumber was filled +with fleeting visions. When he awoke the cabin was filled with the glow +of the lantern. Father Roland and Mukoki were up, and a fire was +crackling in the stove.</p> + +<p>The four days that followed broke the last link in the chain that held +David Raine to the life from which he was fleeing when the forest +Missioner met him in the Transcontinental. They were four wonderful +days, in which they travelled steadily northward; days of splendid +sunshine, of intense cold, of brilliant stars and a full moon at night. +The first of these four days David travelled fifteen miles on his snow +shoes, and that night he slept in a balsam shelter close to the face of +a great rock which they heated with a fire of logs, so that all through +the cold hours between darkness and gray dawn the boulder was like a +huge warming-stone. The second day marked also the second great stride +in his education in the life of the wild. Fang and hoof and padded claw +were at large again in the forests after the blizzard, and Father Roland +stopped at each broken path that crossed the trail, pointing out to him +the stories that were written in the snow. He showed him where a fox had +followed silently after a snow-shoe rabbit; where a band of wolves had +ploughed through the snow in the trail of a deer that was doomed, and in +a dense run of timber where both moose and caribou had sought refuge +from the storm he explained carefully the slight difference between the +hoofprints of the two. That night Baree came into camp while they were +sleeping, and in the morning they found where he had burrowed his round +bed in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> the snow not a dozen yards from their shelter. The third morning +David shot his moose. And that night he lured Baree almost to the side +of their campfire, and tossed him chunks of raw flesh from where he sat +smoking his pipe.</p> + +<p>He was changed. Three days on the trail and three nights in camp under +the stars had begun their promised miracle-working. His face was +darkened by a stubble of beard, his ears and cheek bones were reddened +by exposure to cold and wind; he felt that in those three days and +nights his muscles had hardened, and his weakness had left him. "It was +in your mind—your sickness," Father Roland had told him, and he +believed it now. He began to find a pleasure in that physical +achievement which he had wondered at in Mukoki and the Missioner. Each +noon when they stopped to boil their tea and cook their dinner, and each +night when they made camp, he had chopped down a tree. To-night it had +been an 8-inch jack pine, tough with pitch. The exertion had sent his +blood pounding through him furiously. He was still breathing deeply as +he sat near the fire, tossing bits of meat out to Baree. They were sixty +miles from Thoreau's cabin, straight north, and for the twentieth time +Father Roland was telling him how well he had done.</p> + +<p>"And to-morrow," he added, "we'll reach Tavish's."</p> + +<p>It had grown upon David that to see Tavish had become his one great +mission in the North. What adventure lay beyond that meeting he did not +surmise. All his thoughts had centred in the single desire to let Tavish +look upon the picture. To-night, after the Missioner had joined Mukoki +in the silk tent buried warmly under the mass of cut balsam, he sat a +little longer beside the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> fire, and asked himself questions which he had +not thought of before. He would see Tavish. He would show him the +picture. And—what then? Would that be the end of it? He felt, for a +moment, uncomfortable. Beyond Tavish there was a disturbing and +unanswerable problem. The Girl, if she still lived, was a thousand miles +from where he was sitting at this moment; to reach her, with that +distance of mountain and forest between them, would be like travelling +to the end of the world. It was the first time there had risen in his +mind a definite thought of going to her—if she were alive. It startled +him. It was like a shock. Go to her? Why? He drew forth the picture from +his coat pocket and stared at the wonder-face of the Girl in the light +of the blazing logs. <i>Why?</i> His heart trembled. He lifted his eyes to +the grayish film of smoke rising between him and the balsam-covered +tent, and slowly he saw another face take form, framed in that +wraith-like mist of smoke—the face of a golden goddess, laughing at +him, taunting him. <i>Laughing—laughing!</i>... He forced his gaze from it +with a shudder. Again he looked at the picture of the Girl in his hand. +"<i>She knows. She understands. She comforts me.</i>" He whispered the words. +They were like a breath rising out of his soul. He replaced the picture +in his pocket, and for a moment held it close against his breast.</p> + +<p>The next day, as the swift-thickening gloom of northern night was +descending about them again, the Missioner halted his team on the crest +of a boulder-strewn ridge, and pointing down into the murky plain at +their feet he said, with the satisfaction of one who has come to a +journey's end:</p> + +<p>"There is Tavish's."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> + +<p>They went down into the plain. David strained his eyes, but he could see +nothing where Father Roland had pointed except the purplish sea of +forest growing black in the fading twilight. Ahead of the team Mukoki +picked his way slowly and cautiously among the snow-hidden rocks, and +with the Missioner David flung his weight backward on the sledge to keep +it from running upon the dogs. It was a thick, wild place and it struck +him that Tavish could not have chosen a spot of more sinister aspect in +which to hide himself and his secret. A terribly lonely place it was, +and still as death as they went down into it. They heard not even the +howl of a dog, and surely Tavish had dogs. He was on the point of +speaking, of asking the Missioner why Tavish, haunted by fear, should +bury himself in a place like this, when the lead-dog suddenly stopped +and a low, lingering whine drifted back to them. David had never heard +anything like that whine. It swept through the line of dogs, from throat +to throat, and the beasts stood stiff-legged and stark in their traces, +staring with eight pairs of restlessly blazing eyes into the wall of +darkness ahead. The Cree had turned, but the sharp command on his lips +had frozen there. David saw him standing ahead of the team as silent and +as motionless as rock. From him he looked into the Missioner's face. +Father Roland was staring. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> was a strange suspense in his +breathing. And then, suddenly, the lead-dog sat back on his haunches and +turning his gray muzzle up to the sky emitted a long and mournful howl. +There was something about it that made David shiver. Mukoki came +staggering back through the snow like a sick man.</p> + +<p>"<i>Nipoo-win Ooyoo!</i>" he said, his eyes shining like points of flame. A +shiver seemed to be running through him.</p> + +<p>For a moment the Missioner did not seem to hear him. Then he cried:</p> + +<p>"Give them the whip! Drive them on!"</p> + +<p>The Cree turned, unwinding his long lash.</p> + +<p>"<i>Nipoo-win Ooyoo!</i>" he muttered again.</p> + +<p>The whip cracked over the backs of the huskies, the end of it stinging +the rump of the lead-dog, who was master of them all. A snarl rose for +an instant in his throat, then he straightened out, and the dogs lurched +forward. Mukoki ran ahead, so that the lead-dog was close at his heels.</p> + +<p>"What did he say?" asked David.</p> + +<p>In the gloom the Missioner made a gesture of protest with his two hands. +David could no longer see his face.</p> + +<p>"He is superstitious," he growled. "He is absurd. He would make the very +devil's flesh creep. He says that old Beaver has given the death howl. +Bah!"</p> + +<p>David could <i>feel</i> the other's shudder in the darkness. They went on for +another hundred yards. With a low word Mukoki stopped the team. The dogs +were whining softly, staring straight ahead, when David and the +Missioner joined the Cree.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + +<p>Father Roland pointed to a dark blot in the night, fifty paces beyond +them. He spoke to David.</p> + +<p>"There is Tavish's cabin. Come. We will see."</p> + +<p>Mukoki remained with the team. They could hear the dogs whining as they +advanced. The cabin took shape in their faces—grotesque, dark, +lifeless. It was a foreboding thing, that cabin. He remembered in a +flash all that the Missioner had told him about Tavish. His pulse was +beating swiftly. A shiver ran up his back, and he was filled with a +strange dread. Father Roland's voice startled him.</p> + +<p>"Tavish! Tavish!" it called.</p> + +<p>They stood close to the door, but heard no answer. Father Roland stamped +with his foot, and scraped with his toe on the ground.</p> + +<p>"See, the snow has been cleaned away recently," he said. "Mukoki is a +fool. He is superstitious. He made me, for an instant—afraid."</p> + +<p>There was a vast relief in his voice. The cabin door was unbolted and he +flung it open confidently. It was pitch dark inside, but a flood of warm +air struck their faces. The Missioner laughed.</p> + +<p>"Tavish, are you asleep?" he called.</p> + +<p>There was no answer. Father Roland entered.</p> + +<p>"He has been here recently. There is a fire in the stove. We will make +ourselves at home." He fumbled in his clothes and found a match. A +moment later he struck it, and lighted a tin lamp that hung from the +ceiling. In its glow his face was of a strange colour. He had been under +strain. The hand that held the burning match was unsteady. "Strange, +very strange," he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> saying, as if to himself. And then: +"Preposterous! I will go back and tell Mukoki. He is shivering. He is +afraid. He believes that Tavish is in league with the devil. He says +that the dogs know, and that they have warned him. Queer. Monstrously +queer. And interesting. Eh?"</p> + +<p>He went out. David stood where he was, looking about him in the blurred +light of the lamp over his head. He almost expected Tavish to creep out +from some dark corner; he half expected to see him move from under the +dishevelled blankets in the bunk at the far end of the room. It was a +big room, twenty feet from end to end, and almost as wide, and after a +moment or two he knew that he was the only living thing in it, except a +small, gray mouse that came fearlessly quite close to his feet. And then +he saw a second mouse, and a third, and about him, and over him, he +heard a creeping, scurrying noise, as of many tiny feet pattering. A +paper on the table rustled, a series of squeaks came from the bunk, he +felt something that was like a gentle touch on the toe of his moccasin, +and looked down. The cabin was alive with mice! It was filled with the +restless movement of them—little bright-eyed creatures who moved about +him without fear, and, he thought, expectantly. He had not moved an inch +when Father Roland came again into the cabin. He pointed to the floor.</p> + +<p>"The place is alive with them!" he protested.</p> + +<p>Father Roland appeared in great good humour as he slipped off his +mittens and rubbed his hands over the stove.</p> + +<p>"Tavish's pets," he chuckled. "He says they're company. I've seen a +dozen of them on his shoulders at one time. Queer. Queer."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>His hands made the rasping sound as he rubbed them. Suddenly he lifted a +lid from the stove and peered into the fire-box.</p> + +<p>"He put fuel in here less than an hour ago," he said. "Wonder where he +can be mouching at this hour. The dogs are gone." He scanned the table. +"No supper. Pans clean. Mice hungry. He'll be back soon. But we won't +wait. I'm famished."</p> + +<p>He spoke swiftly, and filled the stove with wood. Mukoki began bringing +in the dunnage. The uneasy gleam was still in his eyes. His gaze was +shifting and restless with expectation. He came and went noiselessly, +treading as though he feared his footsteps would awaken some one, and +David saw that he was afraid of the mice. One of them ran up his sleeve +as they were eating supper, and he flung it from him with a strange, +quick breath, his eyes blazing.</p> + +<p>"<i>Muche Munito!</i>" he shuddered.</p> + +<p>He swallowed the rest of his meat hurriedly, and after that took his +blankets, and with a few words in Cree to the Missioner left the cabin.</p> + +<p>"He says they are little devils—the mice," said Father Roland, looking +after him reflectively. "He will sleep near the dogs. I wonder how far +his intuition goes? He believes that Tavish harbours bad spirits in this +cabin, and that they have taken the form of mice. Pooh! They're cunning +little vermin. Tavish has taught them tricks. Watch this one feed out of +my hand!"</p> + +<p>Half a dozen times they had climbed to David's shoulders. One of them +had nestled in a warm furry ball against his neck, as if waiting. They +were certainly companionable—quite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> chummy, as the Missioner said. No +wonder Tavish harboured them in his loneliness. David fed them and let +them nibble from his fingers, and yet they gave him a distinctly +unpleasant sensation. When the Missioner had finished his last cup of +coffee he crumbled a thick chunk of bannock and placed it on the floor +back of the stove. The mice gathered round it in a silent, hungry, +nibbling horde. David tried to count them. There must have been twenty. +He felt an impulse to scoop them up in something, Tavish's water pail +for instance, and pitch them out into the night. The creatures became +quieter after their gorge on bannock crumbs. Most of them disappeared.</p> + +<p>For a long time David and the Missioner sat smoking their pipes, waiting +for Tavish. Father Roland was puzzled and yet he was assured. He was +puzzled because Tavish's snow shoes hung on their wooden peg in one of +the cross logs and his rifle was in its rack over the bunk.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know he had another pair of snow shoes," he said. "Still, it +is quite a time since I have seen him—a number of weeks. I came down in +the early November snow. He is not far away or he would have taken his +rifle. Probably setting a few fresh poison-baits after the storm."</p> + +<p>They heard the sweep of a low wind. It often came at night after a +storm, usually from off the Barrens to the northwest. Something thumped +gently against the outside of the cabin, a low, peculiarly heavy and +soft sort of sound, like a padded object, with only the log wall +separating it from the bunk. Their ears caught it quite distinctly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tavish hangs his meat out there," the Missioner explained, observing +the sudden direction of David's eyes. "A haunch of moose, or, if he has +been lucky, of caribou. I had forgotten Tavish's cache or we might have +saved our meat."</p> + +<p>He ran a hand through his thick, grayish hair until it stood up about +his head like a brush.</p> + +<p>David tried not to reveal his restlessness as they waited. At each new +sound he hoped that what he heard was Tavish's footsteps. He had quite +decidedly planned his action. Tavish would enter, and of course there +would be greetings, and possibly half an hour or more of smoking and +talk before he brought up the Firepan Creek country, unless, as might +fortuitously happen, Father Roland spoke of it ahead of him. After that +he would show Tavish the picture, and he would stand well in the light +so that it would be impressed upon Tavish all at once. He noticed that +the chimney of the lamp was sooty and discoloured, and somewhat to the +Missioner's amusement he took it off and cleaned it. The light was much +more satisfactory then. He wandered about the cabin, scrutinizing, as if +out of curiosity, Tavish's belongings. There was not much to discover. +Close to the bunk there was a small battered chest with riveted steel +ribs. He wondered whether it was unlocked, and what it contained. As he +stood over it he could hear plainly the <i>thud, thud, thud</i>, of the thing +outside—the haunch of meat—as though some one were tapping fragments +of the Morse code in a careless and broken sort of way. Then, without +any particular motive, he stepped into the dark corner at the end of the +bunk. An agonized squeak came from under his foot, and he felt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +something small and soft flatten out, like a wad of dough. He jumped +back. An exclamation broke from his lips. It was unpleasant, though the +soft thing was nothing more than a mouse.</p> + +<p>"Confound it!" he said.</p> + +<p>Father Roland was listening to the slow, pendulum-like <i>thud</i>, <i>thud</i>, +<i>thud</i>, against the logs of the cabin. It seemed to come more distinctly +as David crushed out the life of the mouse, as if pounding a protest +upon the wall.</p> + +<p>"Tavish has hung his meat low," he said concernedly. "Quite careless of +him, unless it is a very large quarter."</p> + +<p>He began slowly to undress.</p> + +<p>"We might as well turn in," he suggested. "When Tavish shows up the dogs +will raise bedlam and wake us. Throw out Tavish's blankets and put your +own in his bunk. I prefer the floor. Always did. Nothing like a good, +smooth floor...."</p> + +<p>He was interrupted by the opening of the cabin door. The Cree thrust in +his head and shoulders. He came no farther. His eyes were afire with the +smouldering gleam of garnets. He spoke rapidly in his native tongue to +the Missioner, gesturing with one lean, brown hand as he talked. Father +Roland's face became heavy, furrowed, perplexed. He broke in suddenly, +in Cree, and when he ceased speaking Mukoki withdrew slowly. The last +David saw of the Indian was his shifting, garnet-like eyes, disappearing +like beads of blackish flame.</p> + +<p>"<i>Pest!</i>" cried the Little Missioner, shrugging his shoulders in +disgust. "The dogs are uneasy. Mukoki says they smell death. They sit on +their haunches, he says, staring—staring at nothing, and whining like +puppies.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> He is going back with them to the other side of the ridge. If +it will ease his soul, let him go."</p> + +<p>"I have heard of dogs doing that," said David.</p> + +<p>"Of course they will do it," shot back Father Roland unhesitatingly. +"Northern dogs always do it, and especially mine. They are accustomed to +death. Twenty times in a winter, and sometimes more, I care for the +dead. They always go with me, and they can smell death in the wind. But +here—why, it is absurd! There is nothing dead here—unless it is that +mouse, and Tavish's meat!" He shook himself, grumbling under his breath +at Mukoki's folly. And then: "The dogs have always acted queerly when +Tavish was near," he added in a lower voice. "I can't explain why; they +simply do. Instinct, possibly. His presence makes them uneasy. An +unusual man, this Tavish. I wish he would come. I am anxious for you to +meet him."</p> + +<p>That his mind was quite easy on the score of Tavish's physical +well-being he emphasized by falling asleep very shortly after rolling +himself up in his blankets on the floor. During their three nights in +camp David had marvelled at and envied the ease with which Father Roland +could drop off into profound and satisfactory slumber, this being, as +his new friend had explained to him, the great and underlying virtue of +a good stomach. To-night, however, the Missioner's deep and regular +breathing as he lay on the floor was a matter of vexation to him. He +wanted him awake. He wanted him up and alive, thoroughly alive, when +Tavish came. "Pounding his ear like a tenderfoot," he thought, "while I, +a puppy in harness, couldn't sleep if I wanted to." He was nervously<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +alert. He filled his pipe for the third or fourth time and sat down on +the edge of the bunk, listening for Tavish. He was certain, from all +that had been said, that Tavish would come. All he had to do was wait. +There had been growing in him, a bit unconsciously at first, a feeling +of animosity toward Tavish, an emotion that burned in him with a +gathering fierceness as he sat alone in the dim light of the cabin, +grinding out in his mental restlessness visions of what Tavish might +have done. Conviction had never been stronger in him. Tavish, if he had +guessed correctly, was a fiend. He would soon know. And if he was right, +if Tavish had done that, if up in those mountains....</p> + +<p>His eyes blazed and his hands were clenched as he looked down at Father +Roland. After a moment, without taking his eyes from the Missioner's +recumbent form, he reached to the pocket of his coat which he had flung +on the bunk and drew out the picture of the Girl. He looked at it a long +time, his heart growing warm, and the tense lines softening in his face.</p> + +<p>"It can't be," he whispered. "She is alive!"</p> + +<p>As if the wind had heard him, and was answering, there came more +distinctly the sound close behind him.</p> + +<p><i>Thud! Thud! Thud!</i></p> + +<p>There was a silence, in which David closed his fingers tightly about the +picture. And then, more insistently:</p> + +<p><i>Thud! Thud! Thud!</i></p> + +<p>He put the picture back into his pocket, and rose to his feet. +Mechanically he slipped on his coat. He went to the door, opened it +softly, and passed out into the night. The moon was above him, like a +great, white disc. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> sky burned with stars. He could see now to the +foot of the ridge over which Mukoki had gone, and the clearing about the +cabin lay in a cold and luminous glory. Tavish, if he had been caught in +the twilight darkness and had waited for the moon to rise, would be +showing up soon.</p> + +<p>He walked to the side of the cabin and looked back. Quite distinctly he +could see Tavish's meat, suspended from a stout sapling that projected +straight out from under the edge of the roof. It hung there darkly, a +little in shadow, swinging gently in the wind that had risen, and +tap-tap-tapping against the logs. David moved toward it, gazing at the +edge of the forest in which he thought he had heard a sound that was +like the creak of a sledge runner. He hoped it was Tavish returning. For +several moments he listened with his back to the cabin. Then he turned. +He was very close to the thing hanging from the sapling. It was swinging +slightly. The moon shone on it, and then—Great God! A face—a human +face! A face, bearded, with bulging, staring eyes, gaping mouth—a grin +of agony frozen in it! And it was tapping, tapping, tapping!</p> + +<p>He staggered back with a dreadful cry. He swayed to the door, groped +blindly for the latch, stumbled in clumsily, like a drunken man. The +horror of that lifeless, grinning face was in his voice. He had awakened +the Missioner, who was sitting up, staring at him.</p> + +<p>"Tavish ..." cried David chokingly; "Tavish—is dead!" and he pointed to +the end of the cabin where they could hear again that <i>tap-tap-tapping</i> +against the log wall.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> + +<p>Not until afterward did David realize how terribly his announcement of +Tavish's death must have struck into the soul of Father Roland. For a +few seconds the Missioner did not move. He was wide awake, he had heard, +and yet he looked at David dumbly, his two hands gripping his blanket. +When he did move, it was to turn his face slowly toward the end of the +cabin where the thing was hanging, with only the wall between. Then, +still slowly, he rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>David thought he had only half understood.</p> + +<p>"Tavish—is dead!" he repeated huskily, straining to swallow the +thickening in his throat. "He is out there—hanging by his neck—dead!"</p> + +<p><i>Dead!</i> He emphasized that word—spoke it twice.</p> + +<p>Father Roland still did not answer. He was getting into his clothes +mechanically, his face curiously ashen, his eyes neither horrified nor +startled, but with a stunned look in them. He did not speak when he went +to the door and out into the night. David followed, and in a moment they +stood close to the thing that was hanging where Tavish's meat should +have been. The moon threw a vivid sort of spotlight on it. It was +grotesque and horrible—very bad to look at, and unforgettable. Tavish +had not died easily. He seemed to shriek that fact at them as he swung +there dead; even now he seemed more terrified than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> cold. His teeth +gleamed a little. That, perhaps, was the worst of it all. And his hands +were clenched tight. David noticed that. Nothing seemed relaxed about +him.</p> + +<p>Not until he had looked at Tavish for perhaps sixty full seconds did +Father Roland speak. He had recovered himself, judging from his voice. +It was quiet and unexcited. But in his first words, unemotional as they +were, there was a significance that was almost frightening.</p> + +<p>"At last! She made him do that!"</p> + +<p>He was speaking to himself, looking straight into Tavish's agonized +face. A great shudder swept through David. <i>She!</i> He wanted to cry out. +He wanted to know. But the Missioner now had his hands on the gruesome +thing in the moonlight, and he was saying:</p> + +<p>"There is still warmth in his body. He has not been long dead. He hanged +himself, I should say, not more than half an hour before we reached the +cabin. Give me a hand, David!"</p> + +<p>With a mighty effort David pulled himself together. After all, it was +nothing more than a dead man hanging there. But his hands were like ice +as he seized hold of it. A knife gleamed in the moonlight over Tavish's +head as the Missioner cut the rope. They lowered Tavish to the snow, and +David went into the cabin for a blanket. Father Roland wrapped the +blanket carefully about the body so that it would not freeze to the +ground. Then they entered the cabin. The Missioner threw off his coat +and built up the fire. When he turned he seemed to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> notice for the first +time the deathly pallor in David's face.</p> + +<p>"It shocked you—when you found it there," he said. "<i>Ugh!</i> I don't +wonder. But I ... David, I didn't tell you I was expecting something +like this. I have feared for Tavish. And to-night when the dogs and +Mukoki signalled death I was alarmed—until we found the fire in the +stove. It didn't seem reasonable then. I thought Tavish would return. +The dogs were gone, too. He must have freed them just before he went out +there. Terrible! But justice—justice, I suppose. God sometimes works +His ends in queer ways, doesn't He?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" cried David, again fighting that thickening in his +throat. "Tell me, Father! I must know. Why did he kill himself?"</p> + +<p>His hand was clutching at his breast, where the picture lay. He wanted +to tear it out, in this moment, and demand of Father Roland whether this +was the face—the girl's face—that had haunted Tavish.</p> + +<p>"I mean that his fear drove him at last to kill himself," said Father +Roland in a slow, sure voice, as if carefully weighing his words before +speaking them. "I believe, now, that he terribly wronged some one, that +his conscience was his fear, and that it haunted him by bringing up +visions and voices until it drove him finally to pay his debt. And up +here conscience is <i>mitoo aye chikoon</i>—the Little Brother of God. That +is all I know. I wish Tavish had confided in me, I might have saved +him."</p> + +<p>"Or—punished," breathed David.</p> + +<p>"My business is not to punish. If he had come to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> me, asking help for +himself and mercy from his God, I could not have betrayed him."</p> + +<p>He was putting on his coat again.</p> + +<p>"I am going after Mukoki," he said. "There is work to be done, and we +may as well get through with it by moonlight. I don't suppose you feel +like sleep?"</p> + +<p>David shook his head. He was calmer now, quite recovered from the first +horror of his shock, when the door closed behind Father Roland. In the +thoughts that were swiftly readjusting themselves in his mind there was +no very great sympathy for the man who had hanged himself. In place of +that sympathy the oppression of a thing that was greater than +disappointment settled upon him heavily, driving from him his own +personal dread of this night's ghastly adventure, and adding to his +suspense of the last forty-eight hours a hopelessness the poignancy of +which was almost like that of a physical pain. Tavish was dead, and in +dying he had taken with him the secret for which David would have paid +with all he was worth in this hour. In his despair, as he stood there +alone in the cabin, he muttered something to himself. The desire +possessed him to cry out aloud that Tavish had cheated him. A strange +kind of rage burned within him and he turned toward the door, with +clenched hands, as if about to rush out and choke from the dead man's +throat what he wanted to know, and force his glazed and staring eyes to +look for just one instant on the face of the girl in the picture. In +another moment his brain had cleared itself of that insane fire. After +all, would Tavish kill himself without leaving something behind? Would +there not be some kind of an explanation, written by Tavish before he +took<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> the final step? A confession? A letter to Father Roland? Tavish +knew that the Missioner would stop at his cabin on his return into the +North. Surely he would not kill himself without leaving some work for +him—at least a brief accounting for his act!</p> + +<p>He began looking about the cabin again, swiftly and eagerly at first, +for if Tavish had written anything he would beyond all doubt have placed +the paper in some conspicuous place: pinned it at the end of his bunk, +or on the wall, or against the door. They might have overlooked it, or +possibly it had fallen to the floor. To make his search surer David +lowered the lamp from its bracket in the ceiling and carried it in his +hand. He went into dark corners, scrutinized the floor as well as the +walls, and moved garments from their wooden pegs. There was nothing. +Tavish had cheated him again! His eyes rested finally on the chest. He +placed the lamp on a stool, and tried the lid. It was unlocked. As he +lifted it he heard voices indistinctly outside. Father Roland had +returned with Mukoki. He could hear them as they went to where Tavish +was lying with his face turned up to the moon.</p> + +<p>On his knees he began pawing over the stuff in the chest. It was a third +filled with odds and ends—little else but trash; tangled ends of +<i>babiche</i>, a few rusted tools, nails and bolts, a pair of half-worn shoe +packs—a mere litter of disappointing rubbish. The door opened behind +him as he was rising to his feet. He turned to face Mukoki and the +Missioner.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing," he said, with a gesture that took in the room. "He +hasn't left any word that I can find."</p> + +<p>Father Roland had not closed the door.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mukoki will help you search. Look in his clothing on the wall. Tavish +must surely have left—something."</p> + +<p>He went out, shutting the door behind him. For a moment he listened to +make sure that David was not going to follow him. He hurried then to the +body of Tavish, and stripped off the blanket. The dead man was terrible +to look at, with his open glassy eyes and his distorted face, and the +moonlight gleaming on his grinning teeth. The Missioner shuddered.</p> + +<p>"I can't guess," he whispered, as if speaking to Tavish. "I can't +guess—quite—what made you do it, Tavish. But you haven't died without +telling me. I know it. It's there—in your pocket."</p> + +<p>He listened again, and his lips moved. He bent over him, on one knee, +and averted his eyes as he searched the pockets of Tavish's heavy coat. +Against the dead man's breast he found it, neatly folded, about the size +of foolscap paper—several pages of it, he judged, by the thickness of +the packet. It was tied with fine threads of <i>babiche</i>, and in the +moonlight he could make out quite distinctly the words, "For Father +Roland, God's Lake—Personal." Tavish, after all, had not made himself +the victim of sudden fright, of a momentary madness. He had planned the +affair in a quite business-like way. Premeditated it with considerable +precision, in fact, and yet in the end he had died with that stare of +horror and madness in his face. Father Roland spread the blanket over +him again after he had placed the packet in his own coat. He knew where +Tavish's pick and shovel were hanging at the back of the cabin and he +brought these tools and placed them be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>side the body. After that he +rejoined David and the Cree.</p> + +<p>They were still searching, and finding nothing.</p> + +<p>"I have been looking through his clothes—out there," said the +Missioner, with a shuddering gesture which intimated that his task had +been as fruitless as their own. "We may as well bury him. A shallow +grave, close to where his body lies. I have placed a pick and a shovel +on the spot." He spoke to David: "Would you mind helping Mukoki to dig? +I would like to be alone for a little while. You understand. There are +things...."</p> + +<p>"I understand, Father."</p> + +<p>For the first time David felt something of the awe of this thing that +was death. He had forgotten, almost, that Father Roland was a servant of +God, so vitally human had he found him, so unlike all other men of his +calling he had ever known. But it was impressed upon him now, as he +followed Mukoki. Father Roland wanted to be alone. Perhaps to pray. To +ask mercy for Tavish's soul. To plead for its guidance into the Great +Unknown. The thought quieted his own emotions, and as he began to dig in +the hard snow and frozen earth he tried to think of Tavish as a man, and +not as a monster.</p> + +<p>In the cabin Father Roland waited until he heard the beat of the pick +before he moved. Then he fastened the cabin door with a wooden bolt and +sat himself down at the table, with the lamp close to his bent head and +Tavish's confession in his hands. He cut the <i>babiche</i> threads with his +knife, unfolded the sheets of paper and began to read, while Tavish's +mice nosed slyly out of their murky corners wondering at the new and +sudden stillness in the cabin and,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> it may be, stirred into restlessness +by the absence of their master.</p> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<p>The ground under the snow was discouragingly hard. To David the digging +of the grave seemed like chipping out bits of flint from a solid block, +and he soon turned over the pick to Mukoki. Alternately they worked for +an hour, and each time that the Cree took his place David wondered what +was keeping the Missioner so long in the cabin. At last Mukoki intimated +with a sweep of his hands and a hunch of his shoulders that their work +was done. The grave looked very shallow to David, and he was about to +protest against his companion's judgment when it occurred to him that +Mukoki had probably digged many holes such as this in the earth, and had +helped to fill them again, so it was possible he knew his business. +After all, why did people weigh down one's last slumber with six feet of +soil overhead when three or four would leave one nearer to the sun, and +make not quite so chill a bed? He was thinking of this as he took a last +look at Tavish. Then he heard the Indian give a sudden grunt, as if some +one had poked him unexpectedly in the pit of the stomach. He whirled +about, and stared.</p> + +<p>Father Roland stood within ten feet of them, and at sight of him an +exclamation rose to David's lips and died there in an astonished gasp. +He seemed to be swaying, like a sick man, in the moonlight, and impelled +by the same thought Mukoki and David moved toward him. The Missioner +extended an arm, as if to hold them back. His face was ghastly, and +terrible—almost as terrible as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> Tavish's, and he seemed to be +struggling with something in his throat before he could speak. Then he +said, in a strange, forced voice that David had never heard come from +his lips before:</p> + +<p>"Bury him. There will be—no prayer."</p> + +<p>He turned away, moving slowly in the direction of the forest. And as he +went David noticed the heavy drag of his feet, and the unevenness of his +trail in the snow.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> + +<p>For two or three minutes after Father Roland had disappeared in the +forest David and Mukoki stood without moving. Amazed and a little +stunned by the change they had seen in the Missioner's ghastly face, and +perplexed by the strangeness of his voice and the unsteadiness of his +walk as he had gone away from them, they looked expectantly for him to +return out of the shadows of the timber. His last words had come to them +with metallic hardness, and their effect, in a way, had been rather +appalling: "There will be—no prayer." Why? The question was in Mukoki's +gleaming, narrow eyes as he faced the dark spruce, and it was on David's +lips as he turned at last to look at the Cree. There was to be no prayer +for Tavish! David felt himself shuddering, when suddenly, breaking the +silence like a sinister cackle, an exultant exclamation burst from the +Indian, as though, all at once, understanding had dawned upon him. He +pointed to the dead man, his eyes widening.</p> + +<p>"Tavish—he great devil," he said. "<i>Mon Père</i> make no prayer. +<i>Mey-oo!</i>" and he grinned in triumph, for had he not, during all these +months, told his master that Tavish was a devil, and that his cabin was +filled with little devils? "Mey-oo," he cried again, louder than before. +"A devil!" and with a swift, vengeful movement he sprang to Tavish,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +caught him by his moccasined feet, and to David's horror flung him +fiercely into the shallow grave. "A devil!" he croaked again, and like a +madman began throwing in the frozen earth upon the body.</p> + +<p>David turned away, sickened by the thud of the body and the fall of the +clods on its upturned face—for he had caught a last unpleasant glimpse +of the face, and it was staring and grinning up at the stars. A feeling +of dread followed him into the cabin. He filled the stove, and sat down +to wait for Father Roland. It was a long wait. He heard Mukoki go away. +The mice rustled about him again. An hour had passed when he heard a +sound at the door, a scraping sound, like the peculiar drag of claws +over wood, and a moment later it was followed by a whine that came to +him faintly. He opened the door slowly. Baree stood just outside the +threshold. He had given him two fish at noon, so he knew that it was not +hunger that had brought the dog to the cabin. Some mysterious instinct +had told him that David was alone; he wanted to come in; his yearning +gleamed in his eyes as he stood there stiff-legged in the moonlight. +David held out a hand, on the point of enticing him through the door, +when he heard the soft crunching of feet in the snow. A gray shadow, +swift as the wind, Baree disappeared. David scarcely knew when he went. +He was looking into the face of Father Roland. He backed into the cabin, +without speaking, and the Missioner entered. He was smiling. He had, to +an extent, recovered himself. He threw off his mittens and rasped his +hands over the fire in an effort at cheerfulness. But there was +something forced in his manner, something that he was making a terrific +fight to keep under. He was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> like one who had been in great mental +stress for many days instead of a single hour. His eyes burned with the +smouldering glow of a fever; his shoulders hung loosely as though he had +lost the strength to hold them erect; he shivered, David noticed, even +as he rubbed his hands and smiled.