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diff --git a/23662.txt b/23662.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..07ecf8b --- /dev/null +++ b/23662.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15113 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Heart of Unaga, by Ridgwell Cullum + +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 Heart of Unaga + +Author: Ridgwell Cullum + +Release Date: November 30, 2007 [EBook #23662] +Last Updated: January 14, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HEART OF UNAGA *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE HEART OF UNAGA + + BY RIDGWELL CULLUM + +AUTHOR OF "_The Triumph of John Kars_," "_The Law Breakers_," "_The Way +of the Strong_," _etc._ + + +A. L. BURT COMPANY +Publishers New York + +Published by arrangement with G. P. Putnam's Sons + +COPYRIGHT, 1920 +BY RIDGWELL CULLUM + +Made in the United States of America + +The Knickerbocker Press, New York + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PART I + + I.--JULYMAN TELLS OF THE "SLEEPER" INDIANS + + II.--THE PASSING OF A DREAM + + III.--THE GOING OF STEVE + + IV.--UNAGA + + V.--MARCEL BRAND + + VI.--AN-INA + + VII.--THE HARVEST OF WINTER + + VIII.--BIG CHIEF WANAK-AHA + + IX.--THE VISION OF THE SPIRE + + X.--THE RUSH OUTFIT + + XI.--STEVE LISTENS + + XII.--REINDEER + + XIII.--"ADRESOL" + + XIV.--MALLARD'S + + XV.--THE SET COURSE + + +PART II + + I.--AFTER FOURTEEN YEARS + + II.--THE SPRING OF LIFE + + III.--MANHOOD + + IV.--KEEKO + + V.--A DUEL + + VI.--THE KING OF THE FOREST + + VII.--SUMMER DAYS + + VIII.--THE HEART OF THE WILDERNESS + + IX.--THE CLOSE OF THE SEASON + + X.--THE FAREWELL + + XI.--THROUGH THE EYES OF A WOMAN + + XII.--KEEKO RETURNS HOME + + XIII.--THE FAITH OF MEN + + XIV.--THE VALLEY OF DREAMS + + XV.--THE HEART OF UNAGA + + XVI.--KEEKO AND NICOL + + XVII.--THE DEVOTION OF A GREAT WOMAN + + XVIII.--THE VIGIL + + XIX.--THE STORE-HOUSE + + XX.--THE HOME-COMING + + XXI.--THE GREAT REWARD + + + + +The Heart of Unaga + + + + +PART I + + + + +CHAPTER I + +JULYMAN TELLS OF THE "SLEEPER" INDIANS + + +Steve Allenwood raked the fire together. A shower of sparks flew up and +cascaded in the still air of the summer night. A moment later his +smiling eyes were peering through the thin veil of smoke at the two +dusky figures beyond the fire. They were Indian figures, huddled down on +their haunches, with their moccasined feet in dangerous proximity to the +live cinders strewn upon the ground. + +"Oh, yes?" he said. "And you guess they sleep all the time?" + +The tone of his voice was incredulous. + +"Sure, boss," one of the Indians returned, quite unaffected by the tone. +The other Indian remained silent. He was in that happy condition between +sleep and waking which is the very essence of enjoyment to his kind. + +Inspector Allenwood picked up a live coal in his bare fingers. He +dropped it into the bowl of his pipe. Then, after a deep inhalation or +two, he knocked it out again. + +"'Hibernate'--eh? That's how we call it," he said presently. Then he +shook his head. The smile had passed out of his eyes. "No. It's a dandy +notion. But--it's not true. They'd starve plumb to death. You see, +Julyman, they're human folks--the same as we are." + +The flat denial of his "boss" was quite without effect upon Julyman. +Oolak, beside him, roused himself sufficiently to turn his head and +blink enquiry at him. He was a silent creature whose admiration for +those who could sustain prolonged talk was profound. + +"All same, boss, that so," Julyman protested without emotion. "Him same +like all men. Him just man, squaw, pappoose. All same him +sleep--sleep--sleep, when snow comes," Julyman sucked deeply at his pipe +and spoke through a cloud of tobacco smoke. "Julyman not lie. Oh, no. +Him all true. When Julyman young man--very young--him father tell him of +Land of Big Fire. Him say all Indian man sleeping--so." He leant over +sideways, with his hands pressed together against his cheek to +illustrate his meaning. "Him father say this. Him say when snow come All +Indian sleep. One week--two week. Then him wake--so." He stretched +himself, giving a great display of a weary half-waking condition. "Him +sit up. The food there by him, an' he eat--eat plenty much. Then him +drink. An' bimeby him drink the spirit stuff again. Bimeby, too, him +roll up in blanket. Then him sleep some more. One week--two week. So. +An' bimeby winter him all gone. Oh, him very wise man. Him no work lak +hell same lak white man. No. Him sleep--sleep all him winter. An' when +him wake it all sun, an' snow all gone. All very much good. Indian man +him go out. Him hunt the caribou. Him fish plenty good. Him kill much +seal. Make big trade. Oh, yes. Plenty big trade. So him come plenty old +man. No him die young. Only very old. Him much wise man." + +The white man smiled tolerantly. He shrugged. + +"Guess you got a nightmare, Julyman," he said. "Best turn over." + +Steve had nothing to add. He knew his scouts as he knew all other +Indians in the wide wilderness of the extreme Canadian north. These +creatures were submerged under a mental cloud of superstition and +mystery. He had no more reason to believe the story of "hibernating" +Indians than he had for believing the hundred and one stories of Indian +folklore he had listened to in his time. + +Julyman, too, considered the subject closed. He had said all he had to +say. So the spasm of talk was swallowed up by the silence of the summer +night. + +The fire burned low, and was replenished from the wood pile which stood +between the two teepees standing a few yards away in the shadow of the +bush which lined the trail. These men, both white and coloured, had the +habit of the trail deeply ingrained in them. But then, was it not their +life, practically the whole of it? Stephen Allenwood was a police +officer who represented the white man's law in a district as wide as a +good-sized European country, and these scouts were his only assistants. + +They were at headquarters now enjoying a brief respite from the endless +trail which claimed all their life and energies. And such was the nature +of their work, and so absorbing the endless struggle of it, that their +focus of holiday-making was little better than sitting over a camp-fire +at night smoking, and occasionally talking, and waiting for the call of +nature summoning them to their blankets. + +It was a wonderful night, still and calm, and with a radiance of +starlight overhead. There was the busy hum of insect life from the +adjacent woods, a deep murmur from the sluggish tide of the great +Caribou River which drained the country for miles around. The occasional +sigh that floated upon the air spoke of lofty pine crests bending under +a light top breeze which refrained from disturbing the lower air. The +night left the impression of unbreakable peace, of human content, and a +world where elemental storms were unknown. + +But the impression was misleading, as are all such impressions in +nature's wild, and where the human heart beats strongly. There was no +content in the grey eyes of the white man as he sat gazing into the +heart of the fire. Then, too, not one of them but knew the cruel moods +of the great Northland. + +A wonderful companionship existed between these men. It was something +more than the companionship of the long trail. They had fought the +battle of life together for eight long years, enduring perils and +hardships which had brought them an understanding and mutual regard +which no difference in colour, or education could lessen. For all the +distinction of the police officer's rank and his white man's learning, +for all the Indians were dark-skinned, uncultured products of the great +white outlands, they were three friends held by bonds which only the +hearts of real men could weld. + +The territory over which Steve Allenwood exercised his police control +was well-nigh limitless from a "one-man" point of view. From his +headquarters, which lay within the confines of the Allowa Indian Reserve +on the Caribou River, it reached away to the north as far as the Arctic +Circle. To the west, only the barrier of the great McKenzie River marked +its limits. To the south, there was nothing beyond the Reserve claiming +his official capacity, except the newly grown township of Deadwater, two +miles away. Eastwards? Well, East was East. So far as Inspector +Allenwood knew his district had no limits in that direction, unless it +were the rugged coast line of the Hudson's Bay itself. + +His task left Steve Allenwood without complaint. It was never his way to +complain. Doubtless there were moments in his life when he realized the +overwhelming nature of it all. But he no more yielded to it than he +would yield to the overwhelming nature of a winter storm. That was the +man. Patient; alive with invincible courage and dispassionate +determination. Square, calm, strong, like the professional gambler he +always seemed to have a winning card to play at the right moment. And +none knew better than his scouts how often that card had meant the +difference between a pipe over the warm camp-fire and the cold comfort +of an icy grave. + +Julyman was troubled at the unease he observed in the white man's eyes. +It had been there on and off for some days now. It had been there more +markedly earlier in the evening when the white man had helped his girl +wife into the rig in which Hervey Garstaing, the Indian Agent, was +driving Dr. and Mrs. Ross, and their two daughters, to the dance which +was being given down at the township by the bachelors of Deadwater. +Since then the look had deepened, and Julyman, in spite of his best +efforts, had failed to dispel it. Even his story of a race of +"hibernating" Indians had been without effect. + +But Julyman did not accept defeat easily. And presently he removed the +foul pipe from his thin lips, and spat with great accuracy into the +heart of the fire. + +"Bimeby she come," he said, in his low, even tones, while his black, +luminous eyes were definitely raised to the white man's face. "Oh, yes. +Bimeby she come. An' boss then him laff lak hell. Julyman know. Julyman +have much squaw. Plenty." + +Steve started. For a moment he stared. Then his easy smile crept into +his steady eyes again and he nodded. + +"Sure," he said. "Bimeby she come. Then I laff--like hell." + +Julyman's sympathy warmed. He felt he had struck the right note. His +wide Indian face lit with an unusual smile. + +"Missis, him young. Very much young," he observed profoundly. "Him lak +dance plenty--heap. It good. Very good. Bimeby winter him come. Cold lak +hell. Missis no laff. Missis not go out. Boss him by the long trail. So. +Missis him sit. Oh yes. Him sit with little pappoose. No dance. No +nothin'. Only snow an' cold--lak hell." + +This time the man's effort elicited a different response. Perhaps he had +over-reached. Certainly the white man's eyes had lost the look that had +inspired the Indian. They were frowning. It was the cold frown of +displeasure. Julyman knew the look. He understood it well. So he went no +further. Instead he spat again into the fire and gave himself up to a +luxurious hate of Hervey Garstaing, the Indian Agent, whom all Indians +hated. + +Julyman was only a shade removed from his original savagery. There were +times when he was not removed from savagery at all. This was such a +moment. For he abandoned himself to the silent contemplation of a vision +of the heart of the Indian Agent roasting over the fire before him. It +was stuck on the cleaning-rod of his own rifle like a piece of bread to +be toasted. Furthermore his was the hand holding the cleaning-rod. He +would willingly throw the foul heart to the camp dogs--when it was +properly cooked. + +His vision was suddenly swept away by a sound which came from somewhere +along the trail in the direction of Deadwater. There was a faint, +indistinct blur of voices. There was also the rattle of wheels, and the +sharp clip of horses' hoofs upon the hard-beaten road. He instinctively +turned his head in the direction. And as he did so Steve Allenwood stood +up. Just for a moment the white man stood gazing down the shadowed +trail. Then he moved off in the direction of his four-roomed log house. + +Left alone the Indians remained at the fireside; Oolak--the +silent--indifferent to everything about him except the pleasant warmth +of the fire; Julyman, on the contrary, angrily alert. He was listening +to the sounds which grew momentarily louder and more distinct. And with +vicious relish he had already distinguished Hervey Garstaing's voice +amongst the rest. It was loud and harsh. How he hated it. How its tones +set the dark blood in his veins surging to his head. + +"Why sure," he heard him say, "the boys did it good. They're bright +boys." + +In his crude fashion the scout understood that the Agent was referring +to the evening's entertainment. It was the soft voice of Mrs. Ross which +replied, and Julyman welcomed the sound. All Indians loved the "med'cine +woman," as they affectionately called the doctor's wife. + +"It was the best party we've had in a year," she cried enthusiastically. +"You wouldn't have known old Abe's saloon from a city hall at Christmas +time, with its decorations and its "cuddle-corners" all picked out with +Turkey red and evergreens. And you girls! My! you had a real swell time. +There were boys enough and to spare for you all. And they weren't the +sort to lose much time either. The lunch was real elegant, too, with the +oysters and the claret cup. My! it certainly was a swell party." + +The wagon had drawn considerably nearer. The quick ears of the Indian +had no difficulty with the language of the white folk. His main source +of interest was the identity of those who were speaking. And, in +particular, he was listening for one voice which he had not as yet been +able to distinguish. Hervey Garstaing seemed to do most of the talking. +And how he hated the sound of that voice. + +"Why, say, Dora," he heard him exclaim in good-natured protest, as the +outline of the team loomed up out of the distance. "I don't guess Mrs. +Allenwood and I sat out but two dances. Ain't that so, Nita?" + +Julyman's ears suddenly pricked. He may have been an uncultured savage, +but he was a man, and very human. And the subtle inflection, as the +Agent addressed himself to Steve Allenwood's wife, was by no means lost +upon him. + +"Three!" + +The answer came in chorus from the two daughters of the doctor. And it +came with a giggle. + +"Oh, if you're going to count a supper 'extra,' why--Anyway what's three +out of twenty-seven. There's no kick coming to that. Guess a feller +would be all sorts of a fool----" + +"If he didn't take all that's coming his way at a dance," broke in the +doctor's genial voice, with a laugh. + +The wagon was abreast of him, and Julyman's eyes were studiously +concerned with the glowing heart of the fire. But nothing escaped them. +Nothing ever did escape them. He closely scanned the occupants of the +wagon. Dr. and Mrs. Ross were in the back seat, and their two daughters +were facing them. Hervey Garstaing was driving, and Nita Allenwood was +sitting beside him. It was all just as it had been earlier in the +evening when he had seen them set out for Deadwater. + +Oh, yes. It was all the same--with just a shade of difference. Nita was +sitting close--very close to the teamster. She was sitting much closer +than when Steve, earlier in the evening had tucked the rug about her to +keep the chill summer evening air from penetrating the light dancing +frock she was wearing. They were both tucked under one great buffalo +robe now. It was a robe he knew to be Hervey Garstaing's. + +As the vehicle passed the fire Dr. Ross flung a genial greeting at the +two Indians. Julyman responded with a swift raising of his eyes, and one +of his broad, unfrequent smiles. Then, as the wagon passed, his eyes +dropped again to the fire. + +He knew. Oh, yes, he knew. Had he not sat with many squaws who seemed +desirable in his eyes? Yes, he had sat just so. Close. Oh, very close. +Yes, he was glad his boss had taken himself off. Maybe he was looking +down into the depths of the basket which held the little white pappoose +back there in his home. It was good to look at the little pappoose when +there was trouble at the back of a father's eyes. It made the trouble +much better. How he hated the white man, Hervey Garstaing. + + * * * * * + +For once Julyman's instincts were at fault. He had read the meaning of +Steve Allenwood's sudden departure in the light of his own +interpretation of the trouble he had seen in the man's grey eyes. He was +entirely wrong. + +Steve had heard the approaching wagon, and he knew that his wife and the +other folk were returning from the dance. But almost at the same instant +he had detected the sound of horses' hoofs in an opposite direction. It +was in the direction of his home. Julyman had missed the latter in his +absorbed interest in the return of these folk from Deadwater. + +Steve reached the log home in the bluff at the same moment as a horseman +reined up at his door. The man in the saddle leant over, peering into +the face of the Inspector. The darkness left him uncertain. + +"Deadwater post?" he demanded abruptly. + +Steve had recognized the man's outfit. The brown tunic and side-arms, +the prairie hat, and the glimpse of a broad yellow stripe on the side of +the riding breeches just where the man's leather chapps terminated on +his hips. These things were all sufficient. + +"Sure." + +"Inspector Allenwood, sir?" + +The man's abrupt tone had changed to respectful inquiry. + +"I'm your man, Corporal." + +The Corporal flung out of the saddle. + +"Sorry I didn't rec'nize you, sir," he said saluting quickly. "It's +pretty dark. It's a letter from the Superintendent--urgent." He drew a +long, blue envelope from his saddle wallets and passed it to his +superior. "Maybe you can direct me to the Indian Agent, Major Garstaing, +sir. I got a letter for him." + +Steve Allenwood glanced up from the envelope he had just received. + +"Sure. Best cut through the bluff. There's a trail straight through +brings you to his house. It's mostly a mile and a half. Say, you'll need +supper. Get right along back when you've finished with him. When did you +start out?" + +"Yesterday morning, sir." + +The Inspector whistled. + +"Fifty miles a day. You travelled some." + +The Corporal patted his steaming horse's neck. + +"He's pretty tough, is old Nigger, sir," he said, with quiet pride. "Mr. +McDowell wanted me to pick up a horse at Beaufort last night, but I +wouldn't have done any better. Nigger can play the game a week without a +worry. Guess I'll get on, sir, and make back after awhile. That the +barn, sir?" he went on, pointing at a second log building a few yards +from the house, as he swung himself into the saddle again. "I won't need +supper. I had that ten miles back on the trail. I off-saddled at an +Indian lodge where they lent me fire to boil my tea." + +Steve nodded. + +"Very well, Corporal. There's blankets here in the office when you come +back. This room, here," he added, throwing open the door. "I'll set a +lamp for you. There's feed and litter for your plug at the barn. Rub him +down good." + +"Thank you, sir." + +The man turned his horse and headed away for the trail through the +bluff, and Steve watched him go. Nor could he help a feeling of +admiration for the easy, debonair disregard of difficulties and hardship +which these men of his own force displayed in the execution of their +work. In his utter unself-consciousness he was quite unaware that +wherever the police were known his own name was a household word for +these very things which he admired in another. + +He passed into his office and lit the lamp. Then he seated himself at +the simple desk where his official reports were made out. It was a +plain, whitewood table, and his office chair was of the hard Windsor +type. + +He tore open his letter and glanced at its contents. It was from his own +immediate superior, Superintendent McDowell, and dated at Fort Reindeer. +It was quite brief and unilluminating. It was a simple official order to +place himself entirely at the disposal of Major Hervey Garstaing, the +Indian Agent of the Allowa Indian Reserve--who was receiving full +instructions from the Indian Commissioner at Ottawa--on a matter which +came under his department. + +He read the letter through twice. He was about to read it for a third +time, but laid it aside. Instead he rose from the table and moved +towards the door as the wagon from Deadwater drew up outside. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE PASSING OF A DREAM + + +Steve and his wife were in the parlour of their little home. It was the +home which Steve had had built to replace his bachelor shanty, and which +together they had watched grow, and over the furnishing of which they +had spent hours of profound thought and happy discussions. + +The office was entirely separate, that is, it had its own entrance door +and no communication with the rest. The private quarters consisted of +three rooms. The parlour, a bedroom for Steve and Nita, and, leading out +of the latter, a small apartment sacred to the tiny atom of humanity +which they had christened Coqueline, and whom the man, from the moment +his eyes had been permitted to gaze upon her, some fifteen months +earlier, regarded as the most perfect, wonderful, priceless treasure in +the world. Beyond this, a simple lean-to kitchen provided all they +needed for their creature comfort. + +It was all characteristic of the Northern world. The walls were of +lateral logs, and the roof was of a similar material, while the entire +interior was lined with red pine match-boarding. It was strong, and +square, and proof against the fiercest storm that ever blew off the +Arctic ice, which was all sufficient in a country where endurance was +man's chief concern. + +Nita was seated in the rocking-chair which Steve had set ready for her +beside the stove, whose warmth was welcome enough even on a summer +night. She was sipping a cup of steaming coffee which he had also +prepared. But there was nothing of the smiling delight in her eyes which +the memory of her evening's entertainment should have left there. + +The man himself was standing. He was propped against the square table +under the window. He was smoking, and watching the girl wife he idolized +as she silently munched the slice of layer cake which he had passed her. +He was wondering if the long-expected, and long-feared moment of crisis +in their brief married life had arrived. He had watched its approach for +weeks. And he knew that sooner or later it must be faced. He was even +inclined to force it now, for such was his way. Trouble was in her eyes, +and he felt certain of its nature. Nita was not made of the stuff that +could withstand the grind of the dour life of the Northland which he +loved. + +They had been married about three years and Nita had as yet spoken no +actual word of complaint. But the complaint was there at the back of her +pretty eyes. It had been there for months now. Steve had watched it +grow. And its growth had been rapid enough with the passing of the first +months of the delirious happiness which had been theirs, and which had +culminated in the precious arrival of their little daughter Coqueline. + +"Guess you must have had a real good time," Steve said, by way of +breaking the prolonged silence. + +For reply the girl only nodded. + +The contrast between them was strongly marked. Nita was +pretty--extremely pretty, and looked as out of place in this land she +was native to as Steve looked surely a part of it. But her charm was of +that purely physical type which gains nothing from within. Her eyes +were wide, child-like, and of a deep violet. Her hair was fair and +softly wavy. Her colouring had all the delicacy which suggested the +laying on by an artist's brush, and which no storm or sun seemed to have +power to destroy. Her slight figure possessed all those perfect contours +which are completely irresistible in early youth. Furthermore these +things were supported to the utmost by the party frock she was wearing, +and over which she had spent weeks of precious thought and labour. + +Steve was of the trail. Face and body were beaten hard with the endless +struggle of it all. His rough clothing, which had no relation to the +smart Inspector's uniform he was entitled to wear, bore witness to the +life that claimed him. His only claim to distinction was the sanity and +strength that looked out of his steady grey eyes, the firmness and +decision of his clean-shaven lips, and his broad, sturdy body with its +muscles of iron. + +"You'll be tired, too," he went on kindly. "You'd best get to bed when +you've had a warm. I'll fix the chores." + +He moved from his position at the table, and, passing out into the +lean-to kitchen, returned a moment later with a small saucepan which he +placed on the shining top of the stove. + +"Mrs. Ross seems to figure it was all sorts of a swell party," he went +on. "She guesses the boys must have worried themselves to death fixing +Abe's saloon so it didn't look like--Abe's saloon." + +The man's smile was gently humorous. For once he had not the courage to +pursue the downright course which his nature prompted. Little Coqueline +was foremost in his thoughts. Then there was the memory of all the +happiness his home meant to him, and he feared that which undue +precipitancy might bring about. + +The girl looked up from the stove. Her eyes abandoned their intense +regard with seeming reluctance. + +"It was all--wonderful. Just wonderful," she said in the tone of one +roused from a beautiful dream. + +"Abe's saloon?" + +Steve's incautious satire suddenly precipitated the crisis he feared. +The girl's eyes flashed a hot look of resentment. He was laughing at +her. She was in no mood to be made sport of, or to have her words made +sport of. She sat up with a start and leant forward in her chair in an +attitude that gave force to her sharp enquiry. + +"And why not?" she demanded, her violet eyes darkening under the frown +of swift anger which drew her pretty brows together. "Why not Abe's +saloon, or--or any other place?" She set her coffee cup on the floor +with a clatter, and her hands clasped the arms of her chair as though +she were about to spring to her feet. "Yes," she continued, with +increasing heat, "why not Abe's saloon? It's not the place. It's not the +folk, even. Those things don't matter. It's the thing itself. The whole +thing. The glimpse of life when you're condemned to existence on this +fierce outworld. It's the meaning of it. A dance. It doesn't sound much. +Maybe it doesn't mean a thing to you but something to laugh at, or to +sneer at. It's different to me, and to other folks, who--who aren't +crazy for the long trail and the terrible country we're buried in. The +decorations. The flags. Yes, the cheap Turkey red, and the fiddler's +music--a half-breed fiddler--and the music of a pianist who spends most +of his time getting sober. The folks who are all different from what we +see them every day. Tough, hard-living, hard-swearing men all hidden up +in their Sunday suits, and handing you ceremony as if you were some +queen. Then the sense of pleasure in every heart, with all the cares and +troubles of life pushed into the background--at least for a while. These +things are a glimpse of life to us poor folk who spend all our years in +the endless chores of an inhospitable country. You can smile, Steve. You +can sneer at Abe's saloon. But I tell you you haven't a right to just +because these things don't mean a thing to you. There's nothing means +anything to you but your work----" + +"And my wife, and my kiddie, and my--home." + +The man's deep voice broke in sharply upon the light, strident tones of +the angry girl. He spoke while he stirred the contents of the saucepan +he had placed on the stove. But the interruption only seemed to add fuel +to the girl's volcanic flood of bitter feeling. A laugh was the prompt +retort he received. + +"Your wife. Oh, yes, I know. You'd have her around all the time in her +home, slaving at the chores that would break the spirit of a galley +slave. Oh, it's no use pretending. It's got to come out. It's here," she +rushed on, pressing her hands hysterically against her softly rounded +bosom. "The dream is past. All dreams are past. I'm awake now--to this," +she indicated the room about her, simple almost to bareness in its +furnishing, with a gesture of indescribable feeling. "It's all I've got +to waken to. All I've got to look forward to. I've tried to tell myself +there's a good time coming, when I can peer into the great light world, +and snatch something of the joy of it all. I've tried, I've tried. But +there isn't. It's the cold drear of this northland. It's chores from +daylight to dark, and all the best years of life hurrying behind me as +if they were yearning to make me old before I can get a chance to--live. +I'm sick thinking. Show me. What is there? You're an Inspector, and we +get a thousand dollars a year, and the rations we draw from the Indian +Agency. You'll never get a Superintendent. You've no political pull, +shut off up here well nigh in sight of the Arctic ice. I'm twenty-two +with years and years of it before me, and all the time I'll need to go +on counting up my cents how I can get through till next pay-day comes +around. Don't talk to me of your wife." + +The injustice of the girl's unreasoning complaint was staggering. But it +smote the heart of the man no less for that. Whatever his inward +feelings, however, outwardly he gave no sign. He did not even raise his +eyes from the saucepan he was stirring with so much deliberation and +care. + +"You're wrong, little girl," he said with quiet emphasis, and without +one shadow of the emotion that was stirring behind the words. "You're +dead wrong. You've got all those things before you. The things you're +crazy for. And when they come along I guess they'll be all the sweeter +for the waiting, all the better for the round of chores you're hating +now, all the more welcome for the figgering you need to do now with the +cents we get each month. You don't know how I stand with Ottawa. I do. +There's just two years between me and the promotion you reckon I can't +get. That's not a long time. Then we move to a big post where you can +get all the dancing you need, and that won't be in Abe's saloon. You +know that when my old father goes--and I'm not yearning for him to +go--he'll pass me all he has, which is fifty thousand dollars and his +swell farm in Ontario." + +He paused and dipped out some of the contents of the saucepan in the +spoon he was stirring it with. He tested its temperature. Then he went +on with his preparations. + +"Is there a reasonable kick coming to any woman in those things?" he +demanded. "You knew most of what I'm telling you now when you guessed +you loved me enough to marry me, and to help me along the road I'd +marked out. Have I done a thing less than I promised?" he went on +passing back to the table and picking up the glass bottle lying there, +and removing its top. "If I have just tell me, and I'll do all I +know--" He shook his head. "It's all unreasonable. Maybe you're tired. +Maybe----" + +"It isn't unreasonable," Nita cried sharply. "That's how men always say +to a woman when they can't understand. I tell you I'm sick with the +hopelessness of it all. You aren't sure of your promotion. You haven't +got it yet. And maybe your father will live another twenty years. Oh, +God, to think of another twenty years of this. Do you know you're away +from home nine months out of twelve? Do you know that more than half my +time I spend guessing if you're alive or dead? And all the time the +grind of the work. The same thing day after day without relief." She +watched the man as he poured the contents of the saucepan into the +bottle, and her eyes were hot with the state of hysterical anger she had +worked herself into. "Oh," she cried with a helpless, despairing +gesture, as Steve returned the saucepan to the table. "I'm sick of it +all. I hate it all, when I think of what life could be. The thought of +it drives me mad. I hate everything. I hate myself. I hate----" + +"Stop it!" + +Steve thrust the stopper into the neck of the bottle. He had turned. His +steady eyes were sternly compelling. They were shining with a light Nita +had never witnessed in them before. She suddenly became afraid. And her +silence was instant and complete. She sat breathlessly waiting. + +"I've done with this fool talk," Steve cried almost roughly. "I've +listened to too much already. I'm not figgering to let you break things +between us. There's more than you and me in it. There's that poor +little kiddie in the other room. Say, I've seen this coming. I've seen +it coming--weeks. I've seen a whole heap that hurts a man that loves his +wife, and guesses he wants to see her happy. I've seen what isn't good +for a father to see, either. You've told me the things you guess you +feel, and now I'm going to tell you the things I feel. You reckon the +things I say about your good time coming are hot air. They're not. But +you've got to get fool notions out of your head, and work for the things +you want, the same as I reckon to. I'm out to make good--for you. +Understand, for you, and for little Coqueline. I'm out to make good with +all that's in me. And it don't matter a curse to me if all hell freezes +over, I'm going to make good. Get that, and get it good. It's a sort of +life-line that ought to make things easy for you. There's just one thing +that can break my play, Nita. Only one. It's your weakening. It's up to +me to see you don't weaken. You need to take hold of the notion we're +partners in this thing. And don't forget I'm senior partner, and my word +goes. Just now my word is kind of simple. If you don't feel like +carrying on for me, you need to remember there's our little Coqueline. +She's part of you. She's part of me. And she's got a claim on you that +no human law can ever rob her of. Well, the proposition between us has +two sides. My side means the trail, and the job that's mine. I need to +face it with a clear head, and an easy mind. My side means I got to get +busy with every nerve in my body to get you an ultimate good time, and +see you get all you need to make you good an' happy. That's the one +purpose I dream about. Maybe your side's different. But I don't guess +it's any easier. You've got to wait around till those things come along. +But you've got more to do than that. You've got to play this old game +right. Your work's by this home. It don't matter if it's winter or +summer, if it's storming or sunshine. You've got to do the chores you're +guessing you hate, and you need to do them right, and willingly. We're +man and wife. And these chores are yours by all the laws of God, and the +Nature that made you the mother of our little Coqueline. You've got to +cut this crazy notion for fool pleasures right out, till the pleasure +time comes around. That time isn't yet. The woman who lets her child and +her home suffer for joy notions isn't worth the room she'll take in hell +later. Well, see and get busy, and let's have no more fool talk and +crazy notions. Here, take this," he went on, in his deliberate, forceful +way, thrusting the baby's feeding bottle into the girl's hands. "That's +the kiddie's feed. Guess I fixed it because--well, maybe because you're +tired. Take it to her. Give it to her. And, as long as you live don't +you ever forget she's the right to your love, and to my love, and every +darn thing we know to make things right for her." + +The force of the man was irresistible. It was something the girl had +never witnessed before. She had only known the husband, devoted, gentle, +almost yielding in his great love. The man that had finished talking now +was the man Julyman regarded above all others. + +Nita took the bottle thrust into her hands, and, without a word, she +rose from her chair and passed into the bedroom which the baby's room +adjoined. + +Steve watched her go. His hungry eyes followed her every movement. His +heart was torn by conflicting emotions. His love told him that he had +been harsh almost to brutality, but his sense warned him he had taken +the only course which could hope to achieve the peace and happiness +which was Nita's right as well as his own. + +He had meant to fight for these things as he would fight on the trail +against the forces of Nature seeking to overwhelm him. He would yield +nothing. For all his words had cost him he was conscious of the +rightness of the course he had taken. But he was fighting a battle in +which forces were arrayed against him of which he was wholly unaware. + +As Nita passed into the bedroom the sound of footsteps outside broke the +silence of the room. A moment later he turned in response to a knock on +his door. + + * * * * * + +Ten minutes later Steve was seated at the desk in his office. He was in +the company of Major Hervey Garstaing, the Indian Agent. The Corporal, +from Reindeer, was already rolled up in the blankets which were spread +out in the corner of the room. His work had been accomplished. He was +physically weary. And, judging by the sound of his regular breathing, +Nature had claimed her own the moment his head had touched the carefully +folded overcoat which served him for a pillow. + +The bare severity of the room was uninviting. There was little display +in the work of the police. Utility and purpose was the keynote of their +lives and at the year's end the tally of work accomplished was the thing +that mattered. + +Steve preferred to receive the Indian Agent in his office. Garstaing had +never been an intimate of his. Their relations were official, and just +sufficiently neighbourly for men who lived within two miles of each +other in a country where human companionship was at a premium. + +The office table stood between them. The spare chair beyond the desk +always stood ready for a visitor, and Garstaing had accepted it. Steve +had moved the oil lamp on one side, that their view of each other might +be uninterrupted. + +They were both smoking, and Garstaing was doing the talking. At all +times Steve preferred that his visitors should do most of the talking. + +"I guessed I best come right along," he said, regarding the other +closely. "You see, I'll be handin' out Treaty Money to the darn neches +to-morrow morning. It'll take me best part of the day." He removed the +pipe from his rather wide mouth, and held it poised significantly. "This +thing won't stand keeping. It's--murder. There's two of 'em, I guess. +Traders. Marcel Brand and his partner, Cyrus Allshore. Those are +the names. Can't say I've heard of 'em before. Both of 'em +dead--murdered--up there somewhere around the Unaga country. It's the +Indians or Eskimo, whatever they are, who've done it." + +"Yes." + +Steve's gaze was directed searchingly at his visitor's good-looking +face. At the moment it almost seemed as if he were regarding the man +rather than his mission. And Garstaing was a somewhat interesting +personality. It should have been a pleasant personality, if looks were +any real indication. Garstaing was distinctly handsome. He was dark, and +his swift-moving dark eyes looked always to be ready to smile. Then he +possessed a superbly powerful body. But the threatened smile rarely +matured, and when it did it added nothing of a pleasant nature for the +student of psychology. + +In age the two men were well matched, but they had little else in +common. Garstaing's reputation, at least amongst men, was not a happy +one. He was known to be a hard drinker. He was hot-headed and +pleasure-loving. Furthermore he was given to an overbearing intolerance, +in the indulgence of which his position as Indian Agent yielded him wide +scope. + +He ruled the Indians with an iron hand, and for all the stories of his +cruelty and complete unscrupulousness which reached beyond the confines +of the reserve and the bitter hatred of the Indians he remained complete +master of the situation. + +There was little enough which Steve had not heard of the unsavouriness +of this man's administration. He by no means gave credence to all of it, +but it was not without effect upon his personal attitude towards him. + +"I'm not wise to your instructions," Garstaing went on as Steve offered +no further comment, "but mine are pretty clear, and they are straight +from my Commissioner." + +"I've to place myself entirely at your disposal." + +Steve's reply came without any hesitation. His tone suggested unconcern. +Garstaing's dark eyes snapped. Then they smiled their approval. It was +that smile which added nothing pleasant to his personality. + +"I guessed it was that way from the instructions they handed me," he +said. Then he withdrew a bunch of papers from an inner pocket, and +opened them, and selected a particular sheet. "Here it is," he said, and +promptly read out an extract from the letter. "'You will at once place +yourself in touch with the police in your district, and see that the +whole matter is investigated--forthwith.'" + +He glanced up as he uttered the final word. + +"You know what that means?" he enquired, searching the eyes that were so +profoundly observing him across the table. + +Steve nodded. + +"Sure." + +"It means you'll have to make the Unaga country right away." + +"Sure." + +Again came Steve's monosyllabic agreement. + +"It means one hell of a long trip," the Agent went on. + +"Two years." + +The simple finality of the police officer's reply left the other +speechless for the moment. The tone of it amazed him. He had hastened +across from the Agency directly he had received the Corporal's dispatch, +not because he had to pay out Treaty Money in the morning, not because +the whole matter would not keep even a week if necessary. Instantly on +reading his instructions from the Indian Commissioner all thought of the +crime to be investigated had passed out of his mind. His thoughts had +flown to Steve Allenwood, and from him they had passed on to another. A +vision of a sweet face with deep, violet eyes, and softly waving fair +hair had leapt to his mind. Furthermore he still retained the sensation +of a soft, warm hand which had been clasped within his under cover of +the friendly fur robe as he drove the wagon back from the dance at +Deadwater. + +Two years. The man had spoken with as much indifference as if he had +been contemplating a trip of two days. Garstaing drew a deep breath, +and, returning his pipe to his capacious mouth ignited a match over the +lamp chimney and re-lit it. Then, with a quick, nervous movement he +picked up a separate bunch of the papers on the table before him and +flung them across to his host. + +"There you are," he cried, "that's the whole darn official story. You +best keep it awhile, and read it. I got orders to hand you all you need. +Indians, dog-team, rations. Any old thing you fancy. But--" he paused. +His quick-moving eyes became suddenly still. They were gazing directly +into those of the husband beyond the table. "You'll need to start +out--right away." + +Steve rose from his seat with a nod. + +"I shall know when to start," he replied shortly. + +Then he raised his arms above his head and stretched himself luxuriously +while Garstaing sat watching him, endeavouring to penetrate the man's +tremendous barrier of reserve. But it remained impenetrable, and there +was nothing left for him but to comply with his host's tacit invitation. +He, too, rose from his seat. + +"You best take a copy of the story," he said, as Steve moved towards the +door. "Anyway I'll need the original later." + +He was talking because the other compelled him to talk. And because he +had that in his mind which made it impossible for him to remain silent. + +Steve opened the door and peered out. The night was brilliantly +star-lit. Garstaing was close behind him. + +"It's tough on you, Allenwood," he said in a tone intended to express +sympathy. "Two years. Gee!" + +Steve's only reply was to move aside to let him pass out. It was as +though Garstaing's expression of sympathy had at last found a weakness +in his armour of reserve. His movement had been abrupt--startlingly +abrupt. + +"So long," he said coldly. + +Just for one moment their eyes met. Steve's were frigidly non-committal. +There was neither friendliness nor dislike in them. There was no emotion +whatsoever. Garstaing's were questioning, searching, and full of an +impulse that might have meant anything. But it was the police officer +who controlled the situation, and the headstrong, intolerant Indian +Agent who was obeying. He passed out, and his "So long" came back to the +man in the doorway as the night swallowed him up. + +Steve moved back to the table. In his deliberate fashion he leant over +the lamp chimney and blew the light out. Then he passed out of the room +and closed the door gently. He paused for a moment outside, and stood +gazing in the direction which he knew Garstaing had taken. Presently he +raised one hand and passed it across his broad forehead. It remained +for a moment pressed against the skin, which had suddenly become coldly +moist. His fingers searched their way up through his abundant dark hair. +It was a movement that expressed something like helpless bewilderment. + +"Two years!" he muttered. "Two years!" + +Then his arm dropped almost nervelessly to his side. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE GOING OF STEVE + + +There are some personalities which never fail to permeate their +neighbourhood with their presence. Of such was Dr. Ian Ross. His +presence never failed to impress itself. The moment he crossed the +threshold of his home the household became aware of it. There was his +big voice, his deep-throated husky laugh. There was that strong-hearted +kindly humanity always shining in his deep-set, blue eyes. + +He had returned from his surgery at the agency for his midday meal, and +his abundant toned hail reached his wife in a remote bedroom in the +almost luxurious home which he had had set up amidst the spruce woods +lining the Deadwater trail. + +"Ho, Millie!" he cried. "Ho you, Mill!" he called again, without waiting +for any response. + +"I'll be right along, Mac," came back the cheerful reply. + +"Fine. But don't stop to change your gown, there's a good soul. Guess +it's feed time, anyway. And not so much 'Mac.' Guess I'm Ross of the +Ross of Ardairlie, which is in the Highlands of Scotland, which is part +of a small group of islands, which are dumped down in the Atlantic off +the west coast of Europe. Maybe--you've heard tell." + +The man flung his wide-brimmed hat on a side table in the hall with a +comfortable laugh. Then seating himself in a big chair, he ran his +fingers through his crisp iron-grey hair. + +He was a raw-boned, powerfully built man who seemed by nature the beau +ideal for the healing of a race of savages who regard disease as +inevitable, a visitation by the powers of evil, and something which must +be submitted to in patience lest worse befall. Almost brusque of manner, +forceful, he was as strong and kindly of heart as he was skilful. He was +a product of the best Scottish school of medicine, and one of those rare +souls whose whole desire in life is the relief of human suffering. +Fortune had favoured him very practically. He had ample private means +which enabled him to accept the paltry salary the Government offered him +to take charge of a herd of its coloured children up on the Caribou +River. Furthermore he had had the good fortune to marry a Canadian woman +whose whole heart was wrapped up in him and his life's purpose. + +So these two, with their two young children, had made their way north. +The man had set up an ample, even luxurious home on the confines of the +reserve, and they had settled down to battle with the exterminating +diseases, which, since the civilizing process set in, the Indian seems +to have become heir to. So far the battle had raged, for ten years, and +it looked likely to last far beyond Ian Ross's lifetime. + +Whatever other successes and failures he had had during that time he had +achieved an affection from his patients quite as great as the hatred +achieved by Hervey Garstaing in less than half that number of years. + +The plump round figure of Millie Ross rustled into the hall. + +"Where's Dora?" + +The man's question came without turning from the sunlit view beyond the +doorway. A wonderful stretch of undulating wood-clad country lay spread +out before him. It was a waste of virgin territory chequered with +woodland bluffs, with here and there the rigid Indian teepee poles +supporting their rawhide dwellings, peeping out from all sorts of +natural shelters. + +"Dora? Why, Dora's over with Nita Allenwood. That child spends most of +her time there now." + +Millie's cheerful, easy manner was perhaps the greatest blessing of Ian +Ross's life. Her happy good temper spoke of a perfectly healthy body, +and a mind full of a pleasant humour. + +Dr. Ross withdrew a timepiece from his pocket. + +"Now?" he cried. "Oh, you mean because of Steve's going off on the long +trail. Five days isn't it before he goes?" He chuckled in his pleasant, +tolerant fashion. "Sort of sympathetic butting in, isn't it? Guess heart +and sense never were a good team. I'd say Dora's chock full of heart." + +"And it's just as well for someone around this house to have a bunch of +heart that can feel for other folks," Millie retorted promptly. "Say, +you, Mac, there's two days past since word went round of Steve's going, +and you haven't done a thing. Not a thing but continue to make life +miserable for those poor neches who can't help themselves, and have to +spend their play time in swallowing the dope you can't make filthy +enough to please your notions of humanity." + +The man laughed up into the smiling, admonishing eyes of the woman who +meant so much to him. + +"Hell!" he cried. "What would you have me do? Isn't it my job to see +those poor devils right? Why, they'd lap up dope till you couldn't tell +'em from a New York drug store. The fouler it tastes the more surely +they come back for more. I'd say I've lengthened the sick list of this +reserve till you'd think it was a Free Hospital, and there wasn't a +healthy neche, squaw, or pappoose north of 60 deg.." + +Millie picked up the hat he had flung on the side table and hung it on a +peg of the coat rack. + +"What would I have you do?" she said, ignoring the rest of his remarks +for the thought in her mind, and coming back to his chair and resting +her plump hand on his crisp hair. "Why something else besides think of +these scalliwag Indians. I'm all worried to death about Nita Allenwood +and Steve." + +The man stirred uneasily under the caressing fingers. + +"So am I," he cried brusquely. "Well?" + +"That's just what it isn't," Millie had withdrawn her hand. She moved to +the doorway and gazed out into the sunlight. "I want to do something and +just don't know how to do it. I know you hate folks who 'slop over.' But +just think of the position. Steve's going to be away for two years, +according to his reckoning. They've sent Corporal Munday to take over +his post in his absence. What--what on earth is Nita to do in his +absence? She'll get her rations, and her pay, and all that. But--she +can't live around the post sort of keeping house for this boy--Munday. +She can't live there by herself anyway. Think of her by that shack with +her kiddie. Two years, here in a country----Besides--" + +"'Besides' nothing," exclaimed the man with that curious irritation of a +troubled mind. "Is there need of 'besides' when you think of a +good-looker girl who's barely twenty-two, with as dandy a baby as I've +ever set eyes on, and who I helped into daylight, sitting around without +her husband in a country that's peopled with white men whose morals +would disgrace a dog-wolf? Two years! Why, it makes me sweat thinking. +If that feller Steve don't see my way of looking at things I'm going to +tell him just what his parents ought to've been." + +"And what's your way of thinking, Mac?" enquired his wife with the +confidence of certain knowledge. + +"My way? My way?" the man exploded, his blue eyes widening with +incredulity. "Why, the way he's got to look. The way sense lies. That +girl and her kiddie have got to come right along here and camp with us +till the boy gets back. There's going to be no darn nonsense," he added +threateningly, as though Millie were protesting. "She's going to come +right here, where you can keep your dandy eye on her till----" + +"Eyes--plural, Mac." Millie's smile was a goodly match for the summer +day. + +The doctor flung his head back in a deep-throated guffaw. + +"Have it your own way," he cried. "One or two, they don't miss much. +Anyway, I guessed I'd put it to you before I went over to fix things +up." + +"Sure," laughed Millie comfortably. "You most generally ask my consent +before you get busy." Then, in a moment, she became serious. "But you're +right, Mac," she said. "Dora and I have been talking that way ever since +we heard. And Mabel swears she's going to write the Commissioner of +Police all she thinks about it, and that's 'some.' It's cruel sending +off a married man on a trip like that without fixing things for his +wife. You see and fix things, Mac. Nita's just as welcome as a ray of +sunshine right here with us. It's a shame! It's a wicked downright +shame! And Steve ought to know better than to stand for it. He ought +to----" + +"He can't kick." The man shook his head. "He's looking to get a +superintendentship. A kick would fix that for good. No, he's got no kick +coming. You need to understand the Police force right. It's no use +talking that way. It's the work of the force first, last, and all the +time. Everything else is nowhere, and the womenfolk, whom they +discourage, last of all. And mind you, they're right. You can't run a +family, and this hellish country at the same time. If the Police weren't +what they were it would need seventy thousand of them instead of seven +hundred to make this territory better than a sink of crime for every low +down skunk who can't keep out of penitentiary anywhere else. This thing +has me so worried I haven't appetite enough to care it's gone my feed +time by a quarter hour. Isn't Miss Prue through with the darn potatoes, +or--something?" + +Millie laughed indulgently. + +"I'll get along and see. You see, Miss Prue's a good and God-fearing +squaw, when she isn't smoking her pipe or sitting asleep over the +cook-stove. Anyway, I'll chase her up," and she bustled off in the +direction of the kitchen. + +Left to himself Ian Ross forgot entirely that he was awaiting his +dinner. His deep-set eyes were turned to the view beyond the door, and +his thoughts were still further afield. He was thinking of the pretty, +eager face he had watched at the bachelors' dance at Deadwater. He was +thinking of the men who had approached Nita with the ceremony which had +so delighted her. He was old enough and wise enough to appreciate fully +the dangers she would be confronted with in Steve's absence, dangers +which it was more than likely Steve could not realize. + +He liked Steve. For all their disparity of years a great friendship +existed between them. Steve was a man who would succeed in anything he +undertook. The doctor was sure of that. But--and this was the matter +that troubled him most--Steve had utter and complete faith in his wife, +the same as he had in all those who possessed his regard. Steve was a +man of single, simple purpose. Strong as a lion in the open battle where +the danger was apparent, but in the more subtle dangers of life he was a +child. + +Well, there were men in their world who constituted just one of those +grave subtle dangers to Steve in Steve's absence. Ian Ross shared with +everybody else the hatred of Hervey Garstaing. He had seen Garstaing and +Nita together at the dance. He had seen them together at other times. +Oh,--he had never seen anything that was not perhaps perfectly +legitimate. But he knew Hervey Garstaing better than most people at +Deadwater. He saw far more of him than he desired. And Hervey was a +good-looking man. Nita was young and full of a youthful desire for a +good time. And then Hervey was also an unscrupulous hound whom it would +have given the doctor the greatest pleasure in life to shoot. + + * * * * * + +Ian Ross laughed out loud as he strode through the woods on his way to +the police post. A thought had occurred to him which pleased his simple +mind mightily. It was not a very profound thought. And the humour of it +was difficult to detect. But it pleased him, and he had to laugh, and +when he laughed the echoes rang. It had occurred to him that it took a +man of real brain to be a perfect "damn fool." + +The inspiration of his thought was undoubtedly Steve Allenwood. Steve +Allenwood and his affairs had occupied his thoughts all the morning, and +had interfered with a due appreciation of the dinner he had just eaten. +He was perturbed, and Millie had set the match to the powder train of +his emotions and energies. His admiration for Steve was as unstinted as +his sympathy for the call that had been suddenly made on him. But he +knew Steve, and realized the difficulties that lay before him in +carrying out the programme of kindly purpose Millie and he had worked +out over their midday meal. It was this which had brought him to the +conclusion which had inspired his laugh. + +In that brief instant the complete silence of the woods about him had +been broken up in startling fashion. No shot from a rifle, no mournful +cry of timber-wolf could disturb the spell of nature like the jarring +note of the human voice. + +But it had another effect. It elicited a response no less startling to +the man who had laughed. + +"Ho you, Mac!" + +Ian Ross halted. He had recognized the voice instantly. + +"That you, Steve?" + +"Sure," came back the reply. + +Instantly the Scotsman's lack of self-consciousness became apparent. + +"How in hell did you know it was me?" + +It was the turn of the invisible police officer to laugh. + +"Guess there's only one laugh like yours north of 60 deg.--less a bull moose +can act that way." Then he went on. "Sharp to your left. I'm down here +on the creek. I was making your place and this way cuts off quite a +piece." + +Ross turned off at once and his burly figure crashed its way through the +barrier of delicate-hued spruce. A moment later he was confronting the +officer on the bank of the creek. + +Steve's smile was one of cordial welcome. + +"I was figgering to get you before you went back to the agency," he said +in explanation. + +The doctor's eyes twinkled. + +"And I was guessing to get you--before I went." + +Steve nodded. + +"We were chasing each other." + +"Which is mostly a fool stunt." + +"Mostly." + +They stood smiling into each other's eyes for a moment. + +"You were needing me--particular?" Steve enquired after a pause. + +Ross glanced down at the gurgling water of the shallow stream as it +passed over its rough gravel bed. + +"I was needing a yarn. Nothing amiss at the post? You wanted +me--particular?" + +The smile in Steve's eyes deepened. + +"No. I was needing a--yarn." + +The doctor's twinkling eyes searched the clearing. A fallen tree was +sprawling near by, with its upper boughs helping to cascade the waters +of the stream. He pointed at it. + +"Guess we don't need to wear our legs out." + +Steve laughed shortly. + +"That's where the neches beat us every time. You need to sit at a +pow-wow." + +"Sure. Their wise men sit most all the time." + +They moved over to the tree trunk, and Ross accepted the extreme base of +it and sat with his back against the up-torn roots. Steve sat astride +the trunk facing him. Then by a common impulse the men produced their +pipes. Steve's was alight first and he held a match for the other. + +"You were chasing me up?" he said. "Nothing on the Reserve?" + +"No." The doctor's pipe was glowing under the efforts of his powerful +lungs. "Most of the neches are sleeping off the dope. It's queer how +they're crazy for physic. How's Nita and the kiddie? I haven't seen +Nita since the dance." + +Steve's smile died out quite suddenly. The doctor's observant eyes lost +nothing of the change, although the sunshine on the dancing waters +seemed to absorb his whole attention. + +"Guess little Coqueline absorbs more bottles to the twenty-four hours +than you'd ever guess she was made to fit," Steve replied with a half +laugh. "She kind of reminds you of one of those African sand rivers in +the rainy season. Nita's the same as usual. She had a good time at the +dance." + +"Yes." The doctor bestirred himself and withdrew his gaze from the +tumbling waters. "You had something to say to me," he demanded abruptly, +his blue eyes squarely challenging. + +Steve nodded. A half smile lit his steady eyes. + +"Sure. And--it isn't easy." + +The Scotsman returned the half smile with interest. + +"I haven't noticed it hard for folks to talk, unless it is to tell of +their own shortcomings. Guess you aren't figgering that way. Maybe I can +help you. I'd hate to be setting out on a two years' trip and leaving +Millie to scratch around without me." + +Steve's eyes lit. + +"That's it, Doc," he said with a nod which told the other of the +emotions stirring under his calm exterior. "Two years!" He laughed +without any amusement. "It may be more, a hell of a sight. Maybe even I +won't get back. You see, you never can figger what this north country's +got waiting on you. It's up in the Unaga country. And I guess it's new +to me. I'd say it's new to anyone. It's mostly a thousand miles I've got +to make, right up somewhere on the north-west shores of Hudson's Bay." + +"A--thousand miles! It's tough." Dr. Ross shook his head. + +"An' it comes at a bad time for me," Steve went on thoughtfully. "Still, +I guess it can't be helped. You see, it's murder! Or they reckon it is. +A letter got through from Seal Bay. That's on the Hudson coast. The +Indian Department don't know where it comes from. It seems to have been +handed in by an Indian named Lupite. The folks tried to get out of him +where he came from, but I guess he didn't seem to know. Anyway he didn't +tell them. He said Unaga, and kind of indicated the north. Just the +north. Well, it isn't a heap to go on. Still, that's the way of these +things. I've got to locate the things the folks at Seal Bay couldn't +locate. It seems there's a biggish trading post way up hidden somewhere +on the plateau of Unaga. It was run by two partners, and they had a sort +of secret trade. The man at Seal Bay--Lorson Harris--reckons it's a hell +of an important trade. The names of these traders were Marcel Brand--a +chemist--and Cy Allshore, a pretty tough northern man. These fellers +used to come down and trade at Seal Bay. Well, I don't know much more +except this letter came into Seal Bay--it's written in a woman's hand +and in English--to say her husband, Marcel Brand, and this, Cy Allshore, +have been murdered. And she guesses by Indians. She don't seem dead +sure. But they've been missing over a year. I'm just handing you this so +you'll know the sort of thing I'm up against. And I've got to leave +Nita, and my little baby girl, for two years--sure." + +The kindly doctor nodded. He removed his pipe, and cleared his throat. +His eyes were alight with a ready smile that was full of sympathy. + +"Say, you haven't got to worry a thing for them that way," he said. +"It's tough leaving them. Mighty tough. I get all that. And it sort of +makes me wonder. But--Say, it's queer," he went on. "I was coming right +along over to help fix things for you. And I was scared to death +wondering how to do it without butting in. You were coming along over to +me to set the same sort of proposition, and were scared to death I'd +feel like turning you down. One of these days some bright darn fool'll +fix up mental telepathy to suit all pocket-books. It'll save us all a +deal of worry when that comes along. Now if that mental telepathy were +working right now it would be handing the things passing in your head +something like this: 'Why in hell can't that damned dope merchant, and +that dandy woman who don't know better than to waste her time being his +wife, come right along and fix something so Nita and the kiddie ain't +left lonesome and unprotected while I'm away.' That's the kind of +message I'd be getting from you. And you'd be getting one from me +something in this way: 'If I don't screw up the two measly cents' worth +of courage I've got, and go right across to Steve, and put the +proposition Millie and I are crazy to make, why--why, Millie'll beat my +brains out with a flat iron, and generally make things eternally +unpleasant.' Having got these messages satisfactorily you and I would +have set out--on the same path, mind. We'd have met right here: I should +have said, 'Steve, my boy, your little gal Nita and that bright little +bit of a bottle worrier you call your baby are coming right over to make +their homes with Millie, and the gals, and me, till you get back. We're +going to do just the best we know for them--same as we would for our +own. It's going to be a real comfort for us to have them, and something +more than a pleasure, and if you don't let 'em come--well, we'll be most +damnably disappointed!' And you, being a straight, sound-thinking man in +the main, but with a heap of notions that aren't always sound, but +which you can't just help, would say: 'See, right here, Doc, I don't +approve boosting my burdens on other folks' shoulders. That's not my +way, but anyway I'll be mighty thankful not to disappoint you, and to go +away feeling my bits of property aren't lying around at the mercy of a +country, and a race of folk that'll always remain a blot on any +Creator's escutcheon!' Having said all this we'd likely go on talking +for awhile about the folks and things we know, such as the men of our +acquaintance who reckon they're white, and the rotten acts they do +because rye whisky and the climate of the Northland's killed the only +shreds of conscience they ever had. And then--why, maybe then we just +part, and go back to our work feeling what darn fine fellers we are, and +how almighty glad we are we aren't as--the other folk." + +The smile which the doctor's whimsical manner had provoked in Steve's +eyes was good to see. An overwhelming gratitude urged him to verbal +thanks, but somehow a great feeling deep down on his heart forbade such +expression. + +"You mean--all that, Doc?" he said almost incredulously at last. + +The other raised his broad loose shoulders expressively. + +"I wish it was more." + +Steve breathed a deep sigh. He shook his head. Then, with an impulsive +movement, he thrust out one powerful hand. + +Just for one moment the two men gripped in silence. + +"I'll fix it with Nita," Steve said, as their hands fell apart. + +"Yep. And Millie and the gals will go along over. She can't refuse +them." + +Steve flashed a sharply enquiring look into the other's eyes. + +"Why should she want to?" he demanded. + +The doctor suddenly realized the doubt he had implied. His own train of +thought had found unconscious expression. + +"There isn't a reason in the world," he protested, "except--she's a +woman." + +But his reply, for all its promptness, entirely missed its purpose. It +failed completely to banish the trouble which had displaced the smile in +Steve's eyes. + +When Steve spoke his voice was low, and he seemed to be speaking to +himself rather than to his companion. + +"That's so," he said at last. And Ian Ross knew there was more in +Steve's mind than the fear of the common dangers to which his wife and +child would be exposed in his absence. How much he did not know. Perhaps +he had no desire to know. Anyway, being a man of some wisdom, being +possessed of a home, and a wife, and family of his own, he applied +himself assiduously to the pipe which never failed to soothe his +feelings, however much they might be disturbed. + + * * * * * + +It was exactly a week from the time he had received his instructions +that Steve's preparations were completed and the hour of his departure +came round. + +The afternoon was well advanced. Already the brilliant sun was drooping +towards the misty range of lofty hills which cut the western skyline in +the region of the Peace River country. Steve's horse was saddled and +bridled, and tethered to the post outside the office door, where +Corporal Munday was seated upon the sill awaiting the departure. + +The "outfit" was already on the trail. That had left at sunrise. Its +preparations had been simple, and even spare. But it was adequate. Steve +and his Indians knew to the last fraction the requirements of a journey +such as lay before them. Year in, year out, they were accustomed to +preparations for the long trail. This was longer than usual. That was +all. + +The officer's plans were considered to the last detail. Nothing that +could be foreseen was neglected. Every stage of the journey to the Unaga +country was measured in his mind, both for time and distance. Only the +elements were perforce omitted from his calculations. This was in the +nature of things. The elemental side of his undertaking was +incalculable. + +His way lay due north for a while along the course of the great Caribou +River. This would bring him to the half-breed settlement at the Landing +on the great lakes. It would also take him through the country of the +Hiada Indians. Arrived at Ruge's trading post at the Landing, his horses +and police, half-spring wagons would be left to the trader's care, for +beyond this point their services would be dispensed with. + +The second stage of the journey would be by water and portage. In this +neighbourhood, where the wilderness of sparsely travelled country opened +out, he would make for the headwaters of the beautiful Theton River. The +river of a hundred lakes draining a wide tract of wooded country. It was +a trail which was not unfamiliar; for his work not infrequently carried +him into the territory of peaceful Caribou-Eater Indians, who so often +became the victims of the warlike, hot-headed Yellow-Knives. + +The river journey he calculated should bring him to Fort Duggan at the +height of summer, and it was without any feeling of enthusiasm that he +contemplated that fly-and-mosquito-ridden country at such a time of +year. But it was necessary, and so he was left without alternative. Fort +Duggan was the deserted ruin of an old-time trading post, it was the +home of the Shaunekuk Indians who were half Eskimo. It was also the +gate of the mystery land of Unaga. + +Unaga! The riddle of the wide northern-world. The land from which weird, +incredible stories percolated through to the outside. They were stories +of wealth. They were stories of savage romance. They were stories of the +weird, terrible, and even monstrous. It was a land so unexplored as to +be reputed something little better than a sealed book even to the +intrepid Arctic explorer, who, at so great an expenditure of physical +effort and courage, rarely accomplishes more than the blazing of a trail +which seals up again behind him, and adds his toll to the graveyard +which claims so many of the world's dauntless souls. + +Unaga! The land unknown to the white man. And yet--news had come of the +murder of two white men within its secret heart. Therefore the machinery +of white man's law was set in motion, and the long, lean arm was +reaching out. + +Not less than a thousand miles of weary toil and infinite peril lay +before Steve and his two Indian helpers. And a second thousand miles +before the little home at Deadwater could hope to see him again. It was +an overwhelming thought. Small blame to the heart that quailed before +such an undertaking. + +Steve had no thought for the immensity of the labour confronting him. He +had no thought for anything but the purpose of his life. He knew that +successful completion of the work before him would set the seal to his +ambitions. He would then be able to lay at the feet of the girl who was +the mother of his child the promotion to Superintendentship which should +take her away from the dreary life of hardship which he knew to be so +rapidly undermining that moral strength which was not abundantly hers. + +These were the moments of the man's farewell to all that made up the +spiritual side of his earthly life. It might be a final farewell. He +could not tell. He knew the perils that lay ahead of him. But a great, +passionate optimism burned deep down in his heart and refused him +thought of disaster. + +He was in the partially dismantled parlour with Nita and his baby girl. +The last detail for the future of these two had been considered and +prepared. At the moment of his going, Nita, too, would bid farewell to +the post. And the precious home, the work of months of happy labour, +would be passed on to the service of Steve's successor. + +It was a moment that would surely live in the hearts of both. It was a +moment when tearful eyes would leave to memory a picture perhaps to +lighten the dreary months to come, a sign, a beacon, a consolation and +support, a living hope for the painful months of separation when no word +or sign could pass between them. They were moments sacred to husband and +wife, upon which no earthly eyes have right to gaze. + +The door opened and Steve passed out into the smiling sunshine. His +steady eyes were dull and lustreless. His firm lips were a shade more +tightly compressed. For the rest his limbs moved vigorously, his step +lacked nothing of its wonted Spring. + +As he left the doorway his place was taken by Nita, who bore the waking +infant Coqueline in her arms. Both were dressed ready to pass on to +their new home. + +Steve was clad for the summer trail, and his leather chapps creaked, and +his spurs clanked as he passed round to the tying post at which his +horse was tethered. Force of habit made him test the cinchas of his +saddle before mounting. + +He spoke over his shoulder to the man who had risen to his feet at his +coming. + +"Guess you got everything right, Corporal?" he said. + +"Everything, sir." + +"Good. My diary's right up to date," Steve went on. "Things are quiet +just now. They'll get busy later." + +He swung into the saddle and held out a hand. + +"So long," he said, as the Corporal promptly gripped it. + +"So long, sir. And--good luck." + +"Thanks." + +The horse moved away and Steve passed round to Nita. He drew rein +opposite the door but did not dismount. + +"Let's--get another peck at her, Nita," he said, and it almost seemed as +if the words were jerked from under the restraint he was putting on +himself. + +The girl had no words with which to answer him. Her eyes were wide and +dry. But from her pallor it was obvious deep emotion was stirring. She +came to his side, and held the baby up to him, a movement that had +something of the tragic in it. + +The father swept his hat from his head and bent down in the saddle, and +gazed yearningly into the sleeping child's cherubic face. Then he +reached lower and kissed the pretty forehead tenderly. + +"She'll be getting big when I see her again," he said, in a voice that +was not quite steady. + +Then a passionate light flooded his eyes as he looked into the face of +his girl wife. + +"For God's sake care for her, Nita," he cried. "She's ours--and she's +all we've got. Here, kiss me, dear. I can't stop another moment, or--or +I'll make a fool of myself." + +The girl turned her face up and the man's passionate kisses were given +across the small atom which was the pledge of their early love. Then +Steve straightened up in the saddle and replaced his hat. A moment +later he had vanished within the woods through which he must pass on his +way to Ian Ross and his wife, to whom he desired to convey his final +word of thanks. + +Nita stood silent, dry-eyed gazing after him. He was gone, and she knew +she would not see him again for two years. + + * * * * * + +The woodland shadows were lengthening. The delicate green of the trees +had lost something of its brightness. Already the distance was taking on +that softened hue which denotes the dying efforts of daylight. + +Nita was passing rapidly over the footpath which would take her to her +new home. She was alone with her child in her arms, and carrying a small +bundle. Her violet eyes were widely serious, the pallor of her pretty +cheeks was unchanged. But whatever the emotions that inspired these +things she lacked all those outward signs of feeling which few women, +under similar circumstances, could have resisted. There were no tears. +Yet her brows were puckered threateningly. She was absorbed, deeply +absorbed, but it was hardly with the absorption of blind grief. + +She paused abruptly. The startled look in her eyes displayed real +apprehension. The sound of someone or something moving in the +low-growing scrub beside her had stirred her to a physical fear of +woodland solitudes she had never been able to conquer. + +She stood glancing in apprehension this way and that. She was utterly +powerless. Flight never entered her head. Panic completely prevailed. + +A moment later a man thrust his way into the clearing of the path. + +"Hervey!" + +His name broke from Nita in a world of relief. Then reaction set in. + +"You--you scared me to death. Why didn't you speak, or--or something?" + +Hervey Garstaing stood smilingly before her. His dark eyes hungrily +devouring her flushed face and half-angry eyes. + +"You wouldn't have me hollering your dandy name, with him only just +clear of Ross's house? I'm not chasing trouble." + +"Has Steve only just gone?" + +"Sure. I waited for that before I came along." + +The man moistened his lips. It was a curiously unpleasant operation. +Then he came a step nearer. + +"Well, Nita," he said, with a world of meaning in eyes and tone. "We're +rid of him for two years--anyway." + +The girl started. The flush in her cheeks deepened, and the angry light +again leapt into her eyes. + +"What d'you mean?" she cried. + +The man laughed. + +"Mean? Do you need to ask? Ain't you glad?" + +"Glad? I--" Suddenly pallor had replaced the flush in the girl's cheeks, +and a curious light shone in eyes which a moment before had been alight +with swift resentment. "--I--don't know." + +The man nodded confidently, and drew still closer. + +"That's all right," he said. "I do." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +UNAGA + + +It was the last of the night watch. The depths of the primeval forest +were alive with sound, those sounds which are calculated to set the +human pulse athrob. Steve Allenwood crouched over the fire. He was +still, silent, and he squatted with his hands locked about his knees. + +The fitful firelight only served to emphasize the intensity of +surrounding darkness. It yielded little more than a point of attraction +for the prowling, unseen creatures haunting the wild. The snow outside +was falling silently, heavily, for it was late in the year, and October +was near its close! Here there was shelter under the wide canopy which +the centuries had grown. + +As yet the falling temperature was still above zero. Later it would be +different. The cap on the man's head was pressed low over his ears, and +his summer buckskin shirt had been replaced by the furs which would +stand between him and the fierce breath of winter during the long months +to come. His eyes were wide. Every sense was alert. For all he was +gazing into the fire, he was listening, always listening to those sounds +which he dared not ignore for one single moment. + +The sounds were many. And each had a meaning which he read with a +sureness that was almost instinctive. The deep unease of the myriads of +bare tree-trunks about him, supporting their snow-laden canopy, told +him of the burden which the pitiless northern heavens were thrusting +upon them. It also told him of the strength of the breeze which was +driving the banking snow outside. The not infrequent booming crash of a +falling tree spoke of a burden already too great to bear. So with the +splitting of an age-rotted limb torn from the parent trunk. + +Of deeper significance, and more deadly, is the sound which never dies +out completely. It is a sound as of falling leaves, pattering softly +upon the underlay of rotting cones and dead pine needles. Its insistence +is peculiar. There are moments when it is distant. And moments, again, +when it is near, desperately near. + +It is at times such as the latter that the man at the fire unlocks his +hands. With a swift movement, he reaches down to the fire and seizes a +blazing brand. For a moment a trail of fire arcs against the black +depths of the forest and falls to the ground. Then, with a hasty +scuttling, the sounds die away in the distance, and a fierce snarling +challenge is flung from the safer depths. + +The challenge is without effect. The man rises swiftly to his feet, and, +a moment later, the smouldering firebrand is gathered up, and all signs +of fire where it has fallen are stamped out. Again he returns to the +comforting warmth to continue his watch, whilst his companions sleep on +securely in their arctic, fur-lined bags. + +But the threat is real and deadly. Woe betide the foolish human soul who +ignores it, or fails to read it aright. The eyes of the forest are wide +awake. They are everywhere watching. They are there, in pairs, +merciless, savage eyes, only awaiting opportunity. It is the primeval +forest world where man is no more than those other creatures who seek to +support the life that is thrust upon them. + +These things were only a few of the voiceless hauntings which never +ceased. Steve and his companions knew them all by heart. Every sound, +every cadence told its tale. Every danger, with which they were +surrounded, was calculated to a fraction and left them undisturbed. + +Slowly the power of the firelight lessened. For all the stirring and +replenishing, the flickering blaze yielded before the steadily growing +twilight, and presently it sulkily abandoned the unequal contest. The +dawn had come. + +It was sufficient. Steve rose from his seat and stretched himself. Then, +moving over to the wood pile he replenished the fire and set the camp +kettle to boil. After that he passed on to the two figures still +sleeping under their furs. + +Oolak was the first to reach full wakefulness, and he promptly crawled +from his sleeping-bag. Steve's instructions were brief and to the point. + +"Fix the dogs," he ordered. And Oolak grunted his simple acquiescence. + +As Julyman broke from his spell of dreaming Steve indicated the camp +kettle. + +"I've set it to boil. I'll take a look outside," he said. + +He passed on without waiting for reply and his way followed the track +which the sled had left in the rotting underlay, where over night it had +been laboriously hauled into the shelter of the woods. + +His movements were vigorous. The bulk of his outer clothing robbed him +of much of such height as he possessed, but it added to the natural +appearance of muscular sturdiness which was always his. His mission was +important, for on his accurate reading of the elemental conditions +depended immediate movements, and safety or disaster for his expedition. + +As he neared the break in the forest, through which their course lay, +the twilight gave before the light of day, and through the aisles of +bare tree-trunks ahead he beheld the white carpet which night had laid. +Nearly a foot of snow had fallen, and everywhere under its burden the +foliage drooped dismally in the perfect morning light. + +These things, however, were without serious concern. Steve knew that for +the next seven months the earth would lie deep buried under its winter +pall. That was the condition under which most of his work was carried +on. It was the sunrise, and the wind, which must tell him the things he +desired to know. + +Passing beyond the shadowed aisles he moved out over the soft snow, +where the crisp breeze swept down through the break. He was a few +hundred yards from the summit of the high ridge over which, for miles, +to the north and south, the primeval forest spread its mantle. It was a +barrier set up and shutting off the view of the final stage of his +journey; that final stage towards which he had laboured for so many +weeks. He had reached so nearly the heart of Unaga, and beyond, +somewhere towards the shores of Hudson's Bay lay that winter goal where +he hoped to find the friendly shelter of the home of the seal-hunting +Eskimo who peopled the regions. + +He ploughed his way through the snow towards the summit of the ridge. + + * * * * * + +For all his outward calm Steve Allenwood was deeply stirred. For all he +knew the wide Northland, with its mystery, its harshnesses, the sight +that met his gaze from the summit of the ridge was one that left him +wondering, and amazed, and not a little overwhelmed. + +The immensity of it all! The harsh, unyielding magnificence! The bitter +breath from the north-east stung his cheeks with its fierce caresses. He +felt like a man who has stolen into the studio of a great artist and +finds himself confronted with a canvas upon which is roughly outlined +the masterly impression of a creation yet to be completed. It seemed to +him as if he were gazing upon the bold, rough draft of the Almighty +Creator's uncompleted work. + +The blazing arc of the rising sun was lifting over the tattered skyline, +and its light burnished the snow-crowned glacial beds to an almost +blinding whiteness. As yet it only caught the hill tops within its +range. The hollows, the shadowed woodlands, remained lost beneath the +early morning mists. It gave the impression of gazing down upon one vast +steaming lake, out of which was slowly emerging ridges of white-crested +land chequered with masses of primeval forest. + +In all directions it was the same; a hidden world having laboriously to +free itself from the bondage of the mists. + +The churning mists rolled on. They cleared for a moment at a point to +let the sunlight shafts illuminate some sweep of glacial ice. Then they +closed down again, swiftly, as though to hide once more those secrets +inadvertently revealed. The sun rose higher. The movement of the mists +became more rapid. They thinned. They deepened once more. And with every +change the sense of urgent movement grew. It was like the panic movement +of a beaten force. The all-powerful light of day was absorbing, draining +the moisture-laden shadows, and reducing them to gossamer. + +It was with the final passing of the mists that a sharp ejaculation +broke from the watching man. It verily seemed to have been wrung from +him. His gaze was fixed at a point of the broken skyline. A great cloud +lay banked above the rising crest of the snowy barrier. It was stirring. +It was lifting. Slowly. Reluctantly. + +The moments passed. It was like the rising of the curtain upon a +wonderful stage picture. Unlike the mists the cloud did not disperse. It +lifted up, up before the man's amazed eyes, and settled a dense dark +mass to crown that which it had revealed. + +"Gee!" + +The startled monosyllable was thrilling with every emotion of wonder. + +A spire towered over the serrated skyline. Its height was utterly beyond +Steve's calculation. Its final peak was lost amidst the heavy cloud. +Sheer up it rose. Sheer above its monstrous surroundings. It rose like +the spire of some cathedral of Nature's moulding, and dwarfed the world +about it. It was dark, dark, in contrast to the crystal splendour +outspread, and frowned with the unyielding hue of the barren rock. + +"Boss--look!" + +It was the first intimation of Julyman's presence. Steve accepted it +without question. He was wholly absorbed in what he beheld. The Indian +was at his side pointing at the monstrous tower. + +"Him Unaga--Unaga Spire. Julyman know. Him Father wise man. Him tell of +Unaga Spire. Him hot. Him hot lak hell. Him all burn up snow--ice. Him +burn up all thing. Come. It not good. Him Unaga Spire!" + + * * * * * + +A wide declining expanse stretched out before them as Steve and Julyman +swung along over the snow. They were following the track of a dog train, +leaving behind them the added tracks of their own snow-shoes to mark the +way. Ahead of them lay another short rise whose crest was dotted with +timber bluffs. It was beyond this they hoped to discover the winter +shelter they were seeking. Somewhere behind them the indomitable Oolak, +silent, enduring, was shepherding their own dog train over their tracks. + +The end of the month had come and their fortunes were at a crisis. A +thousand miles of territory had been covered since the early summer day +when Steve had bade farewell to his wife and child. + +The effort had been tremendous. Far more tremendous than these men knew. +And the story of the journey, the endurance, the hardship of it, would +have made an epic of man's silent heroism. With Steve each hardship, +each difficulty encountered had been a matter of course. Accident was a +thing simply to be avoided, and when avoidance was impossible then to be +accepted without complaint. And these things had been so many. + +Now the wide Northland had been traversed from west to east and they had +crossed the fierce bosom of Unaga's plateau. The reality of it was no +better and only little worse than had been anticipated. It had been a +journey of hills, everlasting hills, and interminable primordial +forests, with dreary breaks of open plains. Each season had brought its +own troubles, with always lying ahead the deadly anticipation of the +winter yet to come. + +It was the thought of this, and the indications everywhere about them, +that had spurred Steve to hunt down the sled track upon which they had +miraculously fallen. + +They moved on in silence for a long time. Such was the way of these men. +The great silences had eaten into their bones. The life and labours of +the trail would have been intolerable amidst the chatter of useless +talk. + +The rolling swing of their gait carried them swiftly to their vantage +ground, and hope stirred Steve to give expression to his thoughts. + +"It would be queer to find those fancy 'Sleeper Indians' of yours," he +said. + +Julyman cast a glance over his left shoulder in the direction of the +steely north. Somewhere back there far beyond his view stood the great +Spire of Unaga, and the black cloud hovering about its crest. It had +been left far, far behind them, but it still remained a memory. + +"No Sleeper Indian man," he said decidedly. Then he added with a final +shake of his head: "Oh no." + +Steve laughed. It was not often these men laughed on the trail. Just +now, however, the excitement of hope had robbed the white man of +something of his habit. + +"Guess your yarn didn't just locate them. Where d'you reckon they are?" + +Julyman slackened his gait as they breasted the final rise where the +sled track vanished over the brow of the hill. His dark, questioning +eyes were turned enquiringly upon his boss, and he searched the smiling +face that looked back at him out of its framing of heavy fur. He feared +to be laughed at. He pointed at the northern horizon. + +"Him--Unaga," was all he said. + +Steve followed the direction of the mitted hand pointing northward, and +the smile died out of his eyes. That strange Spire filled his memory +still in spite of himself. Something of the Indian's awe communicated +itself to him. + +But he thrust it from him and gazed out ahead again, searching the +tracks they were following. + +"We'll find something, anyway," he said presently. "This track's not +half a day old. There's folks beyond the rise. Say, maybe we can winter +hereabouts, and work along the coast. The coast line's warmer. It never +hits zero on the coast till you make inside the Arctic Circle. We'll get +back to home next winter. It'll be good getting back to your squaws on +Caribou, eh?" + +There was a note in Steve's voice which did not fail to impress itself +on the Indian's keen understanding. He knew his boss was thinking of his +own white squaw and the pretty blue eyes of the pappoose which made the +father forget every trouble and concern when he gazed down into them. +Oh, yes, Julyman understood. He understood pretty well every mood of his +boss. And who should understand them if he did not? Men on the trail +together learn to read each other like a book. + +"Squaws him trash!" exclaimed the Indian. And he spat to emphasize his +cynical opinion. + +"Some squaws," corrected Steve. + +Julyman glanced at him from the corners of eyes which had become mere +slits before the biting drift of the wind. + +"All squaw," he said doggedly. Then he went on. "Squaw him all smile. +Him soft. Him mak dam fool of Indian man. Squaw no good--only mak +pappoose, feed pappoose. Raise him. All the time squaw mak pappoose. Him +not think nothin' more. Just pappoose. Indian man think all things. Him +squaw only mak pappoose an'--trouble." + +"Trouble?" Steve's smile was alight with humour. + +The Indian nodded. + +"All time," he said decidedly. "No man, no pappoose, then squaw him mak +trouble all time. It all same. Him find man sure. All man dam fool. +Squaw mak him dam fool. Julyman stand by teepee. Him tak rawhide. Him +say, 'do so!' Squaw him do. Julyman mak long trail. Him not care. Him +come back him find plenty much other squaw. So!" + +The Indian's watchful eyes had turned again to the tracks ahead. But he +had seen. The humour had completely vanished out of Steve's eyes. So had +his smile. Julyman's purpose was not quite clear. He loved and revered +his chief. He had no desire to hurt him. But Steve knew that the man +had been saying what he had said for his benefit. + +"You're a damn scoundrel, Julyman," he said, and there was less than the +usual tolerance in his tone. + +The Indian shrugged under his furs. + +"Julyman wise man," he protested. "All the time white man say, 'one +squaw.' It good! So! It fine! Indian man say one--two--five--ten squaw. +Then him not care little dam!" + +Steve made no reply. The man's cynicism was sufficiently brutal to make +it impossible to reply without heat. And Steve had no desire to quarrel +with his chief lieutenant. Besides, he was deeply attached to the +rascal. So they swung up the last sharp incline in the voiceless manner +in which so much of their work was done. + +It was Steve who reached the brow first, and it was his arm, and his +voice that indicated the discoveries beyond. + +"Right!" he exclaimed. "Look, Julyman," he went on pointing. "A lodge. A +lodge of neches. And--see! What's that?" There was excitement in the +tone of his question. "It's--a fort!" he cried, his eyes reflecting the +excitement he could no longer restrain. "A--post! A white man's trading +post! What in hell! Come on!" + +He moved on impetuously, and in a moment the two men were speeding down +the last incline. + +The last recollection of the Indian's deplorable philosophy had passed +from Steve's mind. His eyes were on the distant encampment. He had been +prepared for some discovery. But never, in his wildest dreaming, had he +anticipated a white man's trading post. + +It was something amazing. As far as Steve could reckon they were +somewhere within a hundred miles of the great inland sea. It might be +thirty miles. It might be sixty. He could not tell. Far as the eye could +see there was little change from what they had been travelling over for +weeks. Appalling wastes of snow, and hill, and forest, with every here +and there a loftier rise supporting a glacial bed. There were +watercourses. Oh, yes, rivers abounded in that wide, unknown land. But +they were frozen deeply, and later would, freeze doubtless to their very +beds. + +But here was a wide shallow valley with a high range of hill country +densely forest clad forming its northeastern boundary. The hither side +was formed by the low rising ground over which they had just passed. The +hollow passed away, narrowing more deeply to the southeast, and lost +itself in the dark depths of a forest. To the north-west the valley +seemed to wander on amidst a labyrinth of sharp hills, which, in the +distance, seemed to grow loftier and more broken as they merged +themselves into the range Steve believed supported the mysterious Spire +of Unaga. + +The point of deepest interest and wonder was that which lay in the heart +of the valley less than three miles further on. Numberless small bluffs +chequered the open and suggested the parentage of one which stood out +amongst them, wide, and dark, and lofty. Here there was a long wavering +line of low bush reaching out down the heart of the valley indicating +the course of a river. It was on this river bank, snuggled against the +fringe of the great pine bluff that a cluster of dome-roofed habitations +were plainly visible. + +But the wonder of all stood a short distance away to the right where the +woods came down towards the river. It was a wide group of buildings of +lateral logs, with log roofs, and surrounded by a stockade of similar +material. The touch of the white man's hand was unmistakable. No race of +northern Indians or Eskimo could have built such a place. + +They sped on over the snow unconscious of the increase of their speed. +And as they approached each man realized the same thought. There was no +sign of life anywhere. There was not even a prowling dog to be seen +searching amongst the refuse of the encampment. + +As they drew nearer they failed to discover any addition to the solitary +track they were following. It was curious. It was almost ominous. But +its significance was lost in the thought that here at least was shelter +for themselves against the real winter yet to come. + +They reached the banks of the river. It was a good-sized creek frozen +solid, and already deep buried under snow. Without a pause they crossed +to the other side and broke their way through the scrubby snow-laden +bush on the opposite bank. + +"Hello!" + +The two men came to an abrupt halt. They were confronting a small child +of perhaps five or six years. He was clad in furs from head to foot. A +pretty, robust, white-skinned child, wide-eyed, and smiling his frankly +cordial greeting. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +MARCEL BRAND + + +For a moment astonishment robbed Steve of speech. Julyman was, perhaps, +less affected. He stood beside his boss grinning down at the apparition +till his eyes were almost entirely hidden by their closing lids, and his +copper skin was wrinkled into a maze of creases. + +Steve's ultimate effort was a responsive, "Hello!" + +It seemed to meet with the child's approval, for he came trustfully +towards the strangers. + +"Mummy's sick," he informed them, gazing smilingly up into the white +man's face. "The Injuns is all asleep. Pop's all gone away. So's Uncle +Cy. Gone long time. There's An-ina and me. That's all. I likes +An-ina--only hers always wash me." + +The whole story of the post was told. The direct childish mind had taken +the short cut which maturity would probably have missed. + +Steve had recovered himself, and he smiled down into the pretty, eager, +up-turned face. + +"What's your name, little man?" he asked kindly. + +"Marcel," the boy returned, without the least shyness. + +Steve stooped down into a squatting position, and held out his hands +invitingly. There could be no mistaking his attitude. There could be no +mistaking the appeal this lonely little creature made to his generous +manhood. + +"That all? Any other?" + +The boy came confidently within reach of the outstretched arms, and, as +the man's mitted hands closed about him, he held up his face for the +expected caress. Steve bent his head and kissed the ready lips. + +"'Es, Brand. Marcel Brand," the boy said in that slightly halting +fashion of pronouncing unaccustomed words. + +Steve looked up with a start. His eyes encountered the still grinning +face of the scout. + +"Do you hear that?" he demanded. "Marcel Brand. It's--it's the place +we're chasing for. Gee! it's well nigh a miracle!" + +Quite suddenly he released the child and stood up. Then he picked the +little fellow up in his strong arms. + +"Come on, old fellow," he said quickly. "We'll go right along up and see +your Mummy." + +And forthwith he started for the frowning stockade under its mantle of +snow. + +Once in Steve's arms the child allowed an arm to encircle the stranger's +neck. It was an action of complete abandonment to the new friendship, +and it thrilled the man. It carried him back over a thousand miles of +territory and weary toil to a memory of other infant arms and other +infant caresses. + +"'Es. I likes you," the boy observed as they moved on. "Who's you?" + +Half confidences were evidently not in his calculation. He had readily +given his, and now he looked for the natural return. + +Steve laughed delightedly. + +"Who's I? Why, my name's Steve. Steve Allenwood. 'Uncle' Steve. And this +is Julyman. He's an Indian, and very good man. And we like little boys. +Don't we, Julyman?" + +The grin on the scout's face was still distorting his unaccustomed +features as he moved along beside his boss. + +"Oh, yes. Julyman, him likes 'em--plenty, much." + +"Why ain't you asleep?" demanded the boy abruptly addressing the scout +and in quite a changed tone. His smile, too, had gone. + +Steve noted the change. He understood it. White and colour. This child +had been bred amongst Indians, and his parents were white. It was always +so. Even in so small a child the distinction was definite. He replied +for Julyman, while the Indian only continued to grin. + +"Julyman only sleeps at night," he said. + +But Marcel pointed at the domed huts which looked so like a collection +of white ant heaps. + +"All Indians sleeps. All winter. My Pop says so. So does Uncle Cy. They +sleeps all the time. Only An-ina don't sleep. 'Cep' at night. I doesn't +sleep 'cep' at night. Indians does." + +The white man and Indian exchanged glances. Julyman's was triumphant. +Steve's was negatively smiling. He looked up into the child's face which +was just above his level. + +"These Indians sleep all winter?" he questioned. + +"'Es, them sleeps. My Pop says they eats so much they has to sleep. +An'," he went on eagerly, stumbling over his words, "they's so funny +when they's sleep. They makes drefful noises, an' my Pop says they's +snores. He says they's dreaming all funny things 'bout fairies, an' +seals, an' hunting, an' all the things thems do's. They's wakes up +sometimes. But sleeps again. Why does they sleep? Why does them eat so +much? It's wolves eats till they bursts, isn't it, Uncle Steve?" + +Steve pressed the little man closer to him. That "Uncle Steve" so +naturally said warmed his heart to a passionate degree. The little +fellow's mother was sick and he knew that his father and Uncle Cy were +dead; murdered somewhere out in that cold vastness. What had this bright +happy little life to look forward to on the desolate plateau of the +Sleeper Indians. + +"Wolves are great greedy creatures," he said. "They eat up everything +they can get. They're real wicked." + +"So's Injuns then." + +Steve laughed at the childish logic, as the little man rattled on. + +"I's hunt wolves when I grows big. I hunts 'em like Uncle Cy, an' seals, +too. I kills 'em. I kills everything wicked. That's what my Pop says. He +says, good boys kills everything bad, then God smile, an' all the +people's happy." + +They reached the stockade which the practised eye of Steve saw to be +wonderfully constructed. Not only was its strength superlative, but it +was loopholed for defence and he knew that such defences were not +against the great grey wolves of the forest or any other creatures of +the wild. They were defences against attack by human marauders, and he +read into them the story of hostile Indians, and all those scenes which +had doubtless been kept carefully hidden from little Marcel's eyes. + +Furthermore he realized that the post was of comparatively recent +construction. Perhaps it was five or ten years old. It could not have +been more. It entirely lacked that appearance of age which green timbers +acquire so readily under the fierce Northern storms. And it set him +wondering at the nature of the lure which had brought men of obvious +means, with wife and child, to the inhospitable plateau of Unaga. + +He set the boy on the ground while he removed his snow-shoes. Then, hand +in hand, the little fellow led him round to the gateway which opened out +in full view of the valley. + +It was a wide enclosure, and its ordering and construction appealed to +the man of the trail. There was thought and experience in every detail +of it. There was, too, the obvious expenditure of money and infinite +labour. The great central building stood clear of everything else. It +was long and low, with good windows of glass, and doors as powerful as +human hands could make them. To the practical eyes of the Northern man +it was clearly half store and half dwelling house, built always with an +eye to a final defence. + +Beyond this there were a number of outbuildings. Some were of simple +Indian construction. But three of them, a large barn, and two buildings +that suggested store-houses, were like the house, heavily built of logs. + +But he was given little time for deep investigation, for little Marcel +eagerly dragged him towards the door of the store. To the man there was +something almost pathetic in the child's excitement and joy in his new +discovery. His childish treble silenced the bristling dogs that leapt +out at them in fierce welcome. And his imperious command promptly +reduced them to snuffing suspiciously at the furs of the scout and the +white man whom they seemed to regard with considerable doubt. He +chattered the whole time, stumbling over his words in his eager +excitement. He was endeavouring to impart everything he knew to this +newly found friend, and, in the course of the brief interval of their +approach to the house Steve learned all the dogs' names, their +achievements, what little Marcel liked most to eat, and how he disliked +being washed by An-ina, and how ugly his nurse was, and how his father +was the cleverest man in the world, and how he made long journeys every +winter to look for something he couldn't find. + +It was all told without regard for continuity or purpose. It seemed to +Steve as if the little fellow was loosing a long pent tide held up from +lack of companionship till the bursting point had been reached. + +As they came to the house, however, a sudden change came over the scene. +The door abruptly opened, and a tall, handsome squaw, dressed in the +clothes of rougher civilization, stood regarding them unsmilingly. To +his surprise she was not only beautiful but quite young. + +The boy's chatter ceased instantly and his face fell. One small mitted +hand approached the corner of his pretty mouth, and he regarded the +woman with quaint, childish reproach. It was only for a moment, however. +With a sudden brightening of hope he turned and gazed up appealingly at +his new friend. + +"Don't let hers wash us, Uncle Steve," he implored. + + * * * * * + +Deep distress looked out of Steve's steady eyes. He was gazing at a +wreck of beautiful womanhood lying on the bed. There was no doubt of the +beauty of this mother of little Marcel. It was there in every line of +the pale, hollow cheeks, in her clear, broad brow. In the great, soft +grey eyes which were hot with fever as they gazed at him out of their +hollow settings. Then the abundant dark hair, parted now in the centre, +Indian fashion, and flooding the pillow with its masses. It was dull and +lustreless, but all its beauty of texture remained. + +She had summoned him at once to her sick room through An-ina. And in her +greeting had briefly told him of the trouble which had befallen her. + +"Maybe you'll think it queer my receiving you this way," she said, in a +tired voice, "but I can't just help myself. You see, I can't move hand +or foot." Then a pitiful smile crept into the wistful eyes. "It happened +two weeks ago. Oh, those two weeks. I was felling saplings with An-ina +in the woods out back. Maybe a woman can't do those things right. +Anyway, one fell on me, and it just crushed me to the ground, and held +me pinned there. I thought I was dead. But I wasn't. I was only broken. +Maybe I'll die here--soon. An-ina got me clear and carried me home. And +now--why, if it wasn't for my little Marcel I'd be glad--so glad to be +rid of all the pain." + +The note of despair, the tragedy in the brief recital were overwhelming. +The full force of them smote Steve to the heart, and left him incapable +of expression, beyond that which looked out of his eyes. Words would +have been impossible. He realized she was on her deathbed. It required +only the poor creature's obvious intense sufferings to tell him that. It +was a matter of perhaps hours before little Marcel would be robbed of +his second parent. + +The brief daylight was pouring in through the double glass window of the +room. It lit an interior which had only filled him with added wonder at +these folks, and the guiding hand which inspired everything he beheld. +The furnishing of the room was simple enough. But it was of the +manufacture of civilization, and he could only guess at the haulage it +had required to bring it to the heart of Unaga. Then there was distinct +taste in the arrangement of the room. It was the taste of a woman of +education and refinement, and one who must have been heart and soul with +her husband, and the enterprise he was embarked upon. + +An-ina had left him there to talk with the mother of those things which +it was her care should not reach the ears of little Marcel. + +Steve told her at once that he was a police officer, and that he was on +a mission of investigation into the--he said "disappearance"--of Marcel +Brand, who, he explained, was supposed to be a trader, with his partner +Cyrus Allshore, somewhere in the direction north of Seal Bay in the +Unaga country. He told her that he had travelled one thousand miles +overland to carry out the work, and that something little short of a +miracle had brought him direct to her door. + +And the woman had listened to him with the eagerness of one who has +suddenly realized a ray of hope in the blackness of her despair. + +After his brief introduction she breathed a deep sigh and her eyes +closed under the pain that racked her broken body. + +"Then my message got through," she said, almost to herself. "Lupite must +have reached Seal Bay." Then her eyes opened and she spoke with added +effort. "I didn't dare to hope. It was all I could do," she explained. +"Lupite said he'd get through or die. He was a good and faithful neche. +I--I wonder what's happened him since. He's not got back, and--the +others have all deserted me. There's no one here now but An-ina, and my +little boy, and," she added bitterly, "What's left of me. Oh, God, will +it never end! This pain. This dreadful, dreadful pain." + +After a moment of troubled regard, while he watched the cold dew of +agony break upon her brow, Steve ventured his reply. + +"Yes. It must have got through, I guess," he said. "It must have reached +the Indian Department at Ottawa. They sent it right along to the man at +the Allowa Reserve where I'm stationed, and communicated with the +police. That's how I received my instructions. They said your husband +was supposed to be--murdered. And his partner, too." + +"I put that in my letter," the woman said quickly. "I just had to. You +see--" she broke off. But after a brief hesitation she went on. "But I +don't know. I don't know anything that's happened really. He went away +on a trip eighteen months ago, with Cy. It was to Seal Bay, with trade. +He ought to have been back that fall. I haven't had a word since. I've +been eighteen months here alone with An-ina, and--these Sleepers. He +might have met with accident. But it's more likely murder. These +Sleepers suspected. They were frightened he'd found out. You see, this +stuff--this Adresol--is sacred to them. They would kill anyone who found +out where they get it from." + +A spasm of pain contorted her drawn face and again her eyes closed under +the agony. She re-opened them at the sound of Steve's voice. + +"Will you tell me, ma'm?" he said. + +Steve's manner was gentle. His sympathy for this stricken creature was +real and deep. She was a woman, suffering and alone in a God-forsaken +land. The thought appalled him. + +For some moments his invitation remained without response. The woman lay +there unmoving, inert. Only was life in her hot eyes, and the trifling +rise and fall of the bed covering as she breathed. Obviously she was +considering. Perhaps she was wondering how much she had a right to tell +this officer. She was completely without guidance. If her husband had +been alive doubtless her lips would have remained sealed. But he was not +there, and she knew not what had become of him. Then there was little +Marcel, and she knew that when she left that bed it would be only for a +cold grave on this bleak plateau of Unaga. + +Steve waited with infinite patience. He felt it to be a moment for +patience. Suddenly she began to talk in a rapid, feverish way. + +"Yes, yes," she cried. "I must tell you now, and quickly. Maybe when +you've heard it all you'll help me. There's no one else can help me. +You see, it's my boy--my little boy. He's all I have in the world--now. +He's the sun and light of my life. It's the thought of him alone, with +only An-ina, in this terrible land that sets me well-nigh crazy. The +police. I wonder. Would they look after him? Could you take him back +with you when I'm dead? Do they look after poor orphans, poor little +bits of life like him? Or is he too small a thing in the work they have +to do? I pray God you'll take him out of this when I'm dead." + +Steve strove to keep a steady tone. The appeal was heartrending. + +"Don't you fret that way, ma'm," he cried earnestly. "If those things +happen you reckon are going to, I'll see that no harm, I can help, comes +to him. He's just a bright little ray of light, and I guess God didn't +set him on this earth to leave him helpless in such a country as this." + +A world of relief in the mother's eyes thanked him. + +"I--I--" she began, and the man promptly broke in. + +"You needn't try to thank me ..." Steve's manner was gravely kind. +"Maybe when you've told me things I'll be able to locate your husband. +And maybe he isn't dead." + +The woman's eyes denied him hopelessly. + +"He's dead--sure," she said. "Whatever's happened he's--dead. Say, +listen, I'd best try and tell you all from the start," she went on, with +renewed energy. "It's the only way. And it's a straight story without +much shame in it. My husband, Marcel Brand, is a Dane, with French blood +in his veins. He's a great chemist, who learned everything the Germans +could teach him. He absorbed their knowledge, but not their ways. He was +a good and great man, whose whole idea of life was to care for his wife +and child, and expend all his knowledge to help the world of suffering +humanity. It was for that reason that seven years ago he realized all he +possessed, and, taking Cy Allshore as a partner, came up here." + +"To help suffering humanity?" + +Incredulity found expression almost before Steve was aware of it. + +"Yes, I know. It sounds crazy," the sick woman went on. "But it isn't. +Nothing Marcel ever did was crazy. All his life he has been studying +drugs, and his studies have taken him into all sorts of crazy corners of +the world. Thibet, Siberia, Brazil, Tropical Africa, India, and +now--Unaga. It was he who discovered Adresol, that wonderful, priceless +drug, which if it could only be obtained in sufficient quantities would +be the greatest boon to humanity for--as he used to say himself--all +time. Oh, I can't tell you about that," she exclaimed wearily, "guess it +would need someone cleverer than I. But it's that brought us here, and +kept us here for seven years. And maybe we'd have spent years more. You +see, Marcel was years hunting over the world for the stuff growing in +quantities. It was a chance story about these Indians he'd listened to +that brought him here first, and when he discovered they were using the +stuff, he believed it was the hand of Providence guiding him. With the +use of it he found the Indians hibernated each winter, and yet remained +healthy, robust creatures, retaining their faculties unimpaired, and +living to an extreme old age." + +"I'd heard of the 'Sleepers,' ma'm," Steve admitted. "But," he added, +with a half smile, "I couldn't just believe the yarn." + +"Oh, it's surely real," the woman returned promptly. "You can see for +yourself. We call them the Ant Indians, because of their queer huts. +They're all around the fort, and they're sleeping now, with their food +and their dope near by for each time they wake. Yes, you can see it all +for yourself. They look like dead things." + +After another agonized spasm she took up her story more rapidly, as +though fearing lest her strength should fail and she would be left +without sufficient time to finish it. + +"When Marcel came here he found himself up against tremendous +difficulties. Oh, it wasn't the climate. It wasn't a thing to do with +the country. It was the Indians themselves. He found they held the drug +sacred, and the secret of their supply something more precious than life +itself. It's the whole key to his death. Oh, I know it. I am sure, sure. +He found that these mostly peaceful creatures were ready to defend their +secret to the uttermost. No money could buy it from them, and they +violently resented Marcel's attempts in that direction. For awhile the +position was deadly, as maybe the defences we had to set up outside have +told you. Marcel had blundered, and it was only after months of trouble +he remedied it, and came to an understanding with these folk. They were +won over by the prospect of trade, and agreed to trade small quantities +of weed provided we would make no attempt to look for the source of +their supply." + +"Maybe we're to be blamed," she hurried on, "I don't know. Anyway, +Marcel reckoned he was working for the good of humanity. He saw his +opportunity in that agreement. The Indians were satisfied. Their good +nature re-asserted itself, and all went smoothly with our trade in seals +and the weed. But our opportunity lay in the winter. In the sleep-time +of this folk. Maybe the Indians reckoned their secret was safe in +winter. The storming, the cruel terror of winter which they dared not +face would surely be too much for any white man. Maybe they thought +that way, but if they did they were wrong. Marcel determined to use +their sleep time to discover the secret he needed. He and Cy were ready +for any chances. They would stand for nothing. That was their way. So, +with our own boys, they made the long trail every winter. + +"But they failed. Oh, yes, they failed." The woman sighed. "Sometimes it +was climate beat them. Sometimes it wasn't. Anyway they never found the +growing stuff. They never got a clue to its whereabouts. Maybe it was +all buried up in snow. We always reckoned on that. The winter passed, +and with each year that slipped away the chances seemed to recede +farther and farther. Then all of a sudden the Indians got suspicious +again. That was three years ago. I just don't know how it happened. +Maybe one of our boys gave it away. Anyhow they turned sulky. That was +the first sign. Then they refused to trade their weed. Then we knew the +trouble had come. But Marcel was ready for them. He was ready for most +things. He refused to trade their seals if they refused their weed. It +was a bad time, but we finally got through. You see they needed our +trade, once having begun it, and in the end Marcel managed to patch +things up. But they frankly told us they knew of our winter expeditions +to rob them, and, if they were continued, they would kill us all, and +burn up the post. Well, things settled down after that and trade went +on. But it wasn't the same. The Indians became desperately watchful, and +for one whole winter half of them didn't sleep. I knew trouble was +coming. + +"Then came the time when Marcel had to make a trip to Seal Bay. He'd +postponed it as long as he could. But our stuff had accumulated, and we +had to get rid of it, and so, at last, he was forced to go. The post was +well fortified, as you've seen, and we were liberally supplied with +means of defence. Lupite was faithful, and I could rely on my other +fighting neches. So Marcel and Cy set out, and--well, there's nothing +more to tell," she said wearily. "They've both disappeared, vanished. +And they should have been back more than a year ago. In desperation I +sent the message by Lupite. He's not returned either, and, one by one, +all our own Indians have deserted me. Oh," she went on passionately, +"it's no accident that's happened. Marcel has been killed, murdered by +these miserable folk, and all his years of work have gone for nothing. +Why they haven't killed me and little Marcel, I can't think. Maybe they +think we're of no account without Marcel. Maybe they find our store +useful. For I've carried on the trade ever since Marcel went. But now my +supplies are running out and when the Indians wake up and find that is +so--but I shall be already dead. Poor little Marcel. But--but you won't +let that happen, will you? It--it is surely God's hand that has sent you +here now." + +The woman's voice died out in a sob, and her eyes closed upon the tears +gathered in them. It was the final weakening of her courage. For all its +brevity, for all it was told in such desperate haste, the story lost +nothing of its appeal, nothing of its pathos. + +It left Steve feeling more helpless than he had ever felt in his life. +At that moment he would have given all he possessed for the sound of the +deep, cheerful voice of Ian Ross in that room of death. + +Mrs. Brand's eyes remained closed, and her breathing laboured under her +failing strength. She had put forth a tremendous effort, and the +reaction was terrible. The ghastly hue of her cheeks and lips terrified +Steve. He dreaded lest at that moment the final struggle was actually +taking place. + +He waited breathlessly. He had risen from his seat. The feeble throb of +the pulse was visibly beating at the woman's temples. He knew he could +do nothing, and, presently, as the eyes showed no sign of re-opening, he +turned, and stole out to summon An-ina. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +AN-INA + + +The brief daylight had nearly passed. Accompanied by its fiery +Satellites the sun was lolling moodily to its rest. Steve was searching +the near distance for a sight of Oolak and the dog train, which should +shortly arrive at the post. There was deep reflection in his whole +attitude, in the keen lines of his strong face, in the far-off look in +his steady eyes. Beside him little Marcel, in his warmth-giving bundle +of furs, was emulating the attitude of his new "uncle." He, too, was +searching the distance. He, too, was still and silent. Perhaps, even, in +his childish way, he was striving to read the pages of the mystery book, +which the bleak, snowbound prospect represented. + +Beyond the low ridge of crystal whiteness, less than three miles +distant, the land rose steadily, ridge on ridge. It looked like a series +of giant steps blotched and chequered with dark patches of forest which +contained so many secrets hidden from the eyes of man. As the distance +gained the crystal of it all mellowed softly till a deep purple +dominated the whole prospect. + +The wintering sun had almost completed its course. At this season of the +year it simply passed low above the horizon towards the west, like a +rolling ball of fire, until, weary of its effort, it submerged again +beyond the broken line of the hills. And each day that passed, its +course dropped lower and lower. + +It was a stern enough picture for all winter had not yet finally closed +its doors upon the dying season. And none could know better the meaning +of its frowning than Steve. + +"Wot's us looking at, Uncle Steve?" + +The childish treble piped its demand without the boy withdrawing his +gaze from the grim picture of winter's approach. + +In a moment Steve's pre-occupation vanished. He smiled down on the +fascinating little bundle of furs as he replied. + +"Oolak, old fellow, Oolak, and Uncle Steve's outfit. Guess he's got +uncle's bed, and all his food." + +"Wot food?" + +Interest in such a subject superceded all interest in the sunset. Little +Marcel's eyes were eagerly enquiring as they gazed up into those of his +new found friend. + +"Why, there's some frozen black-tail deer. Maybe there's a jack rabbit +or so. Then I guess there's biscuit, and coffee, and tea, and maybe even +sugar." + +The boy nodded appreciatively. + +"I likes 'em," he said. Then after a moment. "I likes plenty sugar. +There's sugar at the store. My Mummy, hers keep it for me cos I likes +'em." + +Steve understood. He interpreted the announcement in his own fashion. He +knew that stores were running short, and that those others, those two +devoted women, were hoarding the last remains of their sugar for the +little life that needed it. + +He turned abruptly towards the horizon again. Perhaps he did not desire +the eyes of the child to witness the feeling he had stirred. + +He need have had no fear. At that moment the boy's treble shrilled with +excitement. + +"Look, Uncle Steve!" he cried pointing. "Him's Oolak. Wiv dogs, an' +sled, an' food, an' everything. Him's coming down--" + +But he waited for no more. He waited for no reply. He waited for no +guiding mandate. He raced off across the frozen surface of the snow as +fast as his jolly little legs could carry him. It seemed as if he +considered anything or anyone belonging to "Uncle Steve" to be also part +of his small life, and was entitled to all the welcome he could give. + +Steve watched the little fellow with a tender smile. He was so small, so +full of happy life and engaging simplicity. Then he had such a wonderful +picture face, with its fringe of curling hair which thrust its way out +from under the thick, arctic helmet of fur which was part of his outer +clothing. For a moment, as he bundled over the snow like a brown woolly +ball, Steve wondered how he managed it, so encased was his small figure +in seal-skin. But he did, and his high-pitched greeting to the man with +the dog train floated back upon the still, cold air as he floundered +farther and farther away. + +"Hello!--hello!--hello!" + +The greeting came back at intervals. And Steve wondered at the feelings +of the silent Oolak when he heard that voice, and saw that baby figure +sprinting and wobbling over the snow towards him. + +"Missis gone--dead." + +"Gone--dead!" + +Steve turned with a start. He was looking into the handsome face of the +squaw, An-ina, whose words he had echoed. + +"Missis all gone--dead!" the squaw repeated with a solemn inclination of +the head. + +But the re-affirmation was unneeded. Full confirmation was in her wide +dark eyes, which were full of every grievous emotion short of tears. +Tears were something of which her stoic Indian nature was incapable. +But Steve knew well enough the weight of grief which lay behind the +stricken expression which looked out of the enveloping hood of the +woman's tunic of seal. + +For a moment he gazed into An-ina's face in helpless silence. For the +moment the tragedy of the whole thing left him groping. He knew this +woman had come to him seeking guidance. In that moment of disaster he +felt that the destiny of little Marcel and his devoted nurse had been +flung into his hands. + +"Come," he said with swift decision. "We'll get right back--to her." + + * * * * * + +Steve was at the bedside. He was bending low over the still, calm +figure, so straight, so rigid under the blanket covering. He was reading +for himself, and in his own way, the brief account of those last moments +when her spirit had yielded before those other overwhelming powers it +had been impossible to resist. + +Every disfiguring line of suffering had passed out of the beautiful, +youthful face. For all the marble coldness which had taken possession of +it Steve realized something of the splendid, smiling, courageous +womanhood which had struggled so recklessly in support of the man for +whom she had given up her life. And the full force of the tragedy of it +all found a deep echo of pitying admiration in his heart. It seemed to +him that the hand of Providence had fallen hard, and, in his human +understanding, with more than questionable justice. + +His examination completed he turned to the dusky creature at his side. + +"I guess her sufferings are over--sure. Her poor soul's gone to join her +man, and the boy's just--alone." + +The squaw's dark eyes were soft with that velvet look so peculiar to +the Indian woman in moments of deep emotion. + +"Maybe it best so," she said, in a manner which bespoke long association +with white folk. "Him good woman. Him suffer much--so much. Poor--poor +Missis. It not him fault. Oh, no. Him think all the time for her man, +an' little Marcel. Oh, yes. Not think nothing else all time. This devil +man come. Him kill her man. She not know. Poor Missis. She not think. +Only so she please her man. So this devil man kill her man. So." + +"What d'you mean?" + +The man's gaze was compelling. Its steady light searched the soft eyes +of the squaw. The woman withstood his gaze unflinchingly. Then she +suddenly bent across, and drew the coverlet up, and tenderly hid the +face of the dead. Then she looked up again into Steve's face. + +"Come," she said quietly. "I tell you." + +Without waiting for reply she led the way out of the room into the store +beyond, with its bare counter, and shelves, and bins so meagrely +supplied. Steve followed without a word. He had suddenly realized that +as yet he knew only a part of the story of these people. There was more +to be told. + +The store displayed much the same purpose and care which everything else +about the work of Marcel Brand revealed. The completeness of it all must +have been surprising, had not Steve understood that the chemist had come +here to carry his life's work to its logical completion. There were +signs everywhere of capacity, and unstinted expenditure of money. But +the haulage of it all. The thought was always in Steve's mind. The great +stove in the corner of the long, low room. The carpentered shelvings, +and drawers, and cupboards. The counter, too, no makeshift barrier set +up for the purposes of traffic, but with every sign of skilled +workmanship about it. He felt certain that all these things must have +been borne up the slopes of the great table-land, hauled overland, or by +water, from the workshops of civilization. + +Habit was strong and An-ina moved at once to the great stove radiating +its pleasant warmth. Steve took up his position opposite her. + +The squaw began at once. She had nothing to conceal from this man who +represented the law of the white men. Besides, was she not thinking of +the boy who had stolen so closely into her mother heart? + +"An-ina not say to Missis all," she said, in her simple way. "Oh, no. +Missis much afraid. Much suffer. Him sick--much sick. No man--then all +gone. She 'fraid. She all break up her heart. Marcel not come. Why? Why? +An-ina know. She hear from Indian man. All Indian man know. Marcel him +all killed dead. Indian man not kill him. Oh, no. Cy Allshore him kill +him. Marcel him kill Cy too. Both kill each one. Oh, yes. Cy devil man. +Cy think him kill up Marcel. Then him have Missis--have all things. Oh, +yes. Indian man know. Indian man find both, all killed dead. Indian man +tell An-ina. An-ina say no tell Missis. Maybe she all kill dead--too. +Yes? An-ina love Missis. Love her much. She no hurt Missis. So she not +say. Oh, no." + +The searching eyes of Steve never left the woman's dusky face for a +moment. They were boring their way to pierce the unemotional exterior +for the truth that lay behind. + +"Say, just stop right there," he commanded. "I need to get this right. +You reckon this feller Cy--Cy Allshore was out for plunder--murder. You +guess he kind of loved your Missis, and she didn't know. He reckoned to +kill Marcel, and steal all this, and--his wife. That so?" + +"Sure. That so." + +"How d'you know?" + +"An-ina see. An-ina have two eyes. She see all thing. Oh, yes." + +"Tell me." + +"How An-ina tell? She not know. She woman. She see. That all. Cy him +hard. Him have bad eye for woman. Him think money all time. Him say, +'An-ina you good squaw.' Him say, 'Cy have no squaw. Cy like squaw.' +An-ina say, no! She know. Then him hate An-ina. Him hate An-ina plenty, +big. An-ina say nothing. She not 'fraid. Cy know she maybe kill him. +Then him talk much with Missis. An-ina watch. Yes. Missis not know. Him +good woman. An-ina know. Cy bad. An-ina think her mak big talk with +Marcel. Her say much. No. Her not mak big talk. Marcel him kill Cy. Then +all thing here--no good. Oh, yes. So An-ina say nothing. So him Cy an' +Marcel go long trail. Marcel him not think nothin'. Him dream--dream. +All time dream. Cy think bad all time. + +"So." An-ina shrugged expressively. "Much long time. No Cy. No Marcel. +Then Indian man mak big talk. Him say Indian man come by the big water. +What you call him?" + +"Hudson's Bay?" + +"No, no. Not so big water." + +"Chesterfield Inlet?" + +The woman's eyes cleared of their perplexity. + +"So. Chest-fiel' Inlet. Him big water. Indian man come with much seal. +Him mak camp. Bimeby him mak big trail for Unaga. Then him find him +trail. Cy an' Marcel. Him follow him trail, an' bimeby him come big, +deep place. Cy an' Marcel, all gone--dead. Him dogs all gone--dead. An' +wolves eat up all flesh. Oh yes." + +"How did they recognize the bones?" + +"Him sled, him outfit. All 'Sleeper.' Indian man know." + +"And you reckon Cy Allshore killed Marcel--murdered him?" + +There was a sharpness in Steve's demand that suggested doubt. He did not +doubt the woman's story. It was her assertion that Cy had murdered his +partner. He saw no evidence for her assumption. He felt that she had +given run to her own personal feelings against the man. + +"That so. I tell you," An-ina returned composedly. She read his doubt +and understood. "I not lie. Oh, no. Indian man wise. Sleeper man wise. +Not bad. No. They find him bones. All eat clean. They see big place. +They look an' look. No fall. Oh, no. No break 'em all up. No. Him say +Marcel wise man. Cy wise man. Not care for wolf. Oh, no. So him look +much. Him take him bone an' look. Him find him head--two. Maybe +Marcel--maybe Cy. Him find him hole. Little hole--big hole. Same like +each. Then him find gun. Two much little gun. Two big gun. Little gun +him both shoot. Two time--three time. Him say big fight--plenty. So. It +easy. Oh, yes. Marcel him no fight plenty. Oh, no. Him so as brother +with Cy. Cy him not so. An-ina know. Cy him steal, steal, so," An-ina +bent her lithe body in an attitude of stealing upon a victim. "Then him +little gun go--one I Marcel know. Him quick like lightning. Him +brave--much brave. Then him little gun go--one. So. Both all kill +up--dead." + +For all the broken way of her talk, An-ina carried conviction. She knew +both men. And her woman's heart and mind had read Cy Allshore to the +dregs of what she believed was an infamous heart. Steve knew the danger +of accepting her story without reserve. He was convinced of her +sincerity. It would have been impossible to doubt. But---- + +The sound of little Marcel's piping voice reached them from the outside. +Steve turned and glanced out of the window. Oolak was bringing in his +train, with its five powerful dogs. Julyman with a club was busy, with +little Marcel's assistance, beating off the ferocious welcome of dogs of +the post. + +For a moment he watched the boy's amazing efforts. Then as the tumult +subsided he turned again to the patient woman awaiting his verdict. + +"You're a good woman, An-ina," he said simply. "You've told me the whole +thing as you see it. Well, I guess I can't ask more. Anyway I'm camping +here for the winter, an' during that time I'll need to wake some of +these 'sleepers.' I've got to get out and see what happened at that 'big +place.' Later on, when the snow goes, why--Say, I guess there isn't a +thing to keep you and little Marcel around here--now." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE HARVEST OF WINTER + + +Steve was confronted with six months of desperate winter on the plateau +of Unaga. It was an outlook that demanded all the strength of his simple +faith. He was equal to the tasks lying before him, but not for one +moment did he underestimate them. + +For all the harshness of the life which claimed him Steve's whole nature +was imbued with a saneness of sympathy, a deep kindliness of spirit that +left him master of himself under every emotion. The great governing +factor in his life was a strength of honest purpose. A purpose, in its +turn, prompted by his sense of right and justice, and those things which +have their inspiration in a broad generosity of spirit. So it was that +under all conditions his conscience remained at peace. + +It was supported by such feelings that he faced the tasks which the +desperate heart of Unaga imposed upon him. He had the care of an +orphaned child, he had the care of that child's Indian nurse, and the +lives and well-being of his own two men charged up against him. He also +had the investigations which he had been sent to make, and furthermore, +there was his own life to be preserved for the woman he loved, and the +infant child of their love, waiting for his return a thousand miles +away. The work was the work of a giant rather than a man; but never for +one moment did his confidence fail him. + +The days following the arrival at the post were urgent. They were days +of swift thought and prompt action. The open season was gone, and the +struggle for existence might begin without a moment's warning. Steve +knew. Everyone knew. That is, everyone except little Marcel. + +The boy accepted every changing condition without thought, and busied +himself with the preparations of his new friends. It had no significance +for him that all day long the forest rang with the clip of the felling +axe. Neither did the unceasing work of the buck-saw, as it ploughed its +way through an endless stream of sapling trunks, afford him anything +beyond the joy of lending his assistance. Then, too, the morning survey +of the elemental prospect, when his elders searched the skies, fearing +and hoping, and grimly accepting that which the fates decreed, was only +one amongst his many joys. It was all a great and fascinating game, full +of interest and excitement for a budding capacity which Steve was quick +to recognize. + +But the child's greatest delight was the moment when "Uncle Steve" +invited him to assist him in discovering the economic resources of his +own home. As the examination proceeded Steve learned many things which +could never have reached him through any other source. He obtained a +peep into the lives of these people through the intimate eyes of the +child, and his keen perception read through the tumbling, eager words to +the great truths of which the child was wholly unaware. And it was a +story which left him with the profoundest admiration and pity for the +dead man who was the genius of it all. + +Not for one moment did Steve permit a shadow to cross the child's sunny, +smiling face. From the first moment when the responsibility for Marcel's +little life had fallen into his hands his mind was made up. By every +artifice the boy must be kept from all knowledge of the tragedy that +had befallen him. When he asked for his mother he was told that she was +so sick that she could not be worried. This was during the first two +days. After that he was told that she had gone away. She had gone away +to meet his father, and that when she came back she would bring his +"pop" with her. A few added details of a fictitious nature completely +satisfied, and the child accepted without question that which his hero +told him. + +He was permitted to see nothing of the little silent cortege that left +the post late on the second night. He saw nothing of the grief-laden +eyes of An-ina as she followed the three men bearing their burden of the +dead mother, enclosed in a coffin made out of the packing cases with +which the fort was so abundantly supplied. He had seen the men digging +in the forest earlier in the day, and had been more than satisfied when +"Uncle Steve" assured him they were digging a well. Later on he would +discover the great beacon of stones which marked the "well." But, for +the moment, while the curtain was being rung down on the tragedy of his +life, he was sleeping calmly, and dreaming those happy things which only +child slumbers may know. + +Good fortune smiled on the early efforts at the fort For ten days the +arch-enemy withheld his hand. For ten days the weary sun was dragged +from its rest by the evil "dogs" which seemed to dominate its movements +completely. But each day their evil eyes grew more and more portentious +and threatening as they watched the human labourers they seemed to +regard with so much contempt. + +Then came the change. It was the morning of the eleventh day. The "dogs" +had hidden their faces and the weary sun remained obscured behind a mass +of grey cloud. The crisp breeze which had swept the valley with its +invigorating breath had died out, and the world had suddenly become +threateningly silent. + +A few great snowflakes fluttered silently to the ground. Steve was at +the gateway of the stockade, and his constant attendant was beside him +in his bundle of furs. The man's eyes were measuring as they gazed up at +the grey sky. Little Marcel was wisely studying, too. + +"Maybe us has snow," he observed sapiently at last, as he watched the +falling flakes. + +"Yes. I guess we'll get snow." + +Steve smiled down at the little figure beside him. + +"Wot makes snow, Uncle Steve?" the boy demanded. + +"Why, the cold, I guess. It just freezes the rain in the clouds. And +when they get so heavy they can't stay up any longer, why--they just +come tumbling down and makes folk sit around the stove and wish they +wouldn't." + +"Does us wish they wouldn't?" + +"Most all the time." + +The child considered deeply. Then his face brightened hopefully. + +"Bimeby us digs, Uncle Steve," he said. "Boy likes digging." + +Steve held out a hand and Marcel yielded his. + +"Boy'll help 'Uncle Steve,' eh?" + +"I's always help Uncle Steve." + +The spontaneity of the assurance remained unanswerable. + +Steve glanced back into the enclosure. Then his hand tightened upon the +boy's with gentle pressure. + +"Come on, old fellow. We'll get along in, and make that stove, and--wish +it wouldn't." + +He led the way back to the house. + +The snowfall grew in weight and density. Silent, still, the world of +Unaga seemed to have lost all semblance of life. White, white, eternal +white, and above the heavy grey of an overburdened sky. Solitude, +loneliness, desperately complete. It was the silence which well nigh +drives the human brain to madness. From minutes to hours; from inches to +feet. Day and night. Day and night. Snow, snow all the time, till the +tally of days grew, and the weeks slowly passed. It almost seemed as if +Nature, in her shame, were seeking to hide up the sight of her own +creation. + +For three silent weeks the snow continued to fall without a break. Then +it ceased as abruptly as it had begun, leaving the fort buried well nigh +to the eaves. The herald of change was a wild rush of wind sweeping down +the valley from the broken hills which formed its northern limits. And, +within half an hour, the silence was torn, and ripped, and tattered, and +the world transformed, and given up to complete and utter chaos. A +hurricane descended on the post, and its timbers groaned under the added +burden. The forest giants laboured and protested at the merciless +onslaught, while the crashing of trees boomed out its deep note amidst +the shriek of the storm. As the fury of it all rose, so rose up the +snowfall of weeks into a blinding fog which shut out every sight of the +desolate plateau as though it had never been. + + * * * * * + +Five weeks saw the extent of winter's first onslaught. And after that +for awhile, the battle resolved itself into a test of human endurance, +with the temperature hovering somewhere below 60 deg. below zero. For a few +short hours the sun would deign to appear above the horizon, prosecute +its weary journey across the skyline, and ultimately die its daily death +with almost pitiful indifference. Then some twenty hours, when the world +was abandoned to the starry magnificence of the Arctic night, supported +by the brilliant light of a splendid aurora. + +It was during this time that Steve pursued his researches into the lives +of these people. He was sitting now in the laboratory, which was a +building apart from all the rest. It was the home of the chemist's +research. It was equipped with wonderful completeness. Besides the +shelves containing all the paraphernalia of a chemist's profession, and +the counter which supported a distilling apparatus, and which was +clearly intended for other experiment as well, there was a desk, and a +small wood stove, which was alight, and radiating a pleasant heat. + +It was the desk which held most interest for Steve. It was here he +looked to find, in the dead man's papers, in his letters, in his records +and books, the answer to every question in his mind. + +For some hours he had been reading from one of the volumes of the man's +exhaustive diary. It was a living document containing a fascinating +story of the chemist's hopes and fears for the great objects which had +led to his abandonment of the civilized world for the bitter heights of +Unaga. And in every line of it Steve realized it could only have been +written by a man of strong, deep conviction and enthusiasm, a man whose +purpose soared far above the mere desire for gain. He felt, in the +reading, he was listening to the words of a man who was all and more, +far more, than his wife had claimed for him. + +At last the fire in the stove shook down and he became aware of the work +of busy shovels going on just outside. He pulled out his watch, and the +yellow light of the oil lamp told him that he had been reading for +nearly three hours. Setting a marker in the book he closed it +reluctantly, and prepared to return the litter of documents to the +drawers which stood open beside him. + +At that moment the door opened, and the tall figure of the squaw An-ina +stood in the framing. + +"Him supper all fixed," she announced, in her quietly assured fashion. + +Steve looked up, and his eyes gazed squarely into the woman's handsome +face. He was thinking rapidly. + +"Say An-ina," he began at last. "I've been reading a whole heap. It's +what the man, Brand, wrote. He seems to have been a pretty great +feller." + +The woman nodded as he paused. + +"Heap good man," she commented. + +Her eyes lit with an emotion there could be no misunderstanding. For all +the savage stock from which she sprang the dead white man had claimed a +great loyalty and devotion. + +"You see, An-ina," Steve went on, "I came along up here to chase up the +murder of two men. My work's to locate all the facts, arrest the +murderers, take them back to where I come from, and make my report." + +"Sure. That how An-ina mak it so." + +The woman's eyes were questioning. She was wondering at the meaning of +all this preliminary. And she was not without disquiet. She had come to +realize that, with the death of her mistress, only this man and his +scouts stood between her and disaster. She could not rid herself of the +dread which pursued her now. Little Marcel was a white child. This man +was white. She--she was just a squaw. She was of the colour of these +"Sleeper" Indians. Would they take the child of her mother heart from +her, and leave her to her fate amongst these folk who slept the whole +winter through? + +"Yes," Steve was gazing thoughtfully at the light which came from under +the rough cardboard shade of the lamp. "Well, the whole look of things +has kind of changed since I've--" he indicated the papers on the +desk--"taken a look into all these." + +"Him read--much. Him look--always look. So." + +Steve nodded. + +"That's so. Well, I've got to get busy now, and do the things I was sent +up to do. But it seems likely there's going to be no murderer to take +back with me. It looks like a report of two men dead, by each other's +hand, a woman dead through accident, and you, and little Marcel left +alive. That being so I guess I can't leave you two up here. Do you get +that?" He set his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his hands. +"There's the boy, he's white," he said, watching the squaw's troubled +face. "He's got to go right back with me, when my work's done. And +you--why, you'd best come, too. I'd hate to rob you of the boy. You'll +both need to come right along. And the big folk will say what's to be +done with you when we get back. How do you say?" + +The trouble had completely vanished from the woman's eyes. It was like +the passing of a great shadow. Their velvet softness radiated her +thankfulness, her gratitude. + +"It good. Much good," she cried, with a sudden abandonment of that stoic +unemotional manner which was native to her. "An-ina love white boy. She +love him much. Boy go? Then An-ina all go dead. An-ina wait. So storm +devil him come. Then An-ina go out, and sleep, sleep, and not wake never +no more. An-ina keep boy? Then An-ina much happy. An-ina help white man +officer. An-ina strong. Mak long trail. An-ina no sick. No mak tire. +Work all time. An' help--much help white man officer. So." + +Steve's smiling eyes indicated his acceptance of the woman's +protestations. + +"That's all right," he said. Then he went on after a moment's thought: +"Now, you know these folk. These 'Sleepers.' Do you know their +lingo--their language? I've got to make a big pow-wow with their head +man. I guess that can't be done till they wake. You figger they wake at +intervals, and they dope themselves again. If that's so, I've got to get +their big chief right at that time. D' you guess you could take me right +along to get a look at these folk, and, after that, fix things so I can +grab their big man first time he wakes?" + +The woman nodded at once, and her eyes wore a contented smile. + +"Sure. An-ina know. Show him white man officer. Oh, yes. Show him all +this folk. Oh, yes. When? Now? Oh, yes. Him not snow. It good. Then +sometime An-ina watch. She watch, watch, all time, and when him wake, +an' eat, then him white man come an' mak pow-wow. Good?" + +"Fine." Steve returned all the papers to the drawers in the desk and +stood up. "Guess I'll eat right away, and after that we'll get along an' +take a peek at these folks. The boys got the snow clear outside?" + +"Him dig much. Snow plenty gone." + +"Good. And little Marcel?" Steve enquired, with a tender smile. "Has he +been digging?" + +The squaw's eyes lit. + +"Oh, yes, him boy dig. An' Julyman, an' him Oolak all laff. Boy dig all +time, everywhere." An-ina laughed in her silent way. Then she sobered, +and a great warmth shone in her eyes. "Boss white man officer love him +boy? Yes?" + +Steve nodded in his friendly way. + +"Oh, I guess so," he admitted. "You see, I've got a little girl baby of +my own way back--where I come from." + +"So." + +There was no mistaking the understanding in the woman's significant +ejaculation. + + * * * * * + +Steve and An-ina passed out into the wonderful glowing twilight. There +was no need for the sun in the steely glittering heavens. The full +moonlight of the lower latitudes was incomparable with the Arctic night. +From end to end in a great arc the aurora lit the world, and left the +stars blazing impotently. The cold was at its lowest depths, and not a +breath of wind stirred the air. Up to the eyes in furs the two figures +moved out beyond the stockade into the shadowed world. + +The squaw led the way, floundering over the frozen snow-drifts with the +gentle padding sound of her moccasined feet. Steve kept hard behind her +yielding himself entirely to her guidance. + +Out in the open no sign remained of the dome-roofed settlement of the +Sleepers. The huts had served to buttress the snow for the blizzard. +They were buried deep under the great white ridges which the storm had +left. + +It was something upon which Steve had not calculated. And he swiftly +drew the squaw's attention. + +"Say," he cried, pointing at the place where the huts had been visible, +"I kind of forgot the snow." + +The squaw's eyes were just visible under her fur hood. Their brightness +suggested a smile. + +"No 'Sleeper' man by this hut. Oh, no," she exclaimed decidedly. "No +winter, then him 'Sleeper' man live by this hut. Winter come, then him +sleep by woods. Much hut. Plenty. All cover, hid-up. Come, I show." + +Steve was more than relieved. The snow had looked like upsetting all his +calculation. + +Once clear of the banked snow-drifts, which rose to the height of the +stockade, they moved rapidly over the crusted surface towards the dark +wall of woods which frowned down upon them in the twilight, and, in a +few moments, the light of the splendid aurora was shut out, and the +myriad of night lights were suddenly extinguished. + +"Keep him much close," An-ina cried, her mitted hand grasping Steve by +the arm. "Bimeby him bush go all thick. An-ina know." + +They trudged on, and as they proceeded deeper and deeper into the +darkness of the forest, Steve's eyes became accustomed. The snow broke +into patches, and soon they found themselves more often walking over the +underlay of rotting pine cones than the winter carpet of the Northern +world. The temperature, too, rose, and Steve, at least, was glad to +loosen the furs from about his cheeks and nose. + +Half an hour of rapid walking proved the squaw's words. The lank +tree-trunks, down aisles of which they had been passing, became lost in +a wealth of dense undergrowth. It was here that the woman paused for her +bearings. But her fault was brief, and in a few moments she picked up +the opening of a distinct but winding pathway. The windings, the +entanglement of the growth which lined it, made the path seem +interminable. But the confidence and decision of his guide left Steve +without the slightest doubt. Presently his confidence was justified. + +The path led directly to the entrance of a stoutly constructed +habitation. Even in the darkness Steve saw that the hut exactly occupied +a cleared space. The surrounding bush, in its wild entanglement, +completely overgrew it. The result was an extraordinarily effective +hiding. Only precise knowledge could ever have hoped to discover it. + +An-ina paused at the low door and pointed beyond. + +"Track him go long way. More hut. Much, plenty. Oh, yes. Much hut. This, +big man chief. All him fam'ly. Come." + +She bent low, and passed into the tunnel-like entrance, built of closely +interlaced Arctic willow. A dozen paces or more brought them to a +hanging curtain of skins. The woman raised this, and held it while Steve +passed beyond. A few paces farther on was a second curtain, and An-ina +paused before she raised it. + +"So," she said, pointing at it. "All him Sleepers." + +Steve understood. And with a queer feeling, almost of excitement, he +waited while the woman cautiously raised the last barrier. He scarcely +knew what to expect. Perhaps complete darkness, and the sound of +stertorous, drugged slumber. That which was revealed, however, came as a +complete surprise. + +The first thing he became aware of was light, and a reeking atmosphere +of burning oil. The next was the warmth and flicker of two wood fires. +And after that a general odour which he recognized at once. It was the +same heavy, pungent aroma that pervaded the fort where the dead chemist +stored the small but precious quantities of the strange weed he traded. + +They stepped cautiously within, and stood in silent contemplation of the +fantastic picture revealed by the three primitive lights. They emanated +from what looked like earthenware bowls of oil, upon which some sort of +worsted wicks were floating. These were augmented by the ruddy flicker +of two considerable wood fires, which burned within circular embankments +constructed on the hard earthen floor. + +The lights and fires were a revelation to the man, and he wondered at +them, and the means by which they were tended. But his speculations were +quickly swallowed up by the greater interest of the rest of the scene. + +The hut was large. Far larger than might have been supposed; and Steve +estimated it at something like thirty feet long by twenty wide. The roof +was thatched with reedy grass, bound down with thongs of rawhide to the +sapling rafters. The ridge of the pitched roof was supported by two +tree-trunks, which had been cut to the desired height, and left rooted +in the ground, while the two ends of it rested upon the end walls. The +walls themselves were constructed of thick mud plaster, overlaying a +foundation of laced willow branches. The whole construction was of +unusual solidity, and the smoke-blackened thatch yielded two holes, +Indian fashion, through which the fire smoke was permitted exit. + +But Steve's main interest lay in the drug-suspended life which the place +contained. It was there, still, silent. It lay in two rows down the +length of either side of the great interior. In the dim light he counted +it. There were forty-two distinct piles of furs, each yielding the rough +outline of a prone human figure beneath it. Each figure was deathly +still. And the whole suggested some primitive mortuary, with its +freight, awaiting identification. + +For many moments Steve remained powerless to withdraw his fascinated +gaze. And all the while he was thinking of Julyman, and the story he had +been told so long ago. He remembered how he had derided it as beyond +belief. + +At last the fascination passed, and he turned his gaze in search of +those things which made this extraordinary scene possible. They were +there. Oh, yes. Julyman had not lied. No one had lied about these +creatures of hibernation. Piles of food were set out in earthenware +bowls, similar to the bowls which contained the floating lights. Then +there were other vessels, set ready to hand beside the food, and he +conjectured their contents to be the necessary brew of the famous drug. + +An-ina's voice broke in upon his reflections. + +"Him all much sleep," she said. "No wake now. Bimeby. Oh, yes." + +She spoke in her ordinary tone. She had no fear of waking these "dead" +creatures. + +"Tell me," Steve said after a pause, "who keeps these fires going? Who +watches them? And those oil lights. Do they burn by themselves?" + +An-ina made a little sound. It was almost a laugh. + +"Him light burn all time. Him seal oil," she explained. "Indian man much +'fraid for devil-man come. Him light keep him devil-man 'way all time. +Winter, yes. Summer, yes. Plenty oil. Only wind mak him blow out. Fire, +oh yes. When him wakes bimeby him mak plenty fire. Each man. Him sit by +fire all time eat. Then him sleep once more plenty. Each man wake, each +man mak fire. So fire all time. No freeze dead." + +"None awake now," demurred Steve lowering his voice unconsciously. + +"Oh, no," returned the squaw. "No man wake now. Bimeby yes. H'st!" + +The woman's sudden, low-voiced warning startled Steve. Her Indian eyes +had been quicker than his. There was a movement under the fur robes of +one of the curious heaps in the distance, to the left, and she pointed +at it. + +Steve followed the direction indicated. Sure enough there was movement. +One of the men had turned over on his back. + +"Him wake--bimeby," whispered the squaw. "Come!" + +She moved towards the doorway, and Steve followed closely. In a moment +they had passed the curtained barriers out into the fresh night air. + +Steve paused. + +"Would that be the headman?" he demanded. + +An-ina shook her head. + +"Him headman by door. Him sleep where we stand. Him sleep by door. Him +brave. Keep devil-man away. So." + +"I see," Steve moved on down the path. "Well, we'll get right back. I'm +going to reckon on you, An-ina. Each day you go. When the headman wakes +you speak with him. You tell him white man officer of the Great White +Chief come. He looks for dead white men. You must tell him to keep awake +while you bring white man officer. See?" + +"Sure. An-ina know. An-ina mak him fix all so." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +BIG CHIEF WANAK-AHA + + +The enclosure of the fort was at last cleared of snow. It was now ready, +waiting for the elements to render abortive in a few short hours the +labour of many days. Julyman and Steve had spent the brief daylight in +setting up a snow-break before the open sheds which housed the sleds and +canoes. Oolak was at the quarters of the train dogs at the back of the +store. These were his charge. He drove them, he fed them, and cared for +them. And his art lay in his nimble manipulation of the club, at once +the key to discipline, and his only means of opening up a way to their +savage intelligence. Steve shared in every labour and none knew better +than he the value of work and discipline under the conditions of their +long imprisonment upon the bitter plateau. + +Daylight had merged into twilight, and the cold blaze of the Northern +night had again enthroned itself. It was on the abandonment of his own +labours that Steve's attention was at once drawn to others going on +beyond the wall of the stockade. And forthwith he passed out of the +gates to investigate. + +That which he discovered brought a smile to his eyes. From the summit of +a drift, which stood the height of the timbered walls, he found himself +gazing down upon the quaintly associated figures of little Marcel and +his nurse. They were busy, particularly the boy. Amidst a confusion of +coiled, rawhide ropes An-ina, hammer in hand, was securing a rope end +to the angle of the wall, while Marcel, with tireless vocal energy, was +encouraging and instructing her to his own complete satisfaction. + +The sturdy, busy little figure, so overburdened with its bulk of furs, +was always a sight that delighted Steve. The childish enthusiasm was so +inspiriting, so heedless, so lost to everything but the sheer delight of +existence. + +While he stood there the rope was made secure and the squaw's efforts +ceased. Instantly the scene changed. The high spirits of the boy sought +to forestall the next move. With unthinking abandon he flung himself +upon the pile of ropes, and manfully struggled to gather them into his +baby arms. The result was inevitable. In a moment hopeless confusion +reigned and An-ina was to the rescue disentangling him. It was in the +midst of this that Marcel became aware of Steve's presence. The moment +he was successfully freed he abandoned his nurse for the object of his +new worship. + +"Us makes life-line," he panted, scrambling up the snow-drift. "Boy fix +it all a way through the forest to 'Sleeper' men." + +Steve reached out a helping hand, and hauled the little fellow up to his +side. + +"Ah. I was guessing that way," he said. "And An-ina was helping boy, +eh?" + +"Oh, 'ess. An-ina help. An-ina always help boy. And boy help Uncle +Steve." + +Steve led the way down. An-ina was waiting with smiling patience. + +"Setting out a line to the Sleepers' camp?" he said, as they reached the +woman's side. + +An-ina nodded and began to coil the ropes afresh. + +"It much good," she said. "Bimeby it storm plenty. So. Each day An-ina +mak headman hut. When him wake then white man officer go mak big talk. +Storm, it not matter nothin'. No." + +"Fine," Steve agreed warmly. "You're a good squaw, An-ina." + +His approval had instant effect. + +"Him good? An-ina glad," she observed contentedly. + +An-ina moved on towards the forest bearing her burden of ropes, paying +out the line as she went. + +Steve watched her, his steady eyes full of profound thought. + +"Us helps An-ina, Uncle Steve?" enquired the boy doubtfully. + +The man had almost forgotten the mitted hand he was still clasping. Now +he looked down into the up-turned, enquiring eyes. + +"I don't guess An-ina needs us for awhile," he said. Then, after a +pause: "No," he added. "Boy's worked hard--very hard. Maybe we'll go +back to the fort. And--Uncle tell boy a story? Eh?" + +Steve had no need to wait for the torrent of verbal appreciation that +came. The boy's delight at the prospect was instant. So they forthwith +abandoned the snow-drifts for the warm interior of the store. + +Their furs removed, Steve settled himself on the bench which stood +before the stove. The room was shadowed by the twilight outside, but he +did not light a lamp. There was oil enough for their needs in the +stores, but eventualities had to be considered, and rigid economy in all +things was necessary. + +The picture was complete. The dimly lit store, with its traffic counter +deserted, and its shelves sadly depleted of trade. The staunch, +plastered and lime-washed walls, which revealed the stress of climate in +the gaping cracks that were by no means infrequent. The hard-beaten +earth floor swept clean. The glowing stove that knew no attention from +the cleaner's brush. Then the two figures on the rough bench, which was +worn and polished by long years of use. + +The completion of the picture, however, lay in the personalities for +which the rest was only a setting. Steve, in his buckskin shirt and +moleskin trousers, which divested him of the last sign of his +relationship to the force which administered the white man's law. His +young face so set and weather-tanned, so full of decision and strength, +and his eyes, far gazing, like those of the men of the deep seas. And +the boy upon his knee, his little hands clasping each other in his lap. +With his curling, fair hair, and his wide, questioning eyes gazing up +into the man's face. With his small body clad from head to foot in the +beaded buckskin, which it was his nurse's joy to fashion for him. There +was a wonderfully intimate touch in it all. It was a touch that +powerfully illustrated the lives of those who are far removed from the +luxury of civilization, and who depend for every comfort, even for their +very existence, upon those personal physical efforts, the failure of +which, at any moment, must mean final and complete disaster. + +"Tell boy of bears, an' wolves, an' Injuns, an' debble-men, wot An-ina +hers scairt of." + +The demand was prompt and decided. + +"An-ina scared of devil-men?" Steve smilingly shook his head. "It's only +stupid 'Sleeper' men scared of devil-men. Anyway there's no devil-men. +Just wolves, and bears, that boy'll hunt and kill when he grows up." + +"But hers says ther's debble-men," the boy protested, his eyes wide with +awe. + +Steve shook his head. + +"No," he said firmly. "Uncle Steve knows. He knows better than Indians. +Better than An-ina. Boy always remember that." + +"Oh, 'ess, boy 'members." + +The child impulsively thrust an arm about the man's neck and Steve's arm +tightened unconsciously about the little body. + +"Tell us 'tory," the child urged. + +Steve's contemplative eyes were upon the glowing stove. + +"What'll it be about?" he said at last. Then, as though suddenly +inspired, "Why, I know, sure. It's about a little boy. A real bright +little boy. Oh, I guess he was all sorts of a boy--like--like Marcel." + +"Wot's 'all sorts'?" the child demanded. + +"Why, just a sample of all the good things a boy can be. Same as you." + +The explanation seemed sufficient, and Marcel's eyes were turned +dreamily upon the red patch on the side of the stove. + +"'Ess," he agreed. + +"Well, Uncle Steve travelled a great, long way. It was dreadful hard. +There were bears, and wolves, I guess, and queer Indian folk, and +rivers, and lakes, and forests; forests much bigger and darker than +boy's ever seen." + +"Wos thems bigger than the Sleepers' forest?" The challenge was +instantly taken up. + +"Oh, yes." + +"An' darker, an' fuller of debble-men?" + +"Much darker, and there were no devil-men, because there just aren't +any." + +"No. Course not," the boy agreed readily. + +"That's so. Well, Uncle Steve came a long, long way, and his dogs were +tired, and his Indians were tired----" + +"Wos thems like Julyman an' Oolak?" + +"Yes. That's who the Indians were. Uncle always has Julyman and Oolak. +Well, he came to a valley where he found a little boy. All sorts of a +boy. And he liked the little boy, and the little boy liked him. Didn't +he?" + +"'Ess." + +"Well, the little chap was alone." + +"Didn't hims have no An-ina?" + +"Oh, yes. He had his nurse. But his Pop had gone away, and so had his +Mummy. So he was kind of alone. Well, the little boy and Uncle Steve +became great friends. Oh, big friends. Ever so big. And Uncle Steve +didn't want ever to leave the little boy. And I don't guess the little +boy ever wanted to leave Uncle Steve. But then you see there was the Pop +and Mummy, who'd gone away, and of course the boy liked them ever so +much. So Uncle Steve was in a dilemma." + +"Wot's 'd'lemma'?" + +"Why just a 'fix.' Like boy was in when he got all mussed up with the +ropes just now." + +"Wos you mussed up with ropes?" + +"Oh, no. Only in a 'fix.'" + +"'Ess." The briefest explanations seemed to satisfy. + +"Well, Uncle Steve guessed the Pop an' Mummy wouldn't come back for ever +so long, maybe not till the boy was grown up. So he guessed he'd take +the little boy--such a jolly little chap--with him, back to his home, +where there was a nice Auntie, and a little baby cousin. A little girl, +such a pretty little dear, all eyes, and fat cheeks, that sort of tell +you life's the bulliest thing ever. Well, he took him to his home, such +a long, long way, over snow, and over rivers and lakes, where there's +fishes, and through forests where there's wolves, an' bears----" + +"Does hims see any debble-mens?" + +"No. Because Uncle Steve says there just aren't any." + +"But An-ina sezes ther' is." + +"An-ina's a squaw." + +"'Ess." + +"Well, after long time this funny little fellow finds his new Auntie, +and he loves his little cousin right away, and he has such a bully time +with her. They play together. Such games. She pulls his hair and laughs, +and the boy, who's such a bright little kid, likes it because she's a +little girl, and they grow, and grow up together, and then--and +then----" + +"Does hims marry her, an' live happy ever after?" + +The question was disconcerting. But Steve did his best. + +"Well, I can't just say, old fellow," he demurred. "You see, I hadn't +fixed that." + +"But they allus does in my Mummy's 'tories," came the instant protest. + +"Do they? Well, then I guess these'll have to," the man agreed. "We'll +fix it that way." + +"'Ess. An' then----" + +But the prompting failed in its purpose. + +"An' then? Why--I guess that's just all. You see, when folks get +married, and live happy ever after, there's most generally no more story +to tell. Is there?" + +"No." Then the child sat up. His appetite had been whetted. "Tell boy +'nother 'tory. Great big, long one. Ever so long." + +Steve shook his head. + +"Guess Uncle Steve's not great on yarns," he admitted. "You see, I was +kind of thinking. Say, how'd boy like to go with Uncle Steve, and see +the nice Auntie, and the little dear, with lovely, lovely curly hair and +blue eyes, and cheeks like--like----" + +"'Ess. Us goes," the child cried, with a sudden enthusiasm. "Us finds +all the lakes, an' rivers, an' forests, an' wolves, an' bears, an' the +little dear. Boy likes 'em. Us goes now?" + +The headlong nature of the demand set Steve smiling. + +"Well, I guess we can't go till winter quits," he said. "We'll need to +wait awhile till it's not dark any more. Then we'll take An-ina. And +Julyman. And Oolak. And the dogs. How's that? Then, after awhile, when +boy's Pop and his Mummy come back, then maybe we'll come right back, +too. Eh?" + +The anticipation of it all was ravishing to the child mind, and the boy +resettled himself. + +"'Ess," he agreed, with a great sigh. "An' the little dear, an' the nice +Auntie. Us all come back." Then with infantile persistence he returned +to his old love. "More 'tory," he demanded. "'Bout debble-mens." Then, +as an after-thought: "Wot isn't, cos Uncle says they doesn't, an' An-ina +says him is when he wasn't, cos he can't be." + +Steve sprang to his feet with a great laugh, bearing the little fellow +in his strong arms. He had accomplished his task and all was well. + +"No more 'tory," he cried setting him on the ground. "All us men have +work to do. We need to help An-ina. Come on, old fellow." + +And with a great feeling of relief and contentment he began the +re-adjustment of the furs which protected the little life which had +become so precious to him. + + * * * * * + +For all the nights were almost interminable, and the days so desperately +short time passed rapidly. It was nearly three weeks later that the +patient, indefatigable An-ina brought the word Steve awaited. + +The daylight had passed, engulfed by the Arctic night which had added a +dull, misty moon to its splendid illumination. The temperature had +risen. Steve knew a change was coming. The signs were all too plain. He +knew that the period of peace had nearly run its course, and the +elements were swiftly mobilizing for a fresh attack. + +He was standing in the great gateway considering these things when +An-ina came to him. She appeared abruptly over the top of the great +snow-drift, which had been driven against the angle of the stockade. The +soft "pad" of her moccasined feet first drew his attention, and +immediately all thought of the coming storm passed from his mind. + +"Him big chief wake all up," she announced urgently, as she reached his +side. + +"Did you speak to him?" + +The man's enquiry was sharpened by responsive eagerness. The squaw +nodded. + +"An-ina say, 'Boss white man officer come mak big talk with big chief, +Wanak-aha. Him look for dead white man by the big water. Yes.' Him big +chief say, 'White man officer? Him not know this man. Who?' An-ina say +much--plenty. Big chief all go mad. Oh, much angry. Then An-ina mak big +talk plenty. She say, 'Big Chief not mak big talk, then boss white man +officer of Great White Chief come kill up all Indian man.' Big chief +very old. Him all 'fraid. Him shake all over like so as seal fat. Much +scare. Oh, yes." She laughed in her silent fashion. "So him say, 'Boss +white man officer come, then Big Chief Wanak-aha mak plenty big talk.' +Then him sleep. Oh, yes." + +The woman's amusement at the chief's panic was infectious. Steve smiled. + +"I guess we'll go right along," he said. Then he indicated the moon with +its misty halo. "Storm." + +Again An-ina nodded. + +"Him storm plenty--sure," she agreed. "Boss come quick?" + +"Right away." + +A moment later An-ina was leading the way up the long slope of the +snow-drift, returning over the tracks which her own moccasins had left. + + * * * * * + +The atmosphere of the hut was oppressive. It reeked with the smoke of +wood fire. It was nauseating with a dreadful human foulness. But over +all hung the sickly sweet odour of the Adresol drug, which oppressed the +brain and weighted down the eyelids of those who had just left the pure +cold air beyond the curtained doorway. + +Steve was not without a feeling of apprehension. He was in the presence +of the active operation of the subtle drug. He had read the dead +chemist's papers. He knew the deadly exhalations of the weed when +growing, or when in an undried state. He also knew that distillation +robbed it of its poisonous effect, but for all that, the sickly +atmosphere left him with a feeling of nausea. + +He and An-ina were sitting beyond one of the two wood fires that had +been replenished. The old chief, Wanak-aha, was squatting on his +haunches amongst his frowsy fur robes at the opposite side. He was a +shrivelled, age-weazened creature whose buckskin garments looked never +to have been removed from his aged body. His years would have been +impossible to guess at. All that was certain about him was that his +mahogany face was like creased parchment, that his eyes peered out in +the dim light of the hut through the narrowest of slits, that he was +alert, vital to an astounding degree, and that he suggested a foulness +such as humanity rarely sinks to. + +An-ina was speaking in the tongue native to the old man, who was +replying in his monosyllabic fashion while he kept all his regard for +the stern-eyed white man, who, the squaw was explaining, represented all +the unlimited power of the white peoples. + +Steve waited in patience for the completion of these necessary +preliminaries, and acted his part with the confidence of wide +experience. And presently An-ina turned to him. Her eyes were serious, +but there was a smile behind her words. + +"Him say him much big friend for white man," she said, in her broken +way. "Him love all white man so as a brother. White man mak plenty good +trade with Indian man. It much good. So him big chief plenty friend. Oh, +yes." + +Steve inclined his head seriously. + +"Tell him that's all right," he said. "Tell him white man good friend, +too. White man love all Indian man. Tell him all white man children of +Great White Chief. When they die Great White Chief know. If Indian man +kill white man then Great White Chief send all thunder and lightning and +kill up all Indian man. Tell him Great White Chief know that two white +men all killed dead by great waters. He know Chief Wanak-aha's young men +find them. Great White Chief knows Indian man didn't kill them, but, as +he knows where they are, he must show the Great White Chief's Officer +where they are, so he can take their bones back to their own country, or +bury them as he sees fit. If Chief Wanak-aha does not tell White +Officer, and his young men don't show him this place, then the thunders +and lightning will come and kill up all Indian 'Sleeper' men." + +An-ina interpreted rapidly. And by the length of her harangue, and by +the attitude of the old man, Steve shrewdly suspected she was adding +liberal embellishments such as her own savage mind suggested as being +salutory. It was always so. An Indian on the side of the police was +merciless to his own people. + +The old man replied with surprising energy, and it was obvious to Steve +that panic had achieved all he desired. So he was content to watch +silently while the soft-voiced woman, with unsmiling eyes, spurred the +little, old, great man to decisions which it is more than probable only +real fear could have hastened. + +At last An-ina ceased speaking. She turned to Steve who received the net +results she had achieved in concrete form. + +"It much good," she said, without permitting the smallest display of +feeling before the watchful eyes of the old chief. "Him say all as +An-ina tell boss white man officer. Young men find dead white men all +kill up. In great, deep place by big waters. So. Him say when winter him +all go then young men take boss white man officer, show him all. Help +him much plenty. All him dog-train, all him young man for boss white man +officer. Yes. Not so as snow him not go. Not find. All kill dead, sure. +'Sleeper' man sleep plenty. Then him all wake. Boss white man say 'go.' +Yes." + +The purpose of the visit was achieved. Steve desired nothing more. These +Indians would take him to the place where the two white men had fought +out the old, old battle for a woman. Yes, he was convinced now that +An-ina's original story was the true one. His visit to these squalid +creatures had served a double purpose. The old man's willingness to +comply with his demands amply convinced him that the wife's belief had +no foundation in the facts. Had the Indians murdered Marcel Brand and +his partner, the whole attitude of the chief must have been very +different. + +It was some moments before he replied. It was necessary that he should +play his part to the end. So he appeared to consider deeply before he +accepted the chief's offer. + +At length he raised his eyes from the flickering blaze of the fire. He +gazed round the dimly lit room where the Indians lay about in their +deathlike slumber. There was a stirring as of waking in a far corner, +and for awhile he contemplated the direction. Then, at last, his eyes +came back to the crumpled face of the old man awaiting anxiously his +reply. + +"Tell him," he said, addressing the squaw without withdrawing his gaze +from the face of the old man, "that the officer of the Great White Chief +will wait till the snow goes. Tell him he'll need to have his young men +ready then to make the trail. And when they've shown the officer all +they've found, and told him all they know, then the officer will tell +the Great White Chief that the 'Sleeper' men are good men, who deserve +all that is good. Tell him, there will be no thunder or lightning. And +if white men come again to the fort and find it as it has been left, +nothing taken, nothing destroyed, then maybe they'll bring good trade +for the Indian men, and presents for the big chief. But if they come and +find that one little thing has been destroyed or stolen, then the +thunder and lightning will speak, and there'll be no more Indians." + + * * * * * + +When Steve and An-ina emerged from the woods utter and complete darkness +reigned. The world had been swallowed up under an inky pall. The moon, +the brilliant stars, the blazing northern lights--all were extinguished, +and not a ray of light was left to guide them the last few hundred yards +to safety. Furthermore snow was falling. It was falling in great flakes +half as big as a man's hand. + +The life-line which the woman had set up was all that stood between them +and complete disaster. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE VISION OF THE SPIRE + + +Winter with all its deadly perils had become a memory. Life was supreme +again on the plateau of Unaga. It was in the air, in the breezes +sweeping down from the Northern hills, where the crystal snow caps no +longer had power to inspire distrust. It was in the flowing waters of +the river. It was in the flights of swarming wildfowl, winging to fresh +pastures of melting snows. It was in the new-born grass blades, +thrusting up their delicate heads to rid the world of winter's +unsightliness. The animal world, too, was seeking to alleviate the pangs +of semi-starvation to which it had so long been condemned. The sense of +gladness was stirring, lifting the world upon a glorious pinacle of +youthful hope. + +Gladness was in An-ina's heart as she moved over the dripping grass, +bearing the water fresh dipped from the river whose banks were a-flood +in every direction. Was not the darkness of winter swallowed up by the +brilliant sunlight? Was not the child of her heart trudging manfully at +her side, firmly grasping the bucket handle in a vain belief in the +measure of his help? Was not the moment rapidly approaching, when the +white man officer would return with the young men of the Sleepers from +the "deep place" by the "big waters?" Would not the day soon come when +the trail to the southlands would again be broken? And would she not +gaze once more upon the pleasant lands that gave her birth? Oh, yes. She +knew. It was a great rush to the promised home, far from the desperate +life on the plateau of Unaga, with the child, whose dancing eyes and +happy smile were like a ray of sunshine amidst the shadows of her life. + +Morning and night, now, An-ina looked for the return of those who had +set out before the break of the winter. A month had passed since Steve's +going. She was quite alone with her boy, with the wakened Indians +preparing for their labours of the open season. The "white man officer" +would return. An-ina had no fear for him even on the winter trail of +Unaga. He would return, and then--and then--And so she watched and +waited, and worked with all the will of her simple, savage heart. + +It was no easy task that lay ahead. An-ina knew that. Steve had told her +much during those dark days of winter. He had spoken of a thousand +miles. What was a mile? She did not know. A sun. A moon. These things +she knew. But his tone she understood. And she knew what he meant when +he declared his intention of beating schedule, and his determination not +to spend another winter on Unaga if it were the last trail he ever made. +She was ready. And, in her simple woman's way she beguiled the days of +waiting with speculation as to the white woman who had inspired in this +white man's heart so great a desire. + +Life was more than good to An-ina just now. She was young. She was +thrilling with the wild emotions of her untamed blood. She was an Indian +of the finest ancestry, but more than all she was a devoted woman. She +had lost a mistress whom she had loved, and a master whom she had been +glad to serve. She had found one to take their places, one whose first +act had been his re-assurance that she should not be robbed of the +child who was her all. There was no one greater in all the world to her +than the "white man officer" whose courage and will she counted as +powers greater than the storms of Unaga. + +All day she laboured at her many tasks. And the boy, faithful to his +doctrine of helpfulness, found a world of recreation in his idea. Thus, +with the passing of the sun, they stood together at the gateway of the +fort with eyes searching, as many times they had searched before, for a +sign of the return of the trail men. + +"Us wants Uncle Steve." + +There was a plaintive appeal in the boy's tone which found an echo in +the woman's heart. She sighed, but her voice was steady as she replied: + +"Bimeby him come," she said. + +"'Ess. Bimeby him come." + +But the boy's agreement lacked conviction. A moment later, with his big +eyes turned to the southeast, the way he had seen the expedition set +out, he went on: + +"Boy's Pop didn't come. An-ina said him's do. Boy's Mummy go 'way 'cos +Uncle Steve said her does. Uncle Steve hims all goes, too. Boy want +Uncle Steve." + +"Him come bimeby." + +The woman had no words with which to comfort. It was not lack of desire. +Though her conviction was unwavering, she, too, in her heart, echoed the +plaint. + +For some moments they continued their evening vigil. The eyes of both +searched the growing shadows. And, as was always the case, it was the +child who finally broke the silence. + +"Us cries," he said half tearfully. + +It was then the Indian in the woman asserted itself. + +"Squaw-men him weeps. 'Brave' him fight. No cry. Oh, no. Only fight. Boy +great white 'brave.' Him not cry. No." + +Marcel nodded, but his eyes were turned to the hills. + +"'Ess. Boy great white 'brave,'" he agreed, in a choking voice. "Boy not +cry--never. What's hims little things all dancing in the fog, An-ina?" +he enquired, his mind suddenly distracted, pointing at a gap between two +low hills, where a thin vapour of fog was slowly rising. "Is them's +debble-mens?" + +The keen eyes of the squaw followed the pointing finger. In a moment +there leapt into them a light which required no words to interpret. But +even in her excited joy the Indian calm remained uppermost. She drew +nearer the child, and one of her soft brown hands rested caressingly on +his shoulder. + +"Him not devil-men," she said, in a deep tone of exaltation. "Him Uncle +Steve an' all fool 'Sleeper' men. They all come so as An-ina say." + +Then the smile in her eyes suddenly transformed her, and her joy could +no longer be denied. She stooped over the small figure and pressed her +lips upon the soft white forehead. + +"Us go by river. An-ina hide. Boy hide. Then Uncle Steve come. Boy jump +out. Him say 'Boo!' Uncle Steve all scairt. Much frightened all dead. +So?" + +The appeal was irresistible. The boy's excitement leapt. In a moment he +was transformed from a tearful "brave" to a happy, laughing child. He +set off at a run for the river, with An-ina close upon his heels, +utterly regardless of the fact that they were within full view of the +on-coming trail men. This was a detail. The child's enthusiasm permitted +no second thought, and his breathless orders to his nurse were flung +back as he ran. The cover of the bush-lined river was reached, and the +hiding-place was selected just short of the flood water. + +The child crouched down trembling with excitement. And the sound of +Uncle Steve's voice giving orders as he came up on the far side of the +water made the suspense almost unendurable. He talked to An-ina, who +crouched at his side. He chattered incessantly. The splash of a canoe, +dropped into the water, was exquisite torture. The dip of paddles set +him well-nigh beside himself. Then, a few moments later, when the light +craft slithered on the mud of the shallows, just beyond the +hiding-place, he felt the psychological moment had come. Out he sprang +at his victim, who was still ankle deep in the water. + +"Boo-o-o!" he shrieked, with all the power of his little lungs, and, a +moment later, he was gathered into the caressing arms of a terrified +"uncle." + + * * * * * + +The work was accomplished. The police officer had fulfilled his mission, +a mission detailed to him coldly, officially, without a shadow of regard +for the tremendous trials entailed, and with only an eye for the +capacity of the officer selected. + +So far he had beaten his own schedule. He had calculated his work would +occupy two years from the moment of his going to his return to +Deadwater, but he meant to cut this down by something like six months. +The resolve to do so had been taken during the drear of winter. He had +been haunted by the appealing eyes of the woman he loved, and by the +memory of the soft clutch of baby hands. And his desire had become +irresistible. + +Under his new resolve it had become necessary to speed the waking of the +Indians. He had had no scruple. Again he had bearded the chief and +forced his will upon him. For all the old man's fears of the white man's +threats it had been no easy task. But at last he had convinced him of +the hopeless recklessness of denying him. So twenty of the young men +were found who reluctantly enough gave up the last month of their +winter's sleep. And now he had returned with his work accomplished. + +Steve had no illusions upon the desperate nature of the rush for home. +He knew the chances he was taking. A week's preparation. He could spare +no more time. A journey on foot of some hundreds of miles. An Indian +carry-all hauled by reindeer for the boy and the camp outfit, the dogs +to be herded without burden till their usefulness could serve. For each +man, and An-ina, the burden of a heavy pack. Such preparations were +wholly inadequate. He knew that. He was staking the courage and +endurance of those he was responsible for against a ruthless, +inhospitable world. + +Oh, yes, his eyes were wide to the dangers that lay ahead. He knew them +all. He had visions of a dripping, melting land. He knew the spring +rains with their awesome powers of washout and flood. The blinding, +steaming fogs of the high altitudes. So with the glacial avalanches, and +the terror of thawing tundra, shaking, treacherous, bottomless. + +The week passed rapidly and the moment for the "pull-out" came. The +Indians were awake, and their winter quarters in the woods had been +abandoned for the domed igloos of the open season. The fort was alive +with their comings and goings. They were alert for the promised spoils. + +Peaceable, kindly, the sturdy undersized people of the outlands were +driven to a supreme selfishness by reason of the conditions under which +they lived. They cared little for anything but that which the white folk +could provide. Without interest or ambitions, beyond such comfort as +they could snatch from life, they desired only to be left in peace. But +with real amiability they wished the stranger well in his going. + +The post presented a curious enough scene on the morning of departure. +And to Steve, at least, thought of it was to recur many times in the +great struggle that lay before him. The poles of the carry-all, their +ends trailing upon the ground, loaded with camp outfit and ready for the +boy, stood just within the stockade. The dogs were ready and waiting +under Oolak's charge. Inside the store, Steve supported by Julyman and +An-ina, and the child Marcel, occupied the well-worn bench beside the +stove. + +He was receiving the farewell words of the old chief, Wanak-aha, who was +thankful enough to see the last of the disturber of his winter sleep. +The old man was surrounded by his equally aged counsellors, and the +whole deputation squatted ceremonially upon their haunches about him. +The store had been stripped of all supplies. The shelves were bare and +only a litter of packings remained to mark the end of the chemist's +great enterprise. + +Steve addressed the chief through An-ina without relaxing his authority. +He told the old man that everything that was good in the store had been +handed over a present to his people for their valuable services to the +Great White Chief. The store was now empty of everything that was good. +He told him that this was the way the Great White Chief always acted +towards those who served him. The things that remained in the store were +only evil things that were full of evil magic. The Great White Chief had +hidden these things deeply, and he had set a spell upon them. This had +been done so that no harm should come to the Indian. In this he was +referring to the contents of the dead man's laboratory. He told him that +the Great White Chief had ordered him to place the store and fort in the +chief's safe keeping. No Indian man was to enter it to destroy it. If he +did the evil spirits would break loose, and death and disaster for the +whole tribe would undoubtedly follow. Therefore he had summoned the +council that Wanak-aha might give his pledge for the safety of the +property of the Great White Chief. + +He told them he was going now because he wanted the Indians to live in +peace, with their slumbers undisturbed. He might never come again. He +could not say. But if the Great White Chief sent anybody, it would only +be for the purpose of giving great benefit to the Indians, whom he +undoubtedly regarded as a very wise and good people. + +It was a masterly exhibition of Steve's understanding of the savage it +was his work to deal with, and the happy effect was promptly evidenced. +Ten minutes of monosyllabic discussion between the chief and his +counsellors produced the pledge Steve desired, and he knew from the +manner of it that the pledge would be kept to the letter. But it brought +forth something more. An-ina was called upon to interpret an expression +of the friendly spirit in which the Indians parted from the disturber of +their slumbers. + +The old man in a long peroration explained all he and his people felt. +They were in no way behind the Great White Chief in their regard, he +assured Steve. They loved the white man, whose ways were not always +Indian ways. He re-affirmed his solemn promise that the fort should be +safe in Indian hands. Furthermore he told him they had no desire to +anger the evil spirits it contained. In conclusion he produced a beaded +seal-skin bag which he asked the white man to accept. It contained, he +explained, the bones of the right hand of one of his ancestors who had +been a great hunter and warrior, and withal a lucky and mighty chief who +was only murdered by his people after a long and fierce reign. This bag, +with its contents, was a sure talisman and guard against the evil +spirits of Unaga, and they were very, very many, and very cruel. + +With due solemnity Steve accepted this priceless gift, and, to add to +his display of gratification, he drew little Marcel to him and secured +it about his neck. Then, turning to the chief, he explained. He pointed +at the child, and assured him that the white man regarded his children +before all things--even before his own life. Therefore, to display his +gratitude to the great chief, he bestowed the gift upon the child whose +safety he desired above all things in the world. Approval was unanimous. +To every one of these simple creatures the white man's act was one of +the greatest self-sacrifice. And even in the more enlightened minds of +An-ina and Julyman there was a deep appreciation of the act. + +When the council broke up, and the fur-clad Indians moved out, Steve +might well have been forgiven had he felt that his work had been well +and truly done. + +With the going of the last Indian he promptly shouldered his pack, and +Julyman and An-ina did the same. A moment later he took the child in his +arms. + +"Come," he said, and led the way out of the building. + +Ten minutes later the outfit was on the move, and the great adventure, +with the new-born mosquitoes and flies swarming, began in a blaze of +spring sunshine. + + * * * * * + +Out on a snow-clad ridge, a saddle between two forest-clad hills, a +meagre camp was set. The shelter of woods against the keen north wind +made the resting-place possible. Two weeks of struggle, two weeks of +tremendous effort left the choice of daylight camping ground a matter of +small moment, but just now the bleak ridge had been selected for a +definite reason. + +Steve and An-ina were standing out in the gap, with little Marcel +between them. Oolak was somewhere within the woods, tending his savage +dogs. Julyman was hugging the fire, with complete disregard for all but +its precious warmth. + +Those in the gap were staring out at the north-east with eyes held +fascinated by the wonder of it all. It was the Spire, the amazing Spire +of Unaga rearing its mighty crest out of the far-off distance. Even the +child was awed to silence by the spell of the inspiring vision. + +They were gazing upon a world of fire and smoke. And the fire was +belching out of the bowels of the earth and lighting up the whole +skyline far and wide. It was a scene no words could adequately describe. +It was a scene to awe the stoutest heart. The whole country in the +distant north seemed to lie prostrate at the mercy of a world of +devouring flame. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE RUSH OUTFIT + + +"Curse 'em!" + +Ian Ross raised a hand and swept it across the back of his muscular +neck. Then he wiped his palm on his cord breeches leaving there the +stain of his own blood, and the crushed remains of hundreds of +mosquitoes. + +"Get a look at that," he cried, in genial disgust. + +The man riding at his side turned and laughed without mirth. His eyes +remained serious. + +"Sure," he said indifferently. "We've got to get 'em, this time of year, +Doc. We need a head breeze." + +"Got to get? What we're getting is hell--plumb hell," exploded the +Scotsman. + +The other nodded. + +"Sure. But there's worse hell on the trail, and it isn't us who's got +it." + +The rebuke was without offence. But it was sufficient. In a moment Ross +was flung headlong back to the haunting thoughts of the great effort he +and his companion were engaged upon. + +"Another day--and no sign," he said. + +"No." + +There was no great display, yet the doctor's words, and the monosyllabic +reply, were deeply significant. + +Jack Belton--Inspector Jack Belton--and the doctor were on a "rush +outfit" of rescue. They were riding back to camp after a long day of +search along the banks of the Theton River. Their search was systematic. +Each day they rode out and followed the intricate course of the smiling +river with its endless chain of lakes. Each day their camp broke up and +followed a similar course, but taking the direct and shortest route down +the river. Then, at nightfall, the two men rejoined their outfit, only +to follow a similar procedure next day. Thus they had left the +headwaters far behind, and were steadily working their way down the +river. Somewhere along that river was Steve Allenwood, alive or dead. +They could not guess which. They could not estimate where. It was their +purpose to leave no creek, or lake, or yard of the great river +unexplored, until the secret was yielded up. + +"And when we find him, what then?" the doctor exclaimed in a desperate +fashion. "Maybe he's sick. Maybe--whatever it is we've got to heal him, +and break him at the same time. God!" + +"Yes." Jack Belton turned his dark eyes on his companion. They were hot +with feeling. "Say, Doc, I'm crazy to find that boy, and find him +cursing the skitters with a wholesome vocabulary, same as you and me. +But I'd hand over my Commission in the force with pleasure to my biggest +enemy rather than pass him the dope you and me need to." + +The Scotsman nodded, and the kindly face reflected the bitterness of his +feelings. + +"And I handed him my promise, and Millie's," he aid. "He was crazy about +them both--God help him." + +"Poor devil!" + +The great valley was lit from end to end by the last flaming rays of the +setting summer sun. The green carpet was dotted by a thousand wooded +bluffs, and a wonderful tracery of watercourses caught and reflected +the dying light. Not a breath of air stirred. And the warm, cloudless +evening was alive with the hum of insects, and the incessant chorus of +the frogs at the water's edge. Now and again the far-off cry of coyote +or wolf came dolefully across the trackless grass. For the rest a +wonderful peace reigned--that peace which belongs to the wilderness +where human habitation has not yet been set up. + +It had been a tremendous time for both these men, and for those under +the Inspector's command. The whole thing had been an exhibition of human +energy, rarely to be witnessed. It had all been the result of an episode +on a similar, calm summer afternoon, which would remain for all time a +landmark in the doctor's life. + +He had been reading in his shanty surgery on the Allowa Reserve. The +stream of his medicine-loving patients had ceased to flow. The little +room was heavy with the reek of his pipe. So he had risen from his chair +and passed to the door for a breath of air. It was then that he was +confronted by a gaudy coloured apparition. An Indian, whose race was +foreign to him, was patiently sitting on the back of a mean-looking +skewbald pony, clad in a parti-coloured blanket of flaming hues. The +moment Ross appeared in the doorway the Indian produced a crumpled, +folded paper from the folds of his blanket and offered it to him without +a word. + +He accepted it with a keen curiosity. He unfolded it and glanced at the +handwriting. It was unrecognizable. But that which stirred him to the +depths of his soul, and flooded his heart with something like panic, was +the signature at the bottom of it. It was Steve's--Steve Allenwood. + +The perusal of that letter was the work of a few moments. And throughout +the reading Ross was aware--painfully aware--of the aggravating calm of +the man who had written it. But under its unemotional words urgency, +deep, terrible urgency, was revealed. Accident and sickness had hit the +writer hard. His position was desperate. And the final paragraph +epitomized his extremity in no uncertain fashion. + + I mean to do all a man can to make the headwaters of the Theton + River. Maybe I'll succeed. I can't say. If I don't you'll + understand. Maybe you'll break it to Nita as easy as you can. If + you can help her, and the kiddie, I'll be mighty thankful. Thank + God the little one won't understand. I'm sending this by a + Yellow-Knife. He reckons he knows Deadwater, and can get through + quick. Please pay him well. I can't get farther than the + headwater--if that. After that--well, it depends on the help that + can reach us. + +Optimism and energy were amongst Ian Ross's strongest characteristics. +His decision was taken on the instant. With the aid of an interpreter he +questioned the Yellow-Knife, who knew no language but his own and that +of the Caribou-Eaters. + +The man's story was broken but lurid. + +The white man, he said, had arrived at Fort Duggan on foot, pursued by +the evil spirits of Unaga. He assured the doctor that these devils had +torn the clothes from him, and left him well-nigh naked. So with all the +party. There was blood on his feet and hands, where the spirits had +sought to devour him. Yes, they had even devoured his shoes. The white +man had a small white pappoose tied on to his back. The child was +sleeping, or sick, or dead. There was a squaw and an Indian with him, +whose bones looked out of their skins, and whose eyes were fierce and +wild like those who have looked the evil spirits in the face. These two +living-dead were hauling a sort of sled. And on the sled was another +Indian who was broken, and maybe dead. No, there were no dogs, no +outfit. It was just as he said. The Shaunekuks were good Indians, and +they gave the strangers food, and milk, and clothes to replace those the +evil spirits had devoured. They also had the canoes which the white man +had left with them a year ago. He, the messenger, was on a visit to the +Shaunekuks at the time, for a caribou hunt. But he abandoned the hunt at +the white man's request, who said he, the doctor, would pay him well. + +The man was paid under promise of guiding an outfit back to the Theton +River country, and then began a hustle of a cyclonic nature. + +Corporal Munday set out for Reindeer forthwith, and made headquarters in +record time. Within half an hour of his arrival Superintendent McDowell +had issued his orders for a "rush outfit." And three hours later saw it +on the trail. There was no hesitation. There was no question. There was +a comrade in peril, and with him others. There was a woman--although +only a squaw--and a white child. No greater incentive was needed, and +young Jack Belton was selected to lead the "rush" for his known speed +and capacity on the trail. + +Something of the feelings stirring found expression in McDowell's final +instructions to his subordinate at the moment of departure. + +"I don't care a curse if you kill every darn horse between here and the +Landing," he said. "Commandeer all you need--and plenty. I don't care +what you do. You've got to bring Allenwood back alive, or--or break your +darn neck." + +And Belton had needed no urging. He had cut down the month's journey to +the Theton River to something like twenty days. He had foundered six +teams of horses and worn his two men and his scouts well-nigh +threadbare with night and day travel. But the doctor had proved +invincible, as had the Yellow-Knife scout on his skewbald pony, which, +for all its meanness of shape and size, had stood up to it all. + +They had already been pursuing the river course for four days, and, so +far, it had withheld its secret. Somewhere out there on those wide +shining waters a man was struggling in a great final effort to defeat +once more the ruthless forces of Nature against which he had battled so +long and so successfully. + +And what would victory mean for him? Ross knew. Jack Belton knew. And +their knowledge of that which was awaiting him, should a final triumph +be his, added a deep depression to the silence which had fallen between +them. + +The great sun went to its death in a blaze of splendour, and the long +Northern twilight softened the scene with misty, velvet shadows which +crept down from distant hills to the north and south. The woodland +bluffs, too, promptly lost their sharpness of outline, and the green of +the trackless grass mellowed to a delicate softness which seemed to +round off the peace of the airless evening. + +Now they picked up the spiral of smoke from the camp-fire, and direction +was promptly changed towards it. + +"I sort of feel he'll make it," the Scotsman said abruptly, as though in +simple continuation of his unspoken thought. + +"You can't kill--him," replied the other emphatically. "I haven't a +doubt. He guessed he could make the headwaters. He'll make them. I'm +only scared to miss him in the night." + +The doctor shook his head. + +"I don't fancy that's going to happen. Our camp's always on the main +water, in the open. There's our watch. No. I'm a deal more scared of him +making a day camp, resting. Even then we haven't missed anything large +enough to hide up a skitter." + +"No." + +Now the spot light of the camp-fire shone out of the soft twilight, and +the sound of voices came back from the water's edge. + +"I'm wondering about what he needs to be told," Ross said presently. +"It's for me I guess." + +"How's that?" + +The younger man turned quickly. The thought of this thing had weighed +heavily with him. He was a police officer who was ready to face any +hardship, any of the hundred and one risks and dangers his calling +demanded. But from the moment he was detailed for his present duty he +had been oppressed by the thought of the story which would have to be +told Steve, and which duty, as leader of the rescue party, he calculated +must certainly fall to his lot. He had known Steve from the moment of +his joining the force. He had worked with him on the trail. He had been +present at his senior's wedding, and he remembered his comrade's +happiness at the consummation of a real love match. And now? The +doctor's words had lifted a great load from his mind. + +"There's two sides to be told," Ross said, with a sigh. "There's the +police side, which deals mostly with the Treaty Money, I guess, and +there's that other which should be mine. You see, he left them in my +care. And so there's a big account to be squared between him and me. +Best let me handle the whole rotten thing." Then with a sound that was a +laugh without the least mirth: "It's a doctor's job to hand out +unpleasant dope to a patient. It's a policeman's job to act unpleasant. +Guess the act isn't needed, but the dope is. Yes, it's mine, Belton. +Will you leave it that?" + +"I'll be so glad to," the other replied with a sigh of relief, "I don't +know how to tell you about it. It had me scared to death. That's so. +Even McDowell shirked it. He told me Steve had to get the whole yarn +before he got into Reindeer. That's the sort of folk we are. And it's +not a thing to brag about." + +The other shook his head. + +"It needs good men to hate hurting another," he said. "Guess it's a +scare you don't need to be ashamed of. I'll tell him because I've got +to. I hate it worse than hell. But I owe the hurt to myself for the way +I've--failed his trust." + +"I don't see you need to blame yourself, Doc," the youngster returned, +becoming judicial under his relief. "Steve won't, if I know him. This +sort of thing happens right along under a husband's nose. Just as long +as woman's what she is, and there's low down skunks of men around, +why--But, say, there's something doing at the camp!" + +He lifted his reins and urged his weary horse into a rapid canter, and +the doctor's horse clung close to its flank. The eager eyes of both were +searching for the meaning of the stir which the youthful Inspector had +detected. And instinctively they gazed out down the broad waters of the +placid river as far as the rapidly deepening twilight would permit. + +Simultaneously their eyes rested on two objects, a little indistinct, +floating upon the water. They looked so small in the immensity of the +spread of the river. But even so their outline was familiar enough. + +"Canoes!" cried Belton. + +"It's him!" came in the deep tones of the doctor. + +Five minutes later they were out of the saddle and standing with others +on the grassy river bank watching the steady approach of two canoes, +paddling their way up against the easy, sluggish stream. + +Near by were the two four-horsed wagons, and the camp-fire with the +forgotten supper still wafting its pleasant odours upon the breathless +air. Flies, too, and mosquitoes were in abundance. But these, like the +rest, were forgotten. The men of the police outfit had eyes and thoughts +for the canoes only. Each and all were wondering at that which they were +to reveal. + +Suddenly a shout broke the profound stillness. It came from the young +officer who could restrain himself no longer. + +"Ho, you, Steve!" + +The shout carried away over the water. Those on the bank could almost +hear it travel. Then followed what seemed an interminable interval. But +it was seconds only before a faint call came back. + +"Hoo-y!" + +The policeman was given no opportunity for reply. The doctor's great +husky voice anticipated him. + +"Ho, Steve! It's Doc Ross!" + +He had recognized the answering voice and flung his excited greeting in +a tumult of feeling. + + * * * * * + +The canoes drove head on for the river bank. + +As Belton and Ross sought to discover the nature of their freight the +coursing blood of excited hope stagnated. There was only the quickening +of apprehension. + +A grim, strange figure was confronting them. It was kneeling up in the +prow of the nearest vessel. A wild, straining, desperate light shone +feverishly in eyes looking out of a face lost in a tangle of beard and +whisker. The brows were fiercely depressed, suggesting a bitter +defensive spirit. The eyes were lost in cavernous sockets, and the +cheeks were sunken and scored with lines of ravening hunger. The whole +was clad in the discoloured buckskin of a Northern Indian, with a mat of +untended hair reaching to its shoulders. + +The waiting men understood. This was their comrade, the man to whose +succour they had rushed. A tragic story of suffering was in that single +figure, which, paddle in hand, was battling with a burden too great for +any one man to bear. Only he, and the squat figures of Shaunekuk +paddlers were to be seen. For the rest nothing was visible to the +onlookers. + +As the canoe grounded on the reed-grown mud the doctor's deep-voiced +"Thank God!" met with no response. The wild-looking figure scrambled off +the boat, and plunged nearly knee-deep into the mud. Those on the bank +seemed to concern him not at all, for he turned, as was perhaps his long +habit, to haul the vessel inshore himself. + +But the rescue party forestalled him. The men from the bank, policemen +and Indian scouts, seized the boat, while Ross's friendly hand was laid +on the man's shoulder. + +"The boys'll fix things," he said, in a voice deep with intense feeling. +"Best come right up to camp, Steve." + +The sound of the husky voice, whose words were not quite steady, brought +a swift turn from Steve. For a moment he stared at the speaker. He +seemed to be striving to restore the broken threads of memory. Finally +he shook his head. + +"No," he said. And turned again to the boat. + +Ian Ross made no further attempt. He understood. He turned and flung all +his energies into the work of unloading the tragic freight. The wild +figure of Steve had prepared him. And, in a few moments, his +professional mind was absorbed to the exclusion of everything else. + +Starvation had nearly defeated the otherwise invincible spirit of Steve. +It was there in the bottom of the light vessels, in the drawn faces and +attenuated bodies of the paddler crew of Shaunekuks. It was in the +display of Steve's side-arms strapped to a strut of the canoe ready to +his hand, with holsters agape, and his loaded guns protruding +threateningly. It was in a similar display in the second boat, which the +well-nigh demented Julyman had commanded. Oh, yes. No words were needed +to tell the story. It was there for all to read. + +The rescuers understood the uselessness of questions. Help was needed, +and it was freely given. The urgency of it all held them utterly silent, +except for sharp, brief orders. + +Ross and the two teamsters dealt with Steve's boat. Jack Belton and the +camp scouts devoted themselves to the second. + +In Steve's boat were the fever-ridden body of An-ina, and the scarcely +living shadow of the child, Marcel. Ross lifted the half-dead woman and +carried her up the bank to the tent which had been set up. Then he +returned in haste for the child. On his way he paused for a moment to +glance at the broken body of Oolak, who was being removed from the +second boat by Jack Belton. + +"Guess it's not starvation here," he said significantly. + +"No," Belton admitted. "It's a bad smash, I guess. Say----" + +The Scotsman glanced back at the river, following the horrified gaze of +his companion. His big heart thrilled with instant pity, and he set off +on the run. + +Steve, wild, unkempt, was labouring up from the water's edge, hobbling +painfully on feet that were bound up in great pads of blanket. He was +bearing in his arms the emaciated, unconscious body of the child, and +his whole attitude was one of infinite tenderness, and care, and +disregard for his own sufferings. + +The doctor reached the struggling man and held out his arms. + +"Give me the little chap," he demanded in his brusque fashion. + +Steve turned his head. He stared at him in the fashion of a blind man. + +"No!" he said sharply. Then he added with almost insane passion, "Not on +your life!