</p> + +<p>"Curious how this has affected me, David," he said apologetically. "It +is incredible, this weakness of mine. I have seen death many scores of +times, and yet I could not go and look on his face again. Incredible! +Yet it is so. I am anxious to get away. Mukoki will soon be coming with +the dogs. A devil, Mukoki says. Well, perhaps. A strange man at best. We +must forget this night. It has been an unpleasant introduction for you +into our North. We must forget it. We must forget Tavish." And then, as +if he had omitted a fact of some importance, he added: "I will kneel at +his graveside before we go."</p> + +<p>"If he had only waited," said David, scarcely knowing what words he was +speaking, "if he had waited until to-morrow, only, or the next day...."</p> + +<p>"Yes; if he had waited!"</p> + +<p>The Missioner's eyes narrowed. David heard the click of his jaws as he +dropped his head so that his face was hidden.</p> + +<p>"If he had waited," he repeated, after David, "if he had only waited!" +And his hands, spread out fan-like ever the stove, closed slowly and +rigidly as if gripping at the throat of something.</p> + +<p>"I have friends up in that country he came from," David forced himself +to say, "and I had hoped he would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> be able to tell me something about +them. He must have known them, or heard of them."</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly," said the Missioner, still looking at the top of the +stove, and unclenching his fingers as slowly as he had drawn them +together, "but he is dead."</p> + +<p>There was a note of finality in his voice, a sudden forcefulness of +meaning as he raised his head and looked at David.</p> + +<p>"Dead," he repeated, "and buried. We are no longer privileged even to +guess at what he might have said. As I told you once before, David, I am +not a Catholic, nor a Church-of-England man, nor of any religion that +wears a name, and yet I accepted a little of them all into my own creed. +A wandering Missioner—and I am such a one—must obliterate to an extent +his own deep-souled convictions and accept indulgently all articles of +Christian faith; and there is one law, above all others, which he must +hold inviolate. He must not pry into the past of the dead, nor speak +aloud the secrets of the living. Let us forget Tavish."</p> + +<p>His words sounded a knell in David's heart. If he had hoped that Father +Roland would, at the very last, tell him something more about Tavish, +that hope was now gone. The Missioner spoke in a voice that was almost +gentle, and he came to David and put a hand on his shoulder as a father +might have done with a son. He had placed himself, in this moment, +beyond the reach of any questions that might have been in David's mind. +With eyes and touch that spoke a deep affection he had raised a barrier +between them as inviolable as that law of his creed which he had just +mentioned. And with it had come a better understanding.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>David was glad that Mukoki's voice and the commotion of the dogs came to +interrupt them. They gathered up hurriedly the few things they had +brought into the cabin and carried them to the sledge. David did not +enter the cabin again but stood with the dogs in the edge of the timber, +while Father Roland made his promised visit to the grave. Mukoki +followed him, and as the Missioner stood over the dark mound in the +snow, David saw the Cree slip like a shadow into the cabin, where a +light was still burning. Then he noticed that Father Roland was +kneeling, and a moment later the Indian came out of the cabin quietly, +and without looking back joined him near the dogs. They waited.</p> + +<p>Over Tavish's grave Father Roland's lips were moving, and out of his +mouth strange words came in a low and unemotional voice that was not +much above a whisper:</p> + +<p>"... and I thank God that you did not tell me before you died, Tavish," +he was saying. "I thank God for that. For if you had—I would have +killed you!"</p> + +<p>As he came back to them David noticed a flickering of light in the +cabin, as though the lamp was sputtering and about to go out. They put +on their snow shoes, and with Mukoki breaking the trail buried +themselves in the moonlit forest.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later they halted on the summit of a second ridge. The Cree +looked back and pointed with an exultant cry. Where the cabin had been a +red flare of flame was rising above the tree tops. David understood what +the flickering light in the cabin had meant. Mukoki had spilled Tavish's +kerosene and had touched a match to it so that the little devils might +follow their master into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> the black abyss. He almost fancied he could +hear the agonized squeaking of Tavish's pets.</p> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<p>Straight northward, through the white moonlight of that night, Mukoki +broke their trail, travelling at times so swiftly that the Missioner +commanded him to slacken his pace on David's account. Even David did not +think of stopping. He had no desire to stop so long as their way was +lighted ahead of them. It seemed to him that the world was becoming +brighter and the forest gloom less cheerless as they dropped that evil +valley of Tavish's farther and farther behind them. Then the moon began +to fade, like a great lamp that had burned itself out of oil, and +darkness swept over them like huge wings. It was two o'clock when they +camped and built a fire.</p> + +<p>So, day after day, they continued into the North. At the end of his +tenth day—the sixth after leaving Tavish's—David felt that he was no +longer a stranger in the country of the big snows. He did not say as +much to Father Roland, for to express such a thought to one who had +lived there all his life seemed to him to be little less than a bit of +sheer imbecility. Ten days! That was all, and yet they might have been +ten months, or as many years for that matter, so completely had they +changed him. He was not thinking of himself physically—not a day passed +that Father Roland did not point out some fresh triumph for him there. +His limbs were nearly as tireless as the Missioner's; he knew that he +was growing heavier; and he could at last chop through a tree without +winding himself. These things his companions could see. His appetite +was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> voracious. His eyes were keen and his hands steady, so that he was +doing splendid practice shooting with both rifle and pistol, and each +day when the Missioner insisted on their bout with the gloves he found +it more and more difficult to hold himself in. "Not so hard, David," +Father Roland frequently cautioned him, and in place of the first joyous +grin there was always a look of settled anxiety in Mukoki's face as he +watched them. The more David pummelled him, the greater was the Little +Missioner's triumph. "I told you what this north country could do for +you," was his exultant slogan; "I told you!"</p> + +<p>Once David was on the point of telling him that he could see only the +tenth part of what it had done for him, but the old shame held his +tongue. He did not want to bring up the old story. The fact that it had +existed, and had written itself out in human passion, remained with him +still as a personal and humiliating degradation. It was like a scar on +his own body, a repulsive sore which he wished to keep out of sight, +even from the eyes of the man who had been his salvation. The growth of +this revulsion within him had kept pace with his physical improvement, +and if at the end of these ten days Father Roland had spoken of the +woman who had betrayed him—the woman who had been his wife—he would +have turned the key on that subject as decisively as the Missioner had +banned further conversation or conjecture about Tavish. This was, +perhaps, the best evidence that he had cut out the cancer in his breast. +The Golden Goddess, whom he had thought an angel, he now saw stripped of +her glory. If she had repented in that room, if she had betrayed fear +even, a single emotion of mental agony, he would not have felt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> so sure +of himself. But she had laughed. She was, like Tavish, a devil. He +thought of her beauty now as that of a poisonous flower. He had +unwittingly touched such a flower once, a flower of wonderful waxen +loveliness, and it had produced a pustular eruption on his hand. She was +like that. Poisonous. Treacherous. A creature with as little soul as +that flower had perfume. It was this change in him, in his conception +and his memory of her, that he would have given much to have Father +Roland understand.</p> + +<p>During this period of his own transformation he had observed a curious +change in Father Roland. At times, after leaving Tavish's cabin, the +Little Missioner seemed struggling under the weight of a deep and gloomy +oppression. Once or twice, in the firelight, it had looked almost like +sickness, and David had seen his face grow wan and old. Always after +these fits of dejection there would follow a reaction, and for hours the +Missioner would be like one upon whom had fallen a new and sudden +happiness. As day added itself to day, and night to night, the periods +of depression became shorter and less frequent, and at last Father +Roland emerged from them altogether, as though he had been fighting a +great fight, and had won. There was a new lustre in his eyes. David +wondered whether it was a trick of his imagination that made him think +the lines in the Missioner's face were not so deep, that he stood +straighter, and that there was at times a deep and vibrant note in his +voice which he had not heard before.</p> + +<p>During these days David was trying hard to make himself believe that no +reasonable combination of circumstances could have associated Tavish +with the girl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> whose picture he kept in the breast pocket of his coat. +He succeeded in a way. He tried also to dissociate the face in the +picture from a living personality. In this he failed. More and more the +picture became a living thing for him. He found a great comfort in his +possession of it. He made up his mind that he would keep it, and that +its sweet face, always on the point of speaking to him, should go with +him wherever he went, guiding him in a way—a companion. He found that, +in hours when the darkness and the emptiness of his life oppressed him, +the face gave him new hope, and he saw new light. He ceased to think of +it as a picture, and one night, speaking half aloud, he called her +Little Sister. She seemed nearer to him after that. Unconsciously his +hand learned the habit of going to his breast pocket when they were +travelling, to make sure that she was there. He would have suffered +physical torment before he would have confided all this to any living +soul, but the secret thought that was growing more and more in his heart +he told to Baree. The dog came into their camps now, but not until the +Missioner and Mukoki had gone to bed. He would cringe down near David's +feet, lying there motionless, oblivious of the other dogs and showing no +inclination to disturb them. He was there on the tenth night, looking +steadily at David with his two bloodshot eyes, wondering what it was +that his master held in his hands. From the lips and eyes of the Girl, +trembling and aglow in the firelight, David looked at Baree. In the +bloodshot eyes he saw the immeasurable faith of an adoring slave. He +knew that Baree would never leave him. And the Girl, looking at him as +steadily as Baree, would never leave him. There was a tremendous thrill +in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> the thought. He leaned over the dog, and with a tremulous stir in +his voice, he whispered:</p> + +<p>"Some day, boy, we may go to her."</p> + +<p>Baree shivered with joy. David's voice, whispering to him in that way, +was like a caress, and he whined softly as he crept an inch or two +nearer to his master's feet.</p> + +<p>That night Father Roland was restless. Hours later, when he was lying +snug and warm in his own blankets, David heard him get up, and watched +him as he scraped together the burned embers of the fire and added fresh +fuel to them. The flap of the tent was back a little, so that he could +see plainly. It could not have been later than midnight. The Missioner +was fully dressed, and as the fire burned brighter David could see the +ruddy glow of his face, and it struck him that it looked singularly +boyish in the flame-glow. He did not guess what was keeping the +Missioner awake until a little later he heard him among the dogs, and +his voice came to him, low and exultingly, and as boyish as his face had +seemed: "We'll be home to-morrow, boys—<i>home</i>!" That +word—home—sounded oddly enough to David up here three hundred miles +from civilization. He fancied that he heard the dogs shuffling in the +snow, and the satisfied rasping of their master's hands.</p> + +<p>Father Roland did not return into the tent again that night. David fell +asleep, but was roused for breakfast at three o'clock, and they were +away before it was yet light. Through the morning darkness Mukoki led +the way as unerringly as a fox, for he was now on his own ground. As +dawn came, with a promise of sun, David wondered in a whimsical sort of +way whether his companions, both dogs and men, were going mad. He had +not as yet ex<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>perienced the joy and excitement of a northern homecoming, +nor had he dreamed that it was possible for Mukoki's leathern face to +break into wild jubilation. As the first rays of the sun shot over the +forests, he began, all at once, to sing, in a low, chanting voice that +grew steadily louder; and as he sang he kept time in a curious way with +his hands. He did not slacken his pace, but kept steadily on, and +suddenly the Little Missioner joined him in a voice that rang out like +the blare of a bugle. To David's ears there was something familiar in +that song as it rose wildly on the morning air.</p> + +<p> +"Pa sho ke non ze koon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ta ba nin ga,</span><br /> +Ah no go suh nuh guk,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Na quash kuh mon;</span><br /> +Na guh mo yah nin koo,<br /> +Pa sho ke non ze koon,<br /> +Pa sho ke non ze koon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ta ba nin go."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked, when Father Roland dropped back to his side, +smiling and breathing deeply. "It sounds like a Chinese puzzle, and yet +..."</p> + +<p>The Missioner laughed. Mukoki had ended a second verse.</p> + +<p>"Twenty years ago, when I first knew Mukoki, he would chant nothing but +Indian legends to the beat of a tom-tom," he explained. "Since I've had +him he has developed a passion for 'mission singing'—for hymns. That +was 'Nearer, my God, to Thee.'"</p> + +<p>Mukoki, gathering wind, had begun again.</p> + +<p>"That's his favourite," explained Father Roland. "At<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> times, when he is +alone, he will chant it by the hour. He is delighted when I join in with +him. It's 'From Greenland's Icy Mountains.'"</p> + +<p> +"Ke wa de noong a yah jig,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kuh ya 'gewh wah bun oong,</span><br /> +E gewh an duh nuh ke jig,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">E we de ke zhah tag,</span><br /> +Kuh ya puh duh ke woo waud<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Palm e nuh sah wunzh eeg,</span><br /> +Ke nun doo me goo nah nig<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Che shuh wa ne mung wah."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>At first David had felt a slight desire to laugh at the Cree's odd +chanting and the grotesque movement of his hands and arms, like two pump +handles in slow and rhythmic action, as he kept time. This desire did +not come to him again during the day. He remembered, long years ago, +hearing his mother sing those old hymns in his boyhood home. He could +see the ancient melodeon with its yellow keys, and the ragged hymn book +his mother had prized next to her Bible; and he could hear again her +sweet, quavering voice sing those gentle songs, like unforgettable +benedictions—the same songs that Mukoki and the Missioner were chanting +now, up here, a thousand miles away. That was a long time ago—a very, +very long time ago. She had been dead many years. And he—he must be +growing old. Thirty-eight! And he was nine then, with slender legs and +tousled hair, and a worship for his mother that had mellowed and perhaps +saddened his whole life. It was a long time ago. But the songs had +lived. They must be known over the whole world—those songs his mother +used to sing. He began to join in where he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> could catch the tunes, and +his voice sounded strange and broken and unreal to him, for it was a +long time since those boyhood days, and he had not lifted it in song +since he had sung then—with his mother.</p> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<p>It was growing dusk when they came to the Missioner's home on God's +Lake. It was almost a château, David thought when he first saw it, built +of massive logs. Beyond it there was a smaller building, also built of +logs, and toward this Mukoki hurried with the dogs and the sledge. He +heard the welcoming cries of Mukoki's family and the excited barking of +dogs as he followed Father Roland into the big cabin. It was lighted, +and warm. Evidently some one had been keeping it in readiness for the +Missioner's return. They entered into a big room, and in his first +glance David saw three doors leading from this room: two of them were +open, the third was closed. There was something very like a sobbing note +in Father Roland's voice as he opened his arms wide, and said to David:</p> + +<p>"Home, David—your home!"</p> + +<p>He took off his things—his coat, his cap, his moccasins, and his thick +German socks—and when he again spoke to David and looked at him, his +eyes had in them a mysterious light and his words trembled with +suppressed emotion.</p> + +<p>"You will forgive me, David—you will forgive me a weakness, and make +yourself at home—while I go alone for a few minutes into ... that ... +room?"</p> + +<p>He rose from the chair on which he had seated himself to strip off his +moccasins and faced the closed door. He seemed to forget David after he +had spoken. He went to it slowly, his breath coming quickly, and when he +reached<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> it he drew a heavy key from his pocket. He unlocked the door. +It was dark inside, and David could see nothing as the Missioner +entered. For many minutes he sat where Father Roland had left him, +staring at the door.</p> + +<p>"A strange man—a very strange man!" Thoreau had said. Yes, a strange +man! What was in that room? Why its unaccountable silence? Once he +thought he heard a low cry. For ten minutes he sat, waiting. And +then—very faintly at first, almost like a wind soughing through distant +tree tops and coming ever nearer, nearer, and more distinct—there came +to him from beyond the closed door the gently subdued music of a +violin.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> + +<p>In the days and weeks that followed, this room beyond the closed door, +and what it contained, became to David more and more the great mystery +in Father Roland's life. It impressed itself upon him slowly but +resolutely as the key to some tremendous event in his life, some vast +secret which he was keeping from all other human knowledge, unless, +perhaps, Mukoki was a silent sharer. At times David believed this was +so, and especially after that day when, carefully and slowly, and in +good English, as though the Missioner had trained him in what he was to +say, the Cree said to him:</p> + +<p>"No one ever goes into that room, m'sieu. And no man has ever seen <i>mon +Père's</i> violin."</p> + +<p>The words were spoken in a low monotone without emphasis or emotion, and +David was convinced they were a message from the Missioner, something +Father Roland wanted him to know without speaking the words himself. Not +again after that first night did he apologize for his visits to the +room, nor did he ever explain why the door was always locked, or why he +invariably locked it after him when he went in. Each night, when they +were at home, he disappeared into the room, opening the door only enough +to let his body pass through; sometimes he remained there for only a few +minutes, and occasionally for a long time. At least once a day, usually +in the even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>ing, he played the violin. It was always the same piece that +he played. There was never a variation, and David could not make up his +mind that he had ever heard it before. At these times, if Mukoki +happened to be in the Château, as Father Roland called his place, he +would sit like one in a trance, scarcely breathing until the music had +ceased. And when the Missioner came from the room his face was always +lit up in a kind of halo. There was one exception to all this, David +noticed. The door was never unlocked when there was a visitor. No other +but himself and Mukoki heard the sound of the violin, and this fact, in +time, impressed David with the deep faith and affection of the Little +Missioner. One evening Father Roland came from the room with his face +aglow with some strange happiness that had come to him in there, and +placing his hands on David's shoulders he said, with a yearning and yet +hopeless inflection in his voice:</p> + +<p>"I wish you would stay with me always, David. It has made me younger, +and happier, to have a son."</p> + +<p>In David there was growing—but concealed from Father Roland's eyes for +a long time—a strange insistent restlessness. It ran in his blood, like +a thing alive, whenever he looked at the face of the Girl. He wanted to +go on.</p> + +<p>And yet life at the Château, after the first two weeks, was anything but +dull and unexciting. They were in the heart of the great trapping +country. Forty miles to the north was a Hudson's Bay post where an +ordained minister of the Church of England had a mission. But Father +Roland belonged to the forest people alone. They were his "children," +scattered in their shacks and tepees over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> ten thousand square miles of +country, with the Château as its centre. He was ceaselessly on the move +after that first fortnight, and David was always with him. The Indians +worshipped him, and the quarter-breeds and half-breeds and occasional +French called him "<i>mon Père</i>" in very much the same tone of voice as +they said "Our Father" in their prayers. These people of the trap-lines +were a revelation to David. They were wild, living in a savage +primitiveness, and yet they reverenced a divinity with a conviction that +amazed him. And they died. That was the tragedy of it. They died—too +easily. He understood, after a while, why a country ten times as large +as the state of Ohio had altogether a population of less than +twenty-five thousand, a fair-sized town. Their belts were drawn too +tight—men, women, and little children—their belts too tight. That was +it! Father Roland emphasized it. Too much hunger in the long, terrible +months of winter, when to keep body and soul together they trapped the +furred creatures for the hordes of luxurious barbarians in the great +cities of the earth. Just a steady, gnawing hunger all through the +winter—hunger for something besides meat, a hunger that got into the +bones, into the eyes, into arms and legs—a hunger that brought +sickness, and then death.</p> + +<p>That winter he saw grown men and women die of measles as easily as flies +that had devoured poison. They were over at Metoosin's, sixty miles to +the west of the Château, when Metoosin returned to his shack with +supplies from a Post. Metoosin had taken up lynx and marten and mink +that would sell the next year in London and Paris for a thousand +dollars, and he had brought back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> a few small cans of vegetables at +fifty cents a can, a little flour at forty cents a pound, a bit of cheap +cloth at the price of rare silk, some tobacco and a pittance of tea, and +he was happy. A half season's work on the trap-line and his family could +have eaten it all in a week—if they had dared to eat as much as they +needed.</p> + +<p>"And still they're always in the debt of the Posts," the Missioner said, +the lines settling deeply on his face.</p> + +<p>And yet David could not but feel more and more deeply the thrill, the +fascination, and, in spite of its hardships, the recompense of this life +of which he had become a part. For the first time in his life he clearly +perceived the primal measurements of riches, of contentment and of +ambition, and these three things that he saw stripped naked for his eyes +many other things which he had not understood, or in blindness had +failed to see, in the life from which he had come. Metoosin, with that +little treasure of food from the Post, did not know that he was poor, or +that through many long years he had been slowly starving. He was rich! +He was a great trapper! And his Cree wife I-owa, with her long, sleek +braid and her great, dark eyes, was tremendously proud of her lord, that +he should bring home for her and the children such a wealth of things—a +little flour, a few cans of things, a few yards of cloth, and a little +bright ribbon. David choked when he ate with them that night. But they +were happy! That, after all, was the reward of things, even though +people died slowly of something which they could not understand. And +there were, in the domain of Father Roland, many Metoosins, and many +I-owas, who prayed for nothing more than enough to eat, clothes to cover +them, and the un<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>broken love of their firesides. And David thought of +them, as the weeks passed, as the most terribly enslaved of all the +slaves of Civilization—slaves of vain civilized women; for they had +gone on like this for centuries, and would go on for other generations, +giving into the hands of the great Company their life's blood which, in +the end, could be accounted for by a yearly dole of food which, under +stress, did not quite serve to keep body and soul together.</p> + +<p>It was after a comprehension of these things that David understood +Father Roland's great work. In this kingdom of his, running +approximately fifty miles in each direction from the Château—except to +the northward, where the Post lay—there were two hundred and +forty-seven men, women, and children. In a great book the Little +Missioner had their names, their ages, the blood that was in them, and +where they lived; and by them he was worshipped as no man that ever +lived in that vast country of cities and towns below the Height of Land. +At every tepee and shack they visited there was some token of love +awaiting Father Roland; a rare skin here, a pair of moccasins there, a +pair of snow shoes that it had taken an Indian woman's hands weeks to +make, choice cuts of meat, but mostly—as they travelled along—the +thickly furred skins of animals; and never did they go to a place at +which the Missioner did not leave something in return, usually some +article of clothing so thick and warm that no Indian was rich enough to +buy it for himself at the Post. Twice each winter Father Roland sent +down to Thoreau a great sledge load of these contributions of his +people, and Thoreau, selling them, sent back a still greater sledge load +of supplies that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> found their way in this manner of exchange into the +shacks and tepees of the forest people.</p> + +<p>"If I were only rich!" said Father Roland one night at the Château, when +it was storming dismally outside. "But I have nothing, David. I can do +only a tenth of what I would like to do. There are only eighty families +in this country of mine, and I have figured that a hundred dollars a +family, spent down there and not at the Post, would keep them all in +comfort through the longest and hardest winter. A hundred dollars, in +Winnipeg, would buy as much as an Indian trapper could get at the Post +for a thousand dollars' worth of fur, and five hundred dollars is a good +catch. It is terrible, but what can I do? I dare not buy their furs and +sell them for my people, because the Company would blacklist the whole +lot and it would be a great calamity in the end. But if I had money—if +I could do it with my own...."</p> + +<p>David had been thinking of that. In the late January snow two teams went +down to Thoreau in place of one. Mukoki had charge of them, and with him +went an even half of what David had brought with him—fifteen hundred +dollars in gold certificates.</p> + +<p>"If I live I'm going to make them a Christmas present of twice that +amount each year," he said. "I can afford it. I fancy that I shall take +a great pleasure in it, and that occasionally I shall return into this +country to make a visit."</p> + +<p>It was the first time that he had spoken as though he would not remain +with the Missioner indefinitely. But the conviction that the time was +not far away when he would be leaving him had been growing within him +steadily.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> He kept it to himself. He fought against it even. But it +grew. And, curiously enough, it was strongest when Father Roland was in +the locked room playing softly on the violin. David never mentioned the +room. He feigned an indifference to its very existence. And yet in spite +of himself the mystery of it became an obsession with him. Something +within it seemed to reach out insistently and invite him in, like a +spirit chained there by the Missioner himself, crying for freedom. One +night they returned to the Château through a blizzard from the cabin of +a half-breed whose wife was sick, and after their supper the Missioner +went into the mystery-room. He played the violin as usual. But after +that there was a long silence. When Father Roland came out, and seated +himself opposite David at the small table on which their books were +scattered, David received a shock. Clinging to the Missioner's shoulder, +shimmering like a polished silken thread in the lampglow, was a long, +shining hair—a woman's hair. With an effort David choked back the word +of amazement in his throat, and began turning over the pages of a book. +And then suddenly, the Missioner saw that silken thread. David heard his +quick breath. He saw, without raising his eyes, the slow, almost +stealthy movement of his companion's fingers as he plucked the hair from +his arm and shoulder, and when David looked up the hair was gone, and +one of Father Roland's hands was closed tightly, so tightly that the +veins stood out on it. He rose from the table, and again went into the +room beyond the locked door. David's heart was beating like an unsteady +hammer. He could not quite account for the strange effect this incident +had upon him. He wanted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> more than ever to see that room beyond the +locked door.</p> + +<p>February—the Hunger Moon—of this year was a month of great storm in +the Northland. This meant sickness, and a great deal of travel for +Father Roland. He and David were almost ceaselessly on the move, and its +hardships gave the finishing touches to David's education. The +wilderness, vast and empty as it was, no longer held a dread for him. He +had faced its bitterest storms; he had slept with the deep snow under +his blankets; he had followed behind the Missioner through the blackest +nights, when it had seemed as though no human soul could find its way; +and he had looked on death. Once they ran swiftly to it through a night +blizzard; again it came, three in a family, so far to the west that it +was out of Father Roland's beaten trails; and again he saw it in the +Madonna-like face of a young French girl, who had died clutching a cross +to her breast. It was this girl's white face, sweet as a child's and +strangely beautiful in death, that stirred David most deeply. She must +have been about the age of the girl whose picture he carried next his +heart.</p> + +<p>Soon after this, early in March, he had definitely made up his mind. +There was no reason now why he should not <i>go on</i>. He was physically +fit. Three months had hardened him until he was like a rock. He believed +that he had more than regained his weight. He could beat Father Roland +with either rifle or pistol, and in one day he had travelled forty miles +on snow shoes. That was when they had arrived just in time to save the +life of Jean Croisset's little girl, who lived over on the Big Thunder. +The crazed father had led them a mad race, but they had kept up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> with +him. And just in time. There had not been an hour to lose. After that +Croisset and his half-breed wife would have laid down their lives for +Father Roland—and for him. For the forest people had begun to accept +him as a part of Father Roland; more and more he could see their growing +love for him, their gladness when he came, their sorrow when he left, +and it gave him what he thought of as a sort of <i>filling</i> satisfaction, +something he had never quite fully experienced before in all his life. +He knew that he would come back to them again some day—that, in the +course of his life, he would spend a great deal of time among them. He +assured Father Roland of this.</p> + +<p>The Missioner did not question him deeply about his "friends" in the +western mountains. But night after night he helped him to mark out a +trail on the maps that he had at the Château, giving him a great deal of +information which David wrote down in a book, and letters to certain +good friends of his whom he would find along the way. As the slush snow +came, and the time when David would be leaving drew nearer, Father +Roland could not entirely conceal his depression, and he spent more time +in the room beyond the locked door. Several times when about to enter +the room he seemed to hesitate, as if there were something which he +wanted to say to David. Twice David thought he was almost on the point +of inviting him into the room, and at last he came to believe that the +Missioner wanted him to know what was beyond that mysterious door, and +yet was afraid to tell him, or ask him in. It was well along in March +that the thing happened which he had been expecting. Only it came in a +manner that amazed him deeply. Father Roland came from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> room early +in the evening, after playing his violin. He locked the door, and as he +put on his cap he said:</p> + +<p>"I shall be gone for an hour, David. I am going over to Mukoki's cabin."</p> + +<p>He did not ask David to accompany him, and as he turned to go the key +that he had held in his hand dropped to the floor. It fell with a quite +audible sound. The Missioner must have heard it, and would have +recovered it had it slipped from his fingers accidentally. But he paid +no attention to it. He went out quickly, without glancing back.</p> + +<p>For several minutes David stared at the key without moving from his +chair near the table. It meant but one thing. He was invited to go into +that room—<i>alone</i>. If he had had a doubt it was dispelled by the fact +that Father Roland had left a light burning in there. It was not chance. +There was a purpose to it all: the light, the audible dropping of the +heavy key, the swift going of the Missioner. David made himself sure of +this before he rose from his chair. He waited perhaps five minutes. Then +he picked up the key.</p> + +<p>At the door, as the key clicked in the lock, he hesitated. The thought +came to him that if he was making a mistake it would be a terrible +mistake. It held his hand for a moment. Then, slowly, he pushed the door +inward and followed it until he stood inside. The first thing that he +noticed was a big brass lamp, of the old style, brought over from +England by the Company a hundred years ago, and he held his breath in +anticipation of something tremendous impending. At first he saw nothing +that impressed him forcibly. The room was a disappointment in that +first<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> glance. He could see nothing of its mystery, nothing of that +strangeness, quite indefinable even to himself, which he had expected. +And then, as he stood there staring about with wide-open eyes, the truth +flashed upon him with a suddenness that drew a quick breath from his +lips. He was standing in a <i>woman's room</i>! There was no doubt.</p> + +<p>It looked very much as though a woman had left it only recently. There +was a bed, fresh and clean, with a white counterpane. She had left on +that bed a—nightgown; yes, and he noticed that it had a frill of lace +at the neck. And on the wall were her garments, quite a number of them, +and a long coat of a curious style, with a great fur collar. There was a +small dresser, oddly antique, and on it were a brush and comb, a big red +pin cushion, and odds and ends of a woman's toilet affairs. Close to the +bed were a pair of shoes and a pair of slippers, with unusually high +heels, and hanging over the edge of the counterpane was a pair of long +stockings. The walls of the room were touched up, as if by a woman's +hands, with pictures and a few ornaments. Where the garments were +hanging David noticed a pair of woman's snow shoes, and a woman's +moccasins under a picture of the Madonna. On the mantel there was a tall +vase filled with the dried stems of flowers. And then came the most +amazing discovery of all. There was a second table between the lamp and +the bed, and it was set for two! Yes, for <i>two</i>! No, for <i>three</i>! For, a +little in shadow, David saw a crudely made high-chair—a baby's +chair—and on it were a little knife and fork, a baby spoon, and a +little tin plate. It was astounding. Perfectly incredible. And David's +eyes sought questingly for a door through which a woman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> might come and +go mysteriously and unseen. There was none, and the one window of the +room was so high up that a person standing on the ground outside could +not look in.</p> + +<p>And now it began to dawn upon David that all these things he was looking +at were old—very old. In the Château the Missioner no longer ate on tin +plates. The shoes and slippers must have been made a generation ago. The +rag carpet under his feet had lost its vivid lines of colouring. Age +impressed itself upon him. This was a woman's room, but the woman had +not been here recently. And the child had not been here recently.</p> + +<p>For the first time his eyes turned in a closer inspection of the table +on which stood the big brass lamp. Father Roland's violin lay beside it. +He made a step or two nearer, so that he could see beyond the lamp, and +his heart gave a sudden jump. Shimmering on the faded red cloth of the +table, glowing as brightly as though it had been clipped from a woman's +head but yesterday, was a long, thick tress of hair! It was dark, richly +dark, and his second impression was one of amazement at the length of +it. The tress was as long as the table—fully a yard down the woman's +back it must have hung. It was tied at the end with a bit of white +ribbon.</p> + +<p>David drew slowly back toward the door, stirred all at once by a great +doubt. Had Father Roland meant him to look upon all this? A lump rose +suddenly in his throat. He had made a mistake—a great mistake. He felt +now like one who had broken into the sanctity of a sacred place. He had +committed sacrilege. The Missioner had not dropped the key purposely. It +must have been an accident. And he—David—was guilty of a great +blunder.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> He withdrew from the room, and locked the door. He dropped the +key where he had found it on the floor, and sat down again with his +book. He did not read. He scarcely saw the lines of the printed page. He +had not been in his chair more than ten minutes when he heard quick +footsteps, followed by a hand at the door, and Father Roland came in. He +was visibly excited, and his glance shot at once to the room which David +had just left. Then his eyes scanned the floor. The key was gleaming +where it had fallen, and with an exclamation of relief the Missioner +snatched it up.</p> + +<p>"I thought I had lost my key," he laughed, a bit nervously; then he +added, with a deep breath: "It's snowing to-night. A heavy snow, and +there will be good sledging for a few days. God knows I don't want you +to leave me, but if it must be—we should take advantage of this snow. +It will be the last. Mukoki and I will go with you as far as the +Reindeer Lake country, two hundred miles northwest. David—<i>must</i> you +go?"</p> + +<p>It seemed to David that two tiny fists were pounding against his breast, +where the picture lay.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I must go," he said. "I have quite made up my mind to that. I must +go."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> + +<p>Ten days after that night when he had gone into the mystery-room at the +Château, David and Father Roland clasped hands in a final farewell at +White Porcupine House, on the Cochrane River, 270 miles from God's Lake. +It was something more than a hand-shake. The Missioner made no effort to +speak in these last moments. His team was ready for the return drive and +he had drawn his travelling hood close about his face. In his own heart +he believed that David would never return. He would go back to +civilization, probably next autumn, and in time he would forget. As he +said, on their last day before reaching the Cochrane, David's going was +like taking a part of his heart away. He blinked now, as he dropped +David's hand—blinked and turned his eyes. And David's voice had an odd +break in it. He knew what the Missioner was thinking.</p> + +<p>"I'll come back, <i>mon Père</i>," he called after him, as Father Roland +broke away and went toward Mukoki and the dogs. "I'll come back next +year!"</p> + +<p>Father Roland did not look back until they were started. Then he turned +and waved a mittened hand. Mukoki heard the sob in his throat. David +tried to call a last word to him, but his voice choked. He, too, waved a +hand. He had not known that there were friendships like this between +men, and as the Missioner trailed steadily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> away from him, growing +smaller and smaller against the dark rim of the distant forest, he felt +a sudden fear and a great loneliness—a fear that, in spite of himself, +they would not meet again, and the loneliness that comes to a man when +he sees a world widening between himself and the one friend he has on +earth. His one friend. The man who had saved him from himself, who had +pointed out the way for him, who had made him fight. More than a friend; +a father. He did not stop the broken sound that came to his lips. A low +whine answered it, and he looked down at Baree, huddled in the snow +within a yard of his feet. "My god and master," Baree's eyes said, as +they looked up at him, "I am here." It was as if David had heard the +words. He held out a hand and Baree came to him, his great wolfish body +aquiver with joy. After all, he was not alone.</p> + +<p>A short distance from him the Indian who was to take him over to Fond du +Lac, on Lake Athabasca, was waiting with his dogs and sledge. He was a +Sarcee, one of the last of an almost extinct tribe, so old that his hair +was of a shaggy white, and he was so thin that he looked like a +famine-stricken Hindu. "He has lived so long that no one knows his age," +Father Roland had said, "and he is the best trailer between Hudson's Bay +and the Peace." His name was Upso-Gee (the Snow Fox), and the Missioner +had bargained with him for a hundred dollars to take David from White +Porcupine House to Fond du Lac, three hundred miles farther northwest. +He cracked his long caribou-gut whip to remind David that he was ready. +David had said good-bye to the factor and the clerk at the Company store +and there was no longer an excuse to detain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> him. They struck out across +a small lake. Five minutes later he looked back. Father Roland, not much +more than a speck on the white plain now, was about to disappear in the +forest. It seemed to David that he had stopped, and again he waved his +hand, though human eyes could not have seen the movement over that +distance.</p> + +<p>Not until that night, when David sat alone beside his campfire, did he +begin to realize fully the vastness of this adventure into which he had +plunged. The Snow Fox was dead asleep and it was horribly lonely. It was +a dark night, too, with the shivering wailing of a restless wind in the +tree tops; the sort of night that makes loneliness grow until it is like +some kind of a monster inside, choking off one's breath. And on +Upso-Gee's tepee, with the firelight dancing on it, there was painted in +red a grotesque fiend with horns—a medicine man, or devil chaser; and +this devil chaser grinned in a bloodthirsty manner at David as he sat +near the fire, as if gloating over some dreadful fate that awaited him. +It <i>was</i> lonely. Even Baree seemed to sense his master's oppression, for +he had laid his head between David's feet, and was as still as if +asleep. A long way off David could hear the howling of a wolf and it +reminded him shiveringly of the lead-dog's howl that night before +Tavish's cabin. It was like the death cry that comes from a dog's +throat; and where the forest gloom mingled with the firelight he saw a +phantom shadow—in the morning he found that it was a spruce bough, +broken and hanging down—that made him think again of Tavish swinging in +the moonlight. His thoughts bore upon him deeply and with foreboding. +And he asked himself questions—questions which were not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> new, but which +came to him to-night with a new and deeper significance. He believed +that Father Roland would have gasped in amazement and that he would have +held up his hands in incredulity had he known the truth of this +astonishing adventure of his. An astonishing adventure—nothing less. To +find a girl. A girl he had never seen, who might be in another part of +the world, when he had got to the end of his journey—or married. And if +he found her, what would he say? What would he do? Why did he want to +find her? "God alone knows," he said aloud, borne down under his gloom, +and went to bed.</p> + +<p>Small things, as Father Roland had frequently said, decide great events. +The next morning came with a glorious sun; the world again was white and +wonderful, and David found swift answers to the questions he had asked +himself a few hours before. Each day thereafter the sun was warmer, and +with its increasing promise of the final "break-up" and slush snows, +Upso-Gee's taciturnity and anxiety grew apace. He was little more +talkative than the painted devil chaser on the blackened canvas of his +tepee, but he gave David to understand that he would have a hard time +getting back with his dogs and sledge from Fond du Lac if the thaw came +earlier than he had anticipated. David marvelled at the old warrior's +endurance, and especially when they crossed the forty miles of ice on +Wollaston Lake between dawn and darkness. At high noon the snow was +beginning to soften on the sunny slopes even then, and by the time they +reached the Porcupine, Snow Fox was chanting his despairing prayer +nightly before that grinning thing on his tepee. "Swas-tao (the thaw) +she kam dam' queek," he said to David,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> grimacing his old face to +express other things which he could not say in English. And it did. Four +days later, when they reached Fond du Lac, there was water underfoot in +places, and Upso-Gee turned back on the home trail within an hour.</p> + +<p>This was in April, and the Post reminded David of a great hive to which +the forest people were swarming like treasure-laden bees. On the last +snow they were coming in with their furs from a hundred trap-lines. Luck +was with David. On the first day Baree fought with a huge malemute and +almost killed it, and David, in separating the dogs, was slightly bitten +by the malemute. A friendship sprang up instantly between the two +masters. Bouvais was a Frenchman from Horseshoe Bay, fifty miles from +Fort Chippewyan, and a hundred and fifty straight west of Fond du Lac. +He was a fox hunter. "I bring my furs over here, m'sieu," he explained, +"because I had a fight with the factor at Fort Chippewyan and broke out +two of his teeth," which was sufficient explanation. He was delighted +when he learned that David wanted to go west. They started two days +later with a sledge heavily laden with supplies. The runners sank deep +in the growing slush, but under them was always the thick ice of Lake +Athabasca, and going was not bad, except that David's feet were always +wet. He was surprised that he did not take a "cold." "A cold—what is +that?" asked Bouvais, who had lived along the Barrens all his life. +David described a typical case of sniffles, with running at eyes and +nose, and Bouvais laughed. "The only cold we have up here is when the +lungs get touched by frost," he said, "and then you die—the following +spring. Always then.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> The lungs slough away." And then he asked: "Why +are you going west?"</p> + +<p>David found himself face to face with the question, and had to answer. +"Just to toughen up a bit," he replied. "Wandering. Nothing else to do." +And after all, he thought later, wasn't that pretty near the truth? He +tried to convince himself that it was. But his hand touched the picture +of the Girl, in his breast pocket. He seemed to feel her throbbing +against it. A preposterous imagination! But it was pleasing. It warmed +his blood.</p> + +<p>For a week David and Baree remained at Horseshoe Bay with the Frenchman. +Then they went on around the end of the lake toward Fort Chippewyan. +Bouvais accompanied them, out of friendship purely, and they travelled +afoot with fifty-pound packs on their shoulders, for in the big, sunlit +reaches the ground was already growing bare of snow. Bouvais turned back +when they were ten miles from Fort Chippewyan, explaining that it was a +nasty matter to have knocked two teeth down a factor's throat, and +particularly down the throat of the head factor of the Chippewyan and +Athabasca district. "And they went down," assured Bouvais. "He tried to +spit them out, but couldn't." A few hours later David met the factor and +observed that Bouvais had spoken the truth; at least there were two +teeth missing, quite conspicuously. Hatchett was his name. He looked it; +tall, thin, sinewy, with bird-like eyes that were shifting this way and +that at all times, as though he were constantly on the alert for an +ambush, or feared thieves. He was suspicious of David, coming in alone +in this No Man's Land with a pack<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> on his back; a white man, too, which +made him all the more suspicious. Perhaps a possible free trader looking +for a location. Or, worse still, a spy of the Company's hated +competitors, the Revilon Brothers. It took some time for Father Roland's +letter to convince him that David was harmless. And then, all at once, +he warmed up like a birch-bark taking fire, and shook David's hand three +times within five minutes, so hungry was he for a white man's +companionship—an <i>honest</i> white man's, mind you, and not a scoundrelly +competitor's! He opened four cans of lobsters, left over from Christmas, +for their first meal, and that night beat David at seven games of +cribbage in a row. He wasn't married, he said; didn't even have an +Indian woman. Hated women. If it wasn't for breeding a future generation +of trappers he would not care if they all died. No good. Positively no +good. Always making trouble, more or less. That's why, a long time ago, +there was a fort at Chippewyan—sort of blockhouse that still stood +there. Two men, of two different tribes, wanted same woman; quarrelled; +fought; one got his blamed head busted; tribes took it up; raised hell +for a time—all over that rag of a woman! Terrible creatures, women +were. He emphasized his belief in short, biting snatches of words, as +though afraid of wearing out his breath or his vocabulary or both. Maybe +his teeth had something to do with it. Where the two were missing he +carried the stem of his pipe, and when he talked the stem clicked, like +a Castanet.</p> + +<p>David had come at a propitious moment—a "most propichus moment," +Hatchett told him. He had done splendidly that winter. His bargains with +the Indians had been sharp and exceedingly profitable for the Company<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +and as soon as he got his furs off to Fort McMurray on their way to +Edmonton he was going on a long journey of inspection, which was his +reward for duty well performed. His fur barges were ready. All they were +waiting for was the breaking up of the ice, when the barges would start +up the Athabasca, which meant <i>south</i>; while he, in his big war canoe, +would head up the Peace, which meant <i>west</i>. He was going as far as +Hudson's Hope, and this was within two hundred and fifty miles of where +David wanted to go. He proved that fact by digging up an old Company +map. David's heart beat an excited tattoo. This was more than he had +expected. Almost too good to be true. "You can <i>work</i> your way up there +with me," declared Hatchett, clicking his pipe stem. "Won't cost you a +cent. Not a dam' cent. Work. Eat. Smoke. Fine trip. Just for company. A +man needs company once in a while—decent company. Ice will go by middle +of May. Two weeks. Meanwhile, have a devil of a time playing cribbage."</p> + +<p>They did. Cribbage was Hatchett's one passion, unless another +was—beating the Indians. "Rascally devils," he would say, driving his +cribbage pegs home. "Always trying to put off poor fur on me for good. +Deserve to be beat. And I beat 'em. Dam-if-I-don't."</p> + +<p>"How did you lose your teeth?" David asked him at last. They were +playing late one night.</p> + +<p>Hatchett sat up in his chair as if stung. His eyes bulged as he looked +at David, and his pipe stem clicked fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Frenchman," he said. "Dirty pig of a Frenchman. No use for 'em. None. +Told him women were no good—all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> women were bad. Said he had a woman. +Said I didn't care—all bad just the same. Said the woman he referred to +was his wife. Told him he was a fool to have a wife. No warning—the +pig! He biffed me. Knocked those two teeth out—<i>down</i>! I'll get him +some day. Flay him. Make dog whips of his dirty hide. All Frenchmen +ought to die. Hope to God they will. Starve. Freeze."</p> + +<p>In spite of himself David laughed. Hatchett took no offense, but the +grimness of his long, sombre countenance remained unbroken. A day or two +later he discovered Hatchett in the act of giving an old, white-haired, +half-breed cripple a bag of supplies. Hatchett shook himself, as if +caught in an act of crime.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to kill that old Dog Rib soon as the ground's soft enough to +dig a grave," he declared, shaking a fist fiercely after the old Indian. +"Beggar. A sneak. No good. Ought to die. Giving him just enough to keep +him alive until the ground is soft."</p> + +<p>After all, Hatchett's face belied his heart. His tongue was like a +cleaver. It ripped things generally—was terrible in its threatening, +but harmless, and tremendously amusing to David. He liked Hatchett. His +cadaverous countenance, never breaking into a smile, was the oddest mask +he had ever seen a human being wear. He believed that if it once broke +into a laugh it would not straighten back again without leaving a +permanent crack. And yet he liked the man, and the days passed swiftly.</p> + +<p>It was the middle of May before they started up the Peace, three days +after the fur barges had gone down the Athabasca. David had never seen +anything like Hatchett's big war canoe, roomy as a small ship, and light +as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> feather on the water. Four powerful Dog Ribs went with them, +making six paddles in all. When it came to a question of Baree, Hatchett +put down his foot with emphasis. "What! Make a dam' passenger of a dog? +Never. Let him follow ashore—or die."</p> + +<p>This would undoubtedly have been Baree's choice if he had had a voice in +the matter. Day after day he followed the canoe, swimming streams and +working his way through swamp and forest. It was no easy matter. In the +deep, slow waters of the Lower Peace the canoe made thirty-five miles a +day; twice it made forty. But Hatchett kept Baree well fed, and each +night the dog slept at David's feet in camp. On the sixth day they +reached Fort Vermilion, and Hatchett announced himself like a king. For +he was on inspection. Company inspection, mind you. Important! A week +later they arrived at Peace River landing, two hundred miles farther +west, and on the twentieth day came to Fort St. John, fifty miles from +Hudson's Hope. From here David saw his first of the mountains. He made +out their snowy peaks clearly, seventy miles away, and with his finger +on a certain spot on Hatchett's map his heart thrilled. He was almost +there! Each day the mountains grew nearer. From Hudson's Hope he fancied +that he could almost see the dark blankets of timber on their sides. +Hatchett grunted. They were still forty miles away. And Mac Veigh, the +factor at Hudson's Hope, looked at David in a curious sort of way when +David told him where he was going.</p> + +<p>"You're the first white man to do it," he said—an inflection of doubt +in his voice. "It's not bad going up the Finly as far as the Kwadocha. +But from there...."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>He shook his head. He was short and thick, and his jaw hung heavy with +disapproval.</p> + +<p>"You're still seventy miles from the Stikine when you end up at the +Kwadocha," he went on, thumbing the map. "Who the devil will you get to +take you on from there? Straight over the backbone of the Rockies. No +trails. Not even a Post there. Too rough a country. Even the Indians +won't live in it." He was silent for a moment, as if reflecting deeply. +"Old Towaskook and his tribe are on the Kwadocha," he added, as if +seeing a glimmer of hope. "<i>He might.</i> But I doubt it. They're a lazy +lot of mongrels, Towaskook's people, who carve things out of wood, to +worship. Still, he <i>might</i>. I'll send up a good man with you to +influence him, and you'd better take along a couple hundred dollars in +supplies as a further inducement."</p> + +<p>The man was a half-breed. Three days later they left Hudson's Hope, with +Baree riding amidships. The mountains loomed up swiftly after this, and +the second day they were among them. After that it was slow work +fighting their way up against the current of the Finly. It was +tremendous work. It seemed to David that half their time was spent amid +the roar of rapids. Twenty-seven times within five days they made +portages. Later on it took them two days to carry their canoe and +supplies around a mountain. Fifteen days were spent in making eighty +miles. Easier travel followed then. It was the twentieth of June when +they made their last camp before reaching the Kwadocha. The sun was +still up; but they were tired, utterly exhausted. David looked at his +map and at the figures in the notebook he carried. He had come close to +fifteen hundred miles since that day when he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> and Father Roland and +Mukoki had set out for the Cochrane. Fifteen hundred miles! And he had +less than a hundred more to go! Just over those mountains—somewhere +beyond them. It looked easy. He would not be afraid to go alone, if old +Towaskook refused to help him. Yes, alone. He would find his way, +somehow, he and Baree. He had unbounded confidence in Baree. Together +they could fight it out. Within a week or two they would find the Girl.</p> + +<p>And then...?</p> + +<p>He looked at the picture a long time in the glow of the setting sun.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> + +<p>It was the week of the Big Festival when David and his half-breed +arrived at Towaskook's village. Towaskook was the "farthest east" of the +totem-worshippers, and each of his forty or fifty people reminded David +of the devil chaser on the canvas of the Snow Fox's tepee. They were +dressed up, as he remarked to the half-breed, "like fiends." On the day +of David's arrival Towaskook himself was disguised in a huge bear head +from which protruded a pair of buffalo horns that had somehow drifted up +there from the western prairies, and it was his special business to +perform various antics about his totem pole for at least six hours +between sunrise and sunset, chanting all the time most dolorous +supplications to the squat monster who sat, grinning, at the top. It was +"the day of good hunting," and Towaskook and his people worked +themselves into exhaustion by the ardour of their prayers that the game +of the mountains might walk right up to their tepee doors to be killed, +thus necessitating the smallest possible physical exertion in its +capture. That night Towaskook visited David at his camp, a little up the +river, to see what he could get out of the white man. He was monstrously +fat—fat from laziness; and David wondered how he had managed to put in +his hours of labour under the totem pole. David sat in silence, trying +to make out something from their ges<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>tures, as his half-breed, Jacques, +and the old chief talked.</p> + +<p>Jacques repeated it all to him after Towaskook, sighing deeply, had +risen from his squatting posture, and left them. It was a terrible +journey over those mountains, Towaskook had said. He had been on the +Stikine once. He had split with his tribe, and had started eastward with +many followers, but half of them had died—died because they would not +leave their precious totems behind—and so had been caught in a deep +snow that came early. It was a ten-day journey over the mountains. You +went up above the clouds—many times you had to go above the clouds. He +would never make the journey again. There was one chance—just one. He +had a young bear hunter, Kio, his face was still smooth. He had not won +his spurs, so to speak, and he was anxious to perform a great feat, +especially as he was in love with his medicine man's daughter +Kwak-wa-pisew (the Butterfly). Kio might go, to prove his valour to the +Butterfly. Towaskook had gone for him. Of course, on a mission of this +kind, Kio would accept no pay. That would go to Towaskook. The two +hundred dollars' worth of supplies satisfied him.</p> + +<p>A little later Towaskook returned with Kio. He was exceedingly youthful, +slim-built as a weazel, but with a deep-set and treacherous eye. He +listened. He would go. He would go as far as the confluence of the +Pitman and the Stikine, if Towaskook would assure him the Butterfly. +Towaskook, eyeing greedily the supplies which Jacques had laid out +alluringly, nodded an agreement to that. "The next day," Kio said, then, +eager now for the adventure. "The next day they would start."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>That night Jacques carefully made up the two shoulder packs which David +and Kio were to carry, for thereafter their travel would be entirely +afoot. David's burden, with his rifle, was fifty pounds. Jacques saw +them off, shouting a last warning for David to "keep a watch on that +devil-eyed Kio."</p> + +<p>Kio was not like his eyes. He turned out, very shortly, to be a +communicative and rather likable young fellow. He was ignorant of the +white man's talk. But he was a master of gesticulation; and when, in +climbing their first mountain, David discovered muscles in his legs and +back that he had never known of before, Kio laughingly sympathized with +him and assured him in vivid pantomime that he would soon get used to +it. Their first night they camped almost at the summit of the mountain. +Kio wanted to make the warmth of the valley beyond, but those new +muscles in David's legs and back declared otherwise. Strawberries were +ripening in the deeper valleys, but up where they were it was cold. A +bitter wind came off the snow on the peaks, and David could smell the +pungent fog of the clouds. They were so high that the scrub twigs of +their fire smouldered with scarcely sufficient heat to fry their bacon. +David was oblivious of the discomfort. His blood ran warm in hope and +anticipation. He was almost at the end of his journey. It had been a +great fight, and he had won. There was no doubt in his mind now. After +this he could face the world again.</p> + +<p>Day after day they made their way westward. It was tremendous, this +journey over the backbone of the mountains. It gave one a different +conception of men. They like ants on these mountains, David +thought—in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>significant, crawling ants. Here was where one might find a +soul and a religion if he had never had one before. One's littleness, at +times, was almost frightening. It made one think, impressed upon one +that life was not much more than an accident in this vast scale of +creation, and that there was great necessity for a God. In Kio's eyes, +as he sometimes looked down into the valleys, there was this thing; the +thought which perhaps he couldn't analyze, the great truth which he +couldn't understand, but felt. It made a worshipper of him—a devout +worshipper of the totem. And it occurred to David that perhaps the +spirit of God was in that totem even as much as in finger-worn rosaries +and the ivory crosses on women's breasts.</p> + +<p>Early on the eleventh day they came to the confluence of the Pitman and +the Stikine rivers, and a little later Kio turned back on his homeward +journey, and David and Baree were alone. This aloneness fell upon them +like a thing that had a pulse and was alive. They crossed the Divide and +were in a great sunlit country of amazing beauty and grandeur, with wide +valleys between the mountains. It was July. From up and down the valley, +from the breaks between the peaks and from the little gullies cleft in +shale and rock that crept up to the snow lines, came a soft and droning +murmur. It was the music of running water. That music was always in the +air, for the rivers, the creeks, and the tiny streams, gushing down from +the snow that lay eternally up near the clouds, were never still. There +were sweet perfumes as well as music in the air. The earth was bursting +with green; the early flowers were turning the sunny slopes into +coloured splashes of red and white and purple—splashes of violets and +forget-me-nots,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> of wild asters and hyacinths. David looked upon it all, +and his soul drank in its wonders. He made his camp, and he remained in +it all that day, and the next. He was eager to go on, and yet in his +eagerness he hesitated, and waited. It seemed to him that he must become +acquainted with this empty world before venturing farther into +it—alone; that it was necessary for him to understand it a little, and +get his bearings. He could not lose himself. Jacques had assured him of +that, and Kio had pantomimed it, pointing many times at the broad, +shallow stream that ran ahead of him. All he had to do was to follow the +river. In time, many weeks, of course, it would bring him to the white +settlement on the ocean. Long before that he would strike Firepan Creek. +Kio had never been so far; he had never been farther than this junction +of the two streams, Towaskook had informed Jacques. So it was not fear +that held David. It was the <i>aloneness</i>. He was taking a long mental +breath. And, meanwhile, he was repairing his boots, and doctoring +Baree's feet, bruised and sore by their travel over the shale of the +mountain tops.</p> + +<p>He thought that he had experienced the depths of loneliness after +leaving the Missioner. But here it was a much larger thing. This night, +as he sat under the stars and a great white moon, with Baree at his +feet, it engulfed him; not in a depressing way, but awesomely. It was +not an unpleasant loneliness, and yet he felt that it had no limit, that +it was immeasurable. It was as vast as the mountains that shut him in. +Somewhere, miles to the east of him now, was Kio. That was all. He knew +that he would never be able to describe it, this loneliness—or +aloneness;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> one man, and a dog, with a world to themselves. After a +time, as he looked up at the stars and listened to the droning sound of +the waters in the valley, it began to thrill him with a new kind of +intelligence. Here was peace as vast as space itself. It was not +troubled by the struggling existence of men, and women, and it seemed to +him that he must remain very still under the watchfulness of those +billions of sentinels in the sky, with the white moon floating under +them. The second night he made himself and Baree a small fire. The third +morning he shouldered his pack and went on.</p> + +<p>Baree kept close at his master's side, and the eyes of the two were +constantly on the alert. They were in a splendid game country, and David +watched for the first opportunity that would give Baree and himself +fresh meat. The white sand bars and gravelly shores of the stream were +covered with the tracks of the wild dwellers of the valley and the +adjoining ranges, and Baree sniffed hungrily whenever he came to the +warm scent of the last night's spoor. He was hungry. He had been hungry +all the way over the mountains. Three times that day David saw a caribou +at a distance. In the afternoon he saw a grizzly on a green slope. +Toward evening he ran into luck. A band of sheep had come down from a +mountain to drink, and he came upon them suddenly, the wind in his +favour. He killed a young ram. For a full minute after firing the shot +he stood in his tracks, scarcely breathing. The report of his rifle was +like an explosion. It leaped from mountain to mountain, echoing, +deepening, coming back to him in murmuring intonations, and dying out at +last in a sighing gasp. It was a weird and disturbing sound. He fancied<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +that it could be heard many miles away. That night the two feasted on +fresh meat.</p> + +<p>It was their fifth day in the valley when they came to a break in the +western wall of the range, and through this break flowed a stream that +was very much like the Stikine, broad and shallow and ribboned with +shifting bars of sand. David made up his mind that it must be the +Firepan, and he could feel his pulse quicken as he started up it with +Baree. He must be quite near to Tavish's cabin, if it had not been +destroyed. Even if it had been burned on account of the plague that had +infested it, he would surely discover the charred ruins of it. It was +three o'clock when he started up the creek, and he was—inwardly—much +agitated. He grew more and more positive that he was close to the end of +his adventure. He would soon come upon life—human life. And then? He +tried to dispel the unsteadiness of his emotions, the swiftly growing +discomfort of a great anxiety. The first, of course, would be Tavish's +cabin, or the ruins of it. He had taken it for granted that Tavish's +location would be here, near the confluence of the two streams. A hunter +or prospector would naturally choose such a position.</p> + +<p>He travelled slowly, questing both sides of the stream, and listening. +He expected at any moment to hear a sound, a new kind of sound. And he +also scrutinized closely the clean, white bars of sand. There were +footprints in them, of the wild things. Once his heart gave a sudden +jump when he saw a bear track that looked very much like a moccasin +track. It was a wonderful bear country. Their signs were everywhere +along the stream, and their number and freshness made Baree restless.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +David travelled until dark. He had the desire to go on even then. He +built a small fire instead, and cooked his supper. For a long time after +that he sat in the moonlight smoking his pipe, and still listening. He +tried not to think. The next day would settle his doubts. The Girl? What +would he find? He went to sleep late and awoke with the summer dawn.</p> + +<p>The stream grew narrower and the country wilder as he progressed. It was +noon when Baree stopped dead in his tracks, stiff-legged, the bristles +of his spine erect, a low and ominous growl in his throat. He was +standing over a patch of white sand no larger than a blanket.</p> + +<p>"What is it, boy?" asked David.</p> + +<p>He went to him casually, and stood for a moment at the edge of the sand +without looking down, lighting his pipe.</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>The next moment his heart seemed rising up into his throat. He had been +expecting what his eyes looked upon now, and he had been watching for +it, but he had not anticipated such a tremendous shock. The imprint of a +moccasined foot in the sand! There was no doubt of it this time. A human +foot had made it—one, two, three, four, five times—in crossing that +patch of sand! He stood with the pipe in his mouth, staring down, +apparently without power to move or breathe. It was a small footprint. +Like a boy's. He noticed, then, with slowly shifting eyes, that Baree +was bristling and growling over another track. A bear track, huge, +deeply impressed in the sand. The beast's great spoor crossed the outer +edge of the sand, following the direction of the moccasin tracks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> It +was thrillingly fresh, if Baree's bristling spine and rumbling voice +meant anything.</p> + +<p>David's eyes followed the direction of the two trails. A hundred yards +upstream he could see where gravel and rock were replaced entirely by +sand, quite a wide, unbroken sweep of it, across which those clawed and +moccasined feet must have travelled if they had followed the creek. He +was not interested in the bear, and Baree was not interested in the +Indian boy; so when they came to the sand one followed the moccasin +tracks and the other the claw tracks. They were not at any time more +than ten feet apart. And then, all at once, they came together, and +David saw that the bear had crossed the sand last and that his huge paws +had obliterated a part of the moccasin trail. This did not strike him as +unusually significant until he came to a point where the moccasins +turned sharply and circled to the right. The bear followed. A little +farther—and David's heart gave a sudden thump! At first it might have +been coincidence, a bit of chance. It was chance no longer. It was +deliberate. The claws were on the trail of the moccasins. David halted +and pocketed his pipe, on which he had not drawn a breath in several +minutes. He looked at his rifle, making sure that it was ready for +action. Baree was growling. His white fangs gleamed and lurid lights +were in his eyes as he gazed ahead and sniffed. David shuddered. Without +doubt the claws had overtaken the moccasins by this time.</p> + +<p>It was a grizzly. He guessed so much by the size of the spoor. He +followed it across a bar of gravel. Then they turned a twist in the +creek and came to other sand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> A cry of amazement burst from David's +lips when he looked closely at the two trails again.</p> + +<p><i>The moccasins were now following the grizzly!</i></p> + +<p>He stared, for a few moments disbelieving his eyes. Here, too, there was +no room for doubt. The feet of the Indian boy had trodden in the tracks +of the bear. The evidence was conclusive; the fact astonishing. Of +course, it was barely possible....</p> + +<p>Whatever the thought might have been in David's mind, it never reached a +conclusion. He did not cry out at what he saw after that. He made no +sound. Perhaps he did not even breathe. But it was there—under his +eyes; inexplicable, amazing, not to be easily believed. A third time the +order of the mysterious footprints in the sand was changed—and the +grizzly was now following the boy, obliterating almost entirely the +indentures in the sand of his small, moccasined feet. He wondered +whether it was possible that his eyes had gone bad on him, or that his +mind had slipped out of its normal groove and was tricking him with +weirdly absurd hallucinations. So what happened in almost that same +breath did not startle him as it might otherwise have done. It was for a +brief moment simply another assurance of his insanity; and if the +mountains had suddenly turned over and balanced themselves on their +peaks their gymnastics would not have frozen him into a more speechless +stupidity than did the Girl who rose before him just then, not twenty +paces away. She had emerged like an apparition from behind a great +boulder—a little older, a little taller, a bit wilder than she had +seemed to him in the picture, but with that same glorious hair sweeping +about her, and that same<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> questioning look in her eyes as she stared at +him. Her hands were in that same way at her side, too, as if she were on +the point of running away from him. He tried to speak. He believed, +afterward, that he even made an effort to hold out his arms. But he was +powerless. And so they stood there, twenty paces apart, staring as if +they had met from the ends of the earth.</p> + +<p>Something happened then to whip David's reason back into its place. He +heard a crunching—heavy, slow. From around the other end of the boulder +came a huge bear. A monster. Ten feet from the girl. The first cry +rushed out of his throat. It was a warning, and in the same instant he +raised his rifle to his shoulder. The girl was quicker than he—like an +arrow, a flash, a whirlwind of burnished tresses, as she flew to the +side of the great beast. She stood with her back against it, her two +hands clutching its tawny hair, her slim body quivering, her eyes +flashing at David. He felt weak. He lowered his rifle and advanced a few +steps.</p> + +<p>"Who ... what ..." he managed to say; and stopped. He was powerless to +go on. But she seemed to understand. Her body stiffened.</p> + +<p>"I am Marge O'Doone," she said defiantly, "and this is my bear!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +</div> + +<p>She was splendid as she stood there, an exquisite human touch in the +savageness of the world about her—and yet strangely wild as she faced +David, protecting with her own quivering body the great beast behind +her. To David, in the first immensity of his astonishment, she had +seemed to be a woman; but now she looked to him like a child, a very +young girl. Perhaps it was the way her hair fell in a tangled riot of +curling tresses over her shoulders and breast; the slimness of her; the +shortness of her skirt; the unfaltering clearness of the great, blue +eyes that were staring at him; and, above all else, the manner in which +she had spoken her name. The bear might have been nothing more than a +rock to him now, against which she was leaning. He did not hear Baree's +low growling. He had travelled a long way to find her, and now that she +stood there before him in flesh and blood he was not interested in much +else. It was a rather difficult situation. He had known her so long, she +had been with him so constantly, filling even his dreams, that it was +difficult for him to find words in which to begin speech. When they did +come they were most commonplace; his voice was quiet, with an assured +and protecting note in it.</p> + +<p>"My name is David Raine," he said. "I have come a great distance to find +you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a simple and unemotional statement of fact, with nothing that was +alarming in it, and yet the girl shrank closer against her bear. The +huge brute was standing without the movement of a muscle, his small +reddish eyes fixed on David.</p> + +<p>"I won't go back!" she said. "I'll—fight!"</p> + +<p>Her voice was clear, direct, defiant. Her hands appeared from behind +her, and her little fists were clenched. With a swift movement she +tossed her hair back from about her face. Her eyes were blue, but dark +as thunder clouds in their gathering fierceness. She was like a child, +and yet a woman. A ferocious little person. Ready to fight. Ready to +spring at him if he approached. Her eyes never left his face.</p> + +<p>"I won't go back!" she repeated. "I won't!"</p> + +<p>He was noticing other things about her. Her moccasins were in tatters. +Her short skirt was torn. Her shining hair was in tangles. As she swept +it back from her face he saw under her eyes the darkness of exhaustion; +in her cheeks a wanness, which he did not know just then was caused by +hunger, and by her struggle to get away from something. On the back of +one of her clenched hands was a deep, red scratch. The look in his face +must have given the girl some inkling of the truth. She leaned a little +forward, quickly and eagerly, and demanded:</p> + +<p>"Didn't you come from the Nest? Didn't they send you—after me?"</p> + +<p>She pointed down the narrow valley, her lips parted as she waited for +his answer, her hair rioting over her breast again as she bent toward +him.</p> + +<p>"I've come fifteen hundred miles—from that direction,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> said David, +swinging an arm toward the backward mountains. "I've never been in this +country before. I don't know where the Nest is, or what it is. And I'm +not going to take you back to it unless you want to go. If some one is +coming after you, and you're bound to fight. I'll help you. Will that +bear bite?"</p> + +<p>He swung off his pack and put down his gun. For a moment the girl stared +at him with widening eyes. The fear went out of them slowly. Her hand +unclenched, and suddenly she turned to the big grizzly and clasped her +bared arms about the shaggy monster's neck.</p> + +<p>"Tara, Tara, it isn't one of them!" she cried. "It isn't one of +them—and we thought it was!"</p> + +<p>She whirled on David with a suddenness that took his breath away. It was +like the swift turning of a bird. He had never seen a movement so quick.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" she flung at him, as if she had not already heard his +name. "Why are you here? What business have you going up there—to the +Nest?"</p> + +<p>"I don't like that bear," said David dubiously, as the grizzly made a +slow movement toward him.</p> + +<p>"Tara won't hurt you," she said. "Not unless you put your hands on me, +and I scream. I've had him ever since he was a baby and he has never +hurt any one yet. But—he will!" Her eyes glowed darkly again, and her +voice had a strange, hard little note in it. "I've been ... training +him," she added. "Tell me—why are you going to the Nest?"</p> + +<p>It was a point-blank, determined question, with still a hint of +suspicion in it; and her eyes, as she asked it, were the clearest, +steadiest, bluest eyes he had ever looked into.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was finding it hard to live up to what he had expected of himself. +Many times he had thought of what he would say when he found this girl, +if he ever did find her; but he had anticipated something a little more +conventional, and had believed that it would be quite the easiest matter +in the world to tell who he was, and why he had come, and to tell it all +convincingly and understandably. He had not, in short, expected the sort +of little person who stood there against her bear—a very difficult +little person to approach easily and with assurance—half woman and half +child, and beautifully wild. She was not disappointing. She was greatly +appealing. When he surveyed her in a particularizing way, as he did +swiftly, there was an exquisiteness about her that gave him pleasureable +thrills. But it was all wild. Even her hair, an amazing glory of tangled +curls, was wild in its disorder; she seemed palpitating with that +wildness, like a fawn that had been run into a corner—no, not a fawn, +but some beautiful creature that could and would fight desperately if +need be. That was his impression. He was undergoing a smashing of his +conceptions of this girl as he had visioned her from the picture, and a +readjustment of her as she existed for him now. And he was not +disappointed. He had never seen anything quite like this Marge O'Doone +and her bear. <i>O'Doone!</i> His mind had harked back quickly, at her +mention of that name, to the woman in the coach of the Transcontinental, +the woman who was seeking a man by the name of Michael O'Doone. Of +course the woman was her mother. Her name, too, must have been O'Doone.</p> + +<p>Very slowly the girl detached herself from her bear, and came until she +stood within three steps of David.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tara won't hurt you," she assured him again, "unless I scream. He would +tear you to pieces, then."</p> + +<p>If she had betrayed a sudden fear at his first appearance, it was gone +now. Her eyes were like dark rock-violets and again he thought them the +bluest and most fearless eyes he had ever seen. She was less a child +now, standing so close to him; her slimness made her appear taller than +she was. David knew that she was going to question him, and before she +could speak he asked:</p> + +<p>"Why are you afraid of some one coming after you from the Nest, as you +call it?"</p> + +<p>"Because," she replied with quiet fearlessness, "I am running away from +it."</p> + +<p>"Running away!" he gasped. "How long...."</p> + +<p>"Two days."</p> + +<p>He understood now—her ragged moccasins, her frayed skirt, her tangled +hair, the look of exhaustion about her. It came upon him all at once +that she was standing unsteadily, swaying slightly like the slender stem +of a flower stirred by a breath of air, and that he had not noticed +these things because of the steadiness and clearness of her wonderful +eyes. He was at her side in an instant. He forgot the bear. His hand +seized hers—the one with the deep, red scratch on it—and drew her to a +flat rock a few steps away. She followed him, keeping her eyes on him in +a wondering sort of way. The grizzly's reddish eyes were on David. A few +yards away Baree was lying flat on his belly between two stones, his +eyes on the bear. It was a strange scene and rather weirdly incongruous. +David no longer sensed it. He still held the girl's hand as he seated +her on the rock, and he looked into her eyes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> smiling confidently. She +was, after all, his little chum—the Girl who had been with him ever +since that first night's vision in Thoreau's cabin, and who had helped +him to win that great fight he had made; the girl who had cheered and +inspired him during many months, and whom he had come fifteen hundred +miles to see. He told her this. At first she possibly thought him a +little mad. Her eyes betrayed that suspicion, for she uttered not a word +to break in on his story; but after a little her lips parted, her breath +came a little more quickly, a flush grew in her cheeks. It was a +wonderful thing in her life, this story, no matter if the man was a bit +mad, or even an impostor. He at least was very real in this moment, and +he had told the story without excitement, and with an immeasurable +degree of confidence and quiet tenderness—as though he had been +simplifying the strange tale for the ears of a child, which in fact he +had been endeavouring to do; for with the flush in her cheeks, her +parted lips, and her softening eyes, she looked to him more like a child +now than ever. His manner gave her great faith. But of course she was, +deep in her trembling soul, quite incredulous that he should have done +all these things for <i>her</i>—incredulous until he ended his story with +that day's travel up the valley, and then, for the first time, showed to +her—as a proof of all he had said—the picture.</p> + +<p>She gave a little cry then. It was the first sound that had broken past +her lips, and she clutched the picture in her hands and stared at it; +and David, looking down, could see nothing but that shining disarray of +curls, a rich and wonderful brown, in the sunlight, clustering about her +shoulders and falling thickly to her waist. He thought it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> indescribably +beautiful, in spite of the manner in which the curls and tresses had +tangled themselves. They hid her face as she bent over the picture. He +did not speak. He waited, knowing that in a moment or two all that he +had guessed at would be clear, and that when the girl looked up she +would tell him about the picture, and why she happened to be here, and +not with the woman of the coach, who must have been her mother.</p> + +<p>When at last she did look up from the picture her eyes were big and +staring and filled with a mysterious questioning.</p> + +<p>David, feeling quite sure of himself, said:</p> + +<p>"How did it happen that you were away up here, and not with your mother +that night when I met her on the train?"</p> + +<p>"She wasn't my mother," replied the girl, looking at him still in that +strange way. "My mother is dead."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +</div> + +<p>After that quietly spoken fact that her mother was dead, David waited +for Marge O'Doone to make some further explanation. He had so firmly +convinced himself that the picture he had carried was the key to all +that he wanted to know—first from Tavish, if he had lived, and now from +the girl—that it took him a moment or two to understand what he saw in +his companion's face. He realized then that his possession of the +picture and the manner in which it had come into his keeping were +matters of great perplexity to her, and that the woman whom he had met +in the Transcontinental held no significance for her at all, although he +had told her with rather marked emphasis that this woman—whom he had +thought was her mother—had been searching for a man who bore her own +name, O'Doone. The girl was plainly expecting him to say something, and +he reiterated this fact—that the woman in the coach was very anxious to +find a man whose name was O'Doone, and that it was quite reasonable to +suppose that <i>her</i> name was O'Doone, especially as she had with her this +picture of a girl bearing that name. It seemed to him a powerful and +utterly convincing argument. It was a combination of facts difficult to +get away from without certain conclusions, but this girl who was so near +to him that he could almost feel her breath did not appear fully to +comprehend<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> their significance. She was looking at him with wide-open, +wondering eyes, and when he had finished she said again:</p> + +<p>"My mother is dead. And my father is dead, too. And my aunt is dead—up +at the Nest. There isn't any one left but my uncle Hauck, and he is a +brute. And Brokaw. He is a bigger brute. It was he who made me let him +take this picture—two years ago. I have been training Tara to kill—to +kill any one that touches me, when I scream."</p> + +<p>It was wonderful to watch her eyes darken, to see her pupils grow big +and luminous. She did not look at the picture clutched in her hands, but +straight at him.</p> + +<p>"He caught me there, near the creek. He <i>frightened</i> me. He <i>made</i> me +let him take it. He wanted me to take off my...."</p> + +<p>A flood of wild blood rushed into her face. In her heart was a fury.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't be afraid now—not of him alone," she cried. "I would +scream—and fight, and Tara would tear him into pieces. Oh, Tara knows +how to do it—<i>now</i>! I have trained him."</p> + +<p>"He compelled you to let him take the picture," urged David gently. "And +then...."</p> + +<p>"I saw one of the pictures afterward. My aunt had it. I wanted to +destroy it, because I hated it, and I hated him. But she said it was +necessary for her to keep it. She was sick then. I loved her. She would +put her arms around me every day. She used to kiss me, nights, when I +went to bed. But we were afraid of Hauck—I don't call him 'uncle.' +<i>She</i> was afraid of him. Once I jumped at him and scratched his face +when he swore at her, and he pulled my hair. <i>Ugh</i>, I can feel it now! +After that she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> used to cry, and she always put her arms around me +closer than ever. She died that way, holding my head down to her, and +trying to say something. But I couldn't understand. I was crying. That +was six months ago. Since then I've been training Tara—to kill."</p> + +<p>"And why have you trained Tara, little girl?"</p> + +<p>David took her hand. It lay warm and unresisting in his, a firm, very +little hand. He could feel a slight shudder pass through her.</p> + +<p>"I heard—something," she said. "The Nest is a terrible place. Hauck is +terrible. Brokaw is terrible. And Hauck sent away somewhere up +there"—she pointed northward—"for Brokaw. He said—I belonged to +Brokaw. What did he mean?"</p> + +<p>She turned so that she could look straight into David's eyes. She was +hard to answer. If she had been a woman....</p> + +<p>She saw the slow, gathering tenseness in David's face as he looked for a +moment away from her bewildering eyes—the hardening muscles of his +jaws; and her own hand tightened as it lay in his.</p> + +<p>"What did Hauck mean?" she persisted. "Why do I belong to Brokaw—that +great, red brute?"</p> + +<p>The hand he had been holding he took between both his palms in a gentle, +comforting way. His voice was gentle, too, but the hard lines did not +leave his face.</p> + +<p>"How old are you, Marge?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Seventeen," she said.</p> + +<p>"And I am—thirty-eight." He turned to smile at her. "See...." He raised +a hand and took off his hat. "My hair is getting gray!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> + +<p>She looked up swiftly, and then, so suddenly that it took his breath +away, her fingers were running back through his thick blond hair.</p> + +<p>"A little," she said. "But you are not old."</p> + +<p>She dropped her hand. Her whole movement had been innocent as a child's.</p> + +<p>"And yet I am <i>quite</i> old," he assured her. "Is this man Brokaw at the +Nest, Marge?"</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"He has been there a month. He came after Hauck sent for him, and went +away again. Then he came back."</p> + +<p>"And you are now running away from him?"</p> + +<p>"From all of them," she said. "If it were just Brokaw I wouldn't be +afraid. I would let him catch me, and scream. Tara would kill him for +me. But it's Hauck, too. And the others. They are worse since Nisikoos +died. That is what I called her—Nisikoos—my aunt. They are all +terrible, and they all frighten me, especially since they began to build +a great cage for Tara. Why should they build a cage for Tara, out of +small trees? Why do they want to shut him up? None of them will tell me. +Hauck says it is for another bear that Brokaw is bringing down from the +Yukon. But I know they are lying. It is for Tara." Suddenly her fingers +clutched tightly at his hand, and for the first time he saw under her +long, shimmering lashes the darkening fire of a real terror. "Why do I +belong to Brokaw?" she asked again, a little tremble in her voice. "Why +did Hauck say that? Can—can a man—buy a girl?"</p> + +<p>The nails of her slender fingers were pricking his flesh. David did not +feel their hurt.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "Did that +man—Hauck—sell you?"</p> + +<p>He looked away from her as he asked the question. He was afraid, just +then, that something was in his face which he did not want her to see. +He began to understand; at least he was beginning to picture a very +horrible possibility.</p> + +<p>"I—don't—know," he heard her say, close to his shoulder. "It was night +before last I heard them quarrelling, and I crept close to a door that +was a little open, and looked in. Brokaw had given my uncle a bag of +gold, a little sack, like the miners use, and I heard him swear at my +uncle, and say: 'That's more than she is worth but I'll give in. <i>Now</i> +she's mine!' I don't know why it frightened me so. It wasn't Brokaw. I +guess it was the terrible look in that man's face—my uncle's. Tara and +I ran away that night. Why do you suppose they want to put Tara in a +cage? Do you think Brokaw was buying <i>Tara</i> to put into that cage? He +said 'she,' not 'he'."</p> + +<p>He looked at her again. Her eyes were not so fearless now.</p> + +<p>"Was he buying Tara, or me?" she insisted.</p> + +<p>"Why do you have that thought—that he was buying <i>you</i>?" David asked. +"Has anything—happened?"</p> + +<p>A second time a fury of blood leapt into her face and her lashes +shadowed a pair of blazing stars.</p> + +<p>"He—that red brute—caught me in the dark two weeks ago, and held me +there—and kissed me!" She fairly panted at him, springing to her feet +and standing before him. "I would have screamed, but it was in the +house, and Tara couldn't have come to me. I scratched him, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> fought, +but he bent my head back until it hurt. He tried it again the day he +gave my uncle the gold, but I struck him with a stick, and got away. Oh, +I <i>hate</i> him! And he knows it. And my uncle cursed me for striking him! +And that's why ... I'm running away."</p> + +<p>"I understand," said David, rising and smiling at her confidently, while +in his veins his blood was running like little streams of fire. "Don't +you believe, now, all that I've told you about the picture? How it tried +so hard to talk to me, and tell me to hurry? It got me here just about +in time, didn't it? It'll be a great joke on Brokaw, little girl. And +your uncle Hauck. A great joke, eh?" He laughed. He felt like laughing, +even as his blood pounded through him at fever heat. "You're a little +brick, Marge—you and your bear!"</p> + +<p>It was the first time he had thought of the bear since Marge had +detached herself from the big beast to come to him, and as he looked in +its direction he gave a startled exclamation.</p> + +<p>Baree and the grizzly had been measuring each other for some time. To +Baree this was the most amazing experience in all his life, and +flattened out between the two rocks he was at a loss to comprehend why +his master did not either run or shoot. He wanted to jump out, if his +master showed fight, and leap straight at that ugly monster, or he +wanted to run away as fast as his legs would carry him. He was shivering +in indecision, waiting a signal from David to do either one or the +other. And Tara was now moving slowly toward the dog! His huge head was +hung low, swinging slightly from side to side in a most terrifying way; +his great jaws were agape, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> nearer he came to Baree the smaller +the dog seemed to grow between the rocks. At David's sudden cry the girl +had turned, and he was amazed to hear her laughter, clear and sweet as a +bell. It was funny, that picture of the dog and the bear, if one was in +the mood to see the humour of it!</p> + +<p>"Tara won't hurt him," she hurried to say, seeing David's uneasiness. +"He loves dogs. He wants to play with ... what is his name?"</p> + +<p>"Baree. And mine is David."</p> + +<p>"Baree—David. See!"</p> + +<p>Like a bird she had left his side and in an instant, it seemed, was +astride the big grizzly, digging her fingers into Tara's thick +coat—smiling back at him, her radiant hair about her like a cloud, +filled with marvellous red-and-gold fires in the sun.</p> + +<p>"Come," she said, holding out a hand to David. "I want Tara to know you +are our friend. Because"—the darkness came into her eyes again—"I have +been <i>training him</i>, and I want him to know he must not hurt <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>David went to them, little fancying the acquaintance he was about to +make, until Marge slipped off her bear and put her two arms +unhesitatingly about his shoulders, and drew him down with her close in +front of Tara's big head and round, emotionless eyes. For a thrilling +moment or two she pressed her face close to his, looking all the time +straight at Tara, and talking to him steadily. David did not sense what +she was saying, except that in a general way she was telling Tara that +he must never hurt this man, no matter what happened. He felt the warm +crush of her hair on his neck and face. It billowed on his breast for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +moment. The girl's hand touched his cheek, warm and caressing. He made +no movement of his own, except to rise rigidly when she unclasped her +arms from about his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"There; he won't hurt you now!" she exclaimed in triumph.</p> + +<p>Her cheeks were flaming, but not with embarrassment. Her eyes were as +clear as the violets he had crushed under his feet in the mountain +valleys. He looked at her as she stood before him, so much like a child, +and yet enough of a woman to make his own cheeks burn. And then he saw a +sudden changing expression come into her face. There was something +pathetic about it, something that made him see again what he had +forgotten—her exhaustion, the evidences of her struggle. She was +looking at his pack.</p> + +<p>"We haven't had anything to eat since we ran away," she said simply. +"I'm hungry."</p> + +<p>He had heard children say "I'm hungry" in that same voice, with the same +hopeful and entreating insistence in it; he had spoken those words +himself a thousand times, to his mother, in just that same way, it +seemed to him; and as she stood there, looking at his pack, he was +filled with a very strong desire to crumple her close in his arms—not +as a woman, but as a child. And this desire held him so still for a +moment that she thought he was waiting for her to explain.</p> + +<p>"I fastened our bundle on Tara's back and we lost it in the night coming +up over the mountain," she said. "It was so steep that in places I had +to catch hold of Tara and let him drag me up."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>In another moment he was at his pack, opening it, and tossing things to +right and left on the white sand, and the girl watched him, her eyes +very bright with anticipation.</p> + +<p>"Coffee, bacon, bannock, and potatoes," he said, making a quick +inventory of his small stock of provisions.</p> + +<p>"Potatoes!" cried the girl.</p> + +<p>"Yes—dehydrated. See? It looks like rice. One pound of this equals +fourteen pounds of potatoes. And you can't tell the difference when it's +cooked right. Now for a fire!"</p> + +<p>She was darting this way and that, collecting small dry sticks in the +sand before he was on his feet. He could not resist standing for a +moment and watching her. Her movements, even in her quick and eager +quest of fuel, were the most graceful he had ever seen in a human being. +And yet she was tired! She was hungry! And he believed that her feet, +concealed in those rock-torn moccasins, were bruised and sore. He went +down to the stream for water, and in the few moments that he was gone +his mind worked swiftly. He believed that he understood, perhaps even +more than the girl herself. There was something about her that was so +sweetly childish—in spite of her age and her height and her amazing +prettiness that was not all a child's prettiness—that he could not feel +that she had realized fully the peril from which she was fleeing when he +found her. He had guessed that her dread was only partly for herself and +that the other part was for Tara, her bear. She had asked him in a sort +of plaintive anxiety and with rather more of wonderment and perplexity +in her eyes than fear, whether she belonged to Brokaw, and what it all +meant, and whether a man could buy a girl. It was not a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> mystery to him +that the "red brute" she had told him about should want her. His +puzzlement was that such a thing could happen, if he had guessed right, +among men. Buy her? Of course down there in the big cities such a thing +had happened hundreds and thousands of times—were happening every +day—but he could not easily picture it happening up here, where men +lived because of their strength. There must surely be other men at the +Nest than the two hated and feared by the girl—Hauck, her uncle, and +Brokaw, the "red brute."</p> + +<p>She had built a little pile of sticks and dry moss ready for the touch +of a match when he returned. Tara had stretched himself out lazily in +the sun and Baree was still between the two rocks, eyeing him +watchfully. Before David lighted the fire he spread his one blanket out +on the sand and made the Girl sit down. She was close to him, and her +eyes did not leave his face for an instant. Whenever he looked up she +was gazing straight at him, and when he went down to the creek for +another pail of water he felt that her eyes were still on him. When he +turned to come back, with fifty paces between them, she smiled at him +and he waved his hand at her. He asked her a great many questions while +he prepared their dinner. The Nest, he learned, was a free-trading +place, and Hauck was its proprietor. He was surprised when he learned +that he was not on Firepan Creek after all. The Firepan was over the +range, and there were a good many Indians to the north and west of it. +Miners came down frequently from the Taku River country and the edge of +the Yukon, she said. At least she thought they were miners, for that is +what Hauck used to tell Nisikoos, her aunt. They came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> after whisky. +Always whisky. And the Indians came for liquor, too. It was the chief +article that Hauck, her uncle, traded in. He brought it from the coast, +in the winter time—many sledge loads of it; and some of those "miners" +who came down from the north carried away much of it. If it was summer +they would take it away on pack horses. What would they do with so much +liquor, she wondered? A little of it made such a beast of Hauck, and a +beast of Brokaw, and it drove the Indians wild. Hauck would no longer +allow the Indians to drink it at the Nest. They had to take it away with +them—into the mountains. Just now there was quite a number of the +"miners" down from the north, ten or twelve of them. She had not been +afraid when Nisikoos, her aunt, was alive. But now there was no other +woman at the Nest, except an old Indian woman who did Hauck's cooking. +Hauck wanted no one there. And she was afraid of those men. They all +feared Hauck, and she knew that Hauck was afraid of Brokaw. She didn't +know why, but he was. And she was afraid of them all, and hated them +all. She had been quite happy when Nisikoos was alive. Nisikoos had +taught her to read out of books, had taught her things ever since she +could remember. She could write almost as well as Nisikoos. She said +this a bit proudly. But since her aunt had gone, things were terribly +changed. Especially the men. They had made her more afraid, every day.</p> + +<p>"None of them is like you," she said with startling frankness, her eyes +shining at him. "I would love to be with you!"</p> + +<p>He turned, then, to look at Tara dozing in the sun.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +</div> + +<p>They ate, facing each other, on a clean, flat stone that was like a +table. There was no hesitation on the girl's part, no false pride in the +concealment of her hunger. To David it was a joy to watch her eat, and +to catch the changing expressions in her eyes, and the little +half-smiles that took the place of words as he helped her diligently to +bacon and bannock and potatoes and coffee. The bright glow went only +once out of her eyes, and that was when she looked at Tara and Baree.</p> + +<p>"Tara has been eating roots all day," she said, "But what will he eat?" +and she nodded at the dog.</p> + +<p>"He had a whistler for breakfast," David assured her. "Fat as butter. He +wouldn't eat now anyway. He is too much interested in the bear." She had +finished, with a little sigh of content, when he asked: "What do you +mean when you say that you have trained Tara to kill? Why have you +trained him?"</p> + +<p>"I began the day after Brokaw did that—held me there in his arms, with +my head bent back. <i>Ugh!</i> he was terrible, with his face so close to +mine!" She shuddered. "Afterward I washed my face, and scrubbed it hard, +but I could still <i>feel</i> it. I can feel it now!" Her eyes were darkening +again, as the sun darkens when a thunder cloud passes under it. "I +wanted to make Tara understand what he must do after that, so I stole +some of Brokaw's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> clothes and carried them up to a little plain on the +side of the mountain. I stuffed them with grass, and made a ... what do +you call it? In Indian it is <i>issena-koosewin</i>...."</p> + +<p>"A dummy," he said.</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is it. Then I would go with it a little distance from Tara, +and would begin to struggle with it, and scream. The third time, when +Tara saw me lying under it, kicking and screaming, he gave it a blow +with his paw that ripped it clean in two! And after that...."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were glorious in their wild triumph.</p> + +<p>"He would tear it into bits," she cried breathlessly. "It would take me +a whole day to mend it again, and at last I had to steal more clothes. I +took Hauck's this time. And soon they were gone, too. That is just what +Tara will do to a man—when I fight and scream!"</p> + +<p>"And a little while ago you were ready to jump at me, and fight and +scream!" he reminded her, smiling across their rock table.</p> + +<p>"Not after you spoke to me," she said, so quickly that the words seemed +to spring straight from her heart. "I wasn't afraid then. I was—glad. +No, I wouldn't scream—not even if you held me like Brokaw did!"</p> + +<p>He felt the warm blood rising under his skin again. It was impossible to +keep it down. And he was ashamed of it—ashamed of the thought that for +an instant was in his mind. The soul of the wild, little mountain +creature was in her eyes. Her lips made no concealment of its thoughts +or its emotions, pure as the blue skies above them and as ungoverned by +conventionality as the winds that shifted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> up and down the valleys. She +was a new sort of being to him, a child-woman, a little wonder-nymph +that had grown up with the flowers. And yet not so little after all. He +had noticed that the top of her shining head came considerably above his +chin.</p> + +<p>"Then you will not be afraid to go back to the Nest—with me?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No," she said with a direct and amazing confidence. "But I'd rather run +away with you." Then she added quickly, before he could speak: "Didn't +you say you came all that way—hundreds of miles—to find <i>me</i>? Then why +must we go back?"</p> + +<p>He explained to her as clearly as he could, and as reason seemed to +point out to him. It was impossible, he assured her, that Brokaw or +Hauck or any other man could harm her now that he was here to take care +of her and straighten matters out. He was as frank with her as she had +been with him. Her eyes widened when he told her that he did not believe +Hauck was her uncle, and that he was certain the woman whom he had met +that night on the Transcontinental, and who was searching for an +O'Doone, had some deep interest in her. He must discover, if possible, +how the picture had got to her, and who she was, and he could do this +only by going to the Nest and learning the truth straight from Hauck. +Then they would go on to the coast, which would be an easy journey. He +told her that Hauck and Brokaw would not dare to cause them trouble, as +they were carrying on a business of which the provincial police would +make short work, if they knew of it. They held the whip hand, he and +Marge. Her eyes shone with increasing faith as he talked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>She had leaned a little over the narrow rock between them so that her +thick curls fell in shining clusters under his eyes, and suddenly she +reached out her arms through them and her two hands touched his face.</p> + +<p>"And you will take me away? You promise?"</p> + +<p>"My dear child, that is just what I came for," he said, feigning to be +surprised at her questions. "Fifteen hundred miles for just that. <i>Now</i> +don't you believe all that I've told you about the picture?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she nodded.</p> + +<p>She had drawn back, and was looking at him so steadily and with such +wondering depths in her eyes that he found himself compelled for an +instant to turn his own gaze carelessly away.</p> + +<p>"And you used to talk to it," she said, "and it seemed <i>alive</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Very much alive, Marge."</p> + +<p>"And you <i>dreamed</i> about me?"</p> + +<p>He <i>had</i> said that, and he felt again that warm rise of blood. He felt +himself in a difficult place. If she had been older, or even younger....</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said truthfully.</p> + +<p>He feared one other question was quite uncomfortably near. But it didn't +come. The girl rose suddenly to her feet, flung back her hair, and ran +to Tara, dozing in the sun. What she was saying to the beast, with her +arms about his shaggy neck, David could only guess. He found himself +laughing again, quietly of course, with his back to her, as he picked up +their dinner things. He had not anticipated such an experience as this. +It rather unsettled him. It was amusing—and had a decided thrill to +it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> Undoubtedly Hauck and Brokaw were rough men; from what she had told +him he was convinced they were lawless men, engaged in a very wide +"underground" trade in whisky. But he believed that he would not find +them as bad as he had pictured them at first, even though the Nest was a +horrible place for the girl. Her running away was the most natural thing +in the world—for her. She was an amazingly spontaneous little creature, +full of courage and a fierce determination to fight some one, but +probably to-day or to-morrow she would have been forced to turn +homeward, quite exhausted with her adventure, and nibbling roots along +with Tara to keep herself alive. The thought of her hunger and of the +dire necessity in which he had found her, drove the smile from his lips. +He was finishing his pack when she left the bear and came to him.</p> + +<p>"If we are to get over the mountain before dark we must hurry," she +said. "See—it is a big mountain!"</p> + +<p>She pointed to a barren break in the northward range, close up to the +snow-covered peaks.</p> + +<p>"And it's cold up there when night comes," she added.</p> + +<p>"Can you make it?" David asked. "Aren't you tired? Your feet sore? We +can wait here until morning...."</p> + +<p>"I can climb it," she cried, with an excitement which he had not seen in +her before. "I can climb it—and travel all night—to tell Brokaw and +Hauck I don't belong to them any more, and that we're going away! Brokaw +will be like a mad beast, and before we go I'll scratch his eyes out!"</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" gasped David under his breath.</p> + +<p>"And if Hauck swears at me I'll scratch <i>his</i> out!" she declared, +trembling in the glorious anticipation of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> vengeance. "I'll ... I'll +scratch <i>his</i> out, anyway, for what he did to Nisikoos!"</p> + +<p>David stared at her. She was looking away from him, her eyes on the +break between the mountains, and he noticed how tense her slender body +had become and how tightly her hands were clenched.</p> + +<p>"They won't dare to touch me or swear at me when you are there," she +added, with sublime faith.</p> + +<p>She turned in time to catch the look in his face. Swiftly the excitement +faded out of her own. She touched his arm, hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't ... you want me ... to scratch out their eyes?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't do," he said. "We must be very careful. We mustn't let them +know you ran away. We must tell them you climbed up the mountain, and +got lost."</p> + +<p>"I never get lost," she protested.</p> + +<p>"But we must tell them that just the same," he insisted. "Will you?"</p> + +<p>She nodded emphatically.</p> + +<p>"And now, before we start, tell me why they haven't followed you?"</p> + +<p>"Because I came over the mountain," she replied, pointing again toward +the break. "It's all rock, and Tara left no marks. They wouldn't think +we'd climb over the range. They've been looking for us in the other +valley if they have hunted for us at all. We were going to climb over +<i>that</i> range, too." She turned so that she was pointing to the south.</p> + +<p>"And then?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There are people over there. I've heard Hauck talk about them."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear him speak of a man by the name of Tavish?" he asked, +watching her closely.</p> + +<p>"Tavish?" She pursed her lips into a red "O," and little lines gathered +thoughtfully between her eyes. "Tavish? No-o-o, I never have."</p> + +<p>"He lived at one time on Firepan Creek. Had small-pox," said David.</p> + +<p>"That is terrible," the girl shuddered. "The Indians die of it up here. +Hauck says that my father and mother died of small-pox, before I could +remember. It is all like a dream. I can see a woman's face sometimes, +and I can remember a cabin, and snow, and lots of dogs. Are you ready to +go?"</p> + +<p>He shouldered his pack, and as he arranged the straps Marge ran to Tara. +At her command the big beast rose slowly and stood before her, swinging +his head from side to side, his jaws agape. David called to Baree and +the dog came to him like a streak and stood against his leg, snarling +fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut," admonished David, softly, laying a hand on Baree's head. +"We're all friends, boy. Look here!"</p> + +<p>He walked straight over to the grizzly and tried to induce Baree to +follow him. Baree came half way and then sat himself on his haunches and +refused to budge another inch, an expression so doleful in his face that +it drew from the girl's lips a peal of laughter in which David found it +impossible not to join. It was delightfully infectious; he was laughing +more with her than at Baree. In the same breath his merriment was cut +short by an unexpected<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> and most amazing discovery. Tara, after all, had +his usefulness. His mistress had vaulted astride of him, and was nudging +him with her heels, leaning forward so that with one hand she was +pulling at his left ear. The bear turned slowly, his finger-long claws +clicking on the stones, and when his head was in the right direction +Marge released his ear and spoke sharply, beating a tattoo with her +heels at the same time.</p> + +<p>"<i>Neah</i>, Tara, <i>Neah</i>!" she cried.</p> + +<p>After a moment's hesitation, in which the grizzly seemed to be getting +his bearings, Tara struck out straight for the break between the +mountains, with his burden. The girl turned and waved a beckoning hand +at David.</p> + +<p>"<i>Pao</i>! you must hurry!" she called to him, laughing at the astonishment +in his face.</p> + +<p>He had started to fill his pipe, but for the next few minutes he forgot +that the pipe was in his hand. His eyes did not leave the huge beast, +ambling along a dozen paces ahead of him, or the slip of a girl who rode +him. He had caught a glimpse of Baree, and the dog's eyes seemed to be +bulging. He half believed that his own mouth was open when the girl +called to him. What had happened was most startlingly unexpected, and +what he stared at now was a wondrous sight! Tara travelled with the +rolling, slouching gait typical of the wide-quartered grizzly, and the +girl was a sinuous part of him—by all odds the most wonderful thing in +the world to David at this moment. Her hair streamed down her back in a +cascade of sunlit glory. She flung back her head, and he thought of a +wonderful golden-bronze flower. He heard her laugh, and cry out to Tara, +and when the grizzly climbed up a bit of steep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> slide she leaned forward +and became a part of the bear's back, her curls shimmering in the thick +ruff of Tara's neck. As he toiled upward in their wake, he caught a +glimpse of her looking back at him from the top of the slide, her eyes +shining and her lips smiling at him. She reminded him of something he +had read about Leucosia, his favorite of the "Three Sirens," only in +this instance it was a siren of the mountains and not of the sea that +was leading him on to an early doom—if he had to keep up with that +bear! His breath came more quickly. In ten minutes he was gasping for +wind, and in despair he slackened his pace as the bear and his rider +disappeared over the crest of the first slope. She was waving at him +then, fully two hundred yards up that infernal hill, and he was sure +that she was laughing. He had almost reached the top when he saw her +sitting in the shade of a rock, watching him as he toiled upward. There +was a mischievous seriousness in the blue of her eyes when he reached +her side.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, <i>Sakewawin</i>," she said, lowering her eyes until they were +hidden under the silken sheen of her long lashes, "I couldn't make Tara +go slowly. He is hungry, and he knows that he is going home."</p> + +<p>"And I thought you had sore feet," he managed to say.</p> + +<p>"I don't ride him going <i>down</i> a mountain," she explained, thrusting out +her ragged little feet. "I can't hang on, and I slip over his head. You +must walk ahead of Tara. That will hold him back."</p> + +<p>He tried this experiment when they continued their ascent, and Tara +followed so uncomfortably close that at times David could feel his warm +breath against his hand. When they reached the second slope the girl +walked beside<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> him. For a half mile it was not a bad climb and there was +soft grass underfoot. After that came the rock and shale, and the air +grew steadily colder. They had started at one o'clock and it was five +when they reached the first snow. It was six when they stood at the +summit. Under them lay the valley of the Firepan, a broad, sun-filled +sweep of scattered timber and green plain, and the girl pointed into it, +north and west.</p> + +<p>"Off there is the Nest," she said. "We could almost see it if it weren't +for that big, red mountain."</p> + +<p>She was very tired, though she had ridden Tara at least two thirds of +the distance up the mountains. In her eyes was the mistiness of +exhaustion, and as a chill wind swept about them she leaned against +David, and he could feel that her endurance was nearly gone. As they had +come up to the snow line he had made her put on the light woollen shirt +he carried in his pack; and the big handkerchief, in which he had so +long wrapped the picture, he had fastened scarf-like about her head, so +she was not cold. But she looked pathetically childlike and out of +place, standing here beside him at the very top of the world, with the +valley so far down that the clumps of timber in it were like painted +splashes. It was a half mile down to the first bit of timber—a small +round patch of it in a narrow dip—and he pointed to it encouragingly.</p> + +<p>"We'll camp there and have supper. I believe it is far enough down for a +fire. And if it is impossible for you to ride Tara—I'm going to carry +you!"</p> + +<p>"You can't, <i>Sakewawin</i>" she sighed, letting her head touch his arm for +a moment. "It is more difficult to carry a load down a mountain than up. +I can walk."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<p>Before he could stop her she had begun to descend. They went down +quickly—three times as quickly as they had climbed the other side—and +when, half an hour later, they reached the timber in the dip, he felt as +if his back were broken. The girl had persistently kept ahead of him, +and with a little cry of triumph she dropped down at the foot of the +first balsam they came to. The pupils of her eyes were big and dark as +she looked up at him, quivering with the strain of the last great +effort, and yet she tried to smile at him.</p> + +<p>"You may carry me—some time—but not down a mountain," she said, and +laid her head wearily on the pillow of her arm, so that her face was +concealed from him. "And now—please get supper, <i>Sakewawin</i>."</p> + +<p>He spread his blanket over her before he began searching for a camp +site. He noticed that Tara was already hunting for roots. Baree followed +close at his master's heels. Quite near, David found a streamlet that +trickled down from the snow line, and to a grassy plot on the edge of +this he dragged a quantity of dry wood and built a fire. Then he made a +thick couch of balsam boughs and went to his little companion. In the +half hour he had been at work she had fallen asleep. Utter exhaustion +was in the limpness of her slender body as he raised her gently in his +arms. The handkerchief had slipped back over her shoulder and she was +wonderfully sweet, and helpless, as she lay with her head on his breast. +She was still asleep when he placed her on the balsams, and it was dark +when he awakened her for supper. The fire was burning brightly. Tara had +stretched himself out in a huge, dark bulk in the outer glow of it. +Baree was close to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> the fire. The girl sat up, rubbed her eyes, and +stared at David.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sakewawin</i>," she whispered then, looking about her in a moment's +bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"Supper," he said, smiling. "I did it all while you were napping, little +lady. Are you hungry?"</p> + +<p>He had spread their meal so that she did not have to move from her +balsams, and he had brought a short piece of timber to place as a rest +at her back, cushioned by his shoulder pack and the blanket. After all +his trouble she did not eat much. The mistiness was still in her eyes, +so after he had finished he took away the timber and made of the balsams +a deep pillow for her, that she might lie restfully, with her head well +up, while he smoked. He did not want her to go to sleep. He wanted to +talk. And he began by asking how she had so carelessly run away with +only a pair of moccasins on her feet and no clothes but the thin +garments she was wearing.</p> + +<p>"They were in Tara's pack, <i>Sakewawin</i>," she explained, her eyes glowing +like sleepy pools in the fireglow. "They were lost."</p> + +<p>He began then to tell her about Father Roland. She listened, growing +sleepier, her lashes drooping slowly until they formed dark curves on +her cheeks. He was close enough to marvel at their length, and as he +watched them, quivering in her efforts to keep awake and listen to him, +they seemed to him like the dark petals of two beautiful flowers closing +slumbrously for the night. It was a wonderful thing to see them open +suddenly and find the full glory of the sleep-filled eyes on him for an +instant, and then to watch them slowly close again as she fought +val<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>iantly to conquer her irresistible drowsiness, the merest dimpling +of a smile on her lips. The last time she opened them he had her picture +in his hands, and was looking at it, quite close to her, with the fire +lighting it up. For a moment he thought the sight if it had awakened her +completely.</p> + +<p>"Throw it into the fire," she said. "Brokaw made me let him take it, and +I hate it. I hate Brokaw. I hate the picture. Burn it."</p> + +<p>"But I must keep it," he protested. "Burn it! Why it's...."</p> + +<p>"You won't want it—after to-night."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were closing again, heavily, for the last time.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he asked, bending over her.</p> + +<p>"Because, <i>Sakewawin</i> ... you have me ... now," came her voice, in +drowsy softness; and then the long lashes lay quietly against her +cheeks.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> +</div> + +<p>He thought of her words a long time after she had fallen asleep. Even in +that last moment of her consciousness he had found her voice filled with +a strange faith and a wonderful assurance as it had drifted away in a +whisper. He would not want the picture any more—because he had <i>her</i>! +That was what she had said, and he knew it was her soul that had spoken +to him as she had hovered that instant between consciousness and +slumber. He looked at her, sleeping under his eyes, and he felt upon him +for the first time the weight of a sudden trouble, a gloomy +foreboding—and yet, under it all, like a fire banked beneath dead ash, +was the warm thrill of his possession. He had spread his blanket over +her, and now he leaned over and drew back her thick curls. They were +warm and soft in his fingers, strangely sweet to touch, and for a moment +or two he fondled them while he gazed steadily into the childish +loveliness of her face, dimpled still by that shadow of a smile with +which she had fallen asleep. He was beginning to feel that he had +accepted for himself a tremendous task, and that she, not much more than +a child, had of course scarcely foreseen its possibilities. Her faith in +him was a pleasurable thing. It was absolute. He realized it more as the +hours dragged on and he sat alone by the fire. So great was it that she +was going back fearlessly to those whom she hated and feared. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> was +returning not only fearlessly but with a certain defiant satisfaction. +He could fancy her saying to Hauck, and the Red Brute: "I've come back. +Now touch me if you dare!" What would he have to do to live up to that +surety of her confidence in him? A great deal, undoubtedly. And if he +won for her, as she fully expected him to win, what would he do with +her? Take her to the coast—put her into a school somewhere down south? +That was his first notion. For to him she looked more than ever like a +child as she lay asleep on her bed of balsams.</p> + +<p>He tried to picture Brokaw. He tried to see Hauck in his mental vision, +and he thought over again all that the girl had told him about herself +and these men. As he looked at her now—a little, softly breathing thing +under his gray blanket—it was hard for him to believe anything so +horrible as she had suggested. Perhaps her fears had been grossly +exaggerated. The exchange of gold between Hauck and the Red Brute had +probably been for something else. Even men engulfed in the brutality of +the trade they were in would not think of such an appalling crime. And +then—with a fierceness that made his blood boil—came the thought of +that time when Brokaw had caught her in his arms, and had held her head +back until it <i>hurt</i>—and had kissed her! Baree had crept between his +knees, and David's fingers closed so tightly in the loose skin of his +neck that the dog whined. He rose to his feet and stood gazing down at +the girl. He stood there for a long time without moving or making a +sound.</p> + +<p>"A little woman," he whispered to himself at last. "Not a child."</p> + +<p>From that moment his blood was hot with a desire to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> reach the Nest. He +had never thought seriously of physical struggle with men except in the +way of sport. His disposition had always been to regard such a thing as +barbarous, and he had never taken advantage of his skill with the gloves +as the average man might very probably have done. To fight was to lower +one's self-respect enormously, he thought. It was not a matter of +timidity, but of very strong conviction—an entrenchment that had saved +him from wreaking vengeance—in the hour when another man would have +killed. But there, in that room in his home, he had stood face to face +with a black, revolting sin. There had been nothing left to shield, +nothing to protect. Here it was different. A soul had given itself into +his protection, a soul as pure as the stars shining over the mountain +tops, and its little keeper lay there under his eyes sleeping in the +sweet faith that it was safe with him. A little later his fingers +tingled with an odd thrill as he took his automatic out of his pack, +loaded it carefully, and placed it in his pocket where it could be +easily reached. The act was a declaration of something ultimately +definite. He stretched himself out near the fire and went to sleep with +the force of this declaration brewing strangely within him.</p> + +<p>He was awake with the summer dawn and the sun was beginning to tint up +the big red mountain when they began the descent into the valley. Before +they started he loaned the girl his comb and single military brush, and +for fifteen minutes sat watching her while she brushed the tangles out +of her hair until it fell about her in a thick, waving splendour. At the +nape of her neck she tied it with a bit of string which he found for +her, and after that, as they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> travelled downward, he observed how the +rebellious tresses, shimmering and dancing about her, persisted in +forming themselves into curls again. In an hour they reached the valley, +and for a few moments they sat down to rest, while Tara foraged among +the rocks for marmots. It was a wonderful valley into which they had +come. From where they sat, it was like an immense park. Green slopes +reached almost to the summits of the mountains, and to a point half way +up these slopes—the last timber line—clumps of spruce and balsam trees +were scattered over the green as if set there by hands of men. Some of +these timber patches were no larger than the decorative clumps in a city +park, and others covered acres and tens of acres; and at the foot of the +slopes on either side, like decorative fringes, were thin and unbroken +lines of forest. Between these two lines of forest lay the open valley +of soft and undulating meadow, dotted with its purplish bosks of +buffalo-, willow-, and mountain-sage, its green coppices of wild rose +and thorn, and its clumps of trees. In the hollow of the valley ran a +stream.</p> + +<p>And this was her home! She was telling him about it as they sat there, +and he listened to her, and watched her bird-like movements, without +breaking in to ask questions which the night had shaped in his mind. She +pointed out gray summits on which she had stood. Off there, just visible +in the gray mist of early sunshine, was the mountain where she had found +Tara five years ago—a tiny cub who must have lost his mother. Perhaps +the Indians had killed her. And that long, rock-strewn slide, so steep +in places that he shuddered when he thought of what she had done, was +where she and Tara had climbed over the range<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> in their flight. She +chose the rocks so that Tara would leave no trail. He regarded that +slide as conclusive evidence of the very definite resolution that must +have inspired her. A fit of girlish temper would not have taken her up +that rock slide, and in the night. He thought it time to speak of what +was weighing upon his mind.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me, Marge," he said, pointing toward the red mountain ahead +of them. "Off there, you say, is the Nest. What are we going to do when +we arrive there?"</p> + +<p>The little lines gathered between her eyes again as she looked at him.</p> + +<p>"Why—tell them," she said.</p> + +<p>"Tell them what?"</p> + +<p>"That you've come for me, and that we're going away, <i>Sakewawin</i>."</p> + +<p>"And if they object? If Brokaw and Hauck say you cannot go?"</p> + +<p>"We'll go anyway, <i>Sakewawin</i>."</p> + +<p>"That's a pretty name you've given me," he mused, thinking of something +else. "I like it."</p> + +<p>For the first time she blushed—blushed until her face was like one of +the wild roses in those prickly copses of the valley.</p> + +<p>And then he added:</p> + +<p>"You must not tell them too much—at first, Marge. Remember that you +were lost, and I found you. You must give me time to get acquainted with +Hauck and Brokaw."</p> + +<p>She nodded, but there was a moment's anxiety in her eyes, and he saw for +an instant the slightest quiver in her throat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You won't—let them—keep me? No matter what they say—you won't let +them keep me?"</p> + +<p>He jumped up with a laugh and tilted her chin so that he looted straight +into her eyes; and her faith filled them again in a flood.</p> + +<p>"No—you're going with me," he promised. "Come. I'm quite anxious to +meet Hauck and the Red Brute!"</p> + +<p>It seemed singular to David that they met no one in the valley that day, +and the girl's explanation that practically all travel came from the +north and west, and stopped at the Nest, did not fully satisfy him. He +still wondered why they did not encounter one of the searching parties +that must have been sent out for her—until she told him that, since +Nisikoos died, she and Tara had gone quite frequently into the mountains +and remained all night, so that perhaps no search had been made for her +after all. Hauck had not seemed to care. More frequently than otherwise +he had not missed her. Twice she had been away for two nights and two +days. It was only because Brokaw had given that gold to Hauck that she +had feared pursuit. If Hauck had bought her....</p> + +<p>She spoke of that possible sale as if she might have been the merest +sort of chattel. And then she startled him by saying:</p> + +<p>"I have known of those white men from the north buying Indian girls. I +have seen them sold for whisky. <i>Ugh!</i>" She shuddered. "Nisikoos and I +overheard them one night. Hauck was selling a girl for a little sack of +gold—like <i>that</i>. Nisikoos held me more tightly than ever, that night. +I don't know why. She was terribly afraid of that man—Hauck. Why did +she live with him if she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> was afraid of him? Do you know? <i>I</i> wouldn't. +I'd run away."</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't tell you, my child."</p> + +<p>Her eyes turned on him suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Why do you call me that—a child?"</p> + +<p>"Because you're not a woman; because you're so very, very young, and I'm +so very old," he laughed.</p> + +<p>For a long time after that she was silent as they travelled steadily +toward the red mountain.</p> + +<p>They ate their dinner in the sombre shadow of it. Most of the afternoon +Marge rode her bear. It was sundown when they stopped for their last +meal. The Nest was still three miles farther on, and the stars were +shining brilliantly before they came to the little, wooded plain in the +edge of which Hauck had hidden away his place of trade. When they were +some hundred yards away they came over a knoll and David saw the glow of +fires. The girl stopped suddenly and her hand caught his arm. He counted +four of those fires in the open. A fifth glowed faintly, as if back in +timber. Sounds came to them—the slow, hollow booming of a tom-tom, and +voices. They could see shadows moving. The girl's fingers were pinching +David's arm.</p> + +<p>"The Indians have come in," she whispered.</p> + +<p>There was a thrill of uneasiness in her words. It was not fear. He could +see that she was puzzled, and that she had not expected to find fires or +those moving shadows. Her eyes were steady and shining as she looked at +him. It seemed to him that she had grown taller, and more like a woman, +as they stood there. Something in her face made him ask:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why have they come?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said.</p> + +<p>She started down the knoll straight for the fires. Tara and Baree filed +behind them. Beyond the glow of the camp a dark bulk took shape against +the blackness of the forest. David guessed that it was the Nest. He made +out a deep, low building, unlighted so far as he could see. Then they +entered into the fireglow. Their appearance produced a strange and +instant quiet. The beating of the tom-tom ceased. Voices died. Dark +faces stared—and that was all. There were about fifty of them about the +fires, David figured. And not a white man's face among them. They were +all Indians. A lean, night-eyed, sinister-looking lot. He was conscious +that they were scrutinizing him more than they were the girl. He could +almost feel the prick of their eyes. With her head up, his companion +walked between the fires and beyond them, looking neither to one side +nor the other. They turned the end of the huge log building and on this +side it was glowing dimly with light, and David faintly heard voices. +The girl passed swiftly into a hollow of gloom, calling softly to Tara. +The bear followed her, a grotesque, slowly moving hulk, and David +waited. He heard the clink of a chain. A moment later she returned to +him.</p> + +<p>"There is a light in Hauck's room," she said. "His council room, he +calls it—where he makes bargains. I hope they are both there, +<i>Sakewawin</i>—both Hauck and Brokaw." She seized his hand, and held it +tightly as she led him deeper into darkness. "I wonder why so many of +the Indians are in? I did not know they were coming. It is the wrong +time of year for—a crowd like that!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + +<p>He felt the quiver in her voice. She was quite excited, he knew. And yet +not about the Indians, nor the strangeness of their presence. It was her +<i>triumph</i> that made her tremble in the darkness, a wonderful +anticipation of the greatest event that had ever happened in her life. +She hoped that Hauck and Brokaw were in that room! She would confront +them there, with <i>him</i>. That was it. She felt her bondage—her +prisonment—in this savage place was ended; and she was eager to find +them, and let them know that she was no longer afraid, or alone—no +longer need obey or fear them. He felt the thrill of it in the hot, +fierce little clasp of her hand. He saw it glowing in her eyes when they +passed through the light of a window. Then they turned again, at the +back of the building. They paused at a door. Not a ray of light broke +the gloom here. The stars seemed to make the blackness deeper. Her +fingers tightened.</p> + +<p>"You must be careful," he said. "And—remember."</p> + +<p>"I will," she whispered.</p> + +<p>It was his last warning. The door opened slowly, with a creaking sound, +and they entered into a long, gloomy hall, illumined by a single oil +lamp that sputtered and smoked in its bracket on one of the walls. The +hall gave him an idea of the immensity of the building. From the far end +of it, through a partly open door, came a reek of tobacco smoke, and +loud voices—a burst of coarse laughter, a sudden volley of curses that +died away in a still louder roar of merriment. Some one closed the door +from within. The girl was staring toward the end of the hall, and +shuddering.</p> + +<p>"That is the way it has been—growing worse and worse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> since Nisikoos +died," she said. "In there the white men who come down from the north, +drink, and gamble, and quarrel. They are always quarrelling. This room +is ours—Nisikoos' and mine." She touched with her hand a door near +which they were standing. Then she pointed to another. There were half a +dozen doors up and down the hall. "And that is Hauck's."</p> + +<p>He threw off his pack, placed it on the floor, with his rifle across it. +When he straightened, the girl was listening at the door of Hauck's +room. Beckoning to him she knocked on it lightly, and then opened it. +David entered close behind her. It was a rather large room—his one +impression as he crossed the threshold. In the centre of it was a table, +and over the table hung an oil lamp with a tin reflector. In the light +of this lamp sat two men. In his first glance he made up his mind which +was Hauck and which was Brokaw. It was Brokaw, he thought, who was +facing them as they entered—a man he could hate even if he had never +heard of him before. Big. Loose-shouldered. A carnivorous-looking giant +with a mottled, reddish face and bleary eyes that had an amazed and +watery stare in them. Apparently the girl's knock had not been heard, +for it was a moment before the other man swung slowly about in his chair +so that he could see them. That was Hauck. David knew it. He was almost +a half smaller than the other, with round, bullish shoulders, a thick +neck, and eyes wherein might lurk an incredible cruelty. He popped half +out of his seat when he saw the girl, and a stranger. His jaws seemed to +tighten with a snap. A snap that could almost be heard. But it was +Brokaw's face that held David's eyes. He was two thirds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> drunk. There +was no doubt about it, if he was any sort of judge of that kind of +imbecility. One of his thick, huge hands was gripping a bottle. Hauck +had evidently been reading him something out of a ledger, a Post ledger, +which he held now in one hand. David was surprised at the quiet and +unemotional way in which the girl began speaking. She said that she had +wandered over into the other valley and was lost when this stranger +found her. He had been good to her, and was on his way to the settlement +on the coast. His name was....</p> + +<p>She got no further than that. Brokaw had taken his devouring gaze from +her and was staring at David. He lurched suddenly to his feet and leaned +over the table, a new sort of surprise in his heavy countenance. He +stretched out a hand. His voice was a bellow.</p> + +<p>"McKenna!"</p> + +<p>He was speaking directly at David—calling him by name. There was as +little doubt of that as of his drunkenness. There was also an +unmistakable note of fellowship in his voice. McKenna! David opened his +mouth to correct him when a second thought occurred to him in a mildly +inspirational way. Why not McKenna? The girl was looking at him, a bit +surprised, questioning him in the directness of her gaze. He nodded, and +smiled at Brokaw. The giant came around the table, still holding out his +big, red hand.</p> + +<p>"Mac! God! You don't mean to say you've forgotten...."</p> + +<p>David took the hand.</p> + +<p>"Brokaw!" he chanced.</p> + +<p>The other's hand was as cold as a piece of beef. But it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> possessed a +crushing strength. Hauck was staring from one to the other, and suddenly +Brokaw turned to him, still pumping David's hand.</p> + +<p>"McKenna—that young devil of Kicking Horse, Hauck! You've heard me +speak of him. McKenna...."</p> + +<p>The girl had backed to the door. She was pale. Her eyes were shining, +and she was looking straight at David when Brokaw released his hand.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, <i>Sakewawin</i>!" she said.</p> + +<p>It was very distinct, that word—<i>Sakewawin</i>! David had never heard it +come quite so clearly from her lips. There was something of defiance and +pride in her utterance of it—and intentional and decisive emphasis to +it. She smiled at him as she went through the door, and in that same +breath Hauck had followed her. They disappeared. When David turned he +found Brokaw backed against the table, his hands gripping the edge of +it, his face distorted by passion. It was a terrible face to look +into—to stand before, alone in that room—a face filled with menace and +murder. So sudden had been the change in it that David was stunned for a +moment. In that space of perhaps a quarter of a minute neither uttered a +sound. Then Brokaw leaned slowly forward, his great hands clenched, and +demanded in a hissing voice:</p> + +<p>"What did she mean when she called you that—<i>Sakewawin</i>? What did she +mean?"</p> + +<p>It was not now the voice of a drunken man, but the voice of a man ready +to kill.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +</div> + +<p>"<i>Sakewawin!</i> What did she mean when she called you that?"</p> + +<p>It was Brokaw's voice again, turning the words round but repeating them. +He made a step toward David, his hands clenched more tightly and his +whole hulk growing tense. His eyes, blazing as if through a very thin +film of water—water that seemed to cling there by some strange +magic—were horrible, David thought. <i>Sakewawin!</i> A pretty name for +himself, he had told the girl—and here it was raising the very devil +with this drink-bloated colossus. He guessed quickly. It was decidedly a +matter of guessing quickly and of making prompt and satisfactory +explanation—or, a throttling where he stood. His mind worked like a +race-horse. "Sakewawin" meant something that had enraged Brokaw. A +jealous rage. A rage that had filled his aqueous eyes with a lurid +glare. So David said, looking into them calmly, and with a little +feigned surprise:</p> + +<p>"Wasn't she speaking to you, Brokaw?"</p> + +<p>It was a splendid shot. David scarcely knew why he made it, except that +he was moved by a powerful impulse which just now he had not time to +analyze. It was this same impulse that had kept him from revealing +himself when Brokaw had mistaken him for someone else. Chance had thrown +a course of action into his way and he had ac<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>cepted it almost +involuntarily. It had suddenly occurred to him that he would give much +to be alone with this half-drunken man for a few hours—as McKenna. He +might last long enough in that disguise to discover things. But not with +Hauck watching him, for Hauck was four fifths sober, and there was a +depth to his cruel eyes which he did not like. He watched the effect of +his words on Brokaw. The tenseness left his body, his hands unclenched +slowly, his heavy jaw relaxed—and David laughed softly. He felt that he +was out of deep water now. This fellow, half filled with drink, was +wonderfully credulous. And he was sure that his watery eyes could not +see very well, though his ears had heard distinctly.</p> + +<p>"She was looking at you, Brokaw—straight at you—when she said +good-night," he added.</p> + +<p>"You sure—sure she said it to me, Mac?"</p> + +<p>David nodded, even as his blood ran a little cold.</p> + +<p>A leering grin of joy spread over Brokaw's face.</p> + +<p>"The—the little devil!" he said, gloatingly.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" David asked. "<i>Sakewawin</i>—I had never heard it." +He lied calmly, turning his head a bit out of the light.</p> + +<p>Brokaw stared at him a moment before answering.</p> + +<p>"When a girl says that—it means—<i>she belongs to you</i>," he said. "In +Indian it means—<i>possession</i>! Dam' ... of course you're right! She said +it to me. She's mine. She belongs to me. I own her. And I thought...."</p> + +<p>He caught up the bottle and turned out half a glass of liquor, swaying +unsteadily:</p> + +<p>"Drink, Mac?"</p> + +<p>David shook his head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not now. Let's go to your shack if you've got one. Lots to talk +about—old times—Kicking Horse, you know. And this girl? I can't +believe it! If it's true, you're a lucky dog."</p> + +<p>He was not thinking of consequences—of to-morrow. To-night was all he +asked for—alone with Brokaw. That mountain of flesh, stupefied with +liquor, was no match for him now. To-morrow he might hold the whip hand, +if Hauck did not return too soon.</p> + +<p>"Lucky dog! Lucky dog!" He kept repeating that. It was like music in +Brokaw's ears. And such a girl! An angel! He couldn't believe it! +Brokaw's face was like a red fire in his exultation, his lustful joy, +his great triumph. He drank the liquor he had proffered David, and drank +a second time, rumbling in his thick chest like some kind of animal. Of +course she was an angel! Hadn't he, and Hauck, and that woman who had +died, made her grow into an angel—just for him? She belonged to him. +Always had belonged to him, and he had waited a long time. If she had +ever called any other man that name—Sakewawin—he would have killed +him. Certain. Killed him dead. This was the first time she had ever +called him that. Lucky dog? You bet he was. They'd go to his shack—and +talk. He drank a third time. He rolled heavily as they entered the hall, +David praying that they would not meet Hauck. He had his victim. He was +sure of him. And the hall was empty. He picked up his gun and pack, and +held to Brokaw's arm as they went out into the night. Brokaw staggered +guidingly into a wall of darkness, talking thickly about lucky dogs. +They had gone perhaps a hundred paces when he stopped suddenly, very +close to some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>thing that looked to David like a section of tall fence +built of small trees. It was the cage. He jumped at that conclusion +before he could see it clearly in the clouded starlight. From it there +came a growling rumble, a deep breath that was like air escaping from a +pair of bellows, and he saw faintly a huge, motionless shape beyond the +stripped and upright sapling trunks.</p> + +<p>"Grizzly," said Brokaw, trying to keep himself on an even balance. "Big +bear-fight to-morrow, Mac. My bear—her bear—a great fight! Everybody +in to see it. Nothing like a bear-fight, eh? S'prise her, won't +it—pretty little wench! When she sees her bear fighting mine? Betchu +hundred dollars my bear kills Tara!"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," said David. "I'll bet to-morrow. Where's the shack?"</p> + +<p>He was anxious to reach that, and he hoped it was a good distance away. +He feared every moment that he would hear Hauck's voice or his footsteps +behind them, and he knew that Hauck's presence would spoil everything. +Brokaw, in his cups, was talkative—almost garrulous. Already he had +explained the mystery of the cage, and the Indians. The big fight was to +take place in the cage, and the Indians had come in to see it. He found +himself wondering, as they went through the darkness, how it had all +been kept from the girl, and why Brokaw should deliberately lower +himself still more in her esteem by allowing the combat to occur. He +asked him about it when they entered the shack to which Brokaw guided +him, and after they had lighted a lamp. It was a small, gloomy, +whisky-smelling place. Brokaw went directly to a box nailed against the +wall and returned with a quart flask that re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>sembled an army canteen, +and two tin cups. He sat down at a small table, his bloated, red face in +the light of the lamp, that queer animal-like rumbling in his throat, as +he turned out the liquor. David had heard porcupines make something like +the same sound. He pulled his hat lower over his eyes to hide the gleam +of them as Brokaw told him what he and Hauck had planned. The bear in +the cage belonged to him—Brokaw. A big brute. Fierce. A fighter. Hauck +and he were going to bet on his bear because it would surely kill Tara. +Make a big clean-up, they would. Tara was soft. Too easy living. And +they needed money because those scoundrels over on the coast had failed +to get in enough whisky for their trade. The girl had almost spoiled +their plans by going away with Tara. And he—Mac—was a devil of a good +fellow for bringing her back! They'd pull off the fight to-morrow. If +the girl—that little bird-devil that belonged to him—didn't like +it....</p> + +<p>He brought the canteen down with a bang, and shoved one of the cups +across to David.</p> + +<p>"Of course, she belongs to you," said David, encouragingly, +"but—confound you—I can't believe it, you old dog! I can't believe +it!" He leaned over and gave Brokaw a jocular slap, forcing a laugh out +of himself. "She's too pretty for you. Prettiest kid I ever saw! How did +it happen? Eh? You—<i>lucky</i>—dog!"</p> + +<p>He was fairly trembling as he saw the red fire of satisfaction, of +gloating pleasure, deepen in Brokaw's face.</p> + +<p>"She hasn't belonged to you very long, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Long time, long time," replied Brokaw, pausing with his cup half way to +his mouth. "Years ago."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suddenly he lowered the cup so forcefully that half the liquor in it was +spilled over the table. He thrust his huge shoulders and red face toward +David, and in an instant there was a snarl on his thick lips.</p> + +<p>"Hauck said she didn't," he growled. "What do you think of that, +Mac?—said she didn't belong to me any more, an' I'd have to pay for her +keep! Gawd, I did. I gave him a lot of gold!"</p> + +<p>"You were a fool," said David, trying to choke back his eagerness. "A +fool!"</p> + +<p>"I should have killed him, shouldn't I, Mac—killed him an' <i>took</i> her?" +cried Brokaw huskily, his passion rising as he knotted his huge fists on +the table. "Killed him like you killed the Breed for that long-haired +she-devil over at Copper Cliff!"</p> + +<p>"I—don't—know," said David, slowly, praying that he might not say the +wrong thing now. "I don't know what claim you had on her, Brokaw. If I +knew...."</p> + +<p>He waited. Brokaw did not seem altogether like a drunken man now, and +for a moment he feared that discovery had come. He leaned over the +table. The watery film seemed to drop from his eyes for an instant and +his teeth gleamed wolfishly. David was glad the lamp chimney was black +with soot, and that the rim of his hat shadowed his face, for it seemed +to him that Brokaw's vision had grown suddenly better.</p> + +<p>"I should have killed him, an' took her," repeated Brokaw, his voice +heavy with passion. "I should have had her long ago, but Hauck's woman +kept her from me. She's been mine all along, ever since...." His mind +seemed to lag. He drew his hulking shoulders back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> slowly. "But I'll +have her to-morrow," he mumbled, as if he had suddenly forgotten David +and was talking to himself. "To-morrow. Next day we'll start north. +Hauck can't say anything now. I've paid him. She's mine—mine +now—to-night! By...."</p> + +<p>David shuddered at what he saw in the brute's revolting face. It was the +dawning of a sudden, terrible idea. To-night! It blazed there in his +eyes, grown watery again. Quickly David turned out more liquor, and +thrust one of the cups into Brokaw's hand. The giant drank. His body +sank into piggish laxness. For a moment the danger was past. David knew +that time was precious. He must force his hand.</p> + +<p>"And if Hauck troubles you," he cried, striking the table a blow with +his fist, "I'll help you settle for him, Brokaw! I'll do it for old +time's sake. I'll do to him what I did to the Breed. The girl's yours. +She's belonged to you for a long time, eh? Tell me about it, +Brokaw—tell me before Hauck comes!"</p> + +<p>Could he never make that bloated fiend tell him what he wanted to know? +Brokaw stared at him stupidly, and then all at once he started, as if +some one had pricked him into consciousness, and a slow grin began to +spread over his face. It was a reminiscent, horrible sort of leer, not a +smile—the expression of a man who gloats over a revolting and +unspeakable thing.</p> + +<p>"She's mine—been mine ever since she was a baby," he confided, leaning +again over the table. "Good friend, give her to me, Mac—good friend but +a dam' fool," he chuckled. He rubbed his huge hands together and turned +out more liquor. "Dam' fool!" he repeated. "Any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> man's a dam' fool to +turn down a pretty woman, eh, Mac? An' she was pretty, he says. <i>My</i> +girl's mother, you know. She must have been pretty. It was off there—in +the bush country—years ago. The kid you brought in to-day was a baby +then—alone with her mother. Ho, ho! deuced easy—deuced easy! But he +was a darn' fool!"</p> + +<p>He drank with incredible slowness, it seemed to David. It was torture to +watch him, with the fear, every instant, that Hauck would come.</p> + +<p>"What happened?" he urged.</p> + +<p>"Bucky—my friend—in love with that woman, O'Doone's wife," resumed +Brokaw. "Dead crazy, Mac. Crazier'n you were over the Breed's woman, +only he didn't have the nerve. Just moped around—waiting—keeping out +of O'Doone's way. Trapper, O'Doone was—or a Company runner. Forgot +which. Anyway he went on a long trip, in winter, and got laid up with a +broken leg long way from home. Wife and baby alone, an' Bucky sneaked up +one day and found the woman sick with fever. Out of her head! Dead out, +Bucky says—an' my Gawd! If she didn't think he was her husband come +back! That easy, Mac—an' he lacked the nerve! Crazy in love with her, +he was, an' didn't dare play the part. Told me it was conscience. Bah! +it wasn't. He was afraid. Scared. A fool. Then he said the fever must +have touched him. Ho, ho! it was funny. He was a scared fool. Wish <i>I'd</i> +been there, Mac; wish <i>I</i> had!"</p> + +<p>His eyes half closed, gleaming in narrow, shining slits. His chin +dropped on his chest. David prodded him on.</p> + +<p>"Bucky got her to run away with him," continued Brokaw. "Her and the +kid, while she was still out of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> head. Bucky even got her to write a +note, he said, telling O'Doone she was sick of him an' was running away +with another man. Bucky didn't give his own name, of course. An' the +woman didn't know what she was doing. They started west with the kid, +and all the time Bucky was <i>afraid</i>! He dragged the woman on a sledge, +and snow covered their trail. He hid in a cabin a hundred miles from +O'Doone's, an' it was there the woman come to her senses. Gawd! it must +have been exciting! Bucky says she was like a mad woman, and that she +ran screeching out into the night, leaving the kid with him. He followed +but he couldn't find her. He waited, but she never came back. A snow +storm covered her trail. Then Bucky says <i>he</i> went mad—the fool! He +waited till spring, keeping that kid, and then he made up his mind to +get it back to Papa O'Doone in some way. He sneaked back where the cabin +had been, and found nothing but char there. It had been burned. Oh, the +devil, but it was funny! And after all this trouble he hadn't dared to +take O'Doone's place with the woman. Conscience? Bah! He was a fool. You +don't get a pretty woman like that very often, eh, Mac?" Unsteadily he +tilted the flask to turn himself out another drink. His voice was +thickening. David rejoiced when he saw that the flask was empty.</p> + +<p>"Dam'!" said Brokaw, shaking it.</p> + +<p>"Go on," insisted David. "You haven't told me how you came by the girl, +Brokaw?"</p> + +<p>The watery film was growing thicker over Brokaw's eyes. He brought +himself back to his story with an apparent effort.</p> + +<p>"Came west, Bucky did—with the kid," he went on.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> "Struck my cabin, on +the Mackenzie, a year later. Told me all about it. Then one day he +sneaked away and left her with me, begging me to put her where she'd be +safe. I did. Gave her to Hauck's woman, and told her Bucky's story. +Later, Hauck came over here and built this place. Three years ago I come +down from the Yukon, and saw the kid. Pretty? Gawd, she was! Almost a +woman. And she was <i>mine</i>. I told 'em so. Mebby the woman would have +cheated me, but I had Hauck on the hip because I saw him kill a man when +he was drunk—a white man from Fort MacPherson. Helped him hide the +body. And then—oh, it was funny!—I ran across Bucky! He was living in +a shack a dozen miles from here, an' he didn't know Marge was the +O'Doone baby. I told him a big lie—told him the kid died, an' that I'd +heard the woman had killed herself, and that O'Doone was in a lunatic +asylum. Mebby he did have a conscience, the fool! Guess he was a little +crazy himself. Went away soon after that. Never heard of him since. An' +I've been hanging round until the girl was old enough to live with a +man. Ain't I done right, Mac? Don't she belong to me? An' to-morrow...."</p> + +<p>His head rolled. He recovered himself with an effort, and leaned heavily +against the table. His face was almost barren of human expression. It +was the face of a monster, unlighted by reason, stripped of mind and +soul. And David, glaring into it across the table, questioned him once +more, even as he heard the crunch of footsteps outside, and knew that +Hauck was coming—coming in all probability to unmask him in the part he +had played. But Hauck was too late. He was ready to fight now, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> as +he held himself prepared for the struggle he asked that question.</p> + +<p>"And this man—Bucky; what was his other name, Brokaw?"</p> + +<p>Brokaw's thick lips moved, and then came his voice, in a husky whisper:</p> + +<p>"Tavish!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +</div> + +<p>The next instant Hauck was at the open door. He did not cross the +threshold at once, but stood there for perhaps twenty seconds—his gray, +hard face looking in on them with eyes in which there was a cold and +sinister glitter. Brokaw, with the fumes of liquor thick in his brain, +tried to nod an invitation for him to enter; his head rolled grotesquely +and his voice was a croak. David rose slowly to his feet, thrusting back +his chair. From contemplating Brokaw's sagging body, Hauck's eyes were +levelled at him. And then his lips parted. One would not have called it +a smile. It revealed to David a deadly animosity which the man was +trying to hide under the disguise of that grin, and he knew that Hauck +had discovered that he was not McKenna. Swiftly David shot a glance at +Brokaw. The giant's head and shoulders lay on the table, and he made a +sudden daring effort to save a little more time for himself.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," he said. "He's terribly drunk."</p> + +<p>Hauck nodded his head—he kept nodding it, that cold glitter in his +eyes, the steady, insinuating grin still there.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he's drunk," he said, his voice as hard as a rock. "Better come to +the house. I've got a room for you. There's only one bunk in +here—McKenna."</p> + +<p>He dragged out the name slowly, a bit tauntingly it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> seemed to David. +And David laughed. Might as well play his last card well, he thought.</p> + +<p>"My name isn't McKenna," he said. "It's David Raine. He made a mistake, +and he's so drunk I haven't been able to explain."</p> + +<p>Without answering, Hauck backed out of the door. It was an invitation +for David to follow. Again he carried his pack and gun with him through +the darkness, and Hauck uttered not a word as they returned to the Nest. +The night was brighter now, and David could see Baree close at his +heels, following him as silently as a shadow. The dog slunk out of sight +when they came to the building. They did not enter from the rear this +time. Hauck led the way to a door that opened into the big room from +which had come the sound of cursing and laughter a little before. There +were ten or a dozen men in that room, all white men, and, upon entering, +David was moved by a sudden suspicion that they were expecting him—that +Hauck had prepared them for his appearance. There was no liquor in +sight. If there had been bottles and glasses on the tables, they had +been cleared away—but no one had thought to wipe away certain liquid +stains that David saw shimmering wetly in the glow of the three big +lamps hanging from the ceiling. He looked the men over quickly as he +followed the free trader. Never, he thought, had he seen a rougher or +more unpleasant-looking lot. He caught more than one eye filled with the +glittering menace he had seen in Hauck's. Not a man nodded at him, or +spoke to him. He passed close to one raw-boned individual, so close that +he brushed against him, and there was an unconcealed and threatening +animosity in this man's face as he glared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> up at him. By the time he had +passed through the room his suspicion had become a conviction. Hauck had +purposely put him on parade, and there was a deep and sinister +significance in the attitude of these men.</p> + +<p>They passed through the hall into which he and Marge had entered from +the opposite side of the Nest, and Hauck paused at the door of a room +almost opposite to the one which the girl had said belonged to her.</p> + +<p>"This will be your room while you are our guest," he said. The glitter +in his eyes softened as he nodded at David. He tried to speak a bit +affably, but David felt that his effort was rather unsuccessful. It +failed to cover the hard note in his voice and the curious twitch of his +upper lip—a snarl almost—as he forced a smile. "Make yourself at +home," he added. "We'll have breakfast in the morning with my niece." He +paused for a moment and then said, looking keenly at David: "I suppose +you tried hard to make Brokaw understand he had made a mistake, and that +you wasn't McKenna? Brokaw is a good fellow when he isn't drunk."</p> + +<p>David was glad that he turned away without waiting for an answer. He did +not want to talk with Hauck to-night. He wanted to turn over in his mind +what he had learned from Brokaw, and to-morrow act with the cool +judgment which was more or less characteristic of him. He did not +believe even now that there would be anything melodramatic in the +outcome of the affair. There would be an unpleasantness, of course; but +when both Hauck and Brokaw were confronted with a certain situation, and +with the peculiarly significant facts which he now held in his +possession, he could not see how they would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> be able to place any very +great obstacle in the way of his determination to take Marge from the +Nest. He did not think of personal harm to himself, and as he entered +his room, where a lamp had been lighted for him, his mind had already +begun to work on a plan of action. He would compromise with them. In +return for the loss of the girl they should have his promise—his oath, +if necessary—not to reveal the secret of the traffic in which they were +engaged, or of that still more important affair between Hauck and the +white man from Fort MacPherson. He was certain that, in his drunkenness, +Brokaw had spoken the truth, no matter what he might deny to-morrow. +They would not hazard an investigation, though to lose the girl now, at +the very threshold of his exultant realization, would be like taking the +earth from under Brokaw's feet. In spite of the tenseness of the +situation David found himself chuckling with satisfaction. It would be +unpleasant—very—he repeated that assurance to himself; but that +self-preservation would be the first law of these rascals he was equally +positive, and he began thinking of other things that just now were of +more thrilling import to him.</p> + +<p>It was Tavish, then—that half-mad hermit in his mice-infested +cabin—who had been at the bottom of it all! Tavish! The discovery did +not amaze him profoundly. He had never been able to dissociate Tavish +from the picture, unreasoning though he confessed himself to be, and now +that his mildly impossible conjectures had suddenly developed into +facts, he was not excited. It was another thought—or other +thoughts—that stirred him more deeply, and brought a heat into his +blood. His mind leaped back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> to that scene of years ago, when Marge +O'Doone's mother had run shrieking out in the storm of night to escape +Tavish. <i>But she had not died!</i> That was the thought that burned in +David's brain now. She had lived. She had searched for her +husband—Michael O'Doone; a half-mad wanderer of the forests at first, +she may have been. She had searched for years. And she was still +searching for him when he had met her that night on the +Transcontinental! For it was she—Marge O'Doone, the mother, the wife, +into whose dark, haunting eyes he had gazed from out the sunless depths +of his own despair! <i>Her</i> mother. Alive. Seeking a Michael +O'Doone—seeking—seeking....</p> + +<p>He was filled with a great desire to go at once to the Girl and tell her +this wonderful new fact that had come into her life, and he found +himself suddenly at the door of his room, with his fingers on the latch. +Standing there, he shrugged his shoulders, laughing softly at himself as +he realized how absurdly sensational he was becoming all at once. +To-morrow would be time. He filled and lighted his pipe, and in the +whitish fumes of his tobacco he could picture quite easily the gray, +dead face of Tavish, hanging at the end of his meat rack. Pacing +restlessly back and forth across his room, he recalled the scenes of +that night, and of days and nights that had followed. Brokaw had given +him the key that was unlocking door after door. "Guess he was a little +crazy," Brokaw had said, speaking of Tavish as he had last known him on +the Firepan. Crazy! Going mad! And at last he had killed himself. Was it +possible that a man of Tavish's sort could be haunted for so long by +spectres of the past?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> It seemed unreasonable. He thought of Father +Roland and of the mysterious room in the Château, where he worshipped at +the shrine of a woman and a child who were gone.</p> + +<p>He clenched his hands, and stopped himself. What had leapt into his mind +was as startling to his inner consciousness as the unexpected flash of +magnesium in a dark room. It was unthinkable—impossible; and yet, +following it, he found himself face to face with question after question +which he made no effort to answer. He was dazed for a moment as if by +the terrific impact of a thing which had neither weight nor form. +Tavish, the woman, the girl—Father Roland! Absurd. He shook himself, +literally shook himself, to get rid of that wildly impossible idea. He +drove his mind back to the photograph of the girl—and the woman. How +had she come into possession of the picture which Brokaw had taken? What +had Nisikoos tried to say to Marge O'Doone in those last moments when +she was dying—whispered words which the girl had not heard because she +was crying, and her heart was breaking? Did Nisikoos know that the +mother was alive? Had she sent the picture to her when she realized that +the end of her own time was drawing near? There was something +unreasonable in this too, but it was the only solution that came to him.</p> + +<p>He was still pacing his room when the creaking of the door stopped him. +It was opening slowly and steadily and apparently with extreme caution. +In another moment Marge O'Doone stood inside. He had not seen her face +so white before. Her eyes were big and glowing darkly—pools of +quivering fear, of wild and imploring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> supplication. She ran to him, and +clung to him with her hands at his shoulders, her face close to his.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sakewawin</i>—dear <i>Sakewawin</i>—we must go; we must hurry—to-night!"</p> + +<p>She was trembling, fairly shivering against him, with one hand touching +his face now, and he put his arms about her gently.</p> + +<p>"What is it, child?" he whispered, his heart choking suddenly. "What has +happened?"</p> + +<p>"We must run away! We must hurry!"</p> + +<p>At the touch of his arms she had relaxed against his breast. The last of +her courage seemed gone. She was limp, and terrified, and was looking up +at him in such a strange way that he was filled with alarm.</p> + +<p>"I didn't tell him anything," she whispered, as if afraid he would not +believe her. "I didn't tell him you weren't that man—Mac—McKenna. He +heard you and Brokaw go when you passed my room. Then he went to the +men. I followed—and listened. I heard him telling them about you—that +you were a spy—that you belonged to the provincial police...."</p> + +<p>A sound in the hall interrupted her. She grew suddenly tense in his +arms, then slipped from them and ran noiselessly to the door. There were +shuffling steps outside, a thick voice growling unintelligibly. The +sounds passed. Marge O'Doone was whiter still when she faced David.</p> + +<p>"Hauck—and Brokaw!" She stood there, with her back to the door. "We +must hurry, <i>Sakewawin</i>. We must go—to-night!"</p> + +<p>David looked at her. A spy? Police? Quite the first thing for Hauck to +suspect, of course. That law of self<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>-preservation again—the same law +that would compel them to give up the girl to him to-morrow. He found +himself smiling at his frightened little companion, backed there against +the door, white as death. His calmness did not reassure her.</p> + +<p>"He said—you were a spy," she repeated, as if he must understand what +that meant. "They wanted to follow you to Brokaw's cabin—and—and kill +you!"</p> + +<p>This was coming to the bottom of her fear with a vengeance. It sent a +mild sort of a shiver through him, and corroborated with rather +disturbing emphasis what he had seen in the men's faces as he passed +among them.</p> + +<p>"And Hauck wouldn't let them? Was that it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She nodded, clutching a hand at her throat.</p> + +<p>"He told them to do nothing until he saw Brokaw. He wanted to be +certain. And then...."</p> + +<p>His amazing and smiling composure seemed to choke back the words on her +lips.</p> + +<p>"You must return to your room, Marge," he said quickly. "Hauck has now +seen Brokaw and there will be no trouble such as you fear. I can promise +you that. To-morrow we will leave the Nest openly—and with Hauck's and +Brokaw's permission. But should they find you here now—in my room—I am +quite sure we should have immediate trouble on our hands. I've a great +deal to tell you—much that will make you glad, but I half expect +another visit from Hauck, and you must hurry to your room."</p> + +<p>He opened the door slightly, and listened.</p> + +<p>"Good-night," he whispered, putting a hand for an instant to her hair.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good night, <i>Sakewawin</i>."</p> + +<p>She hesitated for just a moment at the doors and then, with the faintest +sobbing breath, was gone. What wonderful eyes she had! How they had +looked at him in that last moment! David's fingers were trembling a +little as he locked his door. There was a small mirror on the table and +he held it up to look at himself. He regarded his reflection with grim +amusement. He was not beautiful. The scrub of blond beard on his face +gave him rather an outlawish appearance. And the gray hair over his +temples had grown quite conspicuous of late, quite conspicuous indeed. +Heredity? Perhaps—but it was confoundedly remindful of the fact that he +was thirty-eight!</p> + +<p>He went to bed, after placing the table against the door, and his +automatic under his pillow—absurd and unnecessary details of caution, +he assured himself. And while Marge O'Doone sat awake close to the door +of her room all night, with a little rifle that had belonged to Nisikoos +across her lap, David slept soundly in the amazing confidence and +philosophy of that perilous age—thirty-eight!</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +</div> + +<p>A series of sounds that came to him at first like the booming of distant +cannon roused David from his slumber. He awoke to find broad day in his +room and a knocking at his door. He began to dress, calling out that he +would open it in a moment, and was careful to place the automatic in his +pocket before he lifted the table without a sound to its former position +in the room. When he flung open the door he was surprised to find Brokaw +standing there instead of Hauck. It was not the Brokaw of last night. A +few hours had produced a remarkable change in the man. One would not +have thought that he had been recently drunk. He was grinning and +holding out one of his huge hands as he looked into David's face.</p> + +<p>"Morning, Raine," he greeted affably. "Hauck sent me to wake you up for +the fun. You've got just time to swallow your breakfast before we put on +the big scrap—the scrap I told you about last night, when I was drunk. +Head-over-heels drunk, wasn't I? Took you for a friend I knew. Funny. +You don't look a dam' bit like him!"</p> + +<p>David shook hands with him. In his first astonishment Brokaw's manner +appeared to him to be quite sincere, and his voice to be filled with +apology. This impression was gone before he had dropped his hand, and he +knew why Hauck's partner had come. It was to get a good look at him—to +make sure that he was not McKenna; and it was also with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> the strategic +purpose of removing whatever suspicions David might have by an outward +show of friendship. For this last bit of work Brokaw was crudely out of +place. His eyes, like a bad dog's, could not conceal what lay behind +them—hatred, a deep and intense desire to grip the throat of this man +who had tricked him; and his grin was forced, with a subdued sort of +malevolence about it. David smiled back.</p> + +<p>"You <i>were</i> drunk," he said. "I had a deuce of a time trying to make you +understand that I wasn't McKenna."</p> + +<p>That amazing lie seemed for a moment to daze Brokaw. David realized the +audacity of it, and knew that Brokaw would remember too well what had +happened to believe him. Its effect was what he was after, and if he had +had a doubt as to the motive of the other's visit that doubt disappeared +almost as quickly as he had spoken. The grin went out of Brokaw's face, +his jaws tightened, the red came nearer to the surface in the bloodshot +eyes. As plainly as if he were giving voice to his thought he was +saying: "You lie!" But he kept back the words, and as David noted +carelessly the slow clenching and unclenching of his hands, he believed +that Hauck was not very far away, and that it was his warning and the +fact that he was possibly listening to them, that restrained Brokaw from +betraying himself completely. As it was, the grin returned slowly into +his face.</p> + +<p>"Hauck says he's sorry he couldn't have breakfast with you," he said. +"Couldn't wait any longer. The Indian's going to bring your breakfast +here. You'd better hurry if you want to see the fun."</p> + +<p>With this he turned and walked heavily toward the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> end of the hall. +David glanced across at the door of Marge's room. It was closed. Then he +looked at his watch. It was almost nine o'clock! He felt like swearing +as he thought of what he had missed—that breakfast with Hauck and the +Girl. He would undoubtedly have had an opportunity of seeing Hauck alone +for a little while—a quarter of an hour would have been enough; or he +could have settled the whole matter in Marge's presence. He wondered +where she was now. In her room?</p> + +<p>Approaching footsteps caused him to draw back deeper into his own and a +moment later his promised breakfast appeared, carried on a big Company +<i>keyakun</i>, by an old Indian woman—undoubtedly the woman that Marge had +told him about. She placed the huge plate on his table and withdrew +without either looking at him or uttering a sound. He ate hurriedly, and +finished dressing himself after that. It was a quarter after nine when +he went into the hall. In passing Marge's door he knocked. There came no +response from within. He turned and passed through the big room in which +he had seen so many unfriendly faces the night before. It was empty now. +The stillness of the place began to fill him with uneasiness, and he +hurried out into the day. A low tumult of sound was in the air, +unintelligible and yet thrilling. A dozen steps brought him to the end +of the building and he looked toward the cage. For a space after that he +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'spood'">stood</ins> +without moving, filled with a sudden, sickening horror as he +realized his helplessness in this moment. If he had not overslept, if he +had talked with Hauck, he might have prevented this monstrous thing that +was happening—he might have demanded that Tara be a part of their +bargain. It was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> too late now. An excited and yet strangely quiet crowd +was gathered about the cage—a crowd so tense and motionless that he +knew the battle was on. A low, growling roar came to him, and again he +heard that tumult of human voices, like a great gasp rising +spontaneously out of half a hundred throats, and in response to the +sound he gave a sudden cry of rage. Tara was already battling for his +life—Tara, that great, big-souled brute who had learned to follow his +little mistress like a protecting dog, and who had accepted <i>him</i> as a +friend—Tara, grown soft and lazy and unwarlike because of his voluntary +slavery, had been offered to the sacrifice which Brokaw had told him was +inevitable!</p> + +<p>And the Girl! Where was she? He was unconscious of the fact that his +hand was gripping hard at the automatic in his pocket. For a space his +brain burned red, seething with a physical passion, a consuming anger +which, in all his life, had never been roused so terrifically within +him. He rushed forward and took his place in the thin circle of watching +men. He did not look at their faces. He did not know whether he stood +next to white men or Indians. He did not see the blaze in their eyes, +the joyous trembling of their bodies, their silent, savage exultation in +the spectacle.</p> + +<p>He was looking at the cage.</p> + +<p>It was 20 feet square—built of small trees almost a foot in diameter, +with 18-inch spaces between—and out of it came a sickening, grinding +smash of jaws. The two beasts were down, a ton of flesh and bone, in +what seemed to him to be a death embrace. For a moment he could not tell +which was Tara and which was Brokaw's grizzly. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> separated in that +same breath, gained their feet, and stood facing each other. They must +have been fighting for some minutes. Tara's jaws were foaming with blood +and out of the throat of Brokaw's bear there rolled a rumbling, snarling +roar that was like the deep-chested bellow of an angry bull. With that +roar they came together again, Tara waiting stolidly and with panting +sides for the rush of his enemy. It was hard for David to see what was +happening in that twisting contortion of huge bodies, but as they rolled +heavily to one side he saw a great red splash of blood where they had +lain. It looked as if some one had poured it there out of a pail.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a hand fell on his shoulder. He looked round. Brokaw was +leering at him.</p> + +<p>"Great scrap, eh?"</p> + +<p>There was a look in his red face that revealed the pitiless savagery of +a cat. David's clenched hand was as hard as iron and his brain was +filled with a wild desire to strike. He fought to hold himself in.</p> + +<p>"Where is—the Girl?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>Brokaw's face revealed his hatred now, the taunting triumph of his power +over this man who was a spy. He bared his yellow teeth in an exultant +grin.</p> + +<p>"Tricked her," he snarled. "Tricked her—like you tricked me! Got the +Indian woman to steal her clothes, an' she's up there in her +room—alone—<i>an' naked</i>! An' she won't have any clothes until I say so, +for she's mine—body and soul...."</p> + +<p>David's clenched hand shot out, and in his blow was not alone the +cumulated force of all his years of training<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> but also of the one great +impulse he had ever had to kill. In that instant he wanted to strike a +man dead—a red-visaged monster, a fiend; and his blow sent Brokaw's +huge body reeling backward, his head twisted as if his neck had been +broken. He had not time to see what happened after that blow. He did not +see Brokaw fall. A piercing interruption—a scream that startled every +drop of blood in his body—turned him toward the cage. Ten paces from +him, standing at the inner edge of that circle of astounded and +petrified men, was the Girl! At first he thought she was standing naked +there—naked under the staring eyes of the fiends about him. Her white +arms gleamed bare, her shoulders and breast were bare, her slim, satiny +body was naked to the waist, about which she had drawn tightly—as if in +a wild panic of haste—an old and ragged skirt! It was the Indian +woman's skirt. He caught the glitter of beads on it, and for a moment he +stared with the others, unable to move or cry out her name. And then a +breath of wind flung back her hair and he saw her face the colour of +marble. She was like a piece of glistening statuary, without a quiver of +life that his eyes could see, without a movement, without a breath. Only +her hair moved, stirred by the air, flooded by the sun, floating about +her shoulders and down her bare back in a lucent cloud of red and gold +fires—and out of this she was staring at the cage, stunned into that +lifeless and unbreathing posture of horror by what she saw. David did +not follow her eyes. He heard the growl and roar and clashing jaws of +the fighting beasts; they were down again; one of the 6-inch trees that +formed the bars of the cage snapped like a walking stick as their great +bodies lurched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> against it; the earth shook, the very air seemed to +tremble with the terrific force of the struggle—and only the Girl was +looking at that struggle. Every eye was on her now, and David sprang +suddenly forth from the circle of men, calling her name.</p> + +<p>Ten paces separated them; half that distance lay between the Girl and +the cage. With the swiftness of an arrow sprung from the bow she had +leaped into life and crossed that space. In a tenth part of a second +David would have been at her side. He was that tenth of a second too +late. A gleaming shaft, she had passed between the bars and a tumult of +horrified voices rose above the roar of battle as the girl sprang at the +beasts with her naked hands.</p> + +<p>Her voice came to David in a scream.</p> + +<p>"Tara—Tara—Tara——"</p> + +<p>His brain reeled when he saw her down—down!—with her little fists +pummelling at a great, shaggy head; and in him there was the sickening +weakness of a drunken man as he squeezed through that 18-inch aperture +and almost fell at her side. He did not know that he had drawn his +automatic; he scarcely realized that as fast as his fingers could press +the trigger he was firing shot after shot, with the muzzle of his pistol +so close to the head of Tara's enemy that the reports of the weapon were +deadened as if muffled under a thick blanket. It was a heavy weapon. A +stream of lead burned its way into the grizzly's brain. There were +eleven shots and he fired them all in that wild, blood-red frenzy; and +when he stood up he had the girl close in his arms, her naked breast +throbbing pantingly against him. The clasp of his hands against her +warm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> flesh cleared his head, and while Tara was rending at the throat +of his dying foe, David drew her swiftly out of the cage and flung about +her the light jacket he had worn.</p> + +<p>"Go to your room," he said. "Tara is safe. I will see that no harm comes +to him now."</p> + +<p>The cordon of men separated for them as he led her through. The crowd +was so silent that they could hear Tara's low throat-growling. And then, +breaking that silence in a savage cry, came Brokaw's voice.</p> + +<p>"Stop!"</p> + +<p>He faced them, huge, terrible, quivering with rage. A step behind him +was Hauck, and there was no longer in his face an effort to conceal his +murderous intentions. Close behind Hauck there gathered quickly his +white-faced whisky-mongers like a pack of wolves waiting for a lead-cry. +David expected that cry to come from Brokaw. The Girl expected it, and +she clung to David's shoulders, her bloodless face turned to the danger.</p> + +<p>It was Brokaw who gave the signal to the men.</p> + +<p>"Clear out the cage!" he bellowed. "This damned spy has killed my bear +and he's got to fight me! Do you understand? Clear out the cage!"</p> + +<p>He thrust his head and bull shoulders forward until his foul, hot breath +touched their faces, and his red neck was swollen like the neck of a +cobra with the passion of his jealousy and hatred.</p> + +<p>"And in that fight—I'm going to kill you!" he hissed.</p> + +<p>It was Hauck who put his hands on the Girl.</p> + +<p>"Go with him," whispered David, as her arms tightened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> about his +shoulders. "You must go with him, Marge—if I am to have a chance!"</p> + +<p>Her face was against him. She was talking, low, swiftly, for his ears +alone—with Hauck already beginning to pull her away.</p> + +<p>"I will go to the house. When you see me at that window, fall on your +face. I have a rifle—I will shoot him dead—from the window...."</p> + +<p>Perhaps Hauck heard. David wondered as he caught the glitter in his eyes +when he drew the Girl away. He heard the crash of the big gate to the +cage, and Tara, ambled out and took his way slowly and limpingly toward +the edge of the forest. When he saw the Girl again, he was standing in +the centre of the cage, his feet in a pool of blood that smeared the +ground. She was struggling with Hauck, struggling to break from him and +get to the house. And now he knew that Hauck had heard, and that he +would hold her there, and that her eyes would be on him while Brokaw was +killing him. For he knew that Brokaw would fight to kill. It would not +be a square fight. It would be murder—if the chance came Brokaw's way. +The thought did not frighten him. He was growing strangely calm in these +moments. He realized the advantage of being unencumbered, and he +stripped off his shirt, and tightened his belt. And then Brokaw entered. +The giant had stripped himself to the waist, and he stood for a moment +looking at David, a monster with the lust of murder in his eyes. It was +frightfully unequal—this combat. David felt it, he was blind if he did +not see it, and yet he was still unafraid. A great silence fell. Cutting +it like a knife came the Girl's voice:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p> + +<p>"<i>Sakewawin—Sakewawin....</i>"</p> + +<p>A brutish growl rose out of Brokaw's chest. He had heard that cry, and +it stung him like an asp.</p> + +<p>"To-night, she will be with me," he taunted David and lowered his head +for battle.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +</div> + +<p>David no longer saw the horde of faces beyond the thick bars of the +cage. His last glance, shot past the lowered head and hulking shoulders +of his giant adversary, went to the Girl. He noticed that she had ceased +her struggling and was looking toward him. After that his eyes never +left Brokaw's face. Until now it had not seemed that Brokaw was so big +and so powerful, and, sizing up his enemy in that moment before the +first rush, he realized that his one hope was to keep him from using his +enormous strength at close quarters. A clinch would be fatal. In +Brokaw's arms he would be helpless; he was conscious of an unpleasant +thrill as he thought how easy it would be for the other to break his +back, or snap his neck, if he gave him the opportunity. Science! What +would it avail him here, pitted against this mountain of flesh and bone +that looked as though it might stand the beating of clubs without being +conquered! His first blow returned his confidence, even if it had +wavered slightly. Brokaw rushed. It was an easy attack to evade, and +David's arm shot out and his fist landed against Brokaw's head with a +sound that was like the crack of a whip. Hauck would have gone down +under that blow like a log. Brokaw staggered. Even he realized that this +was science—the skill of the game—and he was grinning as he advanced +again. He could stand a hundred blows like that—a grim<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> and ferocious +Achilles with but one vulnerable point, the end of his jaw. David waited +and watched for his opportunity as he gave ground slowly. Twice they +circled about the blood-spattered arena, Brokaw following him with +leisurely sureness, and yet delaying his attack as if in that steady +retreat of his victim he saw torture too satisfying to put an end to at +once. David measured his carelessness, the slow almost unguarded +movement of his great body, his unpreparedness for a <i>coup de main</i>—and +like a flash he launched himself forward with all the weight of his body +behind his effort.</p> + +<p>It missed the other's jaw by two inches, that catapeltic blow—striking +him full in the mouth, breaking his yellow teeth and smashing his thick +lips so that the blood sprang out in a spray over his hairy chest, and +as his head rocked backward David followed with a swift left-hander, and +a second time missed the jaw with his right—but drenched his clenched +fist in blood. Out of Brokaw there came a cry that was like the low roar +of a beast; a cry that was the most inhuman sound David had ever heard +from a human throat, and in an instant he found himself battling not for +victory, not for that opportunity he twice had missed, but for his life. +Against that rushing bulk, enraged almost to madness, the ingenuity of +his training alone saved him from immediate extinction. How many times +he struck in the 120 seconds following his blow to Brokaw's mouth he +could never have told. He was red with Brokaw's blood. His face was warm +with it. His hands were as if painted, so often did they reach with +right and left to Brokaw's gory visage. It was like striking at a +monstrous thing without the sense of hurt, a fiend that had no brain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +that blows could sicken, a body that was not a body but an enormity that +had strangely taken human form. Brokaw had struck him once—only +once—in those two minutes, but blows were not what he feared now. He +was beating himself to pieces, literally beating himself to pieces as a +ship might have hammered itself against a reef, and fighting with every +breath to keep himself out of the fatal clinch. His efforts were costing +him more than they were costing his antagonist. Twice he had reached his +jaw, twice Brokaw's head had rocked back on his shoulders—and then he +was there again, closing in on him, grinning, dripping red to the soles +of his feet, unconquerable. Was there no fairness out there beyond the +bars of the cage? Were they all like the man he was fighting—devils? An +intermission—only half a minute. Enough to give him a chance. The slow, +invincible beast he was hammering almost had him as his thoughts +wandered. He only half fended the sledge-like blow that came straight +for his face. He ducked, swung up his guard like lightning, and was +saved from death by a miracle. That blow would have crushed in his +face—killed him. He knew it. Brokaw's huge fist landed against the side +of his head and grazed off like a bullet that had struck the slanting +surface of a rock. Yet the force of it was sufficient to send him +crashing against the bars—and <i>down</i>.</p> + +<p>In that moment he thanked God for Brokaw's slowness. He had a clear +recollection afterward of almost having spoken the words as he lay dazed +and helpless for an infinitesimal space of time. He expected Brokaw to +end it there. But Brokaw stood mopping the blood from his face, as if +partly blinded by it, while from beyond the cage there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> came a swiftly +growing rumble of voices. He heard a scream. It was the scream—the +agonized cry—of the Girl, that brought him to his feet while Brokaw was +still wiping the hot flow from his dripping jaw. It was that cry that +cleared his brain, that called out to him in its despair that he <i>must</i> +win, that all was lost for her as well as for himself if he was +vanquished—for more positively than at any other time during the fight +he felt now that defeat would mean death. It had come to him definitely +in the savage outcry of joy when he was down. There was to be no mercy. +He had read the ominous decree. And Brokaw....</p> + +<p>He was like a madman as he came toward him again. There was no longer +the leer on his face. There was in his battered and swollen countenance +but one emotion. Blood and hurt could not hide it. It blazed like fires +in his half-closed eyes. It was the desire to kill. The passion which +quenches itself in the taking of life, and every fibre in David's brain +rose to meet it. He knew that it was no longer a matter of blows on his +part—it was like the David of old facing Goliath with his bare hands. +Curiously the thought of Goliath came to him in these flashing moments. +Here, too, there must be trickery, something unexpected, a deadly +stratagem, and his brain must work out his salvation quickly. Another +two or three minutes and it would be over one way or the other. He made +his decision. The tricks of his own art were inadequate, but there was +still one hope—one last chance. It was the so-called "knee-break" of +the bush country, a horrible thing, he had thought, when Father Roland +had taught it to him. "Break your opponent's knees," the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> Missioner had +said, "and you've got him." He had never practised it. But he knew the +method, and he remembered the Little Missioner's words—"when he's +straight facing you, with all your weight, like a cannon ball!" And +suddenly he shot himself out like that, as Brokaw was about to rush upon +him—a hundred and sixty pounds of solid flesh and bone against the +joints of Brokaw's knees!</p> + +<p>The shock dazed him. There was a sharp pain in his left shoulder, and +with that shock and pain he was conscious of a terrible cry as Brokaw +crashed over him. He was on his feet when Brokaw was on his knees. +Whether or not they were really broken he could not tell. With all the +strength in his body he sent his right again and again to the bleeding +jaw of his enemy. Brokaw reached up and caught him in his huge arms, but +that jaw was there, unprotected, and David battered it as he might have +battered a rock with a hammer. A gasping cry rose out of the giant's +throat, his head sank backward—and through a red fury, through blood +that spattered up into his face, David continued to strike until the +arms relaxed about him, and with a choking gurgle of blood in his +throat, Brokaw dropped back limply, as if dead.</p> + +<p>And then David looked again beyond the bars. The staring faces had drawn +nearer to the cage, bewildered, stupefied, disbelieving, like the faces +of stone images. For a space it was so quiet that it seemed to him they +must hear his panting breath and the choking gurgle that was still in +Brokaw's throat. The victor! He flung back his shoulders and held up his +head, though he had great desire to stagger against one of the bars and +rest. He could see the Girl and Hauck—and now the girl was standing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +alone, looking at him. She had seen him! She had seen him beat that +giant beast, and a great pride rose in his breast and spread in a joyous +light over his bloody face. Suddenly he lifted his hand and waved it at +her. In a flash she was coming to him. She would have broken her way +through the cordon of men, but Hauck stopped her. He had seen Hauck +talking swiftly to two of the white men. And now Hauck caught the girl +and held her back. David knew that he was dripping red and he was glad +that she came no nearer. Hauck was telling her to go to the house, and +David nodded, and with a movement of his hand made her understand that +she must obey. Not until he saw her going did he pick up his shirt and +step out among the men. Three or four of the whites went to Brokaw. The +rest stared at him still in that amazed silence as he passed among them. +He nodded and smiled at them, as though beating Brokaw had not been such +a terrible task after all. He noticed there was scarcely an expression +in the faces of the Indians. And then he found himself face to face with +Hauck, and a step or two behind Hauck were the two white men he had +talked to so hurriedly. One of them was the man David had brushed +against in passing through the big room. There was a grin in his face +now. There was a grin in Hauck's face, and a grin in the face of the +third man, and to David's astonishment Hauck thrust out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Shake, Raine! I'd have bet a thousand to fifty you were loser, but +there wasn't a dollar going your way. A great fight!"</p> + +<p>He turned to the other two.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Take Raine to his room, boys. Help 'im wash up. I've got to see to +Brokaw—an' this crowd."</p> + +<p>David protested. He was all right. He needed only water and soap, both +of which were in his room, but Hauck insisted that it wasn't square, and +wouldn't look right, if he didn't have friends as well as Brokaw. Brokaw +had forced the affair so suddenly that none of them had had time or +thought to speak an encouraging or friendly word before the fight. +Langdon and Henry would go with him now. He walked between the two to +the Nest, and entered his room with them. Langdon, the tall man who had +looked hatred at him last night, poured water into a tin basin while +Henry, the smaller man, closed his door. They appeared quite +companionable, especially Langdon.</p> + +<p>"Didn't like you last night," he confessed frankly. "Thought you was one +of them damned police, running your nose into our business mebby."</p> + +<p>He stood beside David, with the pail of water in his hand, and as David +bent over the basin Henry was behind him. He had drawn something from +his pocket, and was edging up close. As David dipped his hands in the +water he looked up into Langdon's face, and he saw there a strange and +unexpected change—that deadly malignity of last night. In that moment +the object in Henry's hand fell with terrific force on his head and he +crumpled down over the basin. He was conscious of a single agonizing +pain, like a hot iron thrust suddenly through him, and then a great and +engulfing pit of darkness closed about him.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +</div> + +<p>In that chaotic night in which he was drifting, David experienced +neither pain nor very much of the sense of life. And yet, without seeing +or feeling, he seemed to be living. All was dead within him but that +last consciousness, which is almost the spirit; he might have been +dreaming, and minutes, hours, or even years might have passed in that +dream. For a long time he seemed to be sinking through the blackness; +and then something stopped him, without jar or shock, and he was rising. +He could hear nothing at first. There was a vast silence about him, a +silence as deep and unbroken as the abysmal pit in which he seemed to be +floating. After that he felt himself swaying and rocking, as though +tossed gently on the billows of a sea. This was the first thought that +took shape in his struggling brain—he was at sea; he was on a ship in +the heart of a black night, and he was alone. He tried to call out, but +his tongue seemed gone. It seemed a long time before day broke, and then +it was strange day. Little needles of light pricked his eyes; silver +strings shot like flashes of wave-like lightning through the darkness, +and he began to feel, and to hear. A dozen hands seemed holding him down +until he could move neither arms nor feet. He heard voices. There +appeared to be many of them at first, an unintelligible rumble of +voices, and then very swiftly they became two.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>He opened his eyes. The first thing that he observed was a bar of +sunlight against the eastern wall of his room. That bit of sunlight was +like a magnet thrown there to reassemble the faculties that had drifted +away from him in the dark night of his unconsciousness. It tried to tell +him, first of all, that it was afternoon—quite late in the afternoon. +He would have sensed that fact in another moment or two, but something +came between him and the radiance flung by the westward slant of the +sun. It was a face, two faces—first Hauck's and then Brokaw's! Yes, +Brokaw was there! Staring down at him. A fiend still. And almost +unrecognizable. He was no longer stripped, and he was no longer bloody. +His countenance was swollen; his lips were raw, one eye was closed—but +the other gleamed like a devil's. David tried to sit up. He managed with +an effort, and balanced himself on the edge of his cot. His head was +dizzy, and he felt clumsy and helpless as a stuffed bag. His hands were +tied behind him, and his feet were bound. He thought Hauck looked like +an exultant gargoyle as he stood there with a horrible grin on his face, +and Brokaw....</p> + +<p>It was Brokaw who bent over him, his thick fingers knotting, his open +eyes fairly livid.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you ain't dead, Raine."</p> + +<p>His voice was husky, muffled by the swollen thickness of his battered +lips.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said David. The dizziness was leaving him, but there was a +steady pain in his head. He tried to smile. "Thanks!" It was rather +idiotic of him to say that. Brokaw's hands were moving slowly toward his +throat when Hauck drew him back.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I won't touch him—not now," he growled. "But to-night—oh, God!"</p> + +<p>His knuckles snapped.</p> + +<p>"You—liar! You—spy! You—sneak!" he cursed through his broken teeth. +David saw where they <i>had</i> been—a cavity in that cruel, battered mouth. +"And you think, after that...."</p> + +<p>Again Hauck tried to draw him away. Brokaw flung off his hands angrily.</p> + +<p>"I won't touch him—but I'll <i>tell</i> him, Hauck! The devil take me body +and soul if I don't! I want him to know...."</p> + +<p>"You're a fool!" cried Hauck. "Stop, or by Heaven!..."</p> + +<p>Brokaw opened his mouth and laughed, and David saw the havoc of his +blows.</p> + +<p>"You'll do <i>what</i>, Hauck? Nothing—that's what you'll do! Ain't I told +him you killed that <i>napo</i> from MacPherson? Ain't I told him enough to +set us both swinging?" He bent over David until his breath struck his +face. "I'm glad you didn't die, Raine," he repeated, "because I want to +see you when you shuffle off. We're only waiting for the Indians to go. +Old Wapi starts with his tribe at sunset. I'm sorry, but we can't get +the heathen away any earlier because he says it's good luck to start a +journey at sunset in the moulting moon. You'll start yours a little +later—as soon as they're out of sound of a rifle shot. You can't trust +Indians, eh? You made a hit with old Wapi, and it wouldn't do to let him +know we're going to send you where you sent my bear. Eh—would it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You mean—you're going to murder me?" said David</p> + +<p>"If standing you up against a tree and putting a bullet through your +heart is murder—yes," gloated Brokaw.</p> + +<p>"Murder—" repeated David.</p> + +<p>He seemed powerless to say more than that. An overwhelming dizziness was +creeping over him, the pain was splitting his head, and he swayed +backward. He fought to recover himself, to hold himself up, but that +returning sickness reached from his brain to the pit of his stomach, and +with a groan he sank face downward on the cot. Brokaw was still talking, +but he could no longer understand his words. He heard Hauck's sharp +voice, their retreating footsteps, the opening and closing of the +door—fighting all the time to keep himself from falling off into that +black and bottomless pit again. It was many minutes before he drew +himself to a sitting posture on the edge of his cot, this time slowly +and guardedly, so that he would not rouse the pain in his head. It was +there. He could feel it burning steadily and deeply, like one of his +old-time headaches.</p> + +<p>The bar of sunlight was gone from the wall, and through the one small +window in the west end of his room he saw the fading light of day +outside. It was morning when he had fought Brokaw; it was now almost +night. The wash-basin was where it had fallen when Henry struck him. He +saw a red stain on the floor where he must have dropped. Then again he +looked at the window. It was rather oddly out of place, so high up that +one could not look in from the outside—a rectangular slit to let in +light, and so narrow that a man could not have wormed his way through +it. He had seen nothing particularly significant in its location<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> last +night, or this morning, but now its meaning struck him as forcibly as +that of the pieces of <i>babiche</i> thong that bound his wrists and ankles. +A guest might be housed in this room without suspicion and at the turn +of a key be made a prisoner. There was no way of escape unless one broke +down the heavy door or cut through the log walls.</p> + +<p>Gradually he was overcoming his sensation of sickness. His head was +clearing, and he began to breathe more deeply. He tried to move his +cramped arms. They were without feeling, lifeless weights hung to his +shoulders. With an effort he thrust out his feet. And then—through the +window—there came to him a low, thrilling sound.</p> + +<p>It was the muffled <i>boom</i>, <i>boom</i>, <i>boom</i> of a tom-tom.</p> + +<p>Wapi and his Indians were going, and he heard now a weird and growing +chant, a savage paean to the wild gods of the Moulting Moon. A gasp rose +in his throat. It was almost a cry. His last hope was going—with Wapi +and his tribe! Would they help him if they knew? If he shouted? If he +shrieked for them through that open window? It was a mad thought, an +impossible thought, but it set his heart throbbing for a moment. And +then—suddenly—it seemed to stand still. A key rattled, turned; the +door opened—and Marge O'Doone stood before him!</p> + +<p>She was panting—sobbing, as if she had been running a long distance. +She made no effort to speak, but dropped at his feet and began sawing at +the caribou <i>babiche</i> with a knife. She had come prepared with that +knife! He felt the bonds snap, and before either had spoken she was at +his back, and his hands were free. They were like lead. She dropped the +knife then, and her hands were at his face—dark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> with dry stain of +blood, and over and over again she was calling him by the name she had +given him—<i>Sakewawin</i>. And then the tribal chant of Wapi and his people +grew nearer and louder as they passed into the forest, and with a +choking cry the Girl drew back from David and stood facing him.</p> + +<p>"I—must hurry," she said, swiftly. "Listen! They are going! Hauck or +Brokaw will go as far as the lake with Wapi, and the one who does not go +will return <i>here</i>. See, <i>Sakewawin</i>—I have brought you a knife! When +he comes—you must kill him!"</p> + +<p>The chanting voices had passed. The paean was dying away in the +direction of the forest.</p> + +<p>He did not interrupt her. With hand clutched at her breast she went on.</p> + +<p>"I waited—until all were out there. They kept me in my room and left +Marcee—the old Indian woman—to watch me. When they were all out to see +Wapi off, I struck her over the head with the end of Nisikoos' rifle. +Maybe she is dead. Tara is out there. I know where to find him when it +is dark. I will make up a pack and within an hour we must go. If Hauck +comes to your room before then, or Brokaw, kill him with the knife, +<i>Sakewawin</i>! If you don't—they will kill you!"</p> + +<p>Her voice broke in a gasp that was like a sob. He struggled to rise; +stood swaying before her, his legs unsteady as stilts under him.</p> + +<p>"My gun, Marge—my pistol!" he demanded, trying to reach out his arms. +"If I had them now...."</p> + +<p>"They must have taken them," she interrupted. "But I have Nisikoos' +rifle, <i>Sakewawin</i>! Oh—I must hurry!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> They won't come to my room, and +Marcee is perhaps dead. As soon as it is dark I will unlock your door. +And if one of them comes before then, you must kill him! You must! You +must!"</p> + +<p>She backed to the door, and now she opened it, and was gone. A key +clicked in the lock again, he heard her swift footsteps in the hall, and +a second door opened and closed.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes he stood without moving, a little dazed by the +suddenness with which she had left him. She had not been in his room +more than a minute or two. She had been terribly frightened, terribly +afraid of discovery before her work was done. On the floor at his feet +lay the knife. <i>That</i> was why she had come, <i>that</i> was what she had +brought him! His blood began to tingle. He could feel it resuming its +course through his numbed legs and arms, and he leaned over slowly, half +afraid that he would lose his balance, and picked up the weapon. The +chanting of Wapi and his people was only a distant murmur; through the +high window came the sound of returning voices—voices of white men.</p> + +<p>There swept through him the wild thrill of the thought that once more +the fight was up to him. Marge O'Doone had done her part. She had struck +down the Indian woman Hauck had placed over her as a guard—had escaped +from her room, unbound him, and put a knife into his hands. The rest was +<i>his</i> fight. How long before Brokaw or Hauck would come? Would they give +him time to get the blood running through his body again? Time to gain +strength to use his freedom—and the knife? He began walking slowly +across the room, pumping his arms up and down. His strength returned +quickly. He went to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> pail of water and drank deeply with a consuming +thirst. The water refreshed him, and he paced back and forth more and +more swiftly, until he was breathing steadily and he could harden his +muscles and knot his fists. He looked at the knife. It was a horrible +necessity—the burying of that steel in a man's back, or his heart! Was +there no other way, he wondered? He began searching the room. Why hadn't +Marge brought him a club instead of a knife, or at least a club along +with the knife? To club a man down, even when he was intent on murder, +wasn't like letting out his life in a gush of blood.</p> + +<p>His eyes rested on the table, and in a moment he had turned it over and +was wrenching at one of the wooden legs. It broke off with a sharp snap, +and he held in his hand a weapon possessing many advantages over the +knife. The latter he thrust into his belt with the handle just back of +his hip. Then he waited.</p> + +<p>It was not for long. The western mountains had shut out the last +reflections of the sun. Gloom was beginning to fill his room, and he +numbered the minutes as he stood, with his ear close to the door, +listening for a step, hopeful that it would be the Girl's and not +Hauck's or Brokaw's. At last the step came, advancing from the end of +the hall. It was a heavy step, and he drew a deep breath and gripped the +club. His heart gave a sudden, mighty throb as the step stopped at his +door. It was not pleasant to think of what he was about to do, and yet +he realized, as he heard the key in the lock, that it was a grim and +terrible necessity. He was thankful there was only one. He would not +strike too hard—not in this cowardly way—from ambush. Just enough to +do the business sufficiently<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> well. It would be easy—quite. He raised +his club in the thickening dusk, and held his breath.</p> + +<p>The door opened, and Hauck entered, and stood with his back to David. +Horrible! Strike a man like that—and with a club! If he could use his +hands, choke him, give him at least a quarter chance. But it had to be +done. It was a sickening thing. Hauck went down without a groan—so +silently, so lifelessly that David thought he had killed him. He knelt +beside him for a few seconds and made sure that his heart was beating +before he rose to his feet. He looked out into the hall. The lamps had +not been lighted—probably that was one of the old Indian woman's +duties. From the big room came a sound of voices—and then, close to +him, from the door across the way, there came a small trembling voice:</p> + +<p>"Hurry, <i>Sakewawin</i>! Lock the door—and come!"</p> + +<p>For another instant he dropped on his knees at Hauck's side. Yes it was +there—in his pocket—a revolver! He possessed himself of the weapon +with an exclamation of joy, locked the door, and ran across the hall. +The Girl opened her door for him, and closed it behind him as he sprang +into her room. The first object he noticed was the Indian woman. She was +lying on a cot, and her black eyes were levelled at them like the eyes +of a snake. She was trussed up so securely, and was gagged so thoroughly +that he could not restrain a laugh as he bent over her.</p> + +<p>"Splendid!" he cried softly. "You're a little brick, Marge—you surely +are! And now—what?"</p> + +<p>With his revolver in his hand, and the Girl trembling under his arm, he +felt a ridiculous desire to shout out at the top of his voice to his +enemies letting them know that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> he was again ready to fight. In the +gloom the Girl's eyes shone like stars.</p> + +<p>"Who—was it?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Hauck."</p> + +<p>"Then it was Brokaw who went with Wapi. Langdon and Henry went with him. +It is less than two miles to the lake, and they will be returning soon. +We must hurry! Look—it is growing dark!"</p> + +<p>She ran from his arms to the window and he followed her.</p> + +<p>"In—fifteen minutes—we will go, Sakewawin. Tara is out there in the +edge of the spruce." Her hand pinched his arm. "Did you—kill him?" she +breathed.</p> + +<p>"No. I broke off a leg from the table and stunned him."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad," she said, and snuggled close to him shiveringly. "I'm glad, +<i>Sakewawin</i>."</p> + +<p>In the darkness that was gathering about them it was impossible for him +not to take her in his arms. He held her close, bowing his head so that +for an instant her warm face touched his own; and in those moments while +they waited for the gloom to thicken he told her in a low voice what he +had learned from Brokaw. She grew tense against him as he continued, and +when he assured her he no longer had a doubt her mother was alive, and +that she was the woman he had met on the coach, a cry rose out of her +breast. She was about to speak when loud footsteps in the hall made her +catch her breath, and her fingers clung more tightly at his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"It is time," she whispered. "We must go!"</p> + +<p>She ran from him quickly and from under the cot where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> the Indian lay +dragged forth a pack. He could not see plainly what she was doing now. +In a moment she had put a rifle in his hands.</p> + +<p>"It belonged to Nisikoos," she said. "There are six shots in it, and +here are all the cartridges I have."</p> + +<p>He took them in his hand and counted them as he dropped them into his +pocket. There were eleven in all, including the six in the chamber. +"Thirty-twos," he thought, as he seized them up with his fingers. "Good +for partridges—and short range at men!" He said, aloud: "If we could +get my rifle, Marge...."</p> + +<p>"They have taken it," she told him again. "But we shall not need it. +<i>Sakewawin</i>," she added, as if his voice had revealed to her the thought +in his mind; "I know of a mountain that is all rock—not so far off as +the one Tara and I climbed—and if we can reach that they will not be +able to trail us. If they should find us...."</p> + +<p>She was opening the window.</p> + +<p>"What then?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Nisikoos once killed a bear with that gun," she replied.</p> + +<p>The window was open, and she was waiting. They thrust out their heads +and listened, and when he had assured himself that all was clear he +dropped out the pack. He lifted Marge down then and followed her. As his +feet struck the ground the slight shock sent a pain through his head +that wrung a low cry from him, and for a moment he leaned with his back +against the wall, almost overcome again by the sickening dizziness. It +was not so dark that the Girl did not see the sudden change in him. Her +eyes filled with alarm.</p> + +<p>"A little dizzy," he explained, trying to smile at her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> "They gave me a +pretty hard crack on the head, Marge. This air will set me right—soon."</p> + +<p>He picked up the pack and followed her. In the edge of the spruce a +hundred yards from the Nest, Tara had been lying all the afternoon, +nursing his wounds.</p> + +<p>"I could see him from my window," whispered Marge.</p> + +<p>She went straight to him and began talking to him in a low voice. Out of +the darkness behind Tara came a growl.</p> + +<p>"Baree, by thunder!" muttered David in amazement.</p> + +<p>"He's made up with the bear, Marge! What do you think of that?"</p> + +<p>At the sound of his voice Baree came to him and flattened himself at his +feet. David laid a hand on his head.</p> + +<p>"Boy!" he whispered softly. "And they said you were an outlaw, and would +join the wolves...."</p> + +<p>He saw the dark bulk of Tara rising out of the gloom, and the Girl was +at his side.</p> + +<p>"We are ready, <i>Sakewawin</i>."</p> + +<p>He spoke to her the thought that had been shaping itself in his mind.</p> + +<p>"Why wouldn't it be better to join Wapi and his Indians?" he asked, +remembering Brokaw's words.</p> + +<p>"Because—they are afraid of Hauck," she replied quickly. "There is but +one way, <i>Sakewawin</i>—to follow a narrow trail Tara and I have made, +close to the foot of the range, until we come to the rock mountain. +Shall we risk the bundle on Tara's back?"</p> + +<p>"It is light. I will carry it."</p> + +<p>"Then give me your hand, <i>Sakewawin</i>."</p> + +<p>There was again in her voice the joyous thrill of freedom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> and of +confidence; he could hear for a moment the wild throb of her heart in +its exultation at their escape, and with her warm little hand she +gripped his fingers firmly and guided him into a sea of darkness. The +forest shut them in. Not a ray fell upon them from out of the pale sky +where the stars were beginning to glimmer faintly. Behind them he could +hear the heavy, padded footfall of the big grizzly, and he knew that +Baree was very near. After a little the Girl said, still in a whisper:</p> + +<p>"Does your head hurt you now, <i>Sakewawin</i>?"</p> + +<p>"A bit."</p> + +<p>The trail was widening. It was quite smooth for a space, but black.</p> + +<p>She pressed his fingers.</p> + +<p>"I believe all you have told me," she said, as if making a confession. +"After you came to me in the cage—and the fight—I believed. You must +have loved me a great deal to risk all that for me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, a great deal, my child," he answered.</p> + +<p>Why did that dizziness persist in his head, he wondered? For a moment he +felt as if he were falling.</p> + +<p>"A very great deal," he added, trying to walk steadily at her side, his +own voice sounding unreal and at a great distance from him. "You see—my +child—I didn't have anything to love but your picture...."</p> + +<p>What a fool he was to try and make himself heard above the roaring in +his head! His words seemed to him whispers coming across a great space. +And the bundle on his shoulders was like a crushing weight bearing him +down! The voice at his side was growing fainter. It was saying things +which afterward he could not remember, but he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> knew that it was talking +about the woman he had said was her mother, and that he was answering it +while weights of lead were dragging at his feet. Then suddenly, he had +stepped over the edge of the world and was floating in that vast, black +chaos again. The voice did not leave him. He could hear it sobbing, +entreating him, urging him to do something which he could not +understand; and when at last he did begin to comprehend it he knew also +that he was no longer walking with weights at his feet and a burden on +his shoulders, but was on the ground. His head was on her breast, and +she was no longer speaking to him, but was crying like a child with a +heart utterly broken. The deathly sickness was gone as quickly as it had +stricken him, and he struggled upward, with her arms helping him.</p> + +<p>"You are hurt—hurt—" he heard her moaning. "If I can only get you on +Tara, <i>Sakewawin</i>, on Tara's back—there—a step...." and he knew that +was what she had been saying over and over again, urging him to help +himself if he could, so that she could get him to Tara. He reached out +his hand and buried it in the thick hair of the grizzly, and he tried to +speak laughingly so that she would not know his fears.</p> + +<p>"One is often dizzy—like that—after a blow," he said, "I guess—I can +walk now."</p> + +<p>"No, no, you must ride Tara," she insisted. "You are hurt—and you must +ride Tara, <i>Sakewawin</i>. You must!"</p> + +<p>She was lifting at his arms with all her strength, her breath hot and +panting in his face, and Tara stood without moving a muscle of his giant +body, as if he, too, were urging upon him in this dumb manner the +necessity of obeying his mistress. Even then David would have +remonstrated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> but he felt once more that appalling sickness creeping +over him, and he raised himself slowly astride the grizzly's broad back. +The Girl picked up the bundle and rifle and Tara followed her through +the darkness. To David the beast's great back seemed a wonderfully safe +and comfortable place, and he leaned forward with his fingers clutched +deeply in the long hair of the ruff about the bear's bulking shoulders.</p> + +<p>The Girl called back to him softly:</p> + +<p>"You are all right, <i>Sakewawin</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is so comfortable that I feel I may fall asleep," he replied.</p> + +<p>Out in the starlight she would have seen his drooping head, and his +words would have had a different meaning for her. He was fighting with +himself desperately, and in his heart was a great fear. He must be badly +hurt, he thought. There came to him a distorted but vivid vision of an +Indian hurt in the head, whom he and Father Roland had tried to save. +Without a surgeon it had been impossible. The Indian had died, and he +had had those same spells of sickness, the sickness that was creeping +over him again in spite of his efforts to fight it off. He had no very +clear notion of the movement of Tara's body under him, but he knew that +he was holding on grimly, and that every little while the Girl called +back to him, and he replied. Then came the time when he failed to +answer, and for a space the rocking motion under him ceased and the +Girl's voice was very near to him. Afterward motion resumed. It seemed +to him that he was travelling a great distance. Altogether too far +without a halt for sleep, or at least a rest. He was conscious of a +desire to voice pro<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>test—and all the time his fingers were clasped in +Tara'a mane in a sort of death grip.</p> + +<p>In her breast Marge's heart was beating like a hunted thing, and over +and over again she sobbed out a broken prayer as she guided Tara and his +burden through the night. From the forest into the starlit open; from +the open into the thick gloom of forest again—into and out of starlight +and darkness, following that trail down the valley. She was no longer +thinking of the rock mountain, for it would be impossible now to climb +over the range into the other valley. She was heading for a cabin. An +old and abandoned cabin, where they could hide. She tried to tell David +about it, many days after they had begun that journey it seemed to him.</p> + +<p>"Only a little longer, <i>Sakewawin</i>," she cried, with her arm about him +and her lips close to his bent head. "Only a little longer! They will +not think to search for us there, and you can sleep—sleep...."</p> + +<p>Her voice drifted away from him like a low murmur in the tree tops—and +his fingers still clung in that death-grip in the mane at Tara's neck.</p> + +<p>And still many other days later they came to the cabin. It was amazing +to him that the Girl should say:</p> + +<p>"We are only five miles from the Nest, <i>Sakewawin</i>, but they will not +hunt for us here. They will think we have gone farther—or over the +mountains!"</p> + +<p>She was putting cold water to his face, and now that there was no longer +the rolling motion under him he was not quite so dizzy. She had unrolled +the bundle and had spread out a blanket, and when he stretched himself +out on this a sense of vast relief came over him. In his confused<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +consciousness two or three things stood out with rather odd clearness +before he closed his eyes, and the last was a vision of the Girl's face +bending over him, and of her starry eyes looking down at him, and of her +voice urging him gently:</p> + +<p>"Try to sleep, <i>Sakewawin</i>—try to sleep...."</p> + +<p>It was many hours later when he awoke. Hands seemed to be dragging him +forcibly out of a place in which he was very comfortable, and which he +did not want to leave, and a voice was accompanying the hands with an +annoying insistency—a voice which was growing more and more familiar to +him as his sleeping senses were roused. He opened his eyes. It was day, +and Marge was on her knees at his side, tugging at his breast with her +hands and staring wildly into his face.</p> + +<p>"Wake, <i>Sakewawin</i>—wake, wake!" he heard her crying. "Oh, my God, you +must wake! <i>Sakewawin—Sakewawin</i>—they have found our trail—and I can +see them coming up the valley!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +</div> + +<p>Scarcely had David sensed the Girl's words of warning than he was on his +feet. And now, when he saw her, he thanked God that his head was clear, +and that he could fight. Even yesterday, when she had stood before the +fighting bears, and he had fought Brokaw, she had not been whiter than +she was now. Her face told him of their danger before he had seen it +with his own eyes. It told him that their peril was appallingly near and +there was no chance of escaping it. He saw for the first time that his +bed on the ground had been close to the wall of an old cabin which was +in a little dip in the sloping face of the mountain. Before he could +take in more, or discover a visible sign of their enemies, Marge had +caught his hand and was drawing him to the end of the shack. She did not +speak as she pointed downward. In the edge of the valley, just beginning +the ascent, were eight or ten men. He could not determine their exact +number for as he looked they were already disappearing under the face of +the lower dip in the mountain. They were not more than four or five +hundred yards away. It would take them a matter of twenty minutes to +make the ascent to the cabin.</p> + +<p>He looked at Marge. Despairingly she pointed to the mountain behind +them. For a quarter of a mile it was a sheer wall of red sandstone. +Their one way of flight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> lay downward, practically into the faces of +their enemies.</p> + +<p>"I was going to rouse you before it was light, <i>Sakewawin</i>," she +explained in a voice that was dead with hopelessness. "I kept awake for +hours, and then I fell asleep. Baree awakened me, and now—it is too +late."</p> + +<p>"Yes, too late to <i>run</i>!" said David.</p> + +<p>A flash of fire leaped into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You mean...."</p> + +<p>"We can fight!" he cried. "Good God, Marge—if only I had my own rifle +now!" He thrust a hand into his pocket and drew forth the cartridges she +had given him. "Thirty-twos! And only eleven of them! It's got to be a +short range for us. We can't put up a running fight for they'd keep out +of range of this little pea-shooter and fill me as full of holes as a +sieve!"</p> + +<p>She was tugging at his arm.</p> + +<p>"The cabin, <i>Sakewawin</i>!" she exclaimed with sudden inspiration. "It has +a strong bar at the door, and the clay has fallen in places from between +the logs leaving openings through which you can shoot!"</p> + +<p>He was examining Nisikoos' rifle.</p> + +<p>"At 150 yards it should be good for a man," he said. "You get Tara and +the pack inside, Marge. I'm going to try to get two or three of our +friends as they come up over the knoll down there. They won't be looking +for bullets <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'thus'">this</ins> +early in the game and I'll have them at a disadvantage. +If I'm lucky enough to get Hauck and Brokaw...."</p> + +<p>His eyes had selected a big rock twenty yards from the cabin from which +he could overlook the slope to the first dip below them, and as Marge +darted from him to get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> Tara into the cabin he crouched behind the +boulder and waited. He figured that it was not more than 150 yards to +the point where their pursuers would first appear, and he made up his +mind that he would wait until they were nearer than that before he +opened fire. Not one of those eleven precious cartridges must be wasted, +for he could count on Hauck's revolver only at close quarters. It was no +longer a time for doubt or indecision. Brokaw and Hauck were +deliberately pushing the fight to a finish, and not to beat them meant +death for himself and a fate for the Girl which made him grip his rifle +more tightly as he waited. He looked behind him and saw Marge leading +Tara into the cabin. Baree had crept up beside him and lay flat on the +ground close to the rock. A moment or two later the Girl reappeared and +ran across the narrow open space to David, and crouched down close to +him.</p> + +<p>"You must go into the cabin, Marge," he remonstrated. "They will +probably begin shooting...."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to stay with you, <i>Sakewawin</i>."</p> + +<p>Her face was no longer white. A flush had risen into her cheeks, her +eyes shone as she looked at him—and she smiled. A child! His heart rose +chokingly in his throat. Her face was close to his, and she whispered:</p> + +<p>"Last night I kissed you, <i>Sakewawin</i>. I thought you were dying. Before +you, I have kissed Nisikoos. Never any one else."</p> + +<p>Why did she say that, with that wonderful glow in her eyes? Couldn't be +that she saw death climbing up the mountain? Was it because she wanted +him to know—before that? A child!</p> + +<p>She whispered again:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And you—have never kissed me, <i>Sakewawin</i>. Why?"</p> + +<p>Slowly he drew her to him, until her head lay against his breast, her +shining eyes and parted lips turned up to him, and he kissed her on the +mouth. A wild flood of colour rushed into her face and her arms crept up +about his shoulders. The glory of her radiant hair covered his breast. +He buried his face in it, and for a moment crushed her so close that she +did not breathe. And then again he kissed her mouth, not once but a +dozen times, and then held her back from him and looked into her face +that was no longer the face of a child, but of a woman.</p> + +<p>"Because...." he began, and stopped.</p> + +<p>Baree was growling. David peered down the slope.</p> + +<p>"They are coming!" he said. "Marge, you must creep back to the cabin!"</p> + +<p>"I am going to stay with you, <i>Sakewawin</i>. See, I will flatten myself +out like this—with Baree."</p> + +<p>She snuggled herself down against the rock and again David peered from +his ambush. Their pursuers were well over the crest of the dip, and he +counted nine. They were advancing in a group and he saw that both Hauck +and Brokaw were in the rear and that they were using staffs in their +toil upward, and did not carry rifles. The remaining seven were armed, +and were headed by Langdon, who was fifteen or twenty yards in advance +of his companions. David made up his mind quickly to take Langdon first, +and to follow up with others who carried rifles. Hauck and Brokaw, +unarmed with guns, were least dangerous just at present. He would get +Brokaw with his fifth shot—the sixth if he made a miss with the fifth.</p> + +<p>A thin strip of shale marked his 100-yard dead-line, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> the instant +Langdon set his foot on this David fired. He was scarcely conscious of +the yell of defiance that rang from his lips as Langdon whirled in his +tracks and pitched down among the men behind him. He rose up boldly from +behind the rock and fired again. In that huddled and astonished mass he +could not miss. A shriek came up to him. He fired a third time, and he +heard a joyous cry of triumph beside him as their enemies rushed for +safety toward the dip from which they had just climbed. A fourth shot, +and he picked out Brokaw. Twice he missed! His gun was empty when Brokaw +lunged out of view. Langdon remained an inanimate blotch on the strip of +shale. A few steps below him was a second body. A third man was dragging +himself on hands and knees over the crest of the <i>coulée</i>. Three—with +six shots! And he had missed Brokaw! Inwardly David groaned as he caught +the Girl by the arm and hurried with her into the cabin, followed by +Baree.</p> + +<p>They were not a moment too soon. From over the edge of the <i>coulée</i> came +a fusillade of shots from the heavy-calibre weapons of the mountain men +that sent out sparks of fire from the rock.</p> + +<p>As he thrust the remaining five cartridges into the chamber of Nisikoos' +rifle, David looked about the cabin. In one of the farther corners the +huge grizzly sat on his quarters as motionless as if stuffed. In the +centre of the single room was an old box stove partly fallen to pieces. +That was all. Marge had dropped the sapling bar across the door, and +stood with her back against it. There was no window, and the closing of +the door had shut out most of the light. He could see that she was +breathing quickly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> and the wonderful light that had come into her eyes +behind the rock was still glowing at him in the half gloom. It gave him +fresh confidence to see her standing like that, looking at him in that +way, telling him without words that a thing had come into her life which +had lifted her above fear. He went to her and took her in his arms +again, and again he kissed her sweet mouth, and felt her heart beating +against him, and the warm thrill of her arms clinging to him.</p> + +<p>A splintering crash sent him reeling back into the centre of the cabin +with Marge in his arms. The crash had come simultaneously with the +report of a rifle, and both saw where the bullet had passed through the +door six inches above David's head, carrying a splinter as large as his +arm with it. He had not thought of the door. It was the cabin's +vulnerable point, and he sprang out of line with it as a second bullet +crashed through and buried itself in the log wall at their backs. Baree +growled. A low rumble rose in Tara's throat, but he did not move.</p> + +<p>In each of the four log walls were the open chinks which Marge had told +him about, and he sprang to one of these apertures that was wide enough +to let the barrel of his rifle through and looked in the direction from +which the two shots had come. He was in time to catch a movement among +the rocks on the side of the mountain about two hundred yards away, and +a third shot tore its way through the door, glanced from the steel top +of the stove, and struck like a club two feet over Tara's back. There +were two men up there among the rocks, and their first shots were +followed by a steady bombardment that fairly riddled the door. David +could see their heads and shoulders and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> the gleam and faint puffs of +their rifles, but he held his fire. Where were the other four, he +wondered? Without doubt Hauck and Brokaw were now armed with the rifles +of the men who had fallen, so he had six to deal with. Cautiously he +thrust the muzzle of his rifle through the crack, and watched his +chance, aiming a foot and a half above the spot where a pair of +shoulders and a head would appear in a moment. His chance came, and he +fired. The head and shoulders disappeared, and exultantly he swung his +rifle a little to the right and sent another shot as the second man +exposed himself. He, too, disappeared, and David's heart was thumping +wildly in the thought that his bullets had reached their marks when both +heads appeared again and a hail of lead spattered against the cabin. The +men among the rocks were no longer aiming at the door, but at the spot +from which he had fired, and a bullet ripped through so close that a +splinter stung his face, and he felt the quick warm flow of blood down +his cheek. When the Girl saw it her face went as white as death.</p> + +<p>"I can't get them with this rifle, Marge," he groaned. "It's wild—wild +as a hawk! Good God!..."</p> + +<p>A crash of fire had come from behind the cabin, and another bullet, +finding one of the gaping cracks, passed between them with a sound like +the buzz of a monster bee. With a sudden cry he caught her in his arms +and held her tight, as if in his embrace he would shield her.</p> + +<p>"Is it possible—they would kill <i>you</i> to get me?"</p> + +<p>He loosed his hold of her, sprang to the broken stove, and began +dragging it out of the line of fire that came through the door. The Girl +saw his peril and sprang to help him. He had no time to urge her back. +In ten<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> seconds he had the stove close to the wall, and almost forcibly +he made her crouch down behind it.</p> + +<p>"If you expose yourself for one second I swear to Heaven I'll stand up +there against the door until I'm shot!" he threatened. "I will, so help +me God!"</p> + +<p>His brain was afire. He was no longer cool or self-possessed. He was +blind with a wild rage, with a mad desire to reach in some way, with his +vengeance, the human beasts who were bent on his death even if it was to +be gained at the sacrifice of the Girl. He rushed to the side of the +cabin from which the fresh attack had come, and glared through one of +the embrasures between the logs. He was close to Tara, and he heard the +low, steady thunder that came out of the grizzly's chest. His enemies +were near on this side. Their fire came from the rocks not more than a +hundred yards away, and all at once, in the heat of the great passion +that possessed him now, he became suddenly aware that they knew the only +weapon he possessed was Nisikoos' little rifle—and Hauck's revolver. +Probably they knew also how limited his ammunition was. And they were +exposing themselves. Why should he save his last three shots? When they +were gone and he no longer answered their fire they would rush the +cabin, beat in the door, and then—the revolver! With that he would tear +out their hearts as they entered. He saw Hauck, fired and missed. A man +stood up within seventy yards of the cabin a moment later, firing as +fast as he could pump the lever of his gun, and David drove one of +Nisikoos' partridge-killers straight into his chest. He fired a second +time at Hauck—another miss! Then he flung the useless rifle to the +floor as he sprang back to Marge.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Got one. Five left. Now—damn 'em—let then come!"</p> + +<p>He drew Hauck's revolver. A bullet flew through one of the cracks, and +they heard the soft thud of it as it struck Tara. The growl in the +grizzly's throat burst forth in a roar of thunder. The terrible sound +shook the cabin, but Tara still made no movement, except now to swing +his head with open, drooling jaws. In response to that cry of animal +rage and pain a snarl had come from Baree. He had slunk close to Tara.</p> + +<p>"Didn't hurt him much," said David, with the fingers of his free hand +crumpling the Girl's hair. "They'll stop shooting in a minute or two, +and then...."</p> + +<p>Straight into his eyes from that farther wall a splinter hurled itself +at him with a hissing sound like the plunge of hot iron into water. He +had a lightning +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'inpression'">impression</ins> +impression of seeing the bullet as it tore through the +clay between two of the logs; he knew that he was struck, and yet he +felt no pain. His mind was acutely alive, yet he could not speak. His +words had been cut off, his tongue was powerless—it was like a shock +that had paralyzed him. Even the Girl did not know for a moment or two +that he was hit. The thud of his revolver on the floor filled her eyes +with the first horror of understanding, and she sprang to his side as he +swayed like a drunken man toward Tara. He sank down on the floor a few +feet from the grizzly, and he heard the Girl moaning over him and +calling him by name. The numbness left him, slowly he raised a hand to +his chin, filled with a terrible fear. It was there—his jaw, hard, +unsmashed, but wet with blood. He thought the bullet had struck him +there.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A knockout," were the first words, spoken slowly and thickly, but with +a great gasp of relief. "A splinter hit me on the jaw.... I'm all +right...."</p> + +<p>He sat up dizzily, with the Girl's arm about him. In the three or four +minutes of forgetfulness neither had noticed that the firing had ceased. +Now there came a tremendous blow at the door. It shook the cabin. A +second blow, a third—and the decaying saplings were crashing inward! +David struggled to rise, fell back, and pointed to the revolver.</p> + +<p>"Quick—the revolver!"</p> + +<p>Marge sprang to it. The door crashed inward as she picked it up, and +scarcely had she faced about when their enemies were rushing in, with +Henry and Hauck in their lead, and Brokaw just behind them. With a last +effort David fought to gain his feet. He heard a single shot from the +revolver, and then, as he rose staggeringly, he saw Marge fighting in +Brokaw's arms. Hauck came for him, the demon of murder in his face, and +as they went down he heard scream after scream come from the Girl's +lips, and in that scream the agonizing call of "<i>Tara! Tara! Tara!</i>" +Over him he heard a sudden roar, the rush of a great body—and with that +thunder of Tara's rage and vengeance there mingled a hideous, wolfish +snarl from Baree. He could see nothing. Hauck's hands were at his +throat.</p> + +<p>But the screams continued, and above them came now the cries of +men—cries of horror, of agony, of death; and as Hauck's fingers +loosened at his neck he heard with the snarling and roaring and tumult +the crushing of great jaws and the thud of bodies. Hauck was rising, his +face blanched with a strange terror. He was half up when a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> gaunt, lithe +body shot at him like a stone flung from a catapult and Baree's +inch-long fangs sank into his thick throat and tore his head half from +his body in one savage, snarling snap of the jaws. David raised himself +and through the horror of what he saw the Girl ran to him—unharmed—and +clasped her arms about him, her lips sobbing all the +time—"<i>Tara—Tara—Tara</i>...." He turned her face to his breast, and +held it there. It was ghastly. Henry was dead. Hauck was dead. And +Brokaw was dead—a thousand times dead—with the grizzly tearing his +huge body into pieces.</p> + +<p>Through that pit of death David stumbled with the Girl. The fresh air +struck their faces. The sun of day fell upon them. The green grass and +the flowers of the mountain were under their feet. They looked down the +slope, and saw, disappearing over the crest of the <i>coulée</i>, two men who +were running for their lives.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +</div> + +<p>It may have been five minutes that David held the Girl in his arms, +staring down into the sunlit valley into which the last two of Hauck's +men had fled, and during that time he did not speak, and he heard only +her steady sobbing. He drew into his lungs deep breaths of the +invigorating air, and he felt himself growing stronger as the Girl's +body became heavier in his embrace, and her arms relaxed and slipped +down from his shoulders. He raised her face. There were no tears in her +eyes, but she was still moaning a little, and her lips were quivering +like a crying child's. He bent his head and kissed them, and she caught +her breath pantingly as she looked at him with eyes which were limpid +pools of blue out of which her terror was slowly dying away. She +whispered his name. In her look and in that whisper there was +unutterable adoration. It was for <i>him</i> she had been afraid. She was +looking at him now as one saved to her from the dead, and for a moment +he strained her still closer, and as he crushed his face to hers he felt +the warm, sweet caress of her lips, and the thrilling pressure of her +hands, at his blood-stained cheeks. A sound from behind made him turn +his head, and fifty feet away he saw the big grizzly ambling cumbrously +from the cabin. They could hear him growling as he stood in the +sunshine, his head swinging slowly from side to side like a huge +pendulum—in his throat the last echoing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> of that ferocious rage and +hate that had destroyed their enemies. And in the same moment Baree +stood in the doorway, his lips drawn back and his fangs gleaming, as if +he expected other enemies to face him.</p> + +<p>Quickly David led Marge beyond the boulder from behind which he had +opened the fight, and drew her down with him into a soft carpet of +grass, thick with the blue of wild violets, with the big rock shutting +out the cabin from their vision.</p> + +<p>"Rest here, little comrade," he said, his voice low and trembling with +his worship of her, his hands stroking back her wonderful hair. "I must +return to the cabin. Then—we will go."</p> + +<p>"Go!"</p> + +<p>She repeated the word in the strangest, softest whisper he had ever +heard, as if in it all at once she saw the sun and stars, the day and +night, of her whole life. She looked from his face down into the valley, +and into his face again.</p> + +<p>"We—will go," she repeated, as he rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>She shivered when he left her, shuddered with a terrible little cry +which she tried to choke back even as she visioned the first glow of +that wonderful new life that was dawning for her. David knew why. He +left her without looking down into her eyes again, anxious to have these +last terrible minutes over. At the open door of the cabin he hesitated, +a little sick at what he knew he would see. And yet, after all, it was +no worse than it should be; it was justice. He told himself this as he +stepped inside.</p> + +<p>He tried not to look too closely, but the sight, after a moment, +fascinated him. If it had not been for the differ<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>ence in their size he +could not have told which was Hauck and which was Brokaw, for even on +Hauck, Tara had vented his rage after Baree had killed him. Neither bore +very much the semblance of a man just now—it seemed incredible that +claw and fang could have worked such destruction, and he went suddenly +back to the door to see that the Girl was not following him. Then he +looked again. Henry lay at his feet across the fallen saplings of the +battered door, his head twisted completely under him—or gone. It was +Henry's rifle he picked up. He searched for cartridges then. It was a +sickening task. He found nearly fifty of them on the three, and went out +with the pack and the rifle. He put the pack over his shoulders before +he returned to the rock, and paused only for a moment, when he rejoined +the Girl. With her hand in his he struck down into the valley.</p> + +<p>"A great justice has overtaken them," he said, and that was all he told +her about the cabin, and she asked him no questions.</p> + +<p>At the edge of the green meadows they stopped where a trickle of water +from the mountain tops had formed a deep pool. David followed this +trickle a little up the <i>coulée</i> it had worn in the course of ages, +found a sheltered spot, and stripped himself. To the waist he was +covered with the stain and grime of battle. In the open pool Marge +bathed her face and arms, and then sat down to finish her toilet with +David's comb and brush. When he returned to her she was a radiant glory, +hidden to her waist in the gold and brown fires of her disentangled +hair. It was wonderful. He stood a step off and looked at her, his heart +filled with a wonderful joy, his lips silent. The thought surged upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> +him now in an overmastering moment of exultation that she belonged to +him, not for to-day, or to-morrow, but for all time; that the mountains +had given her to him; that among the flowers and the wild things that +"great, good God," of whom Father Roland had spoken so often, had +created her for him; and that she had been waiting for him here, pure as +the wild violets under his feet. She did not see him for a space, and he +watched her as she ran out her glowing tresses under the strokes of his +brush.</p> + +<p>And once—ages ago it seemed to him now—he had thought that another +woman was beautiful, and that another woman's glory was her hair! He +felt his heart singing. She had not been like this. No. Worlds separated +those two—that woman and this God-crowned little mountain flower who +had come into his heart like the breath of a new life, opening for him +new visions that reached even beyond the blue skies. And he wondered +that she should love him. She looked up suddenly and saw him standing +there. Love? Had he in all his life dreamed of the look that was in her +face now? It made his heart choke him. He held open his arms, silently, +as she rose to her feet, and she came to him in all that burnished glory +of her unbound hair; and he held her close in his arms, kissing her soft +lips, her flushed cheeks, her blue eyes, the warm sweetness of her hair. +And her lips kissed him. He looked out over the valley. His eyes were +open to its beauty, but he did not see; a vision was rising before him, +and his soul was breathing a prayer of gratitude to the Missioner's God, +to the God of the totem-worshippers over the ranges, to the God of all +things. It may be that the Girl sensed his voiceless exaltation, for up +through the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> soft billows of her hair that lay crumpled on his breast +she whispered:</p> + +<p>"You love me a great deal, my <i>Sakewawin</i>?"</p> + +<p>"More than life," he replied.</p> + +<p>Her voice roused him. For a few moments he had forgotten the cabin, had +forgotten that Brokaw and Hauck had existed, and that they were now +dead. He held her back from him, looking into her face out of which all +fear and horror had gone in its great happiness; a face filled with the +joyous colour sent surging there by the wild beating of her heart, eyes +confessing their adoration without shame, without concealment, without a +droop of the long lashes behind which they might have hidden. It was +wonderful, that love shining straight out of their blue, marvellous +depths!</p> + +<p>"We must go now," he said, forcing himself to break the spell. "Two have +escaped, Marge. It is possible, if there are others at the Nest...."</p> + +<p>His words brought her back to the thing they had passed through. She +glanced in a startled way over the valley, then shook her head.</p> + +<p>"There are two others," she said. "But they will not follow us, +<i>Sakewawin</i>. If they should, we shall be over the mountain."</p> + +<p>She braided her hair as he adjusted his pack. His heart was like a +boy's. He laughed at her in joyous disapproval.</p> + +<p>"I like to see it—unbound," he said. "It is beautiful. Glorious."</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that all the blood in her body leaped into her face at +his words.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then—I will leave it that way," she cried softly, her words trembling +with happiness and her fingers working swiftly in the silken plaits of +her braid. Unconfined, her hair shimmered about her again. And then, as +they were about to set off, she ran up to him with a little cry, and +without touching him with her hands raised her face to his.</p> + +<p>"Kiss me," she said. "Kiss me, my <i>Sakewawin</i>!"</p> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<p>It was noon when they stood under the topmost crags of the southward +range, and under them they saw once more the green valley, with its +silvery stream, in which they had met that first day beside the great +rock. It seemed to them both a long time ago, and the valley was like a +friend smiling up at them its welcome and its gladness that they had at +last returned. Its drone of running waters, the whispering music of the +air, and the piping cries of the marmots sunning themselves far below, +came up to them faintly as they rested, and as the Girl sat in the +circle of David's arm, with her head against his breast, she pointed off +through the blue haze miles to the eastward.</p> + +<p>"Are we going that way?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He had been thinking as they had climbed up the mountain. Off there, +where she was pointing, were his friends, and hers; between them and +that wandering tribe of the totem people on the Kwadocha there were no +human beings. Nothing but the unbroken peace of the mountains, in which +they were safe. He had ceased to fear their immensity—was no longer +disturbed by the thought that in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> their vast and trackless solitude he +might lose himself forever. After what had passed, their gleaming peaks +were beckoning to him, and he was confident that he could find his way +back to the Finley and down to Hudson's Hope. What a surprise it would +be to Father Roland when they dropped in on him some day, he and Marge! +His heart beat excitedly as he told her about it, described the great +distance they must travel, and what a wonderful journey it would be, +with that glorious country at the end of it.... "We'll find your mother, +then," he whispered. They talked a great deal about her mother and +Father Roland as they made their way down into the valley, and whenever +they stopped to rest she had new questions to ask, and each time there +was that trembling doubt in her voice. "I wonder whether it's <i>true</i>." +And each time he assured her that it was.</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking that it was Nisikoos who sent to her that picture +you wanted to destroy," he said once. "Nisikoos must have known."</p> + +<p>"Then why didn't she tell me?" she flashed.</p> + +<p>"Because, it may be that she didn't want to lose you—and that she +didn't send the picture until she knew that she was not going to live +very long."</p> + +<p>The girl's eyes darkened, and then—slowly—there came back the softer +glow into them.</p> + +<p>"I loved—Nisikoos," she said.</p> + +<p>It was sunset when they began making their first camp in a cedar +thicket, where David shot a porcupine for Tara and Baree. After their +supper they sat for a while in the glow of the stars, and after that +Marge snuggled down in her cedar bed and went to sleep. But before she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +closed her eyes she put her arms about his neck and kissed him +good-night. For a long time after that he sat awake, thinking of the +wonderful dream he had dreamed all his life, and which at last had come +true.</p> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<p>Day after day they travelled steadily into the east and south. The +mountains swallowed them, and their feet trod the grass of many strange +valleys. Strange—and yet now and then David saw something he had seen +once before, and he knew that he had not lost the trail. They travelled +slowly, for there was no longer need of haste; and in that land of +plenty there was more of pleasure than inconvenience in their foraging +for what they ate. In her haste in making up the contents of the pack +Marge had seized what first came to her hands in the way of provisions, +and fortunately the main part of their stock was a 20-pound sack of +oatmeal. Of this they made bannock and cakes. The country was full of +game. In the valleys the black currants and wild raspberries were +ripening lusciously, and now and then in the pools of the lower valleys +David would shoot fish. Both Tara and Baree began to grow fat, and with +quiet joy David noticed that each day added to the wonderful beauty and +happiness in the Girl's face, and it seemed to him that her love was +enveloping him more and more, and there never was a moment now that he +could not see the glow of it in her eyes. It thrilled him that she did +not want him out of her presence for more than a few minutes at a time. +He loved to fondle her hair, and she had a sweet habit of running her +fingers through his own, and telling him each time how she loved it +be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>cause it was a little gray; and she had a still sweeter way of +holding one of his hands in hers when she was sitting beside him, and +pressing it now and then to her soft lips.</p> + +<p>They had been ten days in the mountains when, one evening, sitting +beside him in this way, she said, with that adorable and almost childish +ingenuousness which he loved in her:</p> + +<p>"It will be nice to have Father Roland marry us, <i>Sakewawin</i>!" And +before he could answer, she added: "I will keep house for you two at the +Château."</p> + +<p>He had been thinking a great deal about it.</p> + +<p>"But if your mother should live down there—among the cities?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She shivered a little, and nestled to him.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't like it, <i>Sakewawin</i>—not for long. I love <i>this</i>—the +forest, the mountains, the skies." And then, suddenly she caught +herself, and added quickly: "But anywhere—<i>anywhere</i>—if you are there, +<i>Sakewawin</i>!"</p> + +<p>"I too, love the forests, the mountains, and the skies," he whispered. +"We will have them with us always, little comrade."</p> + +<p>It was the fourteenth day when they descended the eastern slopes of the +Divide, and he knew that they were not far from the Kwadocha and the +Finley. Their fifteenth night they camped where he and the Butterfly's +lover had built a noonday fire; and this night, though it was warm and +glorious with a full moon, the Girl was possessed of a desire to have a +fire of their own, and she helped to add fuel to it until the flames +leaped high up into the shadows of the spruce, and drove them far back +with its heat. David was content to sit and smoke his pipe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> while he +watched her flit here and there after still more fuel, now a shadow in +the darkness, and then again in the full fireglow. After a time she grew +tired and nestled down beside him, spreading her hair over his breast +and about his face in the way she knew he loved, and for an hour after +that they talked in whispering voices that trembled with their +happiness. When at last she went to bed, and fell asleep, he walked a +little way out into the clear moonlight and sat down to smoke and listen +to the murmur of the valley, his heart too full for sleep. Suddenly he +was startled by a voice.</p> + +<p>"David!"</p> + +<p>He sprang up. From the shadow of a dwarf spruce half a dozen paces from +him had stepped the figure of a man. He stood with bared head, the light +of the moon streaming down upon him, and out of David's breast rose a +strange cry, as if it were a spirit he saw, and not a man.</p> + +<p>"David!"</p> + +<p>"My God—Father Roland!"</p> + +<p>They sprang across the little space between them, and their hands +clasped. David could not speak. Before he found his voice, the Missioner +was saying:</p> + +<p>"I saw the fire, David, and I stole up quietly to see who it was. We are +camped down there not more than a quarter of a mile. Come! I want you to +see...."</p> + +<p>He stopped. He was excited. And to David his face seemed many years +younger there in the moonlight, and he walked with the spring of youth +as he caught his arm and started down the valley. A strange force held +David silent, an indefinable feeling that something tremendous and +unexpected was impending. He heard the other's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> quick breath, caught the +glow in his eyes, and his heart was thrilled. They walked so swiftly +that it seemed to him only a few moments when they came to a little +clump of low trees, and into these Father Roland led David by the hand, +treading lightly now.</p> + +<p>In another moment they stood beside someone who was sleeping. Father +Roland pointed down, and spoke no word.</p> + +<p>It was a woman. The moonlight fell upon her, and shimmered in the thick +masses of dark hair that streamed about her, concealing her face. David +choked. It was his heart in his throat. He bent down. Gently he lifted +the heavy tresses, and stared into the sleeping face that was under +them—the face of the woman he had met that night on the +Transcontinental!</p> + +<p>Over him he heard a gentle whisper.</p> + +<p>"My wife, David!"</p> + +<p>He staggered back, and clutched Father Roland by the shoulders, and his +voice was almost sobbing in its excitement as he cried, whisperingly:</p> + +<p>"Then you—you are Michael O'Doone—the father of Marge—and +Tavish—Tavish...."</p> + +<p>His voice broke. The Missioner's face had gone white. They went back +into the moonlight again, so that they should not awaken the woman.</p> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<p>Out there, so close that they seemed to be in each other's arms, the +stories were told, David's first—briefly, swiftly; and when Michael +O'Doone learned that his daughter was in David's camp, he bowed his face +in his hands and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> David heard him giving thanks to his God. And then he, +also, told what had happened—briefly, too, for the minutes of this +night were too precious to lose. In his madness Tavish had believed that +his punishment was near—believed that the chance which had taken him so +near to the home of the man whose life he had destroyed was his last +great warning, and before killing himself he had written out fully his +confession for Michael O'Doone, and had sworn to the innocence of the +woman whom he had stolen away.</p> + +<p>"And even as he was destroying himself, God's hand was guiding my +Margaret to me," explained the Missioner. "All those years she had been +seeking for me, and at last she learned at Nelson House about Father +Roland, whose real name no man knew. And at almost that same time, at Le +Pas, there came to her the photograph you found on the train, with a +letter saying our little girl was alive at this place you call the Nest. +Hauck's wife sent the letter and picture to the Royal Northwest Mounted +Police, and it was sent from inspector to inspector, until it found her +at Le Pas. She came to the Château. We were gone—with you. She +followed, and we met as Metoosin and I were returning. We did not go +back to the Château. We turned about and followed your trail, to seek +our daughter. And now...."</p> + +<p>Out of the shadow of the trees there broke upon them suddenly the +anxious voice of the woman.</p> + +<p>"Napao! where are you?"</p> + +<p>"Dear God, it is the old, sweet name she called me so many years ago," +whispered Michael O'Doone. "She is awake. Come!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p> + +<p>David held him back a moment.</p> + +<p>"I will go to Marge," he said quickly. "I will wake her. And you—bring +her mother. Understand, dear Father? Bring her up there, where Marge is +sleeping...."</p> + +<p>The voice came again:</p> + +<p>"<i>Napao—Napao!</i>"</p> + +<p>"I am coming; I am coming!" cried the Missioner.</p> + +<p>He turned to David.</p> + +<p>"Yes—I will bring her—up there—to your camp."</p> + +<p>And as David hurried away, he heard the sweet voice saying:</p> + +<p>"You must not leave me alone, <i>Napao</i>—never, never, never, so long as +we live...."</p> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<p>On his knees, beside the Girl, David waited many minutes while he gained +his breath. With his two hands he crumpled her hair; and then, after a +little, he kissed her mouth, and then her eyes; and she moved, and he +caught the sleepy whisper of his name.</p> + +<p>"Wake," he cried softly. "Wake, little comrade!"</p> + +<p>Her arms rose up out of her dream of him and encircled his neck.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sakewawin</i>," she murmured. "Is it morning?"</p> + +<p>He gathered her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"Yes, a glorious day, little comrade. Wake!"</p> + + +<p class="center"><br /><br />THE END</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +<p>BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR</p> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">The Courage of Captain Plum<br /> +The Honor of the Big Snows<br /> +The Gold Hunters<br /> +The Wolf Hunters<br /> +The Danger Trail<br /> +Philip Steele<br /> +The Great Lakes<br /> +Flower of the North<br /> +Isobel<br /> +Kazan<br /> +God's Country—and the Woman<br /> +The Hunted Woman<br /> +The Grizzly King<br /> +Baree, Son of Kazan</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's notes:</h3> + +<p>Punctuation normalized.</p> + +<p>Corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. +Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Courage of Marge O'Doone, by +James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE *** + +***** This file should be named 17745-h.htm or 17745-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/7/4/17745/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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