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +STEVE LISTENS + + +"We've got 'em beat." + +The man of healing recovered the sick man's feet with the blanket, and +rolled the old dressings he had just removed into a bundle ready for the +camp-fire outside. + +"You mean----" + +Steve was lying in his blankets propped into a half-sitting position. A +candle, stuck in the neck of a bottle, lit the tent sufficiently for Ian +Ross to complete his work. + +"Why, the evil spirits of Unaga, I guess," he replied, with a forced +lightness. Then he shook his head. "They did their best--sure. Another +week or so and you'd have moved about on stumps the rest of your life. +And I'm reckoning that would have been the best you could have hoped. +It's been a darned near thing." + +Steve nodded. His manner was curiously indifferent. + +"How's the boy?" he demanded abruptly. + +Ross put his instruments away and set the water bowl aside. Then he set +the stoppered bottles back into his case. + +"He'll be 'whooping' it up with the boys in a couple of days," he said. + +"An-ina?" + +"Beating the 'reaper' out of sight." + +Steve drew a deep breath. + +"Oolak was all to pieces," he said doubtfully. + +"He was about as broken as he could be and still hang together. He's +been a tough case." It was the doctor's turn to take a deep breath. +"He'll be a man again. But I wouldn't gamble on his shape. Say, Steve, +it's the biggest bluff I've seen put up against death. Those darn +niggers who toted your boats, they're tickled to death with the food the +boys hand out to them. And as for Julyman he's as near cast iron +as--as--you." + +"Yes, it was pretty tough." + +"Tough? Gee!" + +The doctor's final exclamation was one of genuine amazement. + +"It's near three weeks since we hauled the remains of you from that +skitter-ridden river," he went on, "and a deal's happened in that time. +Jack Belton's gone in for stores, and to report. We've shifted camp +where the flies, and bugs, and things'll let you folks forget the darn +river, and the nightmare I guess you dreamt on it. You're all beating +the game, some of you by yards, and others by inches. But you're beating +it. And I'm still guessing at those things you all know like you were +born to 'em. When are you going to hand me the yarn, Steve? When are you +going to feel like thinking about the things that two weeks ago looked +like leaving you plumb crazed?" + +Steve knitted his brows. To the man watching him it seemed as if the +sudden recalling of the past was still a thing to be avoided. But his +diagnosis was in error. Steve became impatient. + +"Oh hell!" he exclaimed. "Do you need me to hand it you? Do you need me +to tell you the fool stunt I played to beat schedule, and get back to +Nita and the kiddie? Do you need to know about a darn territory that +every Indian north of 60 deg. is scared to death of? A territory only fit +for devils and such folk, like the neches reckon it's peopled with? Do +you want to hear about an outfit that found everything Nature ever set +for the world's biggest fools? Do you want to know about storms that +leave the worst Northern trails a summer picnic, and muskegs and tundra +that leave you searching for something bigger than miles to measure +with, and barren, fly-ridden territory without a leaf or blade of grass +and scored every way at once with rifts and water canyons so you can't +tell the north from the Desert of Sahara? If you do, read the old report +I've been writing. I'll hand you a story that won't shout credit for the +feller who designed it. But it'll tell you of the guts of the folk who +stood behind him every darn step of the way, and made him crazy to get +them through alive. If you'd asked me that two weeks ago I'd have cried +like a babe. Now it's different. You've got a sick woman under your +hands now, Doc, and two copper coloured neches. And when I say they're +the world's best, why--I just mean it." + +A deep flush of emotion underlaid the toughened skin of Steve's face. He +was deeply stirred by the thoughts and feelings which the other's demand +had conjured. + +The doctor glanced down at the sheets of paper on which Steve had +written his report. But he made no attempt to accept the invitation to +read it. The moment had come to tell this man of that disaster which yet +awaited him. So he had sought to test him in the only fashion that lay +to his hand. The break which had so sorely threatened in the reaction +following upon Steve's rescue had been completely averted, and the +Scotsman felt that now, at last, he was strong enough to bear the truth +which he had denied him on his first enquiry after his wife and child. + +The flush died out of Steve's cheeks. The steady eyes were never more +steady as they looked into the strong face before them. He ran his +fingers through his long dark hair, and resettled his shoulders against +the pile of blankets supporting them. + +"It kind of startles you to find guts in folks when you're up against +it. You can't help it. Maybe it's conceit makes you feel that way," he +went on quietly. "Those two boys of mine, and An-ina. You couldn't beat +'em. Nothing could. When Oolak dropped over the side of a canyon, with +most of the outfit the reindeer went with him. You see, we'd rid +ourselves of the dogs. We couldn't feed 'em. Well, I guessed the end had +come. But it hadn't. Julyman and An-ina took up the work of hauling, +while I carried Marcel. Only they hauled Oolak instead of the outfit. +They hauled him for nigh on a month, and we lived on dog meat till it +got putrid, and even then didn't feel like giving it up. I didn't have +to worry a thing except for their sanity. You see, they were Indian for +all their grit, and--I just didn't know. It was tough, Doc! Oh, gee! it +was tough! And when you've read the stuff I've doped out for +headquarters you won't need me to talk if you've two cents of +imagination about you. If you'd asked me awhile back, when I asked you +about Nita, and my little girl, and you told me they were good and +happy, and crazy to have me back, as I said, I'd have cried like a kid. +Yes, and I guess you'd have needed a gun to hold me here while you +hacked those slabs off my feet. But it's right now. My head was never +clearer, and there's just one thought in it. It's to get back to +Deadwater." + +The doctor listened with a surge of feeling driving through his heart. +His own words, the words he had told to the man whom he knew at the time +to be floundering on the edge of a complete mental breakdown, were +ringing through his brain. He had lied. He had had to lie. And now---- + +He took refuge in his pipe. He knew he would need it. He filled it from +the pouch which had become common between them and urged Steve to do the +same. In a few moments both men were smoking in an atmosphere of perfect +calm. + +"You were pretty bad that time," Ross said steadily. "Yes, I don't guess +you know how bad you were." + +"I think I do--now." + +The doctor seemed to be absorbed in pressing down the tobacco in his +pipe. He struck another match. + +"The strain had been so big the break must have come if you'd had to go +on," he said, blowing smoke till it partly obscured his patient's +unflinching eyes. "You were weak--physically. There was nothing to +support your nerve and brain. It was in your eyes. You scarcely +recognized us. You hardly knew what our presence meant to you. And, +later, the reaction made things even worse for you. A shock, and the +balance would have gone hopelessly. So--I lied to you!" + +"You--lied to me?" + +The pipe had been suddenly jerked from Steve's lips. He was sitting up. +A sudden fierce light had leapt to his eyes. + +The Scotsman, too, had removed his pipe. His eyes were squarely +confronting the other. All his mental force and bodily energy were +summoned to his aid. + +"Yes. I had to lie," he said firmly. "It was that or carry you back to +Deadwater a crazy man. I was the doctor then. Guess I'm a man now. Maybe +you won't reckon there's a difference. But there surely is. You see, I'm +not going to lie. I don't need to. Nita isn't at my shanty. She isn't at +Deadwater. Neither is Garstaing. And they've taken your little girl with +them." + +"They?" + +The man on the blankets had moved again. His knees were drawn up as +though he were about to spring from the sick bed he was still condemned +to. + +Ross nodded. + +"Yes." Then he pointed at the attitude of the other. "Say, straighten +out, Steve. Push those feet down under the blankets. You're a big man up +against disaster most times. Well, don't forget it. You're up against +disaster now. Sit back, boy, and get a grip on yourself. It's the only +way. I've got to tell you the whole rotten story, and when I've done +I'll ask you to forget the way I had to lie to you. If you can't, +why--it's up to you. My duty was to heal you first, and I don't guess +there's any rules in the game." + +Ross was talking for time. He had to be sure. He was ready at a sign to +launch into his story, but he was looking for that sign. + +And Steve gave it. It was the only sign the other would accept. Ross was +a powerful man, and Steve was still sick and weak. These things are as +well when a man knows that his purpose means the breaking of a strong +heart. Steve slid his injured feet down under the blankets. His legs +straightened out, and he leant his back against the pillow. But his pipe +was laid aside, and a quickening of his breathing warned the other of +the immense effort for restraint he was putting forth. + +"Tell me," he said. Then he added with a sudden note of sharpness, +"Quick!" + +The Scotsman nodded. + +"It's best that way. Garstaing and Nita bolted. They took your little +girl with them. It's six months ago. When the Indian Treaty Money came +up. Hervey Garstaing waited for that. The Indians never saw it. He +pouched it, and beat the trail, as I said, with Nita and the kiddie. +Say, I needn't tell you more than that. I don't know any more except the +police have been chasing his trail since." + +He fumbled in a pocket, and drew out a sealed envelope addressed in a +woman's handwriting, and another that was opened. The sealed envelope he +passed across to Steve. The other he retained. + +"She left these two letters in her room," he went on. "That's for you, +and this one was for Millie. Maybe you'll read yours later. This one +you'd best read now. It's just a line as you'll see." + +He held the letter out and Steve accepted it. And Ross watched him all +the time as he drew the note from its cover and perused it. The moment +of shock had passed, and the fierce light in Steve's eyes had died out, +leaving in its place a stony frigidity which gave the other a feeling of +unutterable regret. He would have been thankful for some passionate +outburst, some violent display. He felt it would have been more natural, +and he would have known better how to deal with it. But there was none. +Steve returned the letter to its envelope and remained silently +regarding the superscription. + +"It's a bad letter," Ross went on. "If I thought Nita had written it +herself I'd say you're well rid of something that would have cursed the +rest of your life. But the stuff that's written there is the stuff that +comes out of Garstaing's rotten head. I'd bet my soul on it. She says +her marriage with you was a mistake. She didn't know. She had no +experience when she married you. She needs the things the world can show +her. The North is driving her crazy. All that muck. It's the sort of +stuff that hasn't a gasp of truth in it. If there was you need to thank +God you're quit of her. No. That hound of hell told her what to say. +Poor little fool. He's got her where he wants her, and she's as much +chance as an angel in hell. She went in the night, and they took a +storming night for it. There was two feet of snow on the ground, and +more falling. How she went we can't guess. There wasn't a track or a +sign in the morning, and it went on storming for days, so even the +police couldn't follow them up. The whole thing was well planned, and +Garstaing took no sort of chances. He got away with nearly fifty +thousand dollars of Indian money, and, so far, hasn't left a trace. We +don't know to this day if he made north, south, east, or west. All we +know are these two letters, that they got away in a 'jumper' and team, +and that Nita and the kiddie were with him." + +"Say, Steve," Ross went on after a moment's pause, his voice deepening +with an emotion he could no longer deny. "I handed you a big talk of +seeing your Nita and the little kid safe till you got back. We did all +we knew. Millie and the gals did all they knew. Nita wanted for nothing. +The things that were good enough for my two we didn't reckon good enough +for her, and we saw she had one better all the time. Happy? Gee, she +seemed happy all the time, right up to the night she went. And as for +Coqueline she was the greatest ever. But he'd got her, that skunk had +her, and the thing must have been going on all the time. Still, we never +saw a sign. Not a sign. Millie never liked Garstaing, and he wasn't ever +encouraged to get around our shanty. And we had him there less after +Nita came. There's times I'm guessing it didn't begin after you went. +There's times I think there was a beginning earlier. Millie feels that +way, too. I know it don't make things better talking this way. But it's +what I feel, and think, and it's best to say it right out. I can't tell +you how I feel about it. And anyway it wouldn't make things easier for +you. I promised you, and all I said is not just hot air. I'm sick to +death--just sick to death." + +Ross's voice died away, and the silence it left was heavy with disaster. +Steve had no reply. No questions. He seemed utterly and completely +beyond words. His strong eyes were expressionless. He lay there still, +quite still, with his unopened letter lying on the blankets before him. + +Ross was no longer observing. His distress was pitiful. It was there in +his kindly eyes, in the purposeless fashion in which he fingered his +pipe. He was torn between two desires. One was to continue talking at +all costs. The other was precipitate, ignominious flight from the sight +of the other's voiceless despair. He knew Steve, and well enough he +realized what the strong wall the man had set up in defence concealed. +But he was held there silent by a force he had no power to deny, so he +sat and lit, and re-lit a pipe in which the tobacco was entirely +consumed. + +How long it was before the silence was finally broken he never knew. It +seemed ages. Ages of intolerable suspense and waiting before Steve +displayed any sign beyond the deep rise and fall of his broad chest. +Then, quite suddenly, he reached out for the collected sheets of his +official report. These he laid on the blankets beside the unopened +letter his erring wife had addressed to him. Then he looked into the +face of the man whose blow had crushed the very soul of him. Their eyes +met, and, to the doctor, it seemed that mind had triumphed over the +havoc wrought. Steve's voice came harshly. + +"When'll I be fit to move?" he demanded. + +"A week--if Belton gets back." + +Ross was startled and wondering. + +"Belton don't cut any ice." + +"But we need the wagon." + +The protest, however, was promptly swept aside. + +"I tell you it don't cut any ice. I move in a week That's fixed!" + +For some moments Steve became deeply absorbed again. Then the watching +man saw the decision in his eyes waver, and his lean hand move up to his +head, and its fingers pass wearily through his long hair. + +Then, quite suddenly, a harsh exclamation broke from him. + +"Tchah!" he cried. "What's the use?" + +With a great effort he seemed to pull himself together. He raised his +eyes, and the pitiful half smile in them wrung the Scotsman's heart. + +"Say, Doc, I'm--kind of glad it was you handed me--this. It's hurt you, +too. Hurt you pretty bad. Yes," he went on wearily, hopelessly, "pretty +bad. But I got to thank you. Oh, yes. I want to thank you. I mean that. +For all you've done to help me. But I can't talk about it. I just can't. +That's all. I don't guess you need to read the stuff I've written now. +You see I'll need to make another report." + +"Why?" + +Ross's interrogation broke from him almost before he was aware of it. + +"Why?" Steve's eyes widened. Then they dropped before the questioner's +searching gaze. "Yes," he went on dully. "I'll need to make a fresh one. +There's things--Say," he cried, with sudden, almost volcanic passion. +"For God's sake, why did you get around? Why didn't you leave me to the +dog's death that was yearning for me?" He laughed harshly, mirthlessly. +"Death? There was better than that. I'd have been crazy in days. Plumb, +stark crazy. And I wouldn't have known or cared a thing." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +REINDEER + + +It was the hospital hut at the police headquarters at Reindeer. A +cheerless, primitive place of healing, severe but adequate, as were +most things which concerned the lives of the riders of the plains and +the trail. + +Steve was in occupation of the officer's ward, with its single bed, and +its boarded floor bare of all covering and scrubbed to a chilly +whiteness. For days he had contemplated its hygienic lack of comfort. +For days his weary, ceaseless thought had battered itself against +kalsomined walls, while his body, made feverishly restless, had sought +distraction between the hard Windsor chair at the only table, and the +iron bed-cot which seemed to add to his mental sufferings. + +He had met his superior. He had supported the official half hour of +congratulations upon work successfully accomplished and a fortunate +escape from disaster without a sign. He had yielded to the post doctor's +ministrations, and satisfied his curiosity with explanations which could +never have been more matter-of-fact. He had been visited by two comrades +of his own rank, who contrived, with the best will in the world, by +deliberate avoidance of anything of an intimate nature, to display to +him their perfect knowledge of his domestic disaster. + +All these things he had faced with a heart crying out for mercy, but +with an outward calm that left those whom he encountered guessing. And +something of the general opinion found expression in Superintendent +McDowell's remarks to his subordinate, who filled the office of +acting-adjutant. + +"It seems to me, Syme, we needn't have worried a thing," he said. +"Allenwood isn't the feller to get up and shout any time. He's the sort +of boy to take a punch and come up for more. There's no woman got grip +enough on him to break him to small meat. I don't guess there's anything +could fix him that way--and after the way he made this last trip. He's +quite a feller when it comes to grit." + +"Yes, sir." Syme smiled into his superior's keen face. "Maybe he doesn't +care. I've heard some fellers are that way after being married a few +years." + +The cynicism of the younger man drew a responsive smile in reply. But it +also drew a very definite and decided shake of the head. + +Whatever the general opinion, one man knew, one man had witnessed the +momentary baring of a man's soul torn with agony, in the candle-lit tent +on the banks of the Theton River. And now, had he been in Reindeer to +witness, he would have understood the reality of suffering under the +stern, almost forbidding front with which Steve confronted his little +world. + +Not a sign did Steve give. His habitual, shadowy smile was ready when he +felt it to be due. He discussed everything that needed discussion with +the apparent interest of a mind wholly unabsorbed. He forced a +cheerfulness which carried conviction, and even drew forth such cynical +comments as those of Inspector Syme. But under it all the agony of mind +was something bordering on the insupportable. + +The desolation of his outlook was appalling. And during his weary hours +of solitude the hopelessness of it stirred him to a bitterness that at +moments became almost insanely profane. Shadows, too, crept into his +mind. Ugly shadows that gained power with the passing of days. Had not +such shadows come he must have been more than human. But he was very +simply human, capable of the deepest passion subject to the human heart. +Hate seized upon him with a force even greater perhaps than the passions +that had hitherto swayed him, and hard on the heels of hate came a deep, +burning desire for revenge. + +His desire was not against the woman who had wronged and deceived him. A +sort of pitying contempt had replaced the wealth of passionate devotion +he had lavished. His whole desire was against the man. And, curiously +enough, this fevered desire became a sort of palliative drug which left +him with the necessary strength to withstand the pain of his heart. + +Slowly at first it took possession of him, but, with each passing day, +it grew, until, at last, it occupied him to the exclusion of everything. +Even the thought of his child, that tender atom of humanity who had been +a living part of him, and whose soft lips and baby hands could never +again become anything more than a memory, was powerless to rob him of +one particle of the cold delight, as, in a hundred ways, he discovered +the broken, dead body of the man who had wronged him within the grasp of +his merciless hands. + +But none of this was outwardly visible. It was concealed with the rest. +And so the cynicism of Syme, and the general comfort of those who came +to cheer the sick room of a valued comrade. + +So it came that one day, towards the end of Steve's convalescence, the +Superintendent found himself occupying the solitary chair, with Steve +lounging smoking on the be-patterned coverlet of the bed, talking of the +Unaga Indians and their habits of hibernation which sounded so +incredible to the man who had never seen for himself. + +Steve had a bunch of mail lying on the bed beside him. He had been +reading when his superior had made his appearance. But his reading had +been discarded while he gave full attention to the man under whom he had +served so long and for whom he possessed no small measure of regard. + +Steve had been talking in his deliberate, assured manner, and McDowell, +alert, keen-eyed, half smiling had been listening to the story of a +mysterious weed of marvellous narcotic powers. Curiously enough Steve +had imparted only the briefest outline. He had told nothing of all that +which he had read and discovered in Marcel Brand's laboratory. He had +forgotten even to point the fact that he was a chemist first and only a +trader through circumstances. There were many other things, too, that +Steve omitted. Nor was the reason for the omission clear. It may have +been forgetfulness. It may have been lack of interest. Yet neither of +these suggested the reality. + +"Well, it all sounds crazy enough, Allenwood, and I admit if Belton or +Syme had told me the yarn I'd have sent 'em on leave to get a rest. +But--anyway you've handed me a good report and it's gone on down to the +Department without a word altered, and only my own comment added, +which," he went on with smiling goodwill, "I don't guess I need to tell +you about. Meanwhile I'd not be surprised if you hear things. Your +seniority runs high. And this should hand you a jump--" + +Steve shook his head. + +"I'm not yearning, sir," he said. "But I need to thank you for your +comments without seeing them. I can guess how they run--knowing you." + +The Superintendent's eyes had suddenly become seriously searching. + +"Not yearning? How--d'you mean?" he demanded. + +A slight smile lit Steve's eyes at the abrupt change in the other's +tone. + +"You said just now if Belton or Syme had told you my yarn you'd have +handed them leave--for a rest. I'd be glad for you to include my name +with theirs." + +"You want leave?" + +Steve nodded. + +"I'd be glad to have six months' leave pending resignation." + +"But--resignation? You want to quit? You?" + +McDowell was startled completely out of all official attitude. Such a +thing as Allenwood's resignation from the force had never for a moment +entered his thoughts. It would have been simply unthinkable. + +"Yes." Steve was very deliberate. He picked up one of the letters at his +side and tapped it with a forefinger. + +"It's this, sir," he said. "You can read this, and--the others. I'd be +glad for you to take them away with you and read them, and then attach +them to my papers asking for my discharge. These letters were waiting me +here, and there's quite a number. They're from my father's attorneys. +You see, sir, he's dead, and I'm his heir. It's only a matter of some +fifty thousand dollars and his farm in Ontario. But I'll have to get +around and fix things." + +"Oh, I'm sor--I see," McDowell had recovered from surprise, and promptly +saw his advantage. "But resignation, Steve," he cried, dropping into an +unusual familiarity. "Where's the need? You can get twelve months' +leave, if necessary, to straighten these things out. After that you'll +get back to us a Superintendent, and with money to burn. If you quit +you'll be pitching away years of big work. You'll be sacrificing more. +With means like your father's left you you can get into politics, and +then, through your official associations you don't need to get off the +political ladder till you're tired. Man, it would be crazy. Think." + +Steve folded his letters with precise care while McDowell pointed to the +position as he saw it. Then he laid them together in a small pile. And +all the while his eyes remained hidden from the other as though wilfully +avoiding him. Nor, as his superior ceased speaking, did he look up. + +"I have thought, sir," he said in level tones. "I've had days--weeks to +think in. Yes, and nights, too." He shook his head. "A year ago the +things you're handing me now would have sounded bully. A year ago I'd +all sorts of notions, just like you're talking now. And I was crazy to +get busy. That was a year ago. I'm still crazy to get busy, but--in a +different way. I've got to get that leave, sir. I've got to make my +resignation." + +McDowell had suddenly become aware of an unusual restraint in Steve's +tone. He had also realized the avoidance of his eyes. A wave of +suspicion startled him out of his comfortable equanimity. + +"You're entitled to your leave, you're entitled to resign your +commission if you want to," he said with a quick return to his more +official attitude. Then, with a sudden unbending under the pressure of +curiosity and even sympathy: "I'm sorry. I'm darn sorry. You're the one +man in my command I'd just hate to lose. Still--What do you figure to +do?" + +"Do?" + +The sharp interrogation came with startling force. It came full of a +world of suppressed feeling. Irony, bitterness, harsh, inflexible +purpose. These things and others, which were beyond McDowell's +estimation, rang in that sharp exclamation. Steve laughed, and even to +the Superintendent there was something utterly hateful in the sound that +broke on his ears. + +"Just forget you're my superior officer, McDowell," Steve cried, raising +a pair of eyes which blazed with a frigid passion of hate. "Just figure +we're two plain men, no better and no worse than most. You've a wife and +two kiddies, both growing as you'd have them. A schoolgirl and a boy, +and round whom you've built up all your notions of life. I had a wife +and one kiddie, and round them I'd built up all my notions of life. +Well, those notions of life are wrecked. They'd been building years. +Years before I had a wife. To-day they're gone completely. I haven't a +wife, and, God help me, I haven't a kiddie. And this because of one man. +I've got to find that man." + +The two men were gazing eye to eye, McDowell's darkly keen and +questioning, Steve's full of irrevocable decision and cold hate. + +"And when you--find him?" + +Steve made a movement of the hands. It was indescribable but +significant. His lips parted to speak, and, in parting, his even teeth +were unusually bared. + +"He's going to die!" + +The words were spoken without emotion, without colour. They were quiet, +and carried a conviction that left the other without a shadow of doubt. + +"I'm telling you this, McDowell, so you shall know clearly what's on my +mind." Steve went on after a pause. "Maybe you'll feel, as an officer of +police, it's up to you to do everything to prevent what I intend. But I +tell you you can't prevent it. I demand the right of a man from a man, a +husband, and a father. I'm quitting. If you try to hold me it'll make no +difference. You can delay. It'll make no difference. I shall +quit--eventually. And then I shall carry out my purpose. Get that. Then +we'll understand each other." + +"We do, Steve." A flush lit the Superintendent's cheek. A deep fire was +alight in his dark eyes. "We understand each other better than you +think. You'll get your discharge just as quickly as I can put it +through. You hadn't said much, and I thought--but I'm glad you've told +me as a man, and not as--an officer." + +He stood up from his chair with an abruptness which betrayed something +of his feelings. Steve held out the packet of letters. + +"Will you take these, sir?" he said with a return to their official +relations. + +McDowell nodded. + +"Yes. Say, about that boy and the squaw you brought down. You left them +at Deadwater? It looks like some proposition. We'll need to hand them +over to the Reserve missionary. It's hell these white men, when they get +away north, bringing these bastard half-breeds into the world. What's +the mother? One of those Sleeper Indians?" + +For a moment Steve remained gazing out of the window at the view of the +parade ground which the sunlight rendered almost picturesque. He was +thinking of the two reports which he had prepared. The first one that +had been the simple truth, and the second one which had been only partly +the true story, the rest changed in view of his own position. A tender +light for a moment melted the cold hatred of his eyes. He was thinking +of the white boy which he had reported as the bastard of An-ina, with a +view to obviate the official claim on him as a white child. + +"Yes," he said. "And I guess we'd need to hand them over to the +missionary for a while. But Doc Ross and his wife were crazy to look +after them. You see, they've a pretty swell place, and they're the best +folks I know. I left them with them, and I'd say we can't do better, +anyway for a while." + +"Yes," McDowell agreed. "It'll make things easy. I'll put that into a +letter to the Commissioner and it'll save worrying with the folk of the +Indian Department. Well, so long, Steve. Yes, I'll take these letters, +and put the thing through for you. But when you quit, for God's sake +don't go and mess things. Don't queer one of the best lives it's ever +been my good fortune to have under my command." + +Steve's eyes were serious as he watched McDowell move towards the door. + +"Don't worry, sir. The queering's done already. Whatever I do will +be--well, just what I've fixed to do. No more and no less." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +"ADRESOL" + + +The horrible aroma of a gently smouldering smudge fire, battling with +invading mosquitoes; the pleasant smell of tobacco, adding to the +enjoyment of the crisp Northern air; the resplendent sunset, slashing a +broken sky with a sea of multitudinous colours, and lighting a prospect +of verdant woods at the foot of a line of distant hills; a wide, +sheltered stoop with deep-seated rocking-chairs; these things were the +key to the deeper recesses of the hearts of men who have learned to play +the great game of life upon the lonely wastes of a Northern world. + +Ian Ross raised a warning finger as the sounds of laughter came from +some distant part of the house behind him. There was a child's laughter, +fresh, happy, and the light laugh of a woman, who has learned, through +her own, the perfect happiness which childhood can inspire in those +whose instincts remain unimpaired. + +"Do you need to ask me?" he said, in reply to the other's question. +"That kiddie is just crazy with happiness--so's Millie. Guess she'll be +down along after awhile, when she's quit fooling with him in his bath." + +Steve breathed deeply, and his far gazing eyes rested unblinkingly upon +the sunset of a myriad hues. The reek of tobacco hung upon the still +air, and the light veil of smoke from the "smudge" sailed gently across +the view beyond the veranda. + +He was full healed now--outwardly. There was little change in him as he +sat back in his deep rocker on the veranda of Ian Ross's house at +Deadwater. His steady eyes looked out with their uncompromising +directness. But there were lines about his eyes and mouth, and between +his level brows, which had been less noticeable twelve months ago. This +was the front which he set up before the eyes of the little world he +knew. In moments of solitude, when no eyes were there to observe, it may +have been different. But he desired neither sympathy nor support. He +desired only to be left to himself, to those purposes which he would +permit nothing to change or interfere with. + +He had rid himself of all signs of his connection with the police force +as though he had determined to cut himself off from a period of his life +which had only yielded bitter memories. Nor had he anything about him +reminiscent of the trail, which had been so much a part of his life. He +was clad in the tweeds of civilization, which robbed him of some of that +distinction which the rougher wear had always pronounced. + +"I'm glad," he said, and went on smoking in the silent fashion which +only real companionship understands. + +After a few moments of voiceless contemplation of the wide view over the +Reservation the Scotsman stirred in his chair. The thoughtful knitting +of his heavy brows relaxed, and he glanced at the preoccupied face of +his companion. + +"There's a heap of things I'd like to ask you, Steve," he said bluntly. +"And a whole heap I wouldn't. It's the sort of position I don't +generally reckon to find myself in," he added, with a twinkle in his +deep-set eyes. "You see, I mostly know the things I want to say. Maybe +you've got things you want to tell me, as well as things you don't. It's +up to you." + +Steve nodded. + +"It's best that way," he said. "Yes, there's things I want to say. And +it's mostly about the boy, and--An-ina. There's other things, too." He +paused. Then he went on: "You see, Doc, I haven't made a heap of +friends. There's about no one, except you. I'd like to talk straight +out. McDowell's a decent enough citizen, but he's not the sort you can +hand out some things to. Jack Belton and those others, well, they're +good enough boys, but--Anyway, it don't cut any ice. You're just +different and I want to hand you what'll maybe make you wish I hadn't. +The first is just this. I want you to forget the things that's +happened--to me. I want you just to tell yourself 'He don't care a +curse.' It won't be the truth, but I want you to act as if it were. +Those things are mine. Just mine. I've set them in a sort of grave, and +it's only going to be my hands that open it, and my eyes that look into +it. You don't need to avoid talk of Nita and little Coqueline if you +feel that way. You can't open that grave. It's mine. And it's deep. You +can't add hurt to that already done." + +Steve's eyes were gazing unflinchingly into his companion's, and Ross's +feelings were stirred to their depths by the stern courage underlying +his words. He knew. He understood. + +"Yes," he said. "I get that. It's best that way for--the man who can +stand it." + +"I'm going East," Steve went on, "and I'll be away maybe a year. Maybe +less, maybe more. I can't say. You see, there's a big lot to be done, +and it depends on how quick I get through. There's my father's affairs +to fix up and--other things." + +"Other things?" + +"Yes." + +Steve's eyes were on the rapidly softening colours of the sunset. Their +far-off look of pre-occupation had returned to them. + +"I don't know how I'll come back," he went on after a moment. "Maybe in +a hurry." His brows suddenly depressed. "I can't say. But it'll be for +the boy and An-ina, and, anyway, it'll likely be the last time you'll +see me on this earth. I don't need to tell you more on this thing. Maybe +a time'll come when you'll feel glad you didn't know any more." + +"I think--I understand." + +Ross breathed heavily through his pipe. He was thinking of the man, +Garstaing. He was thinking of himself in Steve's place. And he felt it +was more than likely that in that case he, too, might desire to return +to his home _in a hurry_, and, perhaps, leave it again for the--last +time. + +"Sure. I guessed you'd understand," Steve said. "That's why I'm +talking." + +Again followed a brief, thoughtful pause. + +"That boy," he went on. "It's him I want to tell you about. He's shown +me how to get a grip on myself. He's a sort of anchor that's held me +safe till the storm's blown itself out. He's been a sort of act of +Providence and the life that's left to me is for him. You get that?" + +"I've had it all the time. Maybe you don't remember I tried to take him +from you when you crawled out of that darn canoe." + +A shadowy smile hovered in Steve's eyes. + +"I remember it--good," he said. "Well, if things should happen so I +don't get back I'll fix it so the boy gets all the stuff my father's +handed me, and I'll ask you to raise him as if he was your own. You +haven't a son, Doc. He won't be a worry. An-ina's his nurse, and he +couldn't have a better. If I come back I'm hoping your Millie won't be +too grieved at parting from him. Can you fix that, too? You see," he +added, "I'm asking you a whole heap." + +"You can't ask too much, boy." + +Steve's nod thanked the bluff heartiness of the big man. + +"Good. Now for the things you don't know, Doc," he went on, his manner +relaxing as he felt that his difficulties were lessening. "You didn't +read the report I'd written. It told the whole story of the boy right. I +tore it up after you'd--told me. I had to. If I hadn't, why, I'd have +lost that anchor God Almighty flung out to me in my trouble. Next to my +own little kiddie I love that boy. He's got into my heart good--what's +left of it. You see, he's white, and he's no folks. That means the State +handing him over to the folks set to deal with the 'strays' of God's +world. It means his being out of my life when I most need him. I +couldn't stand for that. If Nita and my little girl had been here it +wouldn't have been that way. I'd have persuaded them to leave him with +me. With no home to take him to I'd have no case. So I got busy on a +report that made him out the bastard of An-ina and the dead trader. They +can't claim him from his mother, even though she's a squaw. And anyway +I've fixed it with McDowell they both remain with you." + +Ross nodded prompt agreement. + +"He's a bright kid and I'm glad. Glad for him and glad for you," he said +heartily. + +"I hoped that way," Steve went on quickly. "You see, Doc, I didn't tell +you a thing till it was done. I was scared to take a chance." He sighed +a deep relief. "The other things come easy with that fixed. I cut that +report to the bone, and hid up all that concerned the boy. The work they +asked of me was investigation into the death of two white men who were +thought to be traders up in Unaga, where they didn't reckon there were +any white folk. So I told them a yarn that's simple truth, but which +hid up all the things I didn't see putting them wise to. They guessed +these men had been murdered by the Eskimo. Well, they weren't. They +fought to the death for the mother of this boy, and she was a white +woman, and the wife of his father. It was the old game. A game I hope to +play. Only the other man was a partner in the enterprise, and not the +Indian Agent of the Allowa Reserve. I told them of the Indians, too. A +race that sleeps half the year." + +"The boy's been talking of them." + +Ross sat up. A pair of keen eyes were shrewdly questioning. + +Steve nodded. + +"I guessed he'd be talking of them." + +"The old yarn of hibernating folks," the Scotsman said, his eyes alight +with tolerant amusement. + +"Just that. Only, it's no--yarn." + +Steve had no responsive smile. His eyes were serious with a conviction +that promptly changed the other's attitude. He searched an inner pocket +and drew forth a neatly tied packet. This he unfastened while the other +watched him curiously. + +The wrappings removed, a bunch of something that looked rather like +dried seaweed lay revealed. And a curious sweet odour made itself +apparent on the still air. + +Steve passed it across to his companion without comment. And Ross took +it, and, for some thoughtful moments, sat gazing upon the strange +product of the hidden Unaga. Then he gingerly picked up some of the +shrivelled weed for a closer examination, and, a moment later, pressed +it against his nose and inhaled deeply. As he did so, Steve, watching +him, beheld a sudden excited lighting of his eyes. + +"You know it, Doc," he said. "I don't need to ask." + +Steve spoke quite quietly, and the other continued to contemplate the +stuff in the intent, absorbed fashion of a suddenly startled scientific +mind. At last he withdrew his fascinated gaze. + +"'Adresol!'" he exclaimed. And his tone was thrilling with the joy of +the enthusiast. + +"Yes." + +"You knew it?" + +The Scotsman's sharp question was accompanied by the searching of +astonished eyes. + +"Sure." + +Ross made no attempt to return the weed. It seemed as though he found it +impossible to deny its fascination. + +"Tell me about it," he said, fingering the stuff with the tenderness of +an artist contemplating some precious work of delicate craftsmanship. + +"It's the key to the hibernating yarn," Steve said. "Yes, I need to hand +it you all. That way you'll understand the things I've got in my mind." + +It was a long enough story. Steve was anxious that nothing should be +omitted that could convince the only man who could assist him in +carrying out his plans. Sunset had nearly faded out of the sky by the +time it was finished. He told everything as he knew it both from An-ina +and the mother of Marcel. Also that which he had learned first hand, and +from the diaries of Marcel Brand. The story of the dead chemist who had +abandoned everything, even life itself, in the pursuit of the elusive +weed lost nothing from his wide sympathy. And the crude use of the drug +by the Indians formed a picture full of colour and romance. + +Ross absorbed it all, and wonder and interest grew in his mind as he +listened to the story of it. + +At the conclusion he re-lit his forgotten pipe. + +"And it grows there--in plenty?" he said, in profound amazement. +"Steve, boy, do you know what it means to find a big source of that +stuff? Oh," he cried with a rush of enthusiasm, "it means--it means the +greatest thing for suffering humanity that's been discovered in a +thousand years. Here, I'll tell you. Oh, it's known to us folk, who've +studied dope as a special study. It's been found in places, but not in +much bigger quantities than would dope a fair-sized litter of piebald +kittens. It's sort of like radium, and half a pint of the distilled drug +would be worth over twenty-five thousand dollars. Maybe that'll tell you +how much there is of it on the market. But it's not that. Oh, no, it's a +heap bigger than that, boy. The plant itself is deadly in the green +state. It exhales a poison you couldn't stand for ten seconds. Dried, +its poison is killed stone dead. But it leaves behind it its priceless +narcotic properties. And these are perfectly innocuous, and even +health-giving. I don't need to worry you with the scientific side of it, +but it'll tell you something of what it means when I say it suspends +life, and you don't need to worry about the condition of the person +who's doped with it. You said those darn Indians live to a great age. I +believe it. You see, they live only _six months of the year_. They're +dead the rest. Or anyway their life is suspended. I seem to know the +name of that man Brand. I seem to recall it in association with +'Adresol.' Anyway, the work he's done mustn't be wasted. We'll have to +get an outfit. A big outfit that can't fail to grab the secret of those +neches upon Unaga. There's no small crowd of folk has any right to deny +the rest of the world the benefits of this wonderful drug. We----" + +"That's how I reckon," Steve broke in quickly. "But the thing's to be +done the way I've figured." + +"How's that?" + +Steve was sitting up in his rocking-chair. + +"I didn't hand you that stuff and my story of these things for pastime, +Doc. I guess I'd learnt all you've told me from the books and papers of +the boy's father. Knowing you for the man you are, and the way you most +generally try to make a ten-pound heart look like a sparrow's egg by +shouting at folks, I reckoned you'd see with me in this thing. That poor +feller Brand. As you say, his work isn't to be wasted. He's left behind +him a kiddie which hasn't a thing in the world, and if I'm any judge of +things that kiddie was the whole sun, moon, and stars of his life. I'm +thinking of that kiddie now. And I'm thinking of him alone. You're +thinking of a suffering world. If there's twenty-five thousand dollars +for a half pint of that dope the money belongs to the helpless kid of +the man who's given his life to locate it. We don't need an outfit to +get the neches' secret. We don't need a thing. There's just one man +knows how to locate the place where Marcel Brand lived, and that's me. +There's not a living soul, not even Julyman, or Oolak, or An-ina, could +ever make it without me. And I tell you right here there's no one ever +learns it from me. That secret is for Marcel, and I figure to hand it to +him, and all that's coming out of it. That's why I've told you these +things. Now you'll understand what's in my mind when I say that I'm +coming along back when I've settled with Garstaing, or failed to locate +him. If I've settled with him I'll be in a hurry. And I'm going up +north--north where no one can ever hope to follow me, with An-ina, and +Marcel, and maybe Julyman and Oolak again, and I'm going to work this +thing for the rest of my life for--Marcel. It's his, all of it. And +what's left over is for the suffering humanity you're thinking about. +See, here, Doc, you and me, we aren't any sort of twin brothers of +friends. We haven't been raised together. I hadn't a notion of you till +I took charge of this station. But I know a man--a real man. And if +you've the guts I reckon you have, then you'll help me to do the thing +that's going to shut the gates of the hell that's opened to swallow me +up." + +"You mean the care of the boy and An-ina?" + +"Till I get back. Then you'll hand 'em over without--a kick." + +Ross ran his great fingers through his hair, while he sought the last +glow of sunset for inspiration. + +"It's a hell of a country--up there," he protested, after a moment. He +was thinking of the child. He was thinking of Millie's possible protests +at sacrificing the child to the terrors of Unaga. + +"He was bred there." Steve's eyes were urgent. "It's handing to him the +things his father would have wanted him to have. Think, Doc. By every +moral right the 'Adresol' secret is his. It cost him a father. It cost +him a mother. It would have cost him his life--a white man's life--if it +hadn't been for the hand of Providence sending me along to him. Besides, +it's all here, Doc," he went on tapping his breast. "He's been my +anchor, my small, little anchor, but a mighty powerful one. He's saved +me from all sorts of hell, and I want to hand him the life he's saved in +return. I want to raise him to a great manhood, and hand him a future +that'll stagger half the world. And if I fail I'll have done all a +mortal man can." + +The rustle of a woman's dress in the hallway behind them heralded +Millie's approach. Ross stood up hastily. He was just a shade relieved +at the interruption. In a moment the atmosphere was changed from Steve's +passionate urgency to the domestic lightness of a happy wife's presence. + +"Why, Mac," she cried, as she stood framed in the doorway, "you two boys +still doping yourselves with smudge and tobacco smoke? That kiddie's +only just gone off to sleep. He's a terrible tyrant, Steve, and just +the sweetest ever." + +She glanced quickly from one to the other, and in a moment the smile +died out of her eyes in response to the seriousness she beheld in the +faces confronting her. + +"You've got around in the nick o' time," the husband said. "Steve's +going away--East. He'll be back in awhile. Maybe a year. Maybe more. And +when he comes back he--wants the boy. He wants to take him right away, +and to raise him as his own. He reckons he's kind of adrift now, and the +kiddie looks like handing him an anchor. He's yearning to make good for +him, in a way that, maybe we, with our own two, couldn't hope to. We're +guessing it's up to you. A year or so, and then you--hand him to his +'Uncle Steve.'" + +Millie turned to the man who had battled for the boy's life. Her kindly +eyes were promptly lit with all a good woman's sympathy. She remembered +the man's passionate devotion to his own. She remembered the terrible +disaster that had overtaken him. Her thought went no further. At the +moment it was incapable of going further. + +She turned to the husband awaiting her reply, and there was a suspicious +moisture in her clear smiling eyes. + +"Say, Mac," she cried in her half tender, half humourous way, "by the +way you talk folk might guess you were scared to death of the wife who +didn't know better than to take you for better or worse. Steve doesn't +need to worry a thing. You know that. I don't know the rights of his +claim by the laws of the folks who're set to worry us. But there's God's +claim that don't need lawyers to make plain. Little Marcel, bless him, +is his. If he comes, night or day, one year's time or ten, God willing, +he'll be here waiting for him, and I'll hand him over with two of +everything for the comfort of his sweet little body." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +MALLARD'S + + +The ladder of crime has its bottom rung in Mallard's. Those who essay +the perilous descent inevitably gravitate, sooner or later, at +Mallard's. It was Saney who was responsible for the statement; and Saney +was a shrewd "investigator," and certainly one of the most experienced +amongst those whose lives were spent in an endeavour to beat the +criminal mind of Eastern Canada. + +Mallard's was somewhere on the water front of Quebec. It stood in a +backwater where the busy tide of seafaring traffic passed it by. But it +was sufficiently adjacent to permit its clientele swift and convenient +access to the docks, at once a safety valve and the source of its +popularity. + +It was nominally a sailors' boarding-house. Heredity also conferred upon +it the dignity of "hotel." Furthermore, its licence carried with it the +privileges of a saloon. But its claims were by no means exhausted by +these things. + +According to Saney's view there was no criminal in the country, and very +few of those who were worth while in the criminal world of the United +States, who, at some time in their careers, had not passed through one +of its many concealed exits. It might, in consequence, be supposed that +Mallard's was a more than usually happy hunting-ground for the +investigator of crime. But here again Saney must be quoted. Mallard's, +he said, was a life study, and, even so, three score and ten years was +no more than sufficient for a very elementary apprenticeship. Further, +he considered that Mallard's was the cemetery of all reputations in +criminal investigation. + +Outwardly Mallard's was no different from the other houses which +surrounded it. It was part of a block of buildings which had grown up +and developed in the course of a century or more. Its floors were +several, and its windows were set one over the other without any +pretence other than sheer utility. Its main doorway always stood open, +and gave on to a passage, narrow and dark, and usually deserted. The +passage ran directly into the heart of the building where rose a short +staircase exactly filling the breadth of the passage. At the top of the +eight treads of this staircase was a landing of similar width, out of +which turned two corridors at right angles. Beyond these the landing +terminated in a downward stairway, exactly similar to the one by which +it was approached. Beyond this, all description of this celebrated haunt +of crime would be impossible, for the rest was a labyrinth of apparently +useless passages and stairways, ascending and descending, the following +of which was only to invite complete and utter confusion of mind. The +legend ran that the cellars, many floors deep, undermined half a dozen +adjacent streets, and, in the block in which the place stood, no one had +ever been found who could say where the house began and where it ended. + +As a refuge for its benighted guests there was always a bed, of sorts, a +meal and drink--at a price. If the visitor were legitimate in his claims +on its hospitality he would fare no worse than a lightened purse at the +time of his departure. If he were other than he pretended then it would +have been better for him to have shunned the darkened passage as he +would a plague spot. + +The owner of the place was never seen by the guests. It was +administered, as far as could be judged, by a number of men who only +intruded upon their clients when definite necessity arose. Then the +intrusion was something cyclonic. On these occasions the police were +never called in, and the nature of the disturbance, and the result of +it, was never permitted to reach the outside. Mallard's was capable of +hiding up anything. Its own crimes as well as the crimes of others. + +On one of the many floors was a large sort of office and lounging-room. +It had been extended, as necessity demanded, by the simple process of +taking down partition walls. It was low-ceiled and dingy. Its walls were +mostly panelled with dull, shabby graining over many coats of paint. The +floor was bare and unscrubbed, and littered with frowsy-looking wooden +cuspidors filled with cinders. There were many small tables scattered +about, and the rest of the space seemed to be filled up with Windsor +chairs, which jostled one another to an extent that made passage a +matter of patient effort. At one end of the room was a long counter with +an iron grid protecting those behind it. And, in this region there were +several telephone boxes with unusually heavy and sound-proof doors. + +For the rest it was peopled by the hard-faced, powerful-looking clerks +behind the iron grid of the counter, and a gathering of men sitting +about at the small tables, or lounging with their feet on the anthracite +stove which stood out in the centre of the great apartment. + +It was a mixed enough gathering. There were well-dressed men, and men +who were obviously of the sea. There were the flashily dressed crooks, +whose work was the haunt of sidewalk, and trains, and the surface cars. +There were out and out toughs, careless of all appearance, and with +their evil hall-marked on harsh faces and in their watchful eyes. Then +there were others whom no one but the police of the city could have +placed. There were Chinamen and Lascars. There were square-headed +Germans, and the Dagos from Italy and other Latin countries. There were +niggers, too, which was a tribute to the generosity of Mallard's +hospitality. + +Those at the tables were mostly drinking and gambling. Poker seemed to +be the favoured pastime, but "shooting craps" was not without its +devotees. There were one or two groups in close confabulation over their +drinks. While round the stove was a scattering of loungers. + +A dark good-looking man, with an ample brown beard, was amongst the +latter. He was reclining with little more than his back resting on the +seat of an armed Windsor chair. His feet, well shod, were thrust up on +the stove in approved fashion. He was smoking a cheap cigar which +retained its highly coloured band, and contemplating the brazen pages of +an early edition of a leading evening paper. + +A man beside him, an Englishman, to judge by the make of his clothes and +his manner of speech, had a news sheet lying in his lap. But he was not +reading. His fair face and blue eyes were turned with unfailing interest +on the dull sides of the glowing stove. Occasionally he spoke to his +bearded neighbour, who also seemed to be something of a companion. + +"I can't find anything that's likely to be of any use to me," he said. + +His speech was curiously refined and seemed utterly out of place in the +office of Mallard's. "I quit London because--It seems to me cities are +all the same. They're all full to overflowing, and the only jobs going +are the jobs no one wants. Why in hell do we congregate in cities?" + +The man beside him replied without looking up from his paper. + +"Because we've a ten cent sense with a fi' dollar scare." He laughed +harshly. "How long have you been out? Six months? Six months, an' you've +learned to guess hard when you see Saney bumming around, or a uniform in +the crowd. You've learned to wish you 'hadn't,' so you dream things all +night. You're yearning to get back to things as they were before you +guessed you'd fancy them diff'rent, and you find that way the door's +shut tight, and a feller with a darn sharp sword is sitting around +waiting on you. Take a chance, man. Get out in the open. It's big, and +it's good. It's a hell of a sight in front of a city, anyway. If they +get you--well, what of it? You've asked for it. And anyway they're going +to get you some time. You can't get away with the play all the time." + +"Yes. I s'pose that's right. It's a big country, and--" The man's fair +brows drew together. The regret was plain enough in his eyes. There was +more weakness than crime in them. + +The bearded man tapped the page of the news sheet he was reading with an +emphatic forefinger that was none too clean. + +"What in hell?" he exclaimed. "These fellers beat me. Here, look at +that, and read the stuff some darn hoodlum has doped out." + +He passed the paper to the Englishman. That at which the other pointed +was the photograph of a man. The letterpress was underneath it. + +"Get a good look at the picture. Then read," the other exclaimed, while +his dark eyes searched the Englishman's face. + +He waited, watchful, alert. He saw the other's eyes scan the +letterpress. Then he saw them revert again to the picture. + +"Well, what d'you make out? Aren't they darn suckers? Look at that job +line in bum ink. Could you get that face from a Limburger cheese? And +the dope? After handing you a valentine that 'ud scare a blind Choyeuse, +and you couldn't rec'nize for a man without a spy glass, they set right +in to tell you he's 'wanted' for things he did in the North-west two and +a haf years ago. The p'lice have been chasing him for two and a haf +years. They've never located him, and he's likely living in the heart of +Sahara or some other darn place by now. And now--now some buzzy-headed +'cop' reckons he's got a line, and dopes out that stuff to warn him +they're coming along, so he can get well away in time. Makes you laff." + +There was irritation in the man's tone. There was something else +besides. + +The blue-eyed English crook was studying the picture closely. + +"It sort of seems foolish," he said at last. + +"Foolish? Gee!" + +"Still, it is the face of a man, and a good-looking man," he went on. +"And there's something familiar about it, too; I seem to know the face." +Suddenly he looked round, and his pale, searching eyes looked hard at +his companion. "Say, he's not unlike you. He's got the same forehead, +and the same eyes and nose. If you'd got no beard, and your hair was +brushed smooth----" + +"Tchah!" + +The bearded man reclaimed the paper with a laugh that carried no +conviction. + +"The courts 'ud hand me big money damages for a libel like that," he +declared. + +"Would they?" + +The smiling eyes of the Englishman were challenging. The other shrugged +as well as his attitude would permit, and, emitting a cloud of smoke +from his rank cigar, pretended to continue his reading. + +At that moment a stir recurred amongst the "crap-shooters" under one of +the windows, and the Englishman looked round. His alert ears had caught +the sound of Saney's name on the lips of one of the men who had ceased +his play to peer out of the window. + +He rose swiftly from his chair and joined the group. The man with the +beard had made no movement. He, too, had heard Saney's name, and a keen, +alert, sidelong glance followed his neighbour's movements. + +The other was away some seconds. When he returned his breathing seemed +to have quickened, and a light of uncertainty shone in his eyes. + +"It's Saney," he said, without waiting for any question. "He's coming +down the street. I should think he's coming here. He's crossed over as +if he were." + +"Alone?" + +The bearded man's question was sharp. + +"No. There's another fellow with him. He's in plain clothes. A youngish +looking fellow, with a clean shaven face, and a pair of shoulders like +an ox. Looks to me like a cavalryman in mufti. He certainly looks as if +he ought to have a saddle under him. I----" + +The other waited for no more. He was on his feet and across the room at +the window in a twinkling. And the smiling eyes of the Englishman gazed +after him. In the other's absence he picked up the paper which had +fallen upon the floor, and looked again at the portrait of the man, and +re-read the letterpress underneath it. + +"Hervey Garstaing," he murmured, as though impressing the name upon his +mind. Then he laid the paper quickly aside as the thrusting of chairs +announced his companion's return. + +The next few minutes were full of a tense interest for the man who had +only just crossed the border line into the world of crime. The man with +the brown beard passed him by without a word. He thrust the chairs, +which stood in his way, hastily aside. He seemed to have no regard for +anything but his own rapid progress. He was making for the counter with +its iron defences. + +The smile in the Englishman's eyes deepened. His interest rose to a wave +of excitement. He felt assured that "things" were about to happen. + +A hard-faced clerk with the shoulders of a prizefighter, was waiting to +receive the hurried approach of his client. + +These men were always alert and ready at the first sign. + +The bearded man's demand came sharply back across the room. + +"Guess I need to 'phone--quick!" he said. "I'll take No. 1." + +The face of the clerk remained expressionless, but the tone of his reply +had doubt in it. + +"No. 1?" he said. + +"That's how I said." + +"It'll cost you a hundred dollars." + +"You needn't hand me the tariff," returned the bearded man with a laugh +that jarred. "Here's the stuff. Only open it--quick." + +The onlooker saw the applicant dive a hand into his hip pocket and draw +out a roll of money. He heard the crumple of paper as he counted out a +number of bills. Then, in a moment, his whole attention was diverted to +the entrance door of the room. The swing door was thrust open and two +men pushed their way in. + +The man who came first was of medium height and square build. He had a +disarming, florid face, and the bland, good-natured expression of a +genial farmer. The other glanced swiftly over the room. He was the +shorter of the two, and his clean shaven face and his undistinctive +tweed clothing would have left him quite unremarkable but for his air of +definite decision and purpose. + +The first man the Englishman recognized as Saney, head of the Criminal +Investigation Department of the province. The other was a stranger. + +From the newcomers, the onlooker's attention was suddenly distracted by +the slamming of a heavy door. It was the door of a telephone box, and he +knew it was the door of "No. 1," the use of which had cost his friend +one hundred dollars. He looked for the man with the beard. He had gone. + +Saney's inspection of the room was rapid, and every individual +foregathered came under his eye. Then he stepped up to the counter and +spoke to the clerk. + +His voice did not carry to the rest of the room, but the clerk's swift +reply was plainly audible. + +"I haven't had a sight of him, if that's what he's like," he said, +handing back a photograph. "Still, the place is here for you to go +through if you fancy that way. You know that, Mr. Saney. It's open to +you the whole time." + +The officer's reply was inaudible. But the voice of the stranger came +sharply. + +"Guess we'll just have a look at the fellow that passed into that 'phone +box as we came in," he said. + +Again came the clerk's reply. + +"There's no one in them boxes, Mister. I haven't sold a call in haf an +hour," he said with a smile that lent no softening to his watchful eyes. +He stooped and released a series of levers. "Get a peek for yourselves, +gents." + +Each door was set ajar and the stranger moved swiftly across and flung +them wide open in rapid succession. The boxes were empty. At "No. 1" he +paused considering. Then he passed within. And, for a few moments, stood +examining the instrument, which was no different from any other 'phone +in any other hotel in the city. + +After the examination the two men passed out of the room and the +Englishman watched the smiling contempt that promptly lit the eyes of +the clerk as he looked after them. + +Outside on the landing Saney led the way. Nor did the two men speak +until they had passed down the stairs and out into the street. + +"Well?" + +Saney spoke with an ironical smile lighting his genial eyes. + +"You'll search the place?" the other suggested. + +Saney shrugged. + +"If you feel that way. But it's useless," he said. "I said that to you +before. You've tracked this feller to this city. You've tracked him to +Mallard's. It's taken you nearly two years. We've all been out after +him, and failed. You've succeeded in hunting him down to Mallard's. +Well, I'd say your work's only just started. Maybe he's there right now. +If we searched with a hundred men we couldn't exhaust that darn gopher +nest. If we blocked every outlet we know and don't know, he could still +sit tight and laff at us. No. We need to start right in again. So long +as he's got the stuff, and hangs to Mallard's, he's safe." + +"You might have those 'phone boxes torn down. I saw a feller go into one +of them as we came in. I'd swear to that." + +Saney nodded. + +"So would I. A feller did go in. Maybe it was some guy that didn't fancy +seeing me. Maybe it was your man. It wouldn't help us tearing out those +boxes. We know them. 'No. 1' is a clear way out of that room. Guess the +whole back of it opens into some darn passage, which you could easily +reach from anywhere outside that room. That's the trick of the place. +Short of pulling the place down you can't do a thing that 'ud help. It's +honeycombed with concealed doors, that in themselves don't mean a thing +but a 'get out' of any old room. It's the whole place that's the riddle. +Meanwhile it's a gravitating spot for crooks, and so has its uses--for +us." + + * * * * * + +The room was sufficiently large, but it was low ceiled and suggested the +basement of an old-fashioned house. It was badly lit, too. Only an +oil-lamp, on a table set with a cold supper for two, sought to discover +the obscure limits of its tunnel-like length. + +There was no suggestion of poverty about the place. It was modest. That +was all. Its chief characteristic lay in the fact that it was obviously +the full extent of the present home of its occupants. At the far end +stood a bedstead, and by its side a large wicker hamper. The centre was +occupied by the supper table, and, at the other end, under the window, +which was carefully covered by heavy curtains, stood a child's cot. + +For the rest there were the usual furnishings of a cheap apartment +house, where the proprietors only cater for the class of custom which +lives in a state of frequent and rapid migration. + +A woman was sitting in front of a small anthracite stove. A book was in +her lap. But she was not reading. Her deep violet eyes were widely +gazing down into the fire glow through the mica front, in that dreaming +fashion which so soon becomes the habit of those condemned to prolonged +hours of solitude. + +It was by no means the face of a completely happy and contented woman. +It was a tired face with the weariness which is of the mind rather than +of the body. There were a few tracings of lines about the eyes and the +pretty forehead which were out of place in a woman of her age. Only +anxiety could have set them there. Suspense, an unspoken dread of +something which never ceased to threaten. Now, in an unguarded moment, +when all disguise was permitted to fall from her, they were pronounced, +painfully pronounced. + +Her thought was plainly regretful. It was also obviously troubled. +Occasionally she would start and listen as some sound outside penetrated +the profound stillness of the room. It was at these moments that her +glance would turn swiftly, and with some display of anxiety, to the +child's cot where she knew her baby lay sleeping. Once she sprang +nervously to her feet and passed over to the cot. She stood bending over +the child gazing yearningly, hungrily down at the innocent, beautiful +three-year-old life dreaming its hours away without understanding of +that which surrounded it, or that which haunted the mind of its mother. + +Then the stove and the wicker chair claimed her again, as did the +suspense of waiting, with its burden of apprehension. + +At last relief leapt to the troubled eyes, and, in a moment it seemed, +every line which had been so deeply indicative before was suddenly +smoothed out of her pretty face. The woman sprang from her chair +transformed with an expression of deep relief and content. She glanced +swiftly over the supper table as a key turned in the latch of the door. + +A man with a brown beard thrust his way in and glanced swiftly over the +whole length of the room. It was the searching look of a mind concerned, +deeply concerned, with safety. Then his dark eyes came to the woman's +face which was turned upon him questioningly. + +"Well?" she demanded. + +The monosyllable was full of deep significance. It asked a hundred +questions. + +Just for a moment no answer was forthcoming. The man turned from the +woman, and his eyes sought the child's cot. There was no softness in his +regard. It was deeply contemplative. That was all. It was the woman who +displayed feeling as she followed his gaze, and the lighting of her +beautiful eyes was with swift apprehension. + +"Something's the matter, Hervey!" she demanded sharply. + +The lamplight caught the man's eyes as they came back to her face, and +its rays left them shining with a curious, lurid reflection. + +"Matter?" A sharp, impotent oath broke from him. Then he checked his +impulse to rave. "Yes. See here, Nita," he went on, with a restraint +which added deep impressiveness, "we've got to quit. We've got to get +out--quick. Steve's hard on our trail. I've seen him to-day at +Mallard's. He didn't see me. Only my back. But I saw him. He came with +Saney. And there's only one thing I guess to bring Steve to Mallard's. +Saney's never given me a moment's nightmare. But Steve--Steve back from +Unaga, Steve in plain clothes in Quebec _with Saney_, and me sheltering +at Mallard's, tells its own story to anyone with _savee_. It means he's +got a hot scent, and he's following it right up. He's not the sort to +let go of it--easy. It's quit for us--and quit right away." + +Nita sighed. She passed a shaking hand across her forehead, and when it +had passed all the tracery of lines had returned and stood out even more +sharply. + +"It's come--at last," she said, in a weary, hopeless tone. "It was bound +to. I knew it right along. I told you." + +"Oh, yes, you told me," Garstaing retorted, with a sneer that was always +ready when anger supervened. "Guess you told me a whole heap of fool +stuff one time and another. But you needn't reckon we're going to sit +around under things, just because Mister Steve seems to put the fear of +God into you. It's hastened the things I've had in my mind quite awhile. +That's all. We're going to beat it. We're quitting for up north. It was +my notion from the start. Only I weakened with your squeal about the +country. Well, your squeals are no account now. We got to save our +skins. I'm going to beat Mister Steve, and show you he's just the same +as most other folks who've got a grip on the game. We're making north +where, if he gets a notion to follow, he'll need to play the lone hand. +And Steve on a lone hand can't scare me five cents. Up there I'll meet +him. We won't need to live a gopher's life in a cellar. And when he +comes along, if he's the guts you reckon he has, I'll meet him, and kill +him as sure as Hell's waiting for him." The man's hot eyes were suddenly +turned on the distant child's cot, and he nodded at it. "It's that makes +me sick," he cried vehemently. "It's his!" + +"She's mine!" Nita cried sharply. "And where I go she goes." + +Nita read the man's mood with all the instinct of a mother. Three years +ago when she brought Coqueline into the world the infant claim upon her +had been loose enough. It was different now. Her woman's weakness and +discontent had yielded her a ready victim to the showy promises and good +looks of Hervey Garstaing. But the road they had had to travel since had +been by no means easy. It had been full of disillusionment for the silly +woman. They had lived in fear of the law, in fear of Steve, for over two +years. And the grind of it, for the pleasure-loving wife who had buoyed +herself with dreams of gaiety and delight which her life in the North +had denied her, had driven her back upon the elemental that was only +latent in her. Coqueline was her all now. Nita clung to her baby as the +one indestructible link with that purity of life which no woman, however +fallen, can ever wholly disregard, or forget. The child was a +sheet-anchor for all time. Whatever the future had in store, little +Coqueline was her child, born in wedlock, the pledge of her maiden +dreams. + +"Tchah! She's his!" The man's restraint was giving before the brutal, +the criminal, that was the essence of him. "Why in hell should I feed +his brat? Why should I be burdened with it? Can't you see? We've got to +drag her wherever we go, delaying us, an unhallowed worry, and a darn +danger at all times. Cut it out. Pass her along to some blamed orphan +outfit. Leave her to the mule-headed folks who guess their mission in +life is to round up other folks' 'strays.' Steve's not a thing to you +now, Nita, and never will be again. You can't ever go back to him. He'd +kick you out without mercy, if I know Steve. He's hard--hard as hell. +You're mine, my dear, mine for keeps. Steve don't want any woman who's +shared her bed with another feller. You know that well enough. Well, +say, be reasonable. Let the kid go. You don't need her. You and me +together, we can play the game out. I can make good up there. And all I +make you've a half share stake in. It's up to you, kid. Just say the +word, and I'll fix things so that brat can get to an institution. Will +you----?" + +"It's no use, Hervey." Nita shook her head decidedly. But his +coarseness, his brutality had had its effect. The violet of her eyes +remained hidden lest it should reveal the terror that lay in her heart. +"We've argued all this before. I'll go where you like, when you like, +but--my baby girl goes with me." + +The decision was irrevocable and the man understood the obstinacy which +was so great a part of Nita's character. So he added no further pressure +at the moment. Only his dark eyes regarded her while his thought +travelled swiftly. At last, as he made no reply, Nita raised her eyes to +his face. Her gaze encountered his, and she turned abruptly from the +lurid reflection of the lamplight she beheld in his eyes, to the refuge +of the child's cot, which never failed her. + +Garstaing laughed. It was a coarse, hard laugh that meant nothing. He +threw his hat aside. + +"Let's eat," he cried. "Then we'll start right in to pack up our outfit. +We're taking no chances. We got to be on the road north by noon +to-morrow. We'll take the kid. Oh, yes, we'll take his precious kid," he +laughed. "But God help you if things happen through it. You know what +this thing means? If Steve and I come up with each other there's going +to be a killing. And murder's a big thing beside pouching the Treaty +Money of a bunch of darn neches." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE SET COURSE + + +Delight and excitement were running high. It was a game. In Marcel's +child-mind there was nothing better in the world. And it was An-ina's +invention. It was the gopher hunt. + +They often played it in the cool summer evenings. The gophers destroyed +the crops of men, therefore men must destroy the gophers. It was the +simple logic that satisfied the child-hunter's mind. Besides, it was his +own game which An-ina had taught him, and no one else played it in the +same way. Every dead gopher An-ina told him meant more food for the +pappoose on the Reserve. And it was the child's desire that the pappoose +on the Reserve should eat to repletion. + +The game entailed the lighting of a fire. That in itself demanded a +hundred excited instructions to the faithful An-ina, who contrived the +fire unfailingly, in her quick Indian way, in spite of them. Then there +was the collection of dried grass which demanded a search and laborious +consideration as to its suitability. Then came the stuffing of it into a +score and more of the principal holes in the selected gopher warren. +During this operation strict silence had to be observed. Then the +crowning moment. Erect, alert, in his woolen jersey and the briefest of +knickers, the child took his stand in the centre, where, with youthful +optimism, he sought to take within his purview the numberless exits for +the panic-stricken quarry. With stick raised, and every nerve quivering +with excitement, he was there to do battle with the destructive foe. + +So he waited whilst An-ina advanced with her fire brand. With rapid +breathing and shining eyes the hunter watched as each plugging of dried +grass was fired. The smoke, rising in a circle about him, left him a +picture like some child martyr being burned at the stake. + +Her work completed An-ina stood looking on, her beautiful dusky face +wreathed in a smiling delight which the sight of the boy's happiness +never failed to inspire. + +A wild shriek. A flourishing and slashing of the stick. A scuttle of +racing moccasined feet. The quarry had broken cover and the chase had +begun! + +A dozen gophers with bristling tails bounded clear of the smoke ring. +They scattered in every direction. The boy was in pursuit. Shrieking, +laughing, slashing, headlong he ran, nimble as the gophers themselves. + +It was wide open grassland, and An-ina contented herself with watching +from the distance. It was the boy's game. His was the chase. Hers was +the simple happiness of witnessing his enjoyment. + +"Gee!" + +An-ina started at the sound of the exclamation behind her. She turned, +and her movement had something of the swiftness of some wild animal. But +it was not a defensive movement. There was no apprehension in it. She +knew the voice. It was the voice she had been yearning to hear again for +something over two years. + +"Boss Steve!" she cried, and there was that in her wide, soft eyes which +her aboriginal mind made no effort to conceal. + +Steve was standing some yards away, with his horse's reins linked over +his arm. As the woman approached he moved forward to meet her. But his +eyes were on the boy, still in vain pursuit of the escaped gophers, +pausing, stalking, completely and utterly absorbed. + +The woman realized the white man's pre-occupation. She was even glad of +it. So, in her simple way, she explained. + +"This--his game," she said. "He mak' great hunter," she added with +simple pride. "An-ina tell him gophers bad--much. So he say Marcel hunt +'em. Him kill 'em. Him say Uncle Steve say all things bad must be kill." + +"He still thinks of--Uncle Steve?" + +The enquiry came with a smile. But the man had withdrawn his gaze from +the distant child, and was earnestly searching the woman's smiling face. + +"Marcel think Uncle Steve all man," she said quickly. "Uncle Mac, oh, +yes. Auntie Millie, oh, very good. An-ina. Yes. An-ina help in all +things. Uncle Steve? Uncle Steve come bimeby, then all things no +matter." + +"Is that so? Does he feel that way? After two years?" + +"Marcel think all things for Uncle Steve--always. An-ina tell him Uncle +Steve come bimeby. Sure come. She tell him all time. So Marcel think. He +not forget. No. He speak with the good spirit each night: 'God bless +Uncle Steve, an' send him back to boy.'" + +The man's smile thanked her. And a deep tenderness looked out of his +steady eyes as they were turned again in the direction of the distant, +running figure. + +"You come back--yes?" + +The woman's voice was low. It was thrilling with a hope and emotion +which her words failed to express. + +"Yes. I'm back for keeps." Steve's gaze came back to the soft eyes of +the woman. "That is, I'm going back to Unaga--with the boy. Will An-ina +come, too?" + +"Boss Steve go back--Unaga?" + +A startled light had replaced the softness of the Woman's eyes. Then, +after a moment, as no reply was forthcoming, she went on. + +"Oh, yes. An-ina know." She glanced away in the direction where the +police post stood, and a woman's understanding was in the sympathy +shining in her eyes. "White man officer no more. Oh, yes. No little baby +girl. No. No nothing. Only Marcel, an'--maybe An-ina. So. Oh, yes. +Unaga. When we go?" + +There was no hesitation, no doubt in the woman's mind. And the utter and +complete self-abnegation of it all was overwhelming to the man. + +"You--you're a good soul, An-ina," he said, in the clumsy fashion of a +man unused to giving expression to his deeper feelings. "God made you a +squaw. He handed you a colour that sets you a race apart from white +folk, but he gave you a heart so big and white that an angel might envy. +Yes, I want you An-ina. So does Marcel. We both want you bad. +Unaga--it's a hell of a country, but you come along right up there with +us, and I'll fix things so you'll be as happy as that darn country'll +let you be. Julyman and Oolak are going along with us. They've quit the +police, same as I have. I can't do without them, same as we can't do +without An-ina. We're going there for the boy. Not for ourselves. It's +the weed. We got to do all that Marcel's father reckoned to do. And when +we've done it Marcel will be rich and great. Same as you would have him +be. There's 'no nothing' for me anywhere now but with Marcel. You +understand? You'll help?" + +All the softness had returned to the woman's eyes, untaught to hide +those inner feelings of her elemental soul. + +"An-ina help? Oh, yes." Then she added with a smile of patient content: +"An-ina always help. She love boy, too. You fix all things. You say +'go.' An-ina go. So we come by Unaga. It storm. Oh, yes. It snow. It +freeze. It no matter. Nothing not matter. Auntie Millie mak' boy and +An-ina speak with the Great Spirit each night. An' He bless you all +time. Him mak' you safe all time. An-ina know--sure." + +The frank simplicity of it all left the white man searching for words to +express his gratitude. But complete and utter helplessness supervened. + +"Thanks, An-ina," he articulated. And he dared not trust himself to +more. + +Diversion came at a moment when he was never more thankful for it. The +shrill treble of the boy reached them across the stretch of tawny, +summer grass. + +"Uncle Stee-e-ve! Uncle St-ee-ee-ve!" + +Little Marcel was unstinting in all things. His call was not simply +preliminary. His enthusiasm for the hunt was incomparable with his new +enthusiasm. His call of recognition came as he ran towards the object of +his hero-worship, and he ran with all his might. + +It was a breathless child that was lifted into Steve's arms and hugged +with an embrace the sight of which added to the squaw's smile of +happiness. The boy's arms were flung about the man's neck with complete +and utter abandonment. An-ina looked on, and no cloud of jealousy +shadowed her joy. She had done all in her power that the white man +should not be forgotten in his absence. The great white man, who was her +king of men. And she had her reward. + +The first wild moments of greeting over, the boy's chatter flowed forth +in a breathless torrent. And all the while the man was observing those +things that mattered most to his maturer mind. + +Marcel had grown astoundingly in the prolonged interval. The promise of +the sturdy body Steve had so often watched trundling across the snows of +Unaga in its bundle of furs had developed out of all knowledge under the +ample hospitality of Millie Ross's home. Tall, straight, muscular it had +shot up many inches. The boy was probably seven years of age. Steve did +not know for sure. Nor did it signify greatly. The things that mattered +were the ruddy, sunburnt cheeks of perfect health, the big, intelligent +blue eyes, the shapely mouth, and the sunny, wavy hair, all containing +the promise of a fine manhood to come. Then the firm, stout limbs, and +the powerful ribs. That which was in the handsome boyish face was in the +body, too. God willing, the man knew that the coming manhood would be +amply worth. + +Slackening excitement brought the boy back to the thing which held his +vital interest, and he told of the great game he and An-ina were engaged +upon. He told of his failures and successes with impartial enthusiasm. +And finally invited his "Uncle" to join in the game. + +"No, old fellow," he said. "I've got to get right along down to the +house to see Uncle Mac and Auntie Millie. You see, I've only just got +along from Reindeer. Guess I've been chasing a gopher for two years and +more. But like you I just didn't get him. Some day----" + +"You been hunting gophers, Uncle Steve?" The childish interest leapt +afresh. + +The man nodded, and his smiling eyes encountered those of the squaw. He +read the understanding he beheld there, and turned quickly to the child +again. + +"Sure," he said drily. "But I didn't get him." + +"No." The boy turned regretful eyes towards the open, where he, too, had +just failed to bag his quarry. "You kill 'em when you get 'em, Uncle. We +do, don't we, An-ina?" he added, appealing for corroboration. + +"We always kills 'em, Uncle Steve," he went on, "'cos gophers are very +bad." + +"Yes. Gophers are bad, old fellow. Always kill them. That's how I'd have +done if I'd got the one I was after. But I didn't get him. He ran too +fast for me. Maybe I'll find him another time. You never know. Do you? +Boy and Uncle and An-ina are going a great long way soon. We'll find +better than gophers to hunt, eh?" + +"Yes--wolves! Where we go?" + +"We go back to the Sleepers--and the old fort." + +Steve searched the child's face anxiously as he made the announcement. +He was half afraid of a lingering memory that might jeopardize his +plans, or, at least make their fulfilment more difficult. But he need +have had no fear. The child remembered, but only with delight. And again +the man recognized the guiding hand of the squaw. + +"Oo-o, Uncle! Soon? We go soon?" Marcel cried, his eyes shining. "The +forests where the wolves are. And the Sleepers. And the snow comes down, +and we dig ourselves out. And the dogs, and sleds, and--we go soon--very +soon! Can't we go now? Oo-o!" + +"Not now, but--soon." + +Steve's satisfaction was in the glance of thanks which he flashed into +An-ina's watching eyes. + +"But now I must really go along to the house, old fellow," he said, with +a sigh. "Guess boy'll come, too, or maybe he'll go on with his game?" + +The question was superfluous. Gopher hunting was a glorious sport, but +walking hand in hand with Uncle Steve back to the house, even though bed +and a bath were awaiting him, was a delight Marcel had no idea of +renouncing. + + * * * * * + +The plump figure of Millie Ross half filled the doorway, while the +sunset sought out the obscure corners of the comfortably furnished hall +place behind her. + +The doctor's great figure was supported on the table on which he had +flung his hat while he welcomed Steve. The latter's arrival had been +quite unheralded, completely unexpected. So long was it since his going +that husband and wife had almost abandoned the thought that some day +they would be called upon to render an account of their stewardship with +regard to young Marcel, and hand over the little human "capital" +originally entrusted to them. It was not to be wondered at. They loved +the boy. They had their two girls, but they had no son. And +Marcel--well, Steve was so long overdue, and his absence had been one +long, unbroken silence. So, all unconsciously, they had come to think +that something had happened, something which had caused him to change +his mind, or which had made it physically impossible for him to return. +Now, after the first warmth and delight of the meeting had passed, a +certain pre-occupation restrained the buoyancy so natural to the +warm-hearted pair. + +Steve was seated in the chair beside the table, the chair which the +doctor was wont to adopt when the mosquitoes outside made the veranda +impossible. Perhaps he understood the preoccupation which more +particularly looked out of Millie's eyes. He felt the burden of his debt +to these people, a debt he could never repay; he understood the feelings +which his return must inspire if the child, left in their care, had +become to them a tithe of that which he had become to him. He knew it +was his purpose to tear the child out of their lives. And the wrench +would be no less for the thought that he purposed carrying him off to +those regions of desolation which had already come very near to costing +the child's helpless little life. + +So his steady eyes were watchful of the woman's attitude, and he looked +for the sign of those feelings which he knew his return must have set +stirring. He knew that, whatever the big Scotsman felt and thought, the +woman was the real factor with which he must reckon. + +With this understanding he frankly laid bare much which he otherwise +would have kept deep hidden. He told these two, who listened in deep +sympathy, the story of his pursuit of the man who had wronged him, from +the beginning to the end. And, in the telling, so shorn of all +unnecessary colouring, the simple deliberateness of his purpose, +contemplated in the coldly passionate desire of an implacable nature, +the story gained a tremendous force, the more so that his pursuit had +ended in failure. + +He told them how for nearly a year, after winding up the affairs of his +dead father, which had left him with even a better fortune than he had +expected, he had systematically devoted himself to spreading a wide net +of enquiries. In this process he had to travel some thousands of miles, +and had to write many hundreds of letters, and had spent countless hours +in the official bureau of local police. + +He told them how finally he had discovered the trail he, sought in a +remote haunt in the poorer quarters of Winnipeg. This, after many +tortuous wanderings and blind alley searchings, had finally led him to +the waterside of Quebec, and the purlieus of Mallard's, where, under the +guidance of the celebrated Maurice Saney, he ran up against the blank +wall of that redoubtable harbour of crime. + +"All this," he said, without emotion, "took me over two years. And I +guess it wasn't till I hit up against Mallard's that I sat down and took +a big think. You see," he went on simply, "I wanted to kill that feller. +I wanted to kill that feller, and take my poor girl back and get back +my little, little baby. I had a notion I might have to hang for the job, +but, anyway, I'd have saved her from a life--well, I'd have saved them +both, and been able to fix them so they didn't need a thing in life. +What happened to me didn't seem to worry any. But when I hit up against +Mallard's, and I'd listened some to Saney I started in to figure. To get +that far had taken me over two years, and big money. There might be +still years of it ahead of me. And when I'd done, was I sure I'd get +Nita and the kiddie back? And if I did, how would I be able to fix them +after all the expense? Then there was Marcel. Maybe it was something +else urging me to quit. Something I wasn't just aware of. I don't know. +I've heard say that a feller who yearns to kill, either kills quick or +goes crazy. There wasn't a thing foolish about me. I hadn't any of the +foolishness of a crazy man. Which is a way of saying the yearning to +kill hadn't the grip on me it had. It was a big fight, but sense--or +something else--won out. I quit for those other things I'd got in my +head. Guess I heard that little feller's 'Hullo!' ringing in my ears. +Same as I heard it up in Unaga. So I cut out the other, and got busy +right away fixing things for the big play I mean to put up for the +kiddie that Providence has left to me. There are times when my whole +body kicks at the thought of that skunk getting away with his play. But +there's others when I'm glad--real glad--I quit. I can't judge the thing +right. I'm sort of torn in different directions. Anyway, there it is. +Maybe the thing I haven't been allowed to do will be done sometime by +the Providence that reckons to straighten out most things as it sees +fit. I hope the way it sees is my way. That's all. Now I'm ready for the +big play. My outfit has gone up by water on Hudson's Bay, a special +charter. It's to be landed and cached on the shores of Chesterfield +Inlet. I've sunk every cent of my inheritance in it. It's an outfit +that'll give Marcel and me a life stake in the work lying ahead. And all +that comes out of it is for him. With all this fixed I got back right +away." + +"But not--in a 'hurry.'" + +There was a half smile in the Scotsman's eyes. + +"The only 'hurry' I'm in is to get all the season we need," Steve +replied simply. + +"That means you want Marcel--right away." + +Millie spoke without turning from her contemplation of the view beyond +the doorway. And there was that in her voice which told Steve of the +inroads Marcel had made upon her mother's heart. + +"I've thought of all this a whole heap," he said gently. "It's one of +the things that clinched my idea of quitting. Later I don't guess I'd +have had the nerve to--ask for Marcel." + +Millie turned abruptly. And the husband was watching her as urgently as +Steve himself. + +"That's not fair, Steve," she declared, without attempting to soften the +challenge. + +"But, Millie--" + +The husband's protest was cut short. + +"Don't worry, Mac," Millie cried. "I know just the feelings that +prompted Steve to think that way. But it's not fair. It's making out +that I'd like to go back on my word, and refuse to give Marcel up to the +moloch of Unaga. That's the part that isn't fair. Steve, if you'd come +to me in twenty years my word would have gone every time. That boy might +be my own son, I never had a son, and maybe you can guess just what that +means to me when I say it. But there's bigger things in the world than +my feelings, and I'm full wise to them. That boy loves you the same as +if you were his father. I've helped to see to that. I and An-ina. You've +been through hell for him. You've been through a hell of your own +besides. Now you're ready to give your all for him--including your life. +Do you know what I feel in my fool woman's way? I'll try and tell you," +she went on, forcing back the threatening tears. "There's men in the +world made to give their everything for those they love. You're one of +them. To rob you of an object for you to work and sacrifice yourself for +would be to rob you of the greatest thing in your life. It would be an +unforgivable crime, and though it broke my heart I would refuse to +commit that crime. Marcel is ready for you the moment you ask for him. +Oh, yes, it's just as I said. His outfit is ready. We've enlarged it as +he's grown. An-ina has done her share. There's two of everything, as I +said there would be--and a good deal over. But," she added, with a +little pitiful break in her voice that showed how near were her tears, +"I wish, oh, how I wish, it was not Unaga, and that, some day, I might +hope to see his smiling, happy face again. You'll be good to him, Steve, +won't you? Raise him, train him, teach him. Don't let him become a wild +man. I want to think of him, to always remember him as he is now, and to +think that when he grows to manhood at least he's as good a man as +you." + + + + +PART II + + + + +CHAPTER I + +AFTER FOURTEEN YEARS + + +It was boasted of Seal Bay that its inhabitants produced more wealth per +head than any other community in the Northern world, not even excluding +the gold cities of Alaska and the Yukon. It was a considerable boast, +but with more than usual justice. A cynic once declared that it was the +only distinction of merit the place could fairly claim. + +The boast of Seal Bay was sufficiently alluring to those who had not yet +set foot on its pestilential shores. For once, by some extraordinary +chance, truth had been spoken in Seal Bay. No one need starve upon its +deplorable streets, if sufficiently clever and unscrupulous. + +A photographic plate would have yielded a choice scene of desolation, if +sun enough could have been found to achieve the necessary record. The +long, low foreshore of Seal Bay was dotted with a large number of mud +huts, thatched with reeds from adjacent marshes, and a fair sprinkling +of frame houses of varying shapes and sizes. There were no streets in +the modern sense, only stretches of mire which were more or less +bottomless for about seven months in the year, and lost in the grip of +an Arctic winter for the rest of the time. Foot traffic was only made +possible in the softer portion of the year by means of disjointed +sections of wooden sidewalks laid down by those who preferred the +expense and labour to the necessary discomfort of frequent bathing. + +There was no doubt that Seal Bay as a trading port owed its existence to +two spits of mud and sand on either side of a completely inhospitable +foreshore. They stretched out, forming the two horns of a horseshoe, +like puny arms seeking to embrace the wide waters of Hudson's Bay. + +Within their embrace was a more or less safe anchorage for light draft +craft. There was a pier. At least it was called a pier by the more +reckless. It was propped and bolstered in every conceivable way to keep +it from sinking out of sight in its muddy bed, and became a source of +political discord on the subject of its outrageous cost of maintenance. + +As for the setting which Seal Bay claimed it was no more happy than the +rest. There was no background until the far-off distance was reached, +and then it was only a serrated line of low and apparently barren hills. +Everything else was a wide expanse of deplorable morass and reed-grown +tundra, through which ran a few safe tracks, which, except in winter, +were a deadly nightmare to all travellers. + +The handiwork of man is not usually wholly without merit, but Seal Bay +would have sent the most hardened real estate agent seeking shelter in a +sanatorium as a result of overwork. Still, traffic was possible. Seal +Bay was an ideal spot for robbing Indian and half-breed fur traders who +knew no better, and the plunder could be more or less safely dispatched +to the markets of the world outside. Oh, yes, there was easy money and +plenty. So what else mattered? + +These were the opinions of those who really counted, such men as Lorson +Harris, head of the Seal Bay Trading Corporation, and Alroy Leclerc, +who kept a mud shelter of extensive dimensions for the sale of drink and +food and gambling. There were others, those who came over the great +white trail from the north, who possessed very definite opinions of +their own, but were wise enough to refrain from ventilating them within +the city limits. + +A man who hugged to himself very strong views had just entered the city. +He always came when Seal Bay was quite at its best. It may have been +simple chance. Anyway, it was one of the coldest days of winter, with a +sharp north wind blowing, and the thermometer hard down to zero. Seal +Bay's sins lay concealed under a thick garment of snow, while its +surrounding terrors were rendered innocuous by the iron grip of frost. + +Seal Bay was astir. It always was astir when this man paid his annual +visit. He excited a curiosity that never flagged. His coming was looked +for. His going was watched. His coming and going were two of the most +baffling riddles confronting the sophisticated minds of a people whose +pursuits had no relation to purity or honesty. + +The man came with three great dog-trains. Sometimes he came with four, +and even five. His sleds were heavy laden, packed to the limits of the +capacity of his dogs. They, in turn, were more powerful and better +conditioned than any Indian train that visited the place, and each was a +full train of five savage creatures more than half wolf. + +He drove straight through the main thoroughfare of the town. The +onlookers were fully aware of his destination. It was the great +store-house over which Lorson Harris presided. And this knowledge set +much ill-feeling and resentment stirring. It was always the same. The +sturdy, hard-faced man from the north ignored Seal Bay as a community, +and only recognized a fellow creature in the great man who wove the net +which the Seal Bay Trading Corporation spread over the Northern world. + +Something of the position found illumination in the dialogue which +passed between two men lounging in Alroy's doorway as the great train +passed them by. + +"Gee! Makes you wonder if us folks has the plague," laughed Kid +Restless, the most successful gambler that haunted Alroy's dive. "He +don't see a thing but Lorson's. He'd hate to pass a 'how-dy' to a cur. +But his trade ain't as big as last year. Guess Lorson'll halve his +smile. He's been coming along fourteen year, ain't it?" + +Dupont nodded, his contemplative gaze following the procession of sleds +under the skilful driving of their attendants. + +"Yep." Dupont was a lesser trader who lived in a state of furious +discontent at the monopoly of the greater store. "The Brand outfit's +been trading here fourteen years--and more." + +"How's that?" + +"Oh, ther's a heap queer about that outfit," said the envious whiskered +man, whose dark, sallow features suggested plainly enough his Jewish +origin. "Maybe it's that makes that feller act same as if we had +the--plague. He calls himself Brand, but he ain't the Brand who traded +here more than twenty years ago. Guess you wasn't around then. Guess I +wasn't, neither. I'd be crazy by now if I had been. But the story's +right enough. Brand--Marcel Brand--and his pardner traded here with +Lorson more than twenty years back. He came from God knows where, an' he +just went right back to the same place. Then him an' his pardner got +done up. The darn Eskimos, or neches, or ha'f-breeds, shot 'em both up +to small chunks. Lorson was nigh crazy for the trade he lost, for all +Brand was a free-trader like Lorson hates best. Then, three years or so +later, along comes this guy with the name of 'Marcel Brand,' and carried +on the trade. And he's a white man same as the other. It was then Lorson +took to smiling plenty again." + +"You figger he's the feller that?----" + +"I don't know. I 'low' got notions though." + +Kid Restless was interested. There was little enough to interest him in +Seal Bay beyond the life of piracy he carried on at the card tables. + +"It's some queer sort o' trade, ain't it?" he asked. + +"Queer?" Dupont spat. "Oh, he trades pelts, some o' the best seals ever +reach this darnation swamp. But the trade that makes Lorson smile is +queer. I've seen bales of it shipped out of this harbour, an' it looks +like dried seaweed, an' smells like some serrupy flower you'd hate to +have around. Lorson just loves it to death, and I guess it needs to be a +good trade that sets him lovin'. But he keeps his face closed. Same as +the feller that calls himself Brand. Oh, yes, Lorson's the kind of +oyster you couldn't hammer open with a haf ton maul." + +"Why don't they trail him--this guy?" demanded Kid sharply. + +"Trail? Why, the sharps are after him all the time. But he skins 'em to +death. Lorson's at the game, too. Oh, yes. Guess Lorson 'ud jump the +claim if he could get wise. But he ain't wise. No one is. But they'll +get that way one time, and then that mule-faced guy, who guesses we'll +hand him plague, will forget to get around in snow time. You can't beat +the Seal Bay 'sharps' all the time, though I allow he's beat 'em plumb +to death fourteen years." + +"I'd guess it'll need grit to beat him," returned the Kid. "That is," he +added thoughtfully, "if you can judge the face of a--mule." + +"Oh, _he's_ got grit--in plenty. Even Lorson gets his hat off to him +when he's around." + +Dupont laughed maliciously. + +"You mean----?" + +"I was remembering Lorson's play," the trader went on. "He had his +'toughs' that time. Brand had pulled out two weeks and more. Then one +day a bunch of Northern neches pulled in. They'd beat down the coast in +a big-water canoe. The folks didn't notice them. It's the sort of thing +frequent happens. But Lorson got the scare of his life. He woke up next +morning with his pet 'tough'--a big breed--lying across his home +doorstep. He guessed he was dead. But he wasn't. He woke up about midday +and started guessing where he was. Later on he handed out a fancy yarn +what the neches had done to him. An', happening to dove a hand into a +pocket, he hauled out a letter addressed to Lorson himself. It just said +four words, an' Lorson spoke them. I don't guess they'd mean a thing to +the likes of him. They just said, 'Play the darn game.' And under them +was wrote 'Brand.'" + +Kid grinned back into the other's eyes which were alight with malicious +delight. + +"That's the med'cine to hand a feller that can understand white--not +Lorson," the gambler said. "I like that guy that calls himself 'Brand.'" + +"Guess he's some boy all right. But--I was thinkin' of that breed. He +was doped." + +The other nodded. + +"You're guessing about that--queer trade," he said. + +Dupont gazed out in the direction whence the dog train had disappeared +behind the group of great frame buildings which represented the +establishment of the Seal Bay Trading Corporation. + +"Yep," he said thoughtfully. + + * * * * * + +Lorson Harris was a type common enough in outland places, where money is +easy and conscience does not exist. He was vulgar, he was brutal, he was +a sensualist in his desire for all that wealth could buy him. He was not +a man of education. Far from it. He was a clever, unscrupulous schemer, +a product of conditions--rough conditions. + +He was a large, coarse man who had permitted his passions to gain the +upper hand in the control of his life, but they by no means interfered +with his capacity as the head of the Seal Bay Trading Corporation. + +He overflowed a big armchair before his desk in the office of his great +store, and beamed a hard-breathing good-nature upon all those who seemed +likely to be useful in his multitudinous schemes. Just now the victim of +his smile was a man at the zenith of middle life. He was of medium +height, but of herculean muscle, and the fact was patent enough even +under the dense bulk of fur-lined buckskin clothing he was wearing. + +There was no more sympathy in the two men's appearance than there was in +their condition of mind. While a passionate desire for the flesh-pots +enjoyed by other magnates of commerce, whose good fortune had provided +them with a happier hunting-ground than Seal Bay, was the primal motive +power of the trader, the man who had just come off the great white trail +was driven by a desire no less strong, but only selfish in that the +final achievement should be entirely his. + +Just now the fur cap was removed from the visitor's head, and a tingeing +of grey was apparent in the shock of brown hair he had bared. A few +sharp lines scored his forehead and played about his clean-shaven mouth, +but the steady, serious eyes, with their strongly marked, even brows +were quite devoid of all sign of passing years. They accentuated the +impression of tremendous vigour and capacity his personality conveyed. + +The smiling eyes of Lorson read all these things. It was his business to +read his visitors. He pushed the cigar box across the desk invitingly. + +"They're some cigars, boy," he said complacently. "Try one." + +The other shook his head. + +"Don't use 'em, thanks. Maybe I'll try my pipe." + +"Sure. Do. A horn of whisky--imported Scotch?" + +The same definite shake of the head followed, but before the visitor +could pass a verbal negative the trader laughed. + +"Nothing doing?" he said amiably. "Well, maybe you're right. You boys +need fit stomachs. Drink's a darn fool play, but--Here's 'how,'" he +added, as he gulped down the dash of spirit he had poured out for +himself. He smacked his heavy, appreciative lips, and fondly +contemplated the label on the bottle. But he was not really reading it. + +"Your trade in the dope's growing," he said, his fat fingers fondling +the glass bottle neck as though he were loth to release it. "Nearly +fifty thousand dollars. That's your credit for a year's trade. It's the +biggest in--fourteen years. And it don't begin to touch the demand I got +for the darn stuff. I could sell you a hundred thousand dollars' worth, +and still ask for more at the same price. You don't get what that means +to me," he went on, with a laugh intended to be disarming. "You ain't +running a great store that's crazy to hand out dividends. Here's a +market gasping. Prices are sky high, an' we can't 'touch.' I tell you it +wouldn't lower the price a haf cent if you quadrupled your output. I +want to weep. I sure do." + +The man in buckskin was filling his pipe from a bag of Indian +manufacture. + +"Sure," he nodded. "I get that." Then he added very deliberately. +"That's why you send your boys out scouting my trail." + +Lorson laughed immoderately to hide the effect of the quietly spoken +challenge. + +"That's business, boy. I buy your stuff--all you can hand me. But if I +can jump into your market, why--it's up to me." + +"It certainly is up to you." The man lit his pipe and pressed down the +tobacco with one of his powerful fingers. "It's up to you more than you +know. I once sent back one of your boys. I shan't worry to send back any +more. Best save their skins whole, Harris. You'll never jump my market +till you can find a feller who can hit a trail such as you never dreamed +of. And it's a trail they got to locate first." + +The trader leant back in his chair and linked his fat fingers across his +wide stomach. His eyes were twinkling as he regarded the visitor from +the North. The smile was still in them, but there was a keen speculation +in them, too. + +"You can't blame me, boy," he said, with perfect amiability. "Hand me +all the stuff I'm asking, and your market's as sacred as a woman's +virtue. But you don't hand it me, or maybe you can't. Well, it's up to +me to supply my needs any way I know. There's nothing crooked in that. +If you're reckoning to squeeze my market you can't kick if I try to open +it wide. You see, Brand, this stuff _grows_. I guess it grows in plenty, +because you admit you trade it, and I know the Northern neche well +enough to guess he only trades sufficient for his needs. See? Well, +I've the same right you have to get on to that source. If you know it, +hand me what I'm asking for. If you don't, then you can't stop me trying +to locate it for myself. If all business propositions were as straight +as that there'd be no kick coming to anyone. As it is, the man who's got +a kick is me--not you." + +"I get all that," the visitor said, without relaxing his attention. +"There's no kick on the moral side of this thing. I never said there +was. I said save your boys' skins whole. That's all. If you fancy +jumping my claim, jump it, but I guess I don't need to tell you what to +expect. You sit around here and order other folks to the job. It's they +who're going to suffer. Not you." + +"I pay them. They take it on with their darn eyes open," snapped the +trader, his amiability slipping from him in a moment. + +The other gathered a half smile at the display. He blew a great cloud of +smoke, and removed his pipe. + +"I'd best tell you something I haven't seen necessary to tell you +before," he said. "And it's because I'm not yearning for any feller to +get hurt in this thing. And, further, I'm telling you because you'll see +the horse sense in cutting out sharp business for real business. There's +a big source of this stuff. Oh, yes. I know that. I've been chasing it +for fourteen years, and--I haven't found it. When I do--if I do, I'll +hand you all you need, and save that weep you threatened. Meanwhile +you're sinking dollars in a play that maybe fits your notion of +business, but is going to snuff out uselessly the lights of some of your +boys, who I agree 'ud be better off the earth. Here's where the horse +sense comes in. I know all about this stuff, all there is to know. I +know the folks, all of them, who can supply me. They wouldn't trade with +your folks. They wouldn't trade with a soul but me. This is simple +fact, and no sort of bluff. But the whole point is that I--I wish an +outfit ready to face anything the North can hand me, with the confidence +of the folks who know the source, have been chasing for it fourteen +years and failed, while you, with a bunch of toughs who couldn't live +five minutes on one of my winter trails, are guessing to do something +that for fourteen years has beaten me. That's the horse sense I want to +hand you, and I'm only handing it you so you don't pitchfork any more +lives into the trouble that's waiting on them. They won't find it. I'll +see to that, and what I don't see to the Northern trail will. If you +don't see the sense of this, it's up to you, and anyway, as I'm needing +to pull out early, I'll take a draft on the bank for those dollars. I'll +be along down again this time next year." + +He rose from his chair preparatory to departure, and picked up the warm +seal cap he had flung aside. + +For a moment the trader sat lost in thought. Then, quite suddenly, he +stirred, and reached the check book lying on the desk. He wrote rapidly, +and finally tore the draft from its counterfoil and blotted it. Then he +looked up, and his smiling amiability was uppermost once more. + +"Thanks, Brand," he said. "I'm not sure you aren't right. It's hoss +sense anyway. You aren't given to talk most times. I wanted to know how +you stood about that stuff. I'm glad you told me. What's more, I guess +it's true. Still, what I figger to do in the future don't concern anyone +but me. All I can say is I built this enterprise up on a definite hard +rule. I never compromise with a rival trading concern, particularly with +a free-trading outfit. I trade with 'em, but I'm out to beat 'em all the +time." + +The other accepted the draft and signed a receipt. Then he thrust his +cap over his head and his steady eyes smiled down into the amiable face +smiling up at him. + +"That's all right, Harris," he said easily. "The feller who don't know +wins a pot now and again. But it's the feller who knows wins in the long +run. You back the game if you feel that way. You won't hand me a +nightmare. Later you'll wake up and get a fresh dream. The game's lost +before you start. So long." + + * * * * * + +Alroy Leclerc beamed on the man who was perhaps the greatest curiosity +amongst the many to be found in Seal Bay. His "hotel" had sheltered the +trader, who called himself Brand, for three days. A fact sufficiently +unusual to stir the saloon-keeper to a high pitch of cordiality. For all +his most liberal sources of revenue came from the scallywags of the +town, Alroy, with sound instinct, infinitely preferred the custom of the +stable men of the Northern world. Brand was more than desirable. + +It was early morning. Much too early for Alroy. He felt lonely in the +emptiness of the place. A grey daylight, peering in through the window +of the office, scarcely lit the remote corners of the room. Brand had +breakfasted by lamplight. The saloon-keeper was more than thankful for +the comforting warmth of the great wood stove they were standing over. + +"Guess it looks like bein' our last real cold snap," Alroy said, by way +of making talk with a man who was always difficult. "We'll be running +into May in a week. 'Tain't as easy with your folks. We git the warm +wind of this darn old bay, with all that means, which," he added with a +laugh, "is mostly rain. You'll be runnin' into cold right up to July." + +The man from the trail was unrolling a bundle of notes for the +settlement of the bill Alroy had presented. He glanced up with a smiling +amusement in his eyes. + +"Guess that's as may be," he said indifferently. "We get fancy patterns +where I come from." + +He passed the account and a number of bills to the other, and returned +his roll to his pocket. + +"And wher' may that be?" enquired the saloon-keeper, with as much +indifference as his curiosity would permit. + +"Just north," returned the other. "Guess you'll find that right. +Twenty-five fifty. I'll take a receipt." + +Alroy turned hastily to the table supporting the hotel register, and, +producing an ornate fountain pen, forthwith prepared to scratch a +receipt, which was rarely enough demanded by his customers amongst the +trail men. + +"Sure," Brand went on, while the other bent over his unaccustomed work. +"We get all sorts. You can't figger anything this time of year, except +it'll be a hell of a sight more cussed than when winter's shut down +tight. I once knew a red hot chinook that turned the whole darn country +into a swamp in April, and never let it freeze up again. I once broke +trail at Fort Duggan at the start of May on open water with the skitters +running, like midsummer." + +Alroy looked up. + +"Duggan?" he questioned sharply. "That's the place Lorson opened up last +spring. It's right on the edge of a territory they call Unaga, ain't it? +The boys were full of it last summer and were guessing what sort of +murder lay behind his play." + +Brand took the receipt the other handed him and folded it. He thrust it +into a pocket inside his fur-lined tunic. + +"Why?" he demanded, in the curt fashion that seemed so natural to him. + +"Why?" Alroy laughed. "Well, the boys around here guess they know Lorson +Harris, and ain't impressed with his virtues. You see, Fort Duggan, they +reckon, is a bum sort of location, eaten up by bugs an' a poor sort of +neche race. There's an old fort there, ain't there? One o' them places +where a hundred an' more years ago the old fur-traders stole, and +looted, and murdered the darn neches, and mostly drank themselves to +death when they didn't do it by shootin'. That don't figure a heap in +the boys' reckonin'. What does, is the feller Lorson sent there. The +yarn goes that this feller Nicol--David Nicol--that's his name, I +reckon, has been working for the Seal Bay Trading for some years. He +seems to be some crook, and Harris found him out. Guess he seems to have +cost the Seal Bay outfit a big bunch of money. They were all for sending +him down for penitentiary. Then a sort of miracle happened. Lorson +begged off. Why? It ain't usually Lorson's way. Next thing happens is +Lorson opens up Fort Duggan, and puts the tough in. So the boys are +guessin'. There sure is some sort of murder behind it. Lorson don't miss +things. His chances are mostly a cinch." + +"Yes, he's pretty wise." The thoughtful eyes of the trail man were +turned on the sides of the glowing stove so that the saloon-keeper had +no chance of observing them. "You can't guess the things behind Lorson's +smile," he went on. "But I reckon you can figger there's always +something. As far as I can recollect of Fort Duggan--and I haven't been +there these years--I'd say he's no mean judge. I always wondered when a +big corporation would come along and open it up. There's big trade there +in pelts. Still, it's a tough sort of place." + +"From what I hear it can't be too tough for the feller Lorson's sent +there. There'll be blood and murder amongst the neches there if they +don't hand over easy." + +Alroy laughed immoderately at the prospect he contemplated, and held out +his hand in friendly farewell as his customer prepared to depart. + +"Well, so long, Mister," he grinned amiably. "I guess there's things +worse in the world than the shelter of this old shanty. Anyway I'd +sooner you hit the Northern trail than me. I'll be mighty pleased to see +you around come--next year." + +"So long." + +Alroy's cordiality found very little that was responsive in the other. +Perhaps the trail man understood its exact value. Perhaps he was simply +indifferent. The saloon-keeper served a purpose, and was amply paid for +his service. Anyway he shook hands, and departed without any other +response. + +Alroy watched him go. There was nothing else to do at this early hour +with his entire establishment still abed, and Seal Bay's main +thoroughfare still a desert of dirty, rutted snow, some foot or more +deep. He stood in his doorway gazing out at the cheerless grey of early +morning, watching with interest the handling of the three great dog +trains which he had seen come into town with their laden sleds only +three days before. + +For all the cold and the early morning drear, for all he was of the life +of the desolate shores of Seal Bay, for all the comings and goings of +the men of the trails, for whom he mostly entertained a more or less +profound contempt, for Alroy Leclerc there was still a fascination +attached to the mysterious beyond to which these people belonged. +Somewhere out there was a great white world whose secrets he could only +guess at. The life was a life he did not envy. He knew it by the +thousand and one stories of disaster and miraculous escape he had +listened to, but that was all. There was more in it, he knew. Much more. +It held fascinated the adventurous, untamed spirits of men whose +superhuman efforts, yielding them little better than a pittance, still +made possible the enormous profits of a parasitic world which battened +upon them, and sucked them dry. Oh, yes. Whatever his sympathies he had +a pretty wide understanding of the lives of these men. He also knew that +he was one of the parasites which battened upon them. But he had no +scruples. Nor had he envy. Only a sort of fascination which never failed +at the sight of a sled, and a powerful train of well-handled dogs. + +It was that which he looked upon now. He watched the two Indians stir +the savage creatures from their crouching upon the snow. It was the +harsh law of the club administered by skilled but merciless hands. The +great, grey beasts, fully half wolf, understood nothing more gentle. + +In moments only the whole of the three trains were alert and ready on +their feet straining against the rawhide breast draws of their harness. +Then the white man shouted the word to "mush." The long hardwood poles +of the men broke out the sleds from the frozen grip of snow, and the +whole of the lightened outfit dashed off at a rapid, almost headlong +gait. + +For a few moments Alroy remained at his post gazing after them. Then of +a sudden his attention was drawn in an opposite direction. + +It was an incoming train. A single sled, heavily laden, but with only a +team of three dogs, far inferior to those which had just passed out of +the town. They cut into the main thoroughfare out of a side turning and +headed at once for the store of the Seal Bay Trading Company. + +He looked for the owner. The owner was always his chief interest. He +anticipated that a liberal share of the value of the man's cargo would +find its way across his counter, and the extent of his profit would +depend on the man's identity. + +He was destined to receive the surprise of his life. He looked for an +Indian, a half-breed, or a white man. Some well-known man of the trail. +But it was none of these. Despite the fur-lined tunic almost to the +knees, despite the tough, warm nether garments, and the felt leggings, +and beaded moccasins, and the well-strung snow-shoes, there remained no +doubt in his startled mind. None whatsoever. It was a woman! A girl! + +Alroy ran a hand across his astonished eyes. He pushed back his fur cap +and stared. The girl was moving down the trail towards him. He had a +full view of the face looking out of the fur hood which surrounded it. A +white girl, with the heightened colour and brightening eyes of youth and +perfect health and strength. She was tall, beautifully tall, and as she +swept on past him in her gliding snow-shoes he had a fleeting vision of +a strand of fair hair escaped from beneath her fur hood, and a pair of +beautiful blue eyes, and pretty, parted lips which left him hugging +himself. + +The vision had rewarded him for his early rising. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE SPRING OF LIFE + + +It was a moment when memories were stirring. An-ina searched the +distance with eyes untroubled and full of a glad content. Had she not +every reason for content? Oh, yes. She knew. + +It was the same scene she had gazed upon for many seasons, for many +years, and the limit of her vision had become practically the limits of +her world. There stretched the white snow-clad valley with the still +frozen river winding its way throughout its length to the north and +south. There were the far-off hills beyond, white, grey; and purpling as +the distance gained. Dark forest patches chequered the prospect. It was +the same all ways, north, south, and west. + +For all the few changings of aspect with the passing of the seasons +there was no weariness in the woman's heart. She was bound up to the +exclusion of all else with the human associations which were hers. No +prison could hold bondage for her, so long as those associations were +not denied her. + +Out of the tail of her eyes she glanced at the great figure that was +standing near her in the gateway of the fort. It was a figure, the sight +of which filled her with a great sense of pride, and joy, and gratitude. +In her simple way she understood something of the debt owed her for her +years of untiring, watchful care of the small body which had grown to +such splendid manhood. But the thought of its discharge never occurred +to her uncalculating mind. That which she beheld more than repaid. + +Marcel was great for Indian eyes to gaze upon. Tall as was the woman, +comely in her maturing years, she was left dwarfed beside the youthful +manhood she had watched grow from its earliest days. The young man had +the erect, supple, muscular body of a trained athlete and the face of +the mother who had long since been laid to rest in the woods of the +Sleeper Indians. He had moreover the strength of the father's unspoiled +character, and all the purposeful method which the patient upbringing of +"Uncle Steve" had been capable of inspiring. He was a simple human +product, unspoiled by contamination with the evil which lurks under the +veneer of civilization, yet he possessed all the trained mind that both +Steve and he had been able to achieve from the wealth of learning which +his father's laboratory had been found to contain. + +Beyond this, the bubbling springs of youth were in full flood, and the +tide ran strong in his rich veins. A passionate enthusiasm was the +outlet for this tide. A buoyant, fearless energy, a youthful pride in +strenuous achievement. It was with these he faced the bitterness of the +cruel Northland which he had grown to look upon like the Indians, who +knew no better, as the whole setting of human life and all that was to +be desired. + +He was a hunter and a man of the trail before all things. His every +thought was wrapt up in the immensity of the striving. He had absorbed +the teachings of Steve, and added to them his own natural instincts. And +in all this he had raised himself to that ideal of manhood which nature +had implanted in An-ina's Indian heart. If she had thought of him as she +would have thought of him years ago in the teepees of her race, she +would have been content that he was a great "brave" and a "mighty +hunter." As it was her feelings were restricted to an immense pride that +she had been permitted the inestimable privilege of raising a real white +child to well-nigh perfect manhood. + +Marcel knocked out the pipe he was smoking. It was with something like +reluctance he withdrew his gaze from the far distance. + +"I've only two days more, An-ina," he said. "The outfit's ready to the +last ounce of tea and the filling of the last cartridge. The Sleepers +are wide awake, and squatting around waiting for the word to 'mush.' We +just daren't lose the snow for the run to our headquarters. I wish Uncle +Steve would get around. I just can't quit till he comes." + +"No." + +The squaw's reply was one of complete agreement. She understood. The +long summer trail was claiming the man. The hunter in him was clamouring +for the silent forests, where King Moose reigned supreme, the racing +mountain streams alive with trout and an untold wealth of salmon, the +open stretches of plain where the caribou browsed upon the weedy, tufted +Northern grass, the marsh land and lakes, where the beavers spend the +open season preparing their winter quarters. Then the traps, and the +wealth of fox pelts they would yield, while the eternal dazzle of the +much-prized black fox was always before his eyes. But stronger than all +was his thought for Steve. No passion, so far, was greater in his life +than his regard for this man who had been father, mother, and mentor to +him in the years of his helplessness. + +An-ina pointed down the course of the winding river where it came out of +the southern hills. + +"He come that way," she said. Then she smiled. "The same he come always. +The same he come long time gone, when Marcel hide by waters and make big +shout. Him much scared. Marcel think? Oh, yes." + +The man laughed in a happy boyish way. + +"I'd like to, but I just can't," he said. Then he added: "You always +think of that, An-ina. No," he went on with a shake of the head. "I +remember riding Uncle Steve's back. Seems it was for days and days. I +sort of remember sitting around and watching him while he looked down at +a pair of feet like raw meat, with the flies all trying to settle on +them. The sort of way flies have. Then there were his eyes. I've still +got the picture of 'em in my mind. They were red--red with blood, it +seemed. They were sort of straining, too. And they shone--shone like the +blazing coals of a camp-fire." + +An-ina nodded, and into her dark eyes came a look of the dread of the +days he had recalled. + +"That so," she said, in a tone of suppressed emotion. "It was bad--so +bad. Him carry Marcel. Oh, yes. Carry all time, like the squaw carry +pappoose. So you live,--and An-ina glad." + +"Yes." The man bestirred himself abruptly. He stood up from his lounging +against the gatepost, and his great height and breadth of muscular +shoulders seemed suddenly to have grown. "So I live. And you are glad. +That's it. So I live. It's always that way--with you and Uncle Steve. +It's for me. All the time for me. Not a thing for yourselves--ever." + +The woman's eyes were suddenly filled with startled questioning and +solicitude. + +"Oh, yes? That so," she said simply. "Why not? You all Uncle Steve got. +You all An-ina got. So." + +"And aren't you both all--I've got?" The man's smile disarmed the sudden +passionate force which had taken possession of his voice and manner. +"Can't I act that way, too? Can't I sort of carry you and Uncle Steve on +my back? Can't I come along and say, 'Here, you've done all this for me +when I couldn't act for myself, now it's my turn? You sit around and +look on, and act foolish, like I've done all the time, while I get +busy.' Can't I say this, same as you've acted all these years? No. You +two great creatures won't let me. And sometimes it makes me mad. And +sometimes it makes me want to stretch out these fool arms of mine and +hug you for the kindest, bravest, and best in the world." + +An-ina laughed in her silent Indian fashion, and the delight in her eyes +was a reflection of the joy in her soul. + +"You say all those. It make no matter," she said. + +"But it does make matter." The man's handsome face flushed, and his keen +blue eyes shone with a half angry, half impatient light. With a curious +gesture of suppressed feeling he passed a hand over his clean-shaven +mouth, as though to smooth the whiskers that had never been permitted to +disfigure it. "It makes me feel a darn selfish, useless hulk of a man. +And I'm not," he cried. "I'm neither those things. Say An-ina," he went +on, more calmly, and with a light of humour in his eyes, "Don't you dare +to laff at me. Don't you dare deny the things I'm saying. I won't stand +for it. For all you're my old nurse I'll just pick you up like nothing +and throw you to the dogs back in the yard there. And maybe that'll let +you see I can do the things I figure to. I'm a grown man, and Uncle +Steve says 'no' every time I ask to take on the work of locating where +the weed grows, which he hasn't found in fourteen years, and which my +father was yearning to find before he died. 'No,' he says. 'This is for +me. It's my work. It's the thing I set out to do--for you.' When I ask +to do the trade at Seal Bay, it's the same. He guesses the 'sharps' +would beat me. Me! who could break a dozen of their heads in as many +minutes. So I'm left to the trail--the summer trail--to gather pelts, +and learn a craft I know by heart. I keep the Sleeper boys busy, and in +good heart. I'm the big hunter they like to follow. I'm the son of a +great white chief they say, and, for me, they're sort of fool dolls I +pull the strings of, while Uncle Steve does the big man's work. Can you +beat it? It's all wrong. You and Uncle Steve are twice my age. You've +crowded a life's work--for me. You both reckon to go on--always for me. +While I sit around guessing I'm a man because I know a jack-rabbit from +a bull-moose. It's got to alter. It's going to alter--after the summer. +I want the big scrap, An-ina. The real scrap life can hand a feller that +can write 'man' to his name. I'm out for it all. I want it all. And if +Uncle Steve's right, and I'm wrong, and I go under, I'm ready to take +the med'cine however it comes." + +The smile of the woman was full of the mother. It was full of the +Indian, too. + +"Oh, yes," she said quickly. "What you call him, 'chance.' The 'big +chance.' So it is. It good. So very, very good for the big man. Marcel +the big man. I know. Oh, yes. I know. The chance it come. Maybe easy. +Maybe not. It come. So it is always. It come, you take it. You not must +look, or you find trouble. You take it. Always take it when it come. +That how An-ina think." + +Marcel laughed. His impatience had vanished before the sun of his happy +temperament. + +"You've dodged the dogs, An-ina," he cried. "You're too cute for me. +You've agreed with me, and haven't handed an inch of ground. But I tell +you right here, you dear old second mother of mine, I'm going to play +the man as I see the game. And I'm going to play it good." + + * * * * * + +The expression on the man's dusky face was deadly earnest. His lean +brown hands were spread out over the fire for warmth. His fur-clad body +was hunched upon his quarters, as near to the glowing embers as safety +permitted. And as he talked a look of awe and apprehension dilated his +usually unexpressive eyes. + +"The fire run this way--that way," he cried, in a voice of monotonous +cadence, but with a note of urgency behind it. "The man stand by dogs. +He look--look all the time. Fire all same everywhere. It burn up all. +Nothing left. Only two men. Boss Steve and Julyman. Oh, yes. They stan'. +They look, too. They no fear. So they not burn all up. The man by the +dogs much scare. He left him club, an' beat all dogs. So they all crazed +with him club. They run. Oh, yes. An' the man turn. He run, too. Then +Oolak see him face. Oh, yes. Him face of Oolak. Him eyes big with fear. +Him cry out. So him run lak hell so the fire not get him." + +The silent Oolak had committed himself to speech. He had talked long out +of the superstitious dread that beset his Indian heart. He had dreamed a +dream that filled him with fear of the future, towards which he looked +for its fulfilment. + +The grey dawn was searching the obscurity of the fringe of woody shelter +in which the camp was made--the last camp on the return journey from +Seal Bay to the fort. The smell of cooked meat rose from the pan which +Julyman held over the fire. Steve sat on a fallen log, smoking, and +listening tolerantly to the man's recital, while the sharp yapping of +the dogs near by suggested the usual altercation over their daily meal +of frozen fish. The cold was intense, but the cracking, splitting +booming which came up out of the heart of the woods told of the +reluctant yielding of the tenacious grip of winter. + +Something of Oolak's awe found reflection in the eyes of Julyman. He, +too, was an easy prey to the other's primitive superstition. Steve alone +seemed untroubled. He understood these men. They were comrades on the +trail. There was no distinction. There was no master and servant here. +They fought the battle together, the Indians only looking to him for +leadership. Thus he restrained the lurking smile of irony as he listened +to the awesome recital of a dream that filled the dreamer with serious +apprehension. + +"And this fire? Where did it come from?" he demanded, with a seriousness +he by no means felt. + +Oolak met his gaze with a look of appeal. + +"The earth all fire," he said. "The hills, the valleys, the trees. All +same. Him fire everywhere. Oh, yes. It run so as water. It fill 'em up +all things--everywhere. An' it burn all up. Not boss Steve an' Julyman. +Oh, no." + +Steve meditated awhile. Oolak needed an interpretation of his dream, or, +anyway, must listen to the voice of comfort. He understood this as he +gazed upon the partially crippled body of the man who was still a giant +on the trail. + +The passing of years had touched Steve lightly enough. Time might almost +have stood still altogether. A few grey hairs about the temples. A +thinning of his dark hair perhaps. Then the lines of his face had +perhaps deepened. But in the fourteen years that had elapsed since his +return to Unaga the raw muscle and the powerful frame of his youthful +body had only gained in mass and left him the more capable of +withstanding the demands which his life on the merciless plateau made +upon his endurance. + +Julyman, too, was much the Julyman of bygone years. The only change in +him was that opportunity had robbed him of many of those lapses he had +been wont to indulge in. But he was still no nearer the glory of a halo. +Oolak alone displayed the wear and tear of the life that was theirs. His +body was slightly askew from the disaster of the return from the first +visit to Unaga, and one leg was shorter than the other. But the effect +of these things was only in appearance. His vigour of body remained +unimpaired. His silence was even more profound. And his mastery of the +trail dogs left him a source of endless admiration to his companions. + +Steve dipped some tea into a pannikin. + +"Oolak had a nightmare, I guess," he said, feeling that a gentle +ridicule could do no harm. + +Julyman grinned his relief that the white man saw nothing serious in +that which all Indians regard as the voice of the spirits haunting their +world. + +"Oolak eat plenty, much," he observed slyly. + +Steve helped himself to meat from the pan and dipped some beans from the +camp kettle beside the fire. + +"Dreams are damn-fool things, anyway," he said. Then he laughed, "Guess +we've dreamed dreams these fourteen years. And we're still sitting +around waiting for things to happen." + +Despite his concern Oolak tore at the meat with his sharp teeth, and ate +with noisy satisfaction. + +"Him all fire. Burn up all things. Oh, yes. Bimeby we find him," he said +doggedly. + +Steve was in the act of drinking. He paused, his pannikin remaining +poised. + +"You guess----" + +"Him fire," said Oolak, wiping the grease from his lips on the sleeve +of his furs. "Him big fires. Oolak know. Him not eat plenty. Him see +this thing. The spirits show him so he know all time." + +Steve gulped his tea down, and set the pannikin on the ground. + +"That's crazy," he declared. "It's not spirits who show Oolak. It's as +Julyman says. He eats plenty. So he dreams fool things that don't mean a +thing. Oolak doesn't need to believe the spirits are busy around him +when he sleeps." + +He laughed in the face of the unsmiling Oolak. But his laugh was cut +short by the Indian's stolid response. + +"Boss white man know all things plenty," he said, with the patient calm +of a mind made up. "He big man. Oh, yes. Him bigger as all Indian man. +Sure. But he not know the voice of the spirits that speak much with +Indian man. Oolak know him. So. An' the father of Oolak. Oh, yes. So we +find this fire sometime. We find him. This fire of the world. The +spirits tell Oolak, so him not afraid nothing." + +Julyman set a pannikin down with a clatter. He raised a brown hand +pointing. He was pointing at Oolak, and his eyes were wide with +inspiration. + +"He dream of Unaga--him fire of Unaga! So!" + +Steve started. In a moment, at the challenge of Julyman, his mind had +bridged a gulf of fourteen years. He was gazing upon a scene he had +almost forgotten. A strange, magnificent scene in the heart of a white +world where snow and ice held nature's wonderful creation buried deep in +its crystal dungeons. The distant, towering spire rising sheer above a +surrounding of lofty mountains. The pillar of ruddy smoke and mist +piercing deep into the heart of a cloud belt lit with the vivid +reflection of blazing volcanic fires. The splendour of it had been +awesome, terrific. He remembered it now. + +All thought of ridicule had died within him. For the inspiration of +Julyman had stirred his own inspiration beyond all reason. In a moment +his mind was a surge of teeming thought, with Unaga--the fires of +Unaga--the centre of a vivid, reckless imagination. + +For fourteen years a wealth of dogged effort had been expended in an +accumulation of failure, as he had admitted to Lorson Harris only a few +weeks back in Seal Bay. The whole purpose of his life on Unaga had been +denied him. Where he had sought and striven for Marcel, he had only +partially made good. The promised fortune was amassing only slowly, +painfully, while the child had grown to manhood with a rapidity that far +outstripped it. The source of the elusive Adresol had remained hidden. +Nature, and the Sleeper Indians, had refused him their secret. + +For fourteen years the winter trail had been faced under the direst +perils. And in all that time never once had the memory of the Spire of +Unaga come to inspire him. He had pursued his endless search along the +lines which the learning of the dead chemist had laid down. He had +sought to trap the secret of the Sleeper men by every means in his +power. But always and everywhere he had run upon the blank wall of +failure. + +Now--now, at a time when he had learned in Seal Bay disquieting news +suggesting jeopardy for his whole enterprise, a flash of imagination had +stirred in him an inspiration, which, against all reason, had changed +the whole outlook of the future. + +Unaga! Could it be? Was that the secret hiding-place of Nature? Could he +make it? How far? Where? Somewhere within the boundaries of the Arctic +ice? Maybe. He could not tell. The Spire was for all to see. Somewhere +beyond. Somewhere lost in the grey world of the North. A lure to--what? +A hundred miles. Two. Three. Four. No, he could not estimate. He did +not know. All he knew was that it was there, a fiery pillar, the simple +sight of which set the heart of the Indian quaking. Was it there that +the secret of the Adresol plant lay hidden? Was it there that the sturdy +Sleepers dared the summer trail for their priceless treasure? What +monstrous conditions had produced it? What amazing anachronism had +Nature created in the far-off Arctic world? + +And the terror of that journey in the dead of winter. It was a journey +into the unknown, unguessed heart of a world's desolation. Was it +possible? Was it within human powers of endurance? If the land of fire +were the nursery whence the Sleepers drew their supplies of Adresol they +made the journey. But it was in summer. Winter? Was it possible? + +Yes. It was possible. It must be made possible. If it were not, if the +effort were too great he could always pay the price. Marcel had grown to +manhood. Fourteen years of failure had elapsed since the taking of his +great decision. Here was a prospect. Here was a chance. Had he not in +the past fourteen years taken every chance? Well, it was no time to +shrink before the fiery heart of Unaga. + +The men devoured their food. Steve had no desire to talk of his new-born +inspiration. Bald words would never convince these primitive creatures. +They looked to him for leadership. It was for him to dictate. It was for +them to follow. To discuss the project he contemplated would weaken his +authority. + +So he smoked on in silence, with a tumult of thought passing behind the +steady eyes gazing so deeply into the heart of the fire. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +MANHOOD + + +An-ina watched them pass out of the store together, her dark eyes +following them until they vanished beyond the range of the doorway. Her +regard for both was intense. The untamed Indian heart knew no +reservations. She had no thought for anything in the world but these two +men, and that which pertained to their well-being. + +The depth of her devotion was unfathomable. Only its quality varied with +each. For the one it was the devotion of the wife. For the other it was +the devotion of the mother. + +She made no comparison between them. How could she? Each in his way was +perfect in her eyes. Young Marcel's superb manhood had no greater claim +upon her woman's admiration than had the sturdy set of Steve's broad +shoulders. The boy's sunny smile, and often humorous eyes, were no +greater source of delight to her than the steady, honest purpose which +was in every line of the older man's strong face. Age and temperament +were far enough apart, but, to An-ina, they were children of a great +mother heart. + +At the lean-to store-house, built against the stockade wall, designed by +the dead chemist to hold the bulk of Adresol he had hoped some day to +discover and which had never yet been called upon to fulfil its original +purpose, Steve came to a halt. The melting snow lay heavy upon the +sloping thatch of the roof, which was battened secure by heavy logs. It +was banked against the door. It was laden upon the sills of the one long +window. Steve kicked it clear of the door and took down the fastenings +which secured it. He passed within, with Marcel close upon his heels. + +"We're going to need it, boy--after all," Steve said, with a note in his +voice and a light in his eyes that rarely found place in either. He +laughed shortly. "Yes. I think so." + +"You think so?" + +There was a quick glance of responsive eagerness in Marcel's eyes. Well +enough he knew the store had been built for one purpose only. He had +long since dubbed it "The Poison House." Steve's words meant---- + +It had a long low interior, with a heavily raftered roof, and an earthen +floor. It was a shadowed, empty tunnel that was only half lit, and +gloomily seemed to merit the name Marcel had chosen for it. At the far +end stood a small unused baling machine, and beside it a set of iron +scales. And on the bench, set up under the windows, stood a few oddments +of appliances of a scientific nature. For the rest it was pathetically +empty. It was altogether a tragic expression of the failure of the +living as well as the dead. + +Steve laughed again. It was the same short laugh. + +"Maybe I'm crazy," he said. "If I'm not, and there's two cents of luck +waiting around on us, why, we'll need this old store-house after all. +Yes, and I guess we'll need those poison masks your father made and +figgered to need sometime. The whole thing leaves me guessing and +wondering at the sort of fool man I am not to see what's been looking me +in the face for the last fourteen years." + +The flash of excitement leapt into Marcel's eyes. + +"You've--found the stuff?" he demanded, in a curious hushed tone. Then +with a rush: "Where? On the road to Seal Bay? Or the shores of Hudson's +Bay? It's the sort of thing for a coast like that. Guess it's like +seaweed. Where?" + +Steve shook his head. + +"Guess again," he said, with a smile of added confidence. "No, I haven't +seen it. I haven't found it. It's just a notion in my fool head." His +eyes lapsed again into their wonted seriousness. "It's a notion I've +got, and--it's right. Oh, yes. In my mind's eye I can see the stuff +growing. And--I--know--where. It's just for me to locate the place and +make the journey----" + +"For us, Uncle Steve." + +Steve turned sharply and gazed up into the boy's handsome, determined +face. He studied the unsmiling blue eyes that returned his look +unflinchingly. And that which he read in them left him with a +realization that a new chapter in the history of their companionship was +about to open. + +"We'll get along to your father's office, boy," he said quietly. "It's +been our refuge and schoolroom for fourteen years. Maybe it's still the +best place for us both to learn our lessons." + +He led the way out without waiting for reply. And as they passed from +the portals of the Poison House he again set up the fastenings. + +Each had his own place in the simple room which Marcel's father had +dedicated to the science which had been his whole life. For him it had +been all sufficient. The storming of the elements outside might have +been the breathlessness of a tropical climate so far as he cared, once +absorbed in the studies that claimed him. And in a measure the +atmosphere of the room had a similar influence upon these two who came +after him. + +Steve occupied the chair at the desk. Marcel had taken possession of the +chair which stood before a small table upon which he had been accustomed +to pursue the simple studies Steve had been able to prepare for him. He +had turned the chair about so that he sat with his feet upon the rail of +the stove in which summer and winter the fire was never permitted to go +out. He had come prepared to listen to the man who had always been his +guide and well-loved friend. But he had come also with the intention of +pressing those claims of manhood which were passionately crying out +within him. + +The room was changed only that the belongings of these men, accumulated +in fourteen years, predominated over those things which the dead man had +left behind him. The room was intimate with the personalities of its new +tenants, while it still retained full evidence of the man who had +modelled its original character. + +For some moments Steve searched amongst the drawers of the desk. Finally +he produced a number of note books and well-worn diaries. These he set +on the writing pad before him. Then he smilingly regarded the man who +was as a son to him. + +"Guess I've got the things I need, boy," he said. "They're support for +the notion I'm going to tell you about. That's so you won't think I'm +crazy," he added, laying a hand on the books. + +Marcel nodded keenly. + +"Sure. And the notion?" + +Steve understood the other's impatience. + +"Ordinarily I'd hand you what's got into my mind right away," he said, +still regarding the books. "But that way I couldn't convince anything. +There's got to be arguments, and your father's got to hand us the +argument." + +He thrust his fur cap back from his forehead. + +"Light a pipe, boy," he went on kindly. "I've got to make a big talk. +And, for a while, anyway, you've got to listen." + +Marcel laughed. He obeyed without demur. But Steve was in no way blinded +to the fact that for all his excited interest there was lying, at the +back of every thing, a tug-of-war coming between them, a tug-of-war +which he was by no means sure he was equal to. + +"I'm just glad about the big talk," Marcel said. "You see, Uncle Steve, +there isn't much of the kid left in me. This country doesn't leave us +kids long. I'm still ready to act when you say so, and mostly without +question. But a whole heap of questions have been buzzing around in my +head lately, and they need to get out sometime. May as well be now. Talk +all you need, an' I'll blow the pipe." + +Steve nodded. He knew the rope for the tug was laid. + +"I'll begin at the right start," he said. "That way I'll have to hand +you things you already know. But I don't want to leave you guessing +anywhere along the line, because you're going to tell me all you think +when I've done. First we'll look right back. For fourteen years we've +chased over this territory where your father chased before us. We've +followed his notions to the letter set out in these old books. We've +gone further. We've tried tracking the Sleepers in the open season, +which he reckoned was a bad play. The result? Nix. We've done all he's +done and more, and we've no better result than he had. We've read and +re-read his stuff. We've dreamed, and wondered, and guessed till we know +the whole of Unaga like the pages of one of his books. We've failed to +find the growing ground of this darn Adresol, and, like your father, +we've had to content ourselves with a trade in the dried stuff these +dopey rascals choose to hand us. In twice the years he had at his +disposal we haven't advanced a step along the path he's handed to us." + +He turned the pages of some of the notebooks while the smoke of Marcel's +pipe distributed a pleasant haze about the room. + +"Now your father was a heap more than a clever scientific man," he went +on a moment later, "and I get that through his notes, which I well-nigh +know by heart. He was a reasoner in those things that had nothing to do +with his science. Guess he was dead practical, too, well-nigh a genius +that way. As for his courage and patience--well, I guess you've only got +to look around you at this old fort. You won't need my hot air to tell +you of it. So I'm left guessing at the wonder of it. _He just missed the +whole point of his own observations, and knowledge, and research._" + +A smile crept into Steve's eyes as he made the final announcement. It +grew into his characteristic short laugh. + +"Oh, I'm not going to tell you how wise I am. I'm not going to tell you +your great old father was a fool man, and I'm the wise guy that's +figgered out all he missed. I'm the fool man who's been handed a fool's +luck. I was sitting around over the camp-fire on the trail from Seal Bay +with nothing better to do than to listen to the crazy dream of an +ignorant, superstitious neche. It was in that fool yarn I found the +answer to all the questions we've asked in fourteen years. As I tell +you, it was just a crazy notion till I started in to fit it to the +arguments your father handed to us. Then I saw in a flash, and got the +start of my life. There's times that I'm still wondering if I'm not +plumb crazed." + +He indicated a notebook which he had opened. Its pages were scored with +his own pencilled notes. + +"I don't need to worry you with all the stuff written here," he went +on. "You know it like I do. But I'm going to read a piece so you'll get +the full drift of my argument when I hand it you. First, though, we'll +reconstruct some. The neches go out for this stuff in the open season. +They start when the ice breaks, and don't get back to home till things +freeze up again. That's important. They bring the Adresol in _dried_. +Like stuff dead for months. They don't bring it green, and dry it +themselves. They bring it _dried_. Now then, your father says that one +root would yield a thousand per cent. more Adresol than the green +foliage. And the green foliage five hundred per cent. more than the +dried. Why then do the neches bring in the dried stuff in the open +growing season? Do they prefer it that way?" He shook his head +thoughtfully. "Guess it's not that. There's a reason though. These folk +have been using this stuff for ages. Yet they never bring it green. They +never bring the root. Why not? Do they know about the yield of the +foliage, of the root? Maybe. But I don't think so. I'd like to say +_they've never seen the stuff in its growing state_. Only dead!" + +Steve picked up the notebook in front of him. + +"I want to read this to you, boy. You've read it. We've both read it, +but it's got a different meaning--now. Listen." + +"Adresol has many features, interesting and deadly, foreign to all other +known drug-producing flora. Aconite, digitalis, and the commoner +varieties of toxins lie dormant in the producing plant. That is, there +are no exhalations of a noxious nature. In Adresol the drug is +active--violently active. Adresol extracted and duly treated (see note +X, Book C) for uses in medicine is not only harmless to the human body +in critical stages of disease, but even beneficial to the whole system +in a manner not yet fully explored. But in its active, crude state in +the growing plant, it is of a very violent and deadly character. It +would almost seem that an All-wise Creator has, for this reason, set it +to flourish in climates almost unendurable to human and animal life, and +in remotenesses almost inaccessible. No animal or human life could exist +within the range of the poison its deadly bloom exhales. The plant +belongs to the order Liliaceae and would seem from its general form to be +closely allied with the Lilium Candidum. This, however, only applies to +its form, and by no means to its habit. Its magnificent bloom is dead +white and of intense purity. A field of this strange plant in full +bloom, viewed from above, would probably give an appearance like the +spread of a white damask table-cloth of giant proportions. The blooms +almost entirely obscure the weed-like foliage. The danger lies in the +pungent, sickly, but delicious perfume it exhales, which is so intense, +that, coming up against the wind, it could be detected miles away. +Before and after its blooming season it is only less deadly that it can +be safely approached. To cut or break the sappy stems and foliage would +be only to court prompt disaster without the use of adequate poison +masks. The newly cut plant exhales the same deadly perfume as the bloom, +one deep breath of which would frequently be fatal to human life. The +cuts in the foliage heal up quickly, however, and after a day's delay +its transport could be safely undertaken. The reference here is to +transport in the open air. The green harvest once stored in a confined +space again becomes actively dangerous. All stores containing it should +be carefully locked up, and isolated, and should only be entered by +those with poison masks carefully adjusted. The only moment at which +Adresol, in its native conditions, is perfectly innocuous is in its dead +season, when the bulbous root lies dormant. The proportion of the drug +contained in the dried foliage, however, is infinitely small.'" + +Steve looked up from his reading. + +"That," he said, "is all we need to convince us of the Sleepers' lack of +understanding of the nature of the plant. I'd say right here they've +never seen the plant in growth. If they had they'd be scared to get next +it by a thousand miles. Whatever we don't know of Adresol, we do surely +know Indians. But I guess there's a heap more importance in that writing +than that. How do these folk get the dead stuff in the growing +season--the blooming season? How can they face that deadly scent? +They've no scientific poison masks. Yet year after year an outfit makes +the summer trail and they get back when things freeze up with enough +Adresol for their own doping, and a big bunch for trade to us. Your +father doesn't answer that. He leaves us guessing, and thinking of +winter when the whole darn country is covered feet thick in snow and +ice." + +The interest in Marcel's eyes was profound, and he drew a deep breath as +Steve paused. He had no question, however. He sat leaning forward in his +chair expectantly, waiting, his pipe dead out and forgotten. + +Steve's face suddenly lit with a smile. + +"Now I'm going to give you a crazy man's answer to all those things. I'd +hate for your father to hear me. I'm going to say the growing, blooming +season of this queer stuff is _dead, hard winter_. At least up here. I'm +going to say the foliage lies dead the whole of the open season, and the +root is dormant. I'm going to say these Sleepers don't know a thing but +the stuff they find, and never have known in all their history. I +believe that some where away back their ancestors found the dead weed, +and maybe used it to smoke like other weeds some of the Northern Indians +use. Maybe it doped them in the pipe. Maybe some bright squaw tried +boiling it into a drink. It's a guess. You can't say how they came to +use it as dope. Anyway the thing just developed, and has gone on without +them getting wise to any of the things your father knew." + +"Oh, yes, it all sounds crazy," Steve hurried on as Marcel stirred. +"It's too crazy I guess for a scientific head like your father's. But he +hadn't listened to Oolak's fool dream, and he never saw the thing I've +seen--twice." + +"You've seen?" + +Marcel could deny himself no longer. Intense excitement urged him. Steve +shook his head. + +"I haven't found it--yet," he said. "No. The thing I've seen you've +seen, too. You were just a bit of a kiddie and won't remember. I'll try +and fix up the picture of what I saw then in the far-away distance, and +what I see now in my crazy mind's eye." + +He paused. Then, with a swift movement that had something of excitement +in it, he flung out an arm pointing while his voice took on a new note, +and his words came rapidly. + +"Somewhere out there," he cried. "A land of glacial ice, endless snow +and ice. Hills everywhere, broken, bald, immense. A range of mountains. +In the midst of 'em a giant hill bigger and higher than anything I've +ever dreamed. A hill of blasting, endless fire. It never dies out. It +burns right along, belching the fiery heart out of the bowels of the +earth. And everywhere about, for maybe miles, a blistering tropical heat +that defies the deadliest cold the Arctic hands out. Do you get it? Sure +you do. You're getting my crazy notion, that isn't so crazy. Well, what +then? Winter. A temperature that turns a snowstorm into a pleasant +summer rain, and the buzzard into a summer gale. Vegetation starts into +growth. I can't guess how the absence of sun fixes it. Maybe it +grows--_white_. But it grows--grows all the time, like those things of +the folk who grow out of season. Then spring, and the sun again. Rising +temperature. The heat from this hell ripens the stuff quick, and the sun +makes it green again. This Adresol. A great field of dead white. Then, +as swiftly, it dies. Dies before the Indians come. Burnt up by the +rising temperature of the advancing season _and the blistering volcanic +heat_." + +Marcel started up from his chair with an excited cry. + +"You're right, Uncle," he cried, completely carried away. "But where? +Where's this place? This old hill? I've seen it? Where?" + +"It's north, boy. Away north. God knows how far." + +Steve's voice had lost something of its note of inspiration before the +hard facts which Marcel's question had brought home to him. He paused +for a moment with his eyes hidden. Then, with a curious movement which +suggested the determined squaring of his shoulders, he broke out again. + +"Yes. It's miles--maybe hundreds of miles away north. It's somewhere in +the heart of Unaga. Some place explorers never hit. It's the great Spire +of Unaga. The unquenchable Fires of Unaga. It's a living volcano that +sets all other volcanoes looking like two cents. I've seen it twice--in +the far-off distance. You've seen it once. The boys have seen it, too. +It looked like a pillar propping up the roof of the heavens. A pillar of +fire. It set me nigh crazy with wonder. And it scared the boys to death. +They guessed it was the breeding ground of all evil spirits. But it's +there, and it grows our stuff. And I'm going right out after it." + +"Yes!" + +Marcel dropped back into his chair. His exclamation was a vent to the +emotions which the force of Steve's words had stirred. + +"Yes. Sure," he added a moment later. "We'll go right out after it." + +"We?" + +Steve looked up with a start. + +The boy's excitement had passed. He regarded his foster-father with a +pair of challenging, smiling eyes that were full of humour. But the +challenge was definite. He re-lit his pipe. + +"Why, yes, Uncle," he said promptly. "We'll go. That's how you said. I'm +all in on this. I'm crazy to see all that wonderland can show me. It +doesn't scare me a thing. You see, it's a winter trail. I guess I know +the summer trail so I won't forget it. The winter trail's new and I'm +crazy for it. You'll need us all on this thing. I----" + +Steve shook his head. Marcel broke off at the sign, and the smile passed +out of his searching eyes as he sought to read what lay behind that +silent negative. + +"You mean--?" he went on, a moment later, a flush mounting to his cheeks +and suggesting a sudden stirring of passionate protest. + +"I don't mean a thing but that you can come right along if you think +that way." + +The smile that accompanied Steve's words was gently disarming. There was +no equivocation. It was impossible for the boy to misread what he said. +The capitulation had not waited for the passionate challenge Marcel had +been prepared to make. + +"You--mean that, Uncle?" + +"Surely. If you're yearning to take a hand, boy, I don't figger to get +in your way." Steve closed up the books on his desk and dropped them +back in the drawer from which he had taken them. Then he thrust back +his chair and prepared to join the other in a smoke. "I've got just two +feelings on this thing, Marcel," he went on, as he filled his pipe. "I'm +glad you feel that way, but I'm kind of sorry to think you're going +along with me. You see, I kind of think of you as my son. I've done all +I know in fourteen years to teach you my notion of what a man needs to +be. I've done the best I know that way. And I'd have hated to find you +short of the grit I reckon this enterprise is going to need." He +laughed. "If you'd have turned out a sort of 'Squaw-man' I guess I'd +have hated you like a nigger. But there wasn't a chance of it, with a +father and mother like you had. No." He lit his pipe, and settled +himself in his chair. "The way you've learned to beat the summer trail, +your woodcraft. You're a 'great hunter and brave,' as An-ina says, and +you've got every Indian I've ever known left cold behind you. You've +grown to all I've hoped, and I'm glad. And now--now this great last +enterprise is coming along, why, it just leaves me proud thinking that +you couldn't listen to the yarn of it, even, without reckoning to be on +the outfit yourself. I'm glad--just glad." + +Marcel's eyes shone. Steve's approval, unqualified, was something he had +not hoped for. He had been prepared to battle for his rights as a man, +and now--now the wonder of it. He was admitted to the task confronting +them without question; with only cordial agreement. He remembered with +regret his outburst to An-ina, when he had been waiting for Steve's +return from Seal Bay. + +"You see," he burst out with impulsive frankness, "I was scared you'd +hold me to the fort, Uncle, the same as it's been every winter. I was +just getting mad thinking I was only fit for the open summer trail, +chasing up pelts with a bunch of these doper neches. Oh, yes. It set me +mad. And I told An-ina. I'm not a kid, Uncle. Guess I'm all the man +I'll ever be, and I just want to get busy on a man's work. I can't stand +for seeing you doing these things for me. You don't get younger. And +I--I'm bursting with health and muscle, and my spirit's just crying out +against being nursed like a kid. I came here to kick, Uncle, I +did--sure. To kick hard--if you'd refused me. But I needn't have thought +that way--with you. And I'm sore now that I did. By Gee! It's just +great! That hill, those fires! We'll start to fix the whole thing. And +we'll get right out in the fall." + +"Sure." Steve nodded. His eyes were very tender, and their smile was the +smile he always held for the boy who had now become a man. "It'll be +fall--early fall. We can't start out too early, but it mustn't be till +the dopers are asleep. You see, we've got to leave An-ina +behind--without a soul to protect her." + +"Yes." Marcel's happy eyes shadowed. But they brightened at once. +"Couldn't we leave Julyman? There'd still be the three of us." + +"I s'pose we could." + +Steve seemed to consider for a moment, his serious eyes turned on the +stove. Marcel watched him anxiously. Presently the elder man looked up. +To the other it seemed that all doubt had passed out of his mind. + +"I'd best tell you what's in my mind," he said. "I got it from Leclerc +at Seal Bay. I got it, by inference, from my talks with Lorson Harris. +The Seal Bay Co. are out after us all they know. They're out after our +stuff. Our secret. They've opened up Fort Duggan, and sent a crook +called David Nicol there to run it. And he's out to jump our claim. It +comes to this. This outfit is on the prowl. Their job is to locate us. +Well? An-ina alone! Even Julyman with her! What then if this bunch hits +up against the fort while we're away? Oh, I'm not thinking of our +'claim.' It's An-ina. The soul who's handed over her life to us. The +woman who's nursed you ever since you were born. And who'd give up her +life any hour of the day or night if she guessed it would help you. Can +we leave her to Julyman? You best tell me how you think--just how you +think." + +The expressive face of Marcel reflected the emotion which Steve's words +had set stirring in his boyish heart. The delight at his contemplated +share in the great adventure had been shining in his eyes. Now they were +shadowed with anxiety at the talk of Lorson Harris and his scouts. A +moment's disappointment followed. But this was swept away by a rush of +feeling at the thought of his second mother left alone and unprotected, +except by an Indian. + +In a moment all that was loyal and generous in him swamped the +selfishness of his own youthful desire. His passionate rebellion at +being shut out from all he considered as man's work was completely +forgotten. He remembered only the gentle dusky creature who needed his +man's support. + +"You needn't say a thing, Uncle Steve," the youngster cried. "I was +crazy to go. I'm that way still. But--well, I just can't stand for +An-ina being left. She's more than my second mother. She's the only +mother I remember." + +Steve nodded. + +"I guessed you'd feel that way boy, and--I'm glad." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +KEEKO + + +Beyond the river, the trees came down to the water's edge, where roots +lay bare to the lap of the stream which frothed about them. They +shadowed the wide waters with a reflection of their own dark mystery. +They helped to close in the world about old Fort Duggan, deepening the +gloom of its aged walls, and serving to aggravate the shadow of +superstition with which the native mind surrounded it. + +The hills rose up in every direction. They were clothed with forests +whose silence only yielded to crude sounds possessing no visible source. +The river seemed to drive its way through invisible passes. It appeared +out of a barrier of woodlands, backed by a rampart of seemingly +impassable hills, and vanished again in a similar opposite direction. +Between these points it lay there, a broad, sluggish stretch of water +upon which the old fort looked down from the rising foreshore. + +The benighted instincts of the Shaunekuks know no half measure. Fort +Duggan to them was the gateway of Unaga, which was the home of all Evil +Spirits. So they looked upon the fort without favour, and left it +severely alone. + +But now all that was changed. Fort Duggan was no longer silent, still, +the shadowed abode of evil spirits. Crazy white folks had come and taken +possession of it. They had dared the wrath of the Evil One, and the old +place rang with the echo of many voices. + +For awhile these primitive folk had looked on in silence. They wondered. +They thought of the Evil One and waited for the blow to fall. But as the +weeks and months went by without the looked-for retribution they began +to take heart and give rein to a curiosity they could no longer resist. +Who were these folk? Why had they come? But most important of all, what +had they brought with them? + +They found a white man and two white women. They found several dusky +creatures like themselves, only of different build. Oh, yes, they were +Indians, Northern Indians, but they were foreigners. They were slim, +tough creatures who gazed in silent contempt upon the undersized people +who came to observe them. + +But the Shaunekuks were not concerned deeply with the men of their own +colour. It was the white man and the white women who chiefly aroused +their curiosity. Years of tradition warned them that the coming of the +white man was by no means necessarily an unmixed blessing, and so they +had doubts, very grave doubts. + +Perhaps the white man understood. Anyway he promptly took steps. He +invited them to feast their eyes upon the treasures he had brought with +him from far distant lands. He assured them that he had come to give +away all these splendid things in exchange for the furs, which only +great hunters like the Shaunekuks knew how to obtain. + +Capitulation was instant. The Indians forthwith held a council of their +wise men, and set about inundating the fort with priceless furs. So it +had gone on ever since. In a year the white man was complete master of +the situation. In less than two years he had assumed the office of +dictator. + +The man Nicol knew his work. He had been sent there by Lorson Harris, +which was sufficient guarantee. None knew it better. Having established +in the Indian mind the necessity for his existence amongst them, he +exploited the position to its extreme limits. Through methods which knew +no scruple he usurped the authority of the wise men, or adapted it to +his own uses. He saw to it that the generosity of his original trading +was swiftly reduced to the bare bone of extortion. And the Indians +submitted. The white man had come in the midst of their darkness and had +given them light, at least he had dazzled their eyes, and excited their +cupidity by his display of trade. Furs--furs. They could always obtain +furs. If he were foolish enough to exchange simple furs for beautiful +beads, and blankets, and tobacco, and essences, and coloured prints, and +even fire-water, well, that was his lookout. At least they were not the +fools. + +With the coming of the white man and the two white women with their +several Indian followers the life of the Shaunekuks at Fort Duggan was +completely revolutionized. Before the foolish Indians knew what was +happening they were captured body and soul. They quickly learned that +the white man was to be feared rather than loved. They realized it was +better to risk the anger of the Evil Spirits of Unaga rather than to +offend him. So they yielded to the course which they hoped would afford +them the greatest benefit. It was no less than submitting to an +unacknowledged slavery. + +It was perhaps a dangerous condition, a situation full of risk for the +white man and all his people, should his force and ruthlessness weaken +even for one moment. But Nicol was too widely experienced, too naturally +cut out for his work to fall for weakness. He treated the Indian as he +would treat a trail dog, as a savage beast to be beaten down to the +master will, and kept alive only as long as it yielded return for the +clemency. + +For the women folk of this man the benighted Indians had little concern. +One of them was sick, which made her a creature of even less +consequence. The other, the one who called herself Keeko, she seemed to +live her own life regardless of the man, regardless of everybody except +the sick woman, who was her mother. She made the summer trail after +pelts and so trespassed upon what the Indians regarded as their rights, +but since the white man seemed to approve there was little to be said. + +Just now the spring freshet had subsided, which meant that the river was +clear of ice. Keeko was at the landing preparing for the trail. She was +there with her Indians looking on while the laden canoes received their +final lashings, and the joy of the open season was surging in her rich +young veins. + +Keeko was more than a little tall. She was as graceful as a young fawn +in her suit of beaded buckskin. She was as slim as a well-grown boy in +her mannish suit, with muscles of steel under flesh of velvet softness. +Reliance and purpose, and the joy of living, looked out of her +beautiful, deeply fringed eyes. Her ripe lips and firm chin were as full +of decision as the oval of her wholesomely tanned cheeks was full of +girlish beauty. + +An Indian looked up quickly at the sound of her keen tone of authority. +His face was crumpled and scored with advancing years, and the merciless +blast of the northern winter trail. But for all his years he was hard as +nails. + +"We'll pull out after we've eaten," cried the girl. "We're days late. +Get Snake Foot, and don't leave the outfit unguarded. Guess we're not +yearning for the scalliwag Shaunekuks thieving around. It'll be two +hours. The sun'll be shining there," she pointed, indicating an immense +bank of forest trees. "Where's Med'cine Charlie? By the teepees of the +Shaunekuks? He's most generally that way." + +Little One Man nodded, and grinned in his crumpled way. + +"Oh, yes," he said. "But I get 'em." + +"Good. See to it." The girl nodded. "Don't forget. Two hours. The sun on +the water. I come." + +Keeko turned away up the rising foreshore in the direction of the long, +low building of the fort. + +Once she was beyond the observation of the Indian's keen eyes her whole +expression underwent a change. The light died out of her eyes and a deep +anxiety replaced it. She was torn by conflicting feelings. The desire of +the trail had grown to a passion. The immense solitudes of the great +forests were the paradise she dreamed of during the long dark days of +winter. But deep in her heart there were other feelings that preoccupied +her no less. + +Her mother was sick, sick to death with the ravages of consumption, on a +bed from which she would only be removed for a grave somewhere in the +shadows of the surrounding woods. And she loved her mother. She loved +her mother with a passionate devotion. + +It was the thought of all that might happen during her prolonged absence +that robbed Keeko's eyes of their buoyant light and happy smile. +But--what could she do? She must go. She knew she must go. It had all +been arranged between her and her mother. And with each season her work +became more urgent. + +As she passed up to the fort her mind had leapt back to the early days +when she had reached full young womanhood. And a scene that lived in her +memory came back again to urge her, as it never failed to urge her at +such moments. + +It was one of the many times that her mother had hovered at the brink of +the grave. She and her step-father had shared the watch at the sick-bed. +Up till that time the man had displayed no regard for herself but the +treatment he would bestow upon an unwelcome burden on his life. There +had been a bitter antagonism on his part, an antagonism that suggested +positive hatred. But while they sat watching the closed, sunken eyes and +waxen features of her mother, as she lay gasping in what seemed to be +the last throes before collapse, an amazing change seemed to take place +in him. His whole attitude towards herself appeared to alter. It became +impressive in its kindliness and solicitude. He seemed suddenly to have +become far more tenderly thoughtful for her welfare than for the wife +who lay dying before his eyes. And when he spoke--But his words and +tones did more than disturb her. It was at the sound of them that the +almost dead eyes of her mother opened wide and turned a dreadful stare +upon him. For minutes it seemed they stared while the ashen lips +remained silent, unmoving. It was painful, dreadful. It was the man, +who, at last, broke the horror of it all. He rose abruptly, silently +from his chair and passed out of the room. + +Then had come the great change. The moment the man had passed beyond the +door her mother stirred. She seemed to become feverishly alive in a +manner suggesting the victory of sheer will over a half dead body. She +turned on her bed, and a warm light flooded her eyes. + +"Don't _you_ go, child," she had gasped eagerly. "I'm not dead yet and I +don't intend to die. I'm going to live long enough to fool him. Say, +you've got to quit nursing me. I tell you I shan't die--yet. A squaw can +do all I need. You reckon to help me. I know. You're a good girl. You're +too good to be--If you reckon to help me there's just one way. Get out. +Get right out. Learn to help yourself. Get out into the open. It's only +the woods, and the trail, and the Northern world'll teach you the same +as they taught your father. You've got to get so you can face life--when +the time comes around--alone. Learn to handle a gun--and use it. Learn +to face men, and hold them in the place that belongs them, whether +they're Indians or white. I'll die later on. But I won't die till I'm +ready. And that'll only be when I see you fit to stand alone. Then I'll +be glad, and I'll die easy." + +The natural protest had promptly risen to the girl's lips. + +"But I'll have Father," she cried. "Please, please let me help you, +Mother dear. I want to make you happy, and comfortable, and better. I +don't want you to die, and----" + +But her plea was never completed. A hard, cold light suddenly leapt into +the sick woman's haggard eyes. + +"Don't mention your father to me," she cried fiercely, "He's no father +of yours. Cut the thought of his help right out of your mind. Forget it, +and work--work as I say. Work and learn, so you don't need to fear man +or--devil." + +It was more than three years ago since the scene occurred. Her mother +had said she would live. She had lived, and was still dragging on a now +completely bedridden life. She lived, and, to the girl, it sometimes +seemed that it was only the fierce purpose in her mind that kept her +alive. + +From that time, despite all other inclination, Keeko had obeyed. She had +plunged herself into the battle of the Northland which only the hardiest +could hope to survive. Even the winter trail she had dared +and--conquered. Oh, yes. She had obeyed and she had realized her +mother's commands to the letter. She had reached that point now when +she feared neither man nor--devil. + +But for all her ability the whole of Keeko's equipment was only a +splendid veneer. Under it all she remained the simple-hearted girl, the +loyally devoted daughter. Her mother was still her first concern, a +concern that haunted her in the far distant woods, and on the waters of +the river, in storm and sunshine alike, and amidst the snows of the +winter trail. Each time she returned to her home she feared to find her +mother gone, flown to that rest from which there was no returning. And, +as the seasons passed her fears only increased. Her mother fought with a +passion of bitter purpose, but she was struggling against an +irresistible foe. + +It was this that troubled Keeko now. It was the thought of nearly six +months' absence, and that which she might return to, that robbed her +eyes of their smiling light. She must go, she knew. It was her mother's +will. But she was loth, bitterly loth. + +She passed within the low doorway of the fort, and approached her +mother's room. The place was all very crude. Its atmosphere lacked all +sense of comfort. It was all makeshift, and the stern days of the old +buccaneers frowned out of every shadowed corner. Keeko had neither time +nor inclination to brighten the place to which her step-father's plans +had brought them. And her mother--? Her mother was indifferent to all +but the purpose which seemed to keep her hovering upon the brink of the +grave. + +When Keeko entered the sick room the attendant squaw gladly enough +departed to the sunlight outside. And, left alone, the girl prepared to +take her customary farewell. The eyes of the sick woman lit at the sight +which was her only remaining joy in life. But the tone of her voice +retained its privileged quality of complaint. + +"You're pulling out?" she demanded, in a low, husky voice, in which +there was always a gasp. "I was hoping you'd be around earlier, seeing +you won't get back till fall." + +The girl understood. She did not take up the challenge. + +"I had to fix the outfit right, Mother," she said. "You can't even rely +on Little One Man. But I guess it's all fixed now. How are you feeling? +Better? You're looking----" + +"You don't need to ask fool questions. You don't need to worry how I +look. It's you we need to think for. How many boys are you taking?" + +"Three. Little One Man, Snake Foot, and Med'cine Charlie. They're all I +need. Snake Foot and Charlie with the big canoe and outfit, and Little +One Man and me with the other. We're out after a big bunch of pelts." + +The sick woman's eyes shone prompt approval, for all the fixity of their +regard. + +"See and get them. You've put your cash away. You've hidden it close. I +mean the cash for your trade at Seal Bay. That way you'll be fixed all +right. Keep it close, child. This year you need a good haul. Yes, yes. +And trade it, and hide the cash. Always hide your money. How much have +you got?" + +"Nearly two thousand dollars." + +"Not enough. Not enough. You need more. See you get it this year." + +The mother broke off in a spasm of coughing, and Keeko stood helpless +and fearing until the fit had passed. + +The tragedy of it all was terrible to the girl who had to look on so +utterly helpless. The convulsed figure beneath the coloured blankets was +simply skin and bone. The alabaster of the sunken cheeks was untouched +by any hectic display. The ravages of the consumption were too far +advanced for that. The wreck was terrible, and the dreadful cough seemed +to be tearing the last remaining life out of the poor soul's body. + +"Well, don't stand around, child," the sick woman gasped, after a +prolonged struggle for breath. "You're going to eat. I can smell the +cooking. Well, go and eat. It's good to be able to. You've got to get +another three thousand dollars. You can get them out of your furs--if +you've any luck. Maybe this year. Don't worry for me. I'll die when I +feel like it, but not before. God bless you, child--as you deserve. You +needn't come around again before you pull out. It's time wasted, and +you've none to spare. Good-bye. You can send Lu-cana in to me again when +you go." + +The straining eyes closed as though to shut out sight of the going of +the child who was all that was left to the remnant of a mother heart. +And Keeko knew that the dismissal must be accepted. There could be no +tender farewell. Her mother forbade it. Yet the girl was longing to +nurse and caress the suffering creature in her arms. But she understood. +Her mother refused everything for herself in a burning fever of urgency. +There was time for nothing--nothing but that purpose which she had set +her heart on. + +Keeko obeyed. She passed out of the room at once. + +Her meal was awaiting her, a rough, plain meal prepared by the squaw of +Little One Man. She partook of it in the kitchen, the long, dark old +hallplace that had probably served as some sort of barracks for the +disreputable pirates of centuries ago. She ate with a healthy appetite, +and some half hour later quit the shadows of the gloomy fort for the +bright sunlight of a spring noon. + +The hour of her departure was nearing, and Keeko glanced down at the +landing. Her canoes lay there at their moorings, but---- + +Her orders had been disobeyed! The canoes were deserted. Little One Man +was nowhere to be seen. Neither were the other boys. A quick frown of +displeasure darkened her pretty face, and she moved down to the water's +edge almost at a run. + +But her journey was interrupted. It was the sound of a familiar, angry +voice, harsh, furious. It came from behind her, somewhere behind the +fort. The words were indistinguishable in their violence, but, as she +listened, there came another sound with which she was all too familiar. +It was the sickening flog of a rawhide quirt on a human body. It was her +step-father flogging an Indian, with all the brutality of his +ungovernable temper. + +Keeko's eyes flashed in the direction of the canoes. Inspiration leapt. +Where were _her_ boys? They had no concern with the work of the fort. +They were _hers_. Something of the teachings and instincts of the life +she had learned stirred her to action. Light as a deer she ran to the +landing, and snatched up a rifle lying in one of the boats. It was the +instinct of self-preservation. But it was also an expression of her +determination to enforce her rights--if need be. + +There was no hesitation. Keeko had learned so much in the past three +years. She knew the man who was her step-father. She knew his brutality +to Indians, and she suspected more. She hated the thought in her mind +now. She even feared it. But she was determined. + +She was late by the seconds it had taken her to reach the spot. It was a +spot she knew well enough. A single tree standing by itself just behind +the fort. She found a group of Indians gathered about it looking on in +apparent indifference. Above their heads, in their midst, she beheld +the rise and fall of a heavy quirt. + +Into the midst of this gathering she thrust her way. And, in a moment, +her worst suspicions were realized. Her boy, Snake Foot, was bound to +the tree-trunk. Bared to the waist, cowering but silent, he was +shrinking under the cruel blows of the quirt. Nicol, his dark eyes +blazing with a merciless fury, was flinging every ounce of his strength +into each blow of the terrible weapon in his hand. Keeko's horrified +eyes missed nothing. She saw that Little One Man and Med'cine Charlie +were amongst the crowd. It was all she needed. + +In a moment she had flung herself in front of her Indian's bleeding +body, and whether by design or chance the muzzle of her rifle was +pointing and covering her step-father. + +Her eyes were on his inflamed face. They were confronting him without a +sign of fear or any other emotion. + +"Don't let that quirt fall on me!" she cried. "I want Snake Foot right +now, and I'm going to have him. Little One Man," she went on, without +removing her eyes from the furious face of the man still flourishing his +quirt aloft, "just cut him adrift right away, and hustle down to the +landing. We're going to pull out--sharp." + +But Nicol had recovered from his surprise, and his mad fury suddenly +leapt into full flood again. + +"Stand aside, girl!" he roared violently. "This swine refused to obey my +orders and I'm going to teach him--and anyone else--who's master here. +Get out of my way," he bellowed with an ominous threat of the quirt. + +Keeko stood her ground. Her two boys had closed in towards her. They +were on either side of her, and a wicked gleam lit the eyes of Little +One Man as he watched the man with his upraised weapon. Keeko knew her +step-father had been drinking. The signs were plain enough to her. They +were all too familiar. But there was no yielding in her, whatever the +consequences of her act. + +"Cut him adrift," she cried sharply, to the men beside her. Then to +Nicol her tone was only a shade less commanding. "Let that quirt touch +me, and I won't answer for the consequences. Guess you've no right to +thrash my boy, and I'm right here to see you quit. Think it over," she +added, and, with her last word, there was a movement of her rifle which +added to its aggression. + +Just for a moment it looked as though a clash was inevitable. Just for a +moment it seemed as if the man's half-drunken madness was about to drive +him to extremes. But the girl's cool nerve, or more probably, perhaps, +the presence of her rifle, seemed to have a sobering effect. There was +the snick of Little One Man's razor-like knife as he released his bound +comrade from the flogging post, then Nicol, with a filthy oath, flung +his quirt on the ground, and, turning, thrust his way through the crowd, +and strode back to the fort. + +Five minutes later Keeko was down at the landing. She was standing +looking on while her Indians cast off the moorings of the canoes. She +was shaking from head to foot. But not a sign of her weakness was +permitted in the sharp, clear orders she flung at her crew. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A DUEL + + +"What's amiss with Keeko?" + +The sick woman opened a pair of startled eyes. She half turned her face +towards the darkened doorway. + +Nicol was standing there. He had entered the room at that moment, but +with a quiet unusual to him. She gazed at him without reply. Perhaps the +activity of her brain was dulling. Perhaps she was searching the face, +the sight of which she had learned in years to hate and fear. + +It was a handsome face still, for all the man was approaching fifty. It +was fleshy, and its dark beard did not improve it. But the eyes were +keen and fine for all there was coldness and cruelty in their hard +depths. The abundant moustache was without a tinge of grey in it, but it +lacked trimness, and hung over a cruel mouth like a tattered curtain. +The woman knew the value of these good looks, however. They served to +mask a mind and heart that knew no scruple. So it was that her reply +finally came in a quick apprehensive question. + +"What d'you mean?" she gasped, in her spasmodic way. "What's she done?" + +Nicol laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. He moved across to the bed +and sprawled himself upon its foot, while his eyes searched the +emaciated face as though some secret speculation was going on in his +mind while he talked of other things. + +"She held me up with a gun," he said slowly. "That's all. She held me +up! Me! And she did it with a nerve I had to reckon was pretty fine. +There were twenty or more of the darn Shaunekuks around. Guess I was mad +at the time. But I had to laff after." + +The unmoving eyes of the woman on the bed were reading him. No mood of +his could deceive her. She had learned her lesson bitterly in something +like seventeen years. The man was acting now. He was laughing over an +incident which filled him with a consuming rage. + +"You came here to tell me about it." The voice was faint with bodily +weakness, but there was no weariness in the anxious watchfulness of her +eyes. "Guess you'd best tell it. It's not your way to waste time in this +room with anything pleasant to hand out. It's easier for me to listen, +and nothing you can say can do me much hurt." + +The man laughed again. It was a laugh that was cut off abruptly. + +"I don't need to look for sympathy where you are," he said. "Anyway I +don't guess I need any." + +"No." + +The antagonism of the monosyllable was unmistakable. + +Nicol shrugged. + +"That swine, Snake Foot," he said. "He refused to do as I told him. He +guessed Keeko needed him at the landing, and he hadn't time for me. So I +took him to the flogging post." + +It was said coldly. Quite without emotion. + +"And you flogged him with your--quirt?" + +"Sure." + +The man's teeth clipped together. + +"Oh, yes," he went on, after a moment. "I'm not the sort to let a neche +get away with that sort of thing. You see, I reckon I'm master around +this layout." + +"And Keeko?" + +Again came the man's ominous laugh in reply. + +"She was quick. I reckoned she was here with you. Making her fancy +farewell. But she was around before I'd hardly begun. Oh, yes. She acted +her show piece, and if you'd seen it I guess she'd have got your +applause good. It was against me. She jumped in front of that +red-skinned swine so my quirt nearly came down on her. But it didn't. +And I'm glad. Guess she's too soft, and pretty, and dandy to hurt--yet. +A feller doesn't feel that way with women later, when they show him the +hell they've always got waiting on any fool man. She's got grit. Sure +she has. It's good for a girl to have grit, and I'd say she's got +it--plenty. But she put up a gun at me. And I reckon she meant to use it +if need be. It's that that's the matter. That's been put into her darn +fool head. That's not Keeko." + +The man's manner had changed abruptly. His heavy brows depressed, and, +to the listener, it was as though she could hear his teeth grit over +each word he spoke. But even so she could not restrain her passionate +joy at the defeat the man's words admitted. + +"She beat you?" she said, a great light flooding her big eyes. "She beat +you," she repeated, "and made you quit. She took your measure for the +coward who could flog a wretched neche who couldn't defend himself. I'm +glad." + +For a moment the sting of the woman's words looked like overwhelming the +man's restraint. But the black shadow of his brows suddenly lightened, +and again he shrugged his heavy shoulders with a transparent +indifference. + +"Oh, yes," he admitted. "She beat me." Then he added slowly, and with +an appearance of deep reflection: "But then she's young. How old? +Nineteen?" He nodded. "Nineteen, and as pretty as a picture. Prettier by +a heap than her mother ever was." His lips parted with a noise that +expressed appreciation and appetite. "Say, did you ever see such a +figure? She kind of makes you think of a yearling deer, or the picture +of one of those swell girls Diana always has chasing around her. And she +don't know a thing but what this country's taught her--which I guess +isn't a lot. But she can learn. Oh, yes. She can learn." Then with +deliberate, cold emphasis: "And one of the things she'll learn is that +she can't hold me up with a gun without paying for it." + +The mother's eyes widened with fear, with loathing. + +"What do you mean?" she cried, with a force which must have alarmed +anyone who understood or cared for her bodily condition. "Pay? How can +you make her pay? Oh, you don't know Keeko. You don't know what you're +up against. Keeko would shoot you like a dog if you dared----" + +The man raised a protesting hand and smiled into the eyes which betrayed +so much. + +"Easy, easy," he said. "You're jumping too far. It's taken you years, +and I guess you haven't learnt yet. Guess I'll have to do better. You're +one of those fool women who never learn. If you'd horse sense you +wouldn't have said what you handed me just now. You're glad Keeko took +my measure for a coward. You're pleased, mighty pleased she beat me. Oh, +yes, I know, you've done your best she should act that way. That's +because you're scared, and you don't love me like you used to. You +reckon she'd shoot me like a dog. Anyway you hope so." + +Nicol shook his head, and prolonged the smile with which he regarded the +mother's emaciated features. + +"Oh, no," he went on. "She won't shoot me like a dog. But I'll tell you +what will happen. I don't mind telling you now. She won't get back till +the fall. And when she comes back you won't see her. So you won't be +able to hand her the things I'm saying. You're more than half dead now. +You'll be all the way before she comes back, and I guess you'll be able +to lie around somewhere out of sight in the woods watching the game I +play. I'm going to show Keeko what a fool she was to listen to your +talk. She's just going to see the dandy fellow I really am. She's going +to be queen of this camp, set up on a throne I've made for her. And if I +know women she's going to fall for it. There's no need for scruple. +She's not my daughter. I'm not even her step-father. I've a hand full of +trumps waiting for her, and when you're dead, and she gets back, I'm +going to play 'em all. Then--after--when I'm tired of the game, she's +going to pay for that gun play till she hates to remember the fool +mother whose talk she ever listened to. We're here a thousand miles from +anywhere, which is the sort of thing only a crazy woman like you could +ever for--Hello! What in hell d'you want?" + +Nicol sat up. In a moment his entire manner changed. He scowled +threateningly as he eyed the dusky figure in the doorway. It was the +squaw Lu-cana whose moccasined feet had given out no sound as she +approached. + +"White feller man come by river," she said, in the soft, hushed voice of +her race, while her eyes refused to face the scowl of the white man. + +"White man? What the hell! Who the devil is he?" + +Nicol had risen to his feet, his manner brutally threatening. The squaw +feared him, as did all the Indians. But in the presence of the sick +white woman she found a measure of courage. + +"Him wait. Him say, 'Boss Nicol, yes?'" she replied, and stood waiting +with her dark eyes fixed upon the woman she served. + +But the sick woman gave no sign. Her poor troubled brain was staggered +by the hideous threat which she had been forced to listen to. She lay +there like a corpse prepared for burial, utterly unconcerned for that +which was passing. + +Just for a moment the man hesitated. He glanced back at the bed as +though regretful at being dragged from his torture of the defenceless +woman lying there. Then with a shrug, he moved across the room, and, +thrusting the squaw aside, hurried out to meet his unexpected visitor. + + * * * * * + +It was an utterly different man who shook the visitor by the hand. Nicol +was smiling with a pleasant amiability. And no man could better express +cordiality than he. + +"It's 'Tough' Alroy," he said, as though that individual were the only +person in the world he wanted to see. "Well, well," he went on heartily. +"My head's just bursting with pleasure and surprise. Say, I often +remember the days--and nights--in Seal Bay. Gee! This brings back times, +eh? Is it just a trip or?----" + +"Business." + +The man grinned. He was more than well named. His black eyes were full +of good-humoured deviltry. He was a type, in his picturesque buckskin, +familiar enough among the trail men of the Northland. Tough, as his +nickname suggested, hard, unscrupulous, ready for anything that the gods +of fortune passed down to him, nothing concerned, nothing mattered so +that he gathered enough for a red time at his journey's end. + +"Business?" + +"Yep. Lorson Harris. It's big. Guess I've a brief along with me that's +to be set right into your hands, an' when you've eaten the stuff wrote +ther', why, you need to light a pipe with it, an' see ther's none left +over. I've been takin' a hand up to now. But ther's reasons why I've cut +out. It's for you now. Can we parley?" + +The trader's cordiality had become absorbed in a deeply serious regard. +He was guessing hard. Lorson Harris was the one man in the world whom he +seriously feared. He knew he was bound to him by chains which galled +every time he strained against them. The great trader's tentacles were +spread out over the length and breadth of the Northland. There was no +escape from them. He had said a few moments before that here, at Fort +Duggan, they were a thousand miles from anywhere. But then he was +thinking of something quite different. So long as he lived in the +Northland he knew he was within immediate reach of Lorson Harris. What +was this message from Lorson Harris? What did it portend? + +He abruptly turned and indicated the broad sill of the door of the main +fort building. + +"Sit right here, boy," he said, forcing himself to a return to his +original cordiality. "Guess there's room for us both. We can talk till +you're tired here. After we're through I don't seem to see any +difficulty in raking out a bucket of red-hot fire juice or any other old +thing you happen to fancy." + +Tough Alroy grinned and accepted the invitation. + +"That's the talk," he said. "Here's Lorson's letter. You read that right +away, and I'll make a big talk after." + +The two men sat down, and while Nicol tore open the dirty envelope, and +read his taskmaster's orders, Tough lit a pipe, and watched him out of +the corners of his black, restless, wicked eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE KING OF THE FOREST + + +A roar of fury echoes through the primeval forest. It plays amidst the +countless aisles of jack-pine. It loses itself in the dense growing +tamarack, or dies amidst the softer plumage of spruce. It is no mere +bellow of impotent rage. It is a note of defiance. It is a challenge to +the legions of the forest. It is the gage of battle flung without +reserve. + +Wide-set eyes blaze their search amidst the deeper shadows. They are +eager as well as furious. They are seeking an adversary who shuns open +conflict and wounds from afar. The great head is proudly raised aloft, +and gaping nostrils on a great clubbed muzzle snuff violently at the +air. A treacherous blow has torn open the channels of life and saturated +the heaving flanks with their rich, red tide. The King Moose stands at +bay. + +With the last echo, the challenge is flung again. It is ruthless, +insistent, and deep with the violence of outraged might. + +The answer comes. It comes in man's own good time. It comes in the crack +of a rifle, and the moose jolts round with a spasmodic jerk. In a moment +a movement amongst the surrounding tree-trunks captures its gaze. There +is a pause, breathless, silent. Savage wrath leaps anew, and down sweeps +the great head till the spread of antlers is couched like a forest of +lance points. The huge body is hurled in a headlong charge. + +It is an act of supreme courage as splendid as it is hopeless. The +elusive foe applies a wit, a skill undreamed of in the beast mind. He is +gone in a flash, and the wounded creature stands amazed, furious, +baulked, while vicious hoofs churn the soil, and a deep-throated roar +awakens again the echoes of the forest. + +But there is desperation added to defiance in the challenge now. There +is uncertainty, too. The heaving flanks are dripping with a crimson +tide. The creature is sorely wounded. For all its pride and courage, its +sufferings admit of no denial. The foe has scored. He has scored +heavily. + +The climax is approaching. The final challenge is taken up at last as +the king beast would have it. + +The man reappears. In a moment he is standing out amidst the +tree-trunks, slim, erect, a puny figure in a world of giants. He is not +so cowardly after all. He stands there calmly, with eyes alert, +watchful, measuring, ready to gamble his wit and skill against whatever +odds may chance. + +The moose only sees. It has no thought. Only its rage. No calculation +but its immense strength. Savagery, courage, alone inspire its warfare. +So it is that fierce satisfaction rings in its greeting of the vision. + +It is a moment pregnant with possibility. The doomed creature summons +its last ounce of physical might. Down drops the head till the hot blast +of nostrils flings up the mouldering soil of the ages. The great split +hoofs stamp a furious tattoo. They claw at the loose earth. Then, like a +flash, an avalanche of rage is flung into the combat. + +The time has come. The man has played his game to the desired end. The +creature's fury has no terror for him. With his rifle pressed to his +shoulder, and eye glancing over the sights, he waits calmly, and full of +simple confidence. Twenty yards! Fifteen! With the low, sweeping +antlers, and the rush of hoofs that could disembowel at a single blow, +it is a desperate test of nerve. Slowly, gently, a finger compresses +itself about the trigger. + +But something happens. The moose flounders in its rush. It is the +ungainly roll of a rudderless ship. It stumbles. A second, and its mad +rush ends. With a curious gasping sigh it plunges to the earth. + +And the man? With his undischarged weapon lowered from his shoulder, and +the sharp crack of some stranger's rifle ringing in his ears, he stares +about him in utter and complete bewilderment. + +Marcel's bewilderment was swiftly passing. Hot, impulsive resentment was +quick to take its place. All his mind and heart had been set upon that +kill. He had been robbed. Someone had robbed him in the very moment of +his victory, a victory which had cost him nine days of an arduous trail. + +There was no sign. No sign anywhere. The silence of the world about him +was complete, that silence which no earthly agency ever seems to have +power to break up seriously. Like the fallen moose his angry eyes +searched the shadowed aisles for the intruder upon whom to vent his +hasty wrath. But like that other there only remained disappointment to +add to the fire of his anger. He seemed alone in the primordial world. +And yet he knew that other eyes, human eyes, were observing his every +movement. + +At last he abandoned his search, and turned again to the creature +stretched in the stillness of death upon the mouldering carpet of the +forest. The bitterness of regret had replaced his impulsive heat. +Perhaps, even the philosophy of the hunter had yielded him resignation. +At any rate he quickly became absorbed in the splendid qualities of the +fallen monarch. And that which he beheld stirred anew his youthful +enthusiasm. + +It was an old bull, hoary with age, and scarred with the wounds of a +hundred battles. It was truly a king in a world where might alone +prevails. He moved up to the wide-spreading antlers supporting the regal +head, as if to refuse it the final degradation of complete contact with +the soil. An exclamation of appreciation broke from him. His gaze was +fixed upon a minute, blood-rimmed puncture just behind the right eye. It +was the wound where the intruder's bullet had crashed into the +infuriated creature's brain. + +"Gee! That's a swell shot!" he muttered, speaking his thought aloud, +with the habit bred of the great silences. + +"But I'm sorry--now." + +No echo of the forest could have startled more. No spur could have +stirred Marcel to swifter movement. He was erect in a moment, and turned +about, towering in his generous height over the slim creature smiling up +into his bewildered eyes. A white girl, wide-eyed, beautiful, was +standing before him. + +"Now?" + +Marcel echoed the stranger's final word stupidly. + +"Yes. I'm grieved all to death--now," the girl said, with a composure in +striking contrast to Marcel's obvious confusion. "I just am. I hadn't +right. But I was scared--scared to death. You don't understand that. +Why, sure you don't. How could you? You're a man. I'm only a girl. And I +had to stand around, just waiting, with another feller within a yard or +so of sheer death, while all the time I had means in my hand of fixing +things right for him. That's how it was when I saw that moose breaking +for you. And you--why, you just looked like two cents standing there +while that feller's hoofs and horns wanted to leave you feed for the +timber wolves. I couldn't stand it. My nerve broke. I drew on him. I had +to. I loosed off. Then, I s'pose, I woke up. When I saw him drop I knew +just what I'd done. I'd stolen your beast, and--I'm sorry to death." + +A girl. A white girl. Oh, yes, there was no mistake, for all the +mannishness of her clothing. Marcel stared. He had listened to her words +of regret barely comprehending their drift. He was absorbed by that +which he beheld, wondering, amazed. + +A white girl here, alone in the primordial world of--Unaga. + +From the pretty, fair hair peeping from under her beaver cap to the +moccasined feet, so absurdly small, under the wide-cut buckskin chapps +or trousers that clad her nether limbs, he searched stupidly for the +answer to the thousand questions which flooded his brain. Who was she? +How came she there? That amazing shot? + +He noted her eyes, so wide and deep-fringed, and of a blue such as he +had never yet beheld in the Northern skies. Their dazzling light left +him almost dizzy with intoxication. Her cheeks, perfect, with the bloom +of health acquired in a life of exposure to the elements. Then her sweet +lips parted in a smile that revealed a hint of even teeth of pearly +whiteness. But these things were not all. No. There was her tall, slim +figure under its buckskin clothing. The effect was superlative. + +What a vision for passionate youthful eyes to gaze upon in the shadowed +world of the Northern forests, where life and death rub shoulders every +moment of time. The youth in Marcel was aflame. There flashed through +his mind a vague memory of the wooing of the painted women of Seal Bay. + +The girl's explanation, her regrets, meant nothing to him. + +"What--? Where? Who are you?" he blurted, all his amazed delight flung +into a startled demand. + +"I'm Keeko." + +The reply was without a shadow of hesitation. It came simply, for the +wide, amused eyes had seen the youth's confusion, and the woman's mind +behind them approved. + +"I'm Keeko," the girl repeated, as Marcel still struggled for composure. +"And I came right along in a hurry to tell you I'm sorry----" + +Marcel thrust up a hand and pushed back his cap. It was a movement full +of significance. + +"Sorry?" he cried, with an awkward laugh. "Guess you don't need to be +sorry. I need to feel that way, acting foolish, gawking around here like +some fool kid. But--you see--you're a--girl." + +Keeko's smile broadened into a delicious ripple of laughter. + +"Sure," she nodded. "You didn't guess I was a-jack-rabbit?" + +Marcel was recovering. He, too, laughed. + +"I didn't guess anything," he said. Then with a gesture of helplessness +which further added to Keeko's amusement: "I couldn't. You see +I'm--well--I'm just darned! That's all--just darned!" + +"I know," the girl cried delightedly. "You didn't guess to find a girl +around. You weren't looking to find anything diff'rent from those things +they sort of experimented with when they first reckoned making a camping +ground in space for life to move around on. But you haven't said about +that old moose. I robbed you----" + +"Oh, hell!" Marcel cried, flinging his head back in a happy, buoyant +laugh. "We'll just cut that darn old moose right out of this thing. +You're welcome to shoot up any old thing I've got. You're Keeko----" + +"Who are you?" + +"I--oh, I'm Marcel, and I come from--" He broke off and shook his head. +"No, I can't hand you that." + +Marcel gazed down into the girl's pretty eyes. He had only just +remembered in time. Somehow this girl seemed to have robbed him of his +wits as well as his moose. + +"Say," he went on, a moment later, with a sobering of his happy eyes. "I +came near making a bad break that time. You see, I just can't tell you +where I come from. There's secrets in the darn old Northland some folks +would give a heap of dollars to get wise to. Where I come from is one of +'em. What I'm free to tell is I'm mostly a pelt hunter. I've a biggish +outfit of Eskimo, and the usual truck of the summer trail, back there on +the river that comes out of the east. We've got this territory cached +with food dumps and things, and we're out, scattered miles over the +country, beating it for pelts with trap and gun. Guess we figger to stop +right out till it starts in to freeze up. And just about the time the +old sun gets sick worrying to make Unaga a fit place for better than +skitters and things, and chases off for its winter sleep, why we're +hitting right back to--the place I come from. I've been making the +summer trail ever since I was a kid, which isn't a long way back, and I +allow this is the first time it's ever been my luck to find better than +the silences that's liable to set you plumb crazed if you don't happen +to have been born to 'em, the same as I was. Guess that's about all +there is to me I know of, except that secret I can't just hand you." + +It was all said so frankly, so simply. It was not the story Marcel had +to tell that established confidence. It was the telling of it. And it +needed no words from the girl to admit her approval. It was shining in +her smiling eyes, while a wonderful feeling began to stir in a heart +that was only a shade less simple than the heart of the youth. + +Keeko, woman-like, applied no reason where her feelings were concerned. +She liked the man, and she liked the name he called himself by. She +liked his great, height and breadth of shoulder, and she liked his +clear, handsome eyes with their ingenuous smile. That was sufficient. + +She nodded with that intimate air of sympathy. + +"I know," she said readily. "It's a land of secrets north of 60 deg.. That's +why folks live in a country that can't ever get out of its eternal +sleep, and only the nightmare of storm disturbs it. The secret isn't +usually ours. The secret mostly belongs to those who brought us here, +and though maybe we don't understand it right, why, the thing just grows +up in our minds, and we find we couldn't talk of it to strangers any +more than if it was our own. That's the way of it. It's a country that +starts in to break your kid's heart, and ends by making you love it--if +it doesn't kill you." + +"Oh, yes. I love this old north," she went on with gentle warmth. "Maybe +you do, too. It's half-baked and dead-tough anyway. But it teaches even +a girl the things it doesn't hurt anyone to know. It's good for us all +to get up against Nature in the cold raw. Guess if I was back in a city +the biggest thing in my life would likely be squeezing hands made to do +things with into gloves that weren't. Or maybe reckoning up which beau +could hand me the best time before I got too old to count. It isn't that +way here. The north teaches you to think and act right, and you don't +have to worry that the girl next door's wearing a later mode in shirt +waists than you. No. Man or woman, we've got to make good or go under. +We're all here for that, only some of us don't know it. I'm kind of glad +I've learned it, and I'm mighty grateful to those who've taught me. +That's why I'm out on the summer trail same as you. But I've only a +small outfit. Three neches and two canoes back there on the river that +comes up out of the south, and doesn't quit till it reaches the seas of +snow and ice that never thaw. We can't chase the territory wide like you +can. We can't carry food for caches, or make the big portages. So we +hunt the river, and a day's trail on either bank. There's beaver and fox +to be had that way, and it's most all I can hope for. I don't worry if +we get it plenty. You see, I need it big--this trip." + +Something of the strangeness of the encounter was passing from Marcel's +mind. A curious feeling of intimacy was induced by the girl's brief +outline of the things that concerned herself. Then, above all, there was +that youthful desire, untainted by any baseness of passion, the natural +desire inspired by the appeal of a sweet face, and the smiling eyes of a +young girl, battling in a country where there is no margin for the +strongest of men. + +Nor had Marcel forgotten all the early teachings of Uncle Steve. He knew +it was demanded of him that woman, in all her moods, was man's heritage +to help, to protect, to relieve, where possible, of those heavy burdens +with which nature so mercilessly weighs her down. The opening lay there +to his hand, and he seized upon it with an impulse that needed nothing +to support it. + +"You're needing pelts?" he cried. "Why, that's great!" + +Keeko laughed shortly. She failed to realize the thought prompting +Marcel's evident delight. + +"It would be greater if I didn't," she returned, with a rueful shake of +the head. + +"How's that?" + +"Why it's days since our traps have shown us so much as a wolf track. +And it's nearly a week since we took our last beaver. There's three +months of the season left, and I'm needing a three-thousand-dollar trade +with Lorson Harris at Seal Bay. Maybe you don't know what that means?" + +"Maybe I do," Marcel laughed. + +"You do?" Keeko was forced to a responsive laugh. "Yes. It means a whole +lot," she went on. "And--I don't guess we've taken five hundred dollars +yet--at his price. Last year I took three silver foxes, and a brace of +jet black beauties that didn't set him squealing at fifty dollars each. +No. They were jo-dandies," she sighed appreciatively. "But it hasn't +been that way this season," she continued, with pathetic regret. "It +seems like there isn't a single fox this side of the big north hills." + +Marcel shook his head. + +"But there is," he said very definitely. + +"Is there?" Keeko shook her head. "Then I must have been looking the +other way most all the time." + +A reply hovered upon Marcel's lips. But he seemed to change his mind. He +could not stand the obscuring of the sun of the girl's pretty eyes. He +turned away, and laid his rifle aside. Then he sprawled his big body at +the foot of an adjacent tree, and sat with his wide shoulders propped +against it for support. + +"Say, Keeko," he cried, gazing up into the troubled eyes watching him, +and addressing the girl by name for the first time, "let's sit. We've +got to make a big talk. Anyway, I have. I feel like one of those fool +neches sitting in a war council, and handing out wisdom that wouldn't +fool a half-hatched skitter. Still, I reckon I've got one hell of a +notion, and notions worry me to death if I can't hand 'em on to some +feller who can't defend himself. I'm not often worried that way. Will +you listen awhile?" + +Marcel's effort was not without effect. The girl's eyes cleared of their +shadows, swept away by a smiling amusement. She found him quite +irresistible in the gloom of her twilight surroundings, and forthwith +permitted herself to subside upon the ground opposite him, with legs +crossed, and her rifle lying across her knees. + +"It's easy listening," she said with a laugh. + +"Good!" + +Marcel laughed, too. + +"Now, it's this," he began, with a profound solemnity that delighted the +girl. "If I hand you anything you don't fancy listening to, why, say so +right away, and I'll quit. You see, I don't get much practice handing it +out to a girl, and I'm liable to make breaks--bad breaks. You see, we're +mostly a thousand miles outside the world, and you're a lone girl in a +hell of a lone land. I'd be thankful for you to get hold of it that I +was raised to reckon a girl needs all the help a decent man can hand +her. That's his duty. Plumb. And he hasn't a right on earth to figger on +any return. Well, I haven't got over that notion yet. It goes with me +every time, and I pray the good God of this darnation wilderness it +always will. I allow this is just preliminary, to make you feel good +before I start in to talk. It isn't the sermon you may guess it is, so +that'll make it easier remembering what lies back of my head when you +start--guessing." + +Marcel produced a pipe and stuffed it with the tobacco he flaked off a +sad-looking plug. The pipe was crudely carved in Eskimo fashion out of +the ivory of a walrus tusk. Keeko watched him silently with an interest +she made no attempt to disguise, while deep in her heart was stirring +that feeling she was wholly unconscious of. His "preliminary" was +unnecessary. In her woman's way she read him to her own satisfaction. + +He lit his pipe carefully, and as carefully extinguished his match. They +were in a forest where the decaying vegetation was as dry as tinder. + +"You need pelts," he said, after a considering pause. "You need three +thousand dollars trade in 'em. You want silver fox and black fox. +Well--you can have enough to set Lorson Harris squealing." + +Keeko was startled. + +"But--I don't get you!" she cried, with the helplessness of complete +amazement. + +"It's easy." + +Marcel smoked on in leisurely enjoyment of the surprise he had given +this nymph of the primordial. + +Keeko shook her head. + +"You mean--" she broke off. "No, you're a pelt hunter yourself. You said +so. We're rivals on the fur trail." + +"Rivals?" Marcel sat up in his turn. "We can't be," he said earnestly. +"I'm some sort of a man. You're a--girl. You've forgotten." + +They sat regarding each other. A great hope was in Marcel's heart. In +fancy he was picturing to himself months of this girl's companionship in +the deep silences and tremendous solitudes which had become so much a +part of his life. He had visions of this tall, beautiful creature always +by his side, ready, skilful, eager. With the sympathy of their craft +always between them, and, for himself, a purpose, an incentive such as +never in his life had he possessed. The contemplation of it all was too +wonderful for words. It was a dream, a happy, wonderful dream. + +But for Keeko it was all different. She was not concerned with a dream +future. She was thinking of the generosity, the reckless generosity +that set this splendid youth desirous of yielding all to satisfy her +needs. He asked no question as to those needs. He knew nothing of her, +or of those shadows lurking in her background. He only understood that +she wanted, and it was his pleasure and purpose to supply that want at +his own expense. + +"I haven't forgotten," she said, with something like a sigh. "But you +want to hand me furs that are your own trade. And I--I can't accept +them." + +She shook her head definitely. Then with an effort she thrust the regret +she felt into the background, and her eyes lit with a smile of humour. + +"You haven't heard the notion _I_ was raised to--yet," she said. + +"No." + +Marcel was satisfied with the return of her smile. + +"Would you like to?" + +"Sure." + +The girl laughed. + +"I guess it's not as simple as yours," she said. "A woman's reason isn't +generally simple. You see, she musses up feelings with argument which +generally confuse the issue. Guess a woman's life is mostly a thing of +confusion. You see, she started bad, though it wasn't her fault. When +the folks, who ought to know better, started in to make man before his +mother you can't wonder it's that way. Now I was raised to believe man +is woman's rightful protector. There's women who reckon she's got man +left standing when it comes to helping things along. But she's the sort +of woman who always cooks her own favourite dish when she reckons to +give her man a real treat. There's the other woman who's so sure man is +her rightful protector that she's not content to wait around for his +protection. She gets right out and grabs it, along with anything else +he's foolish enough to leave within her reach. Then there's the woman +who shouts around that she doesn't need protecting anyway. She mostly +ends up with grabbing all the man-protection that happens to be lying +around, without worrying whose 'claim' she's jumping. But to get back to +the notion I was raised to, it seems to me that man is surely a woman's +rightful protector, but there isn't a thing on earth can make me see +that she's the right to take any sort of protection he hasn't the right +to give. That sort of woman's a vampire. And vampires are things I'd +like to see drowned so deep they can't ever resurrect. If I took your +pelts I'd be a vampire for taking something you haven't the right to +give. They're your trade, and I guess out of your trade you've got to +pay your outfit of Eskimo. Do you see? To my way of thinking those furs +are not yours to give, just because you find a fool girl squealing for +three thousand dollars of trade. But say," she added, with a warmth of +real feeling in her smiling eyes, "I thank you for the thought. I thank +you right from the bottom of my heart." + +Marcel remained quite undisturbed. He sat deliberately puffing at his +absurdly ornamented pipe, his honest eyes meditatively smiling. The +girl's rejection of his offer only made him the more determined. At last +he stirred, and sat up cross-legged, and, removing his pipe, pointed his +words with its stem, as though to drive them more fully home. + +"That's all right," he said. "I'm making no kick on that. It just makes +me feel how sore you need those pelts, and how right I am to want to +hand 'em to you. I've told you what I fancy doing. Now we'll form a +committee and negotiate. Folks always form committees when they can't +agree, and then they can't agree worse. Committees always elect one of +their members chairman, and he has a casting vote. We're a committee of +two, so we'll elect a chairman, and that'll make three--chairman with +casting vote. I'll elect myself chairman. That way we'll have no sort of +difficulty. All in favour, etc." He thrust up both hands and his pipe +while he boyishly gazed up at them with a triumphant smile. + +"Carried unanimously," he cried. "Now I've two says to your one----" + +"I was reckoning it was more than that," Keeko interrupted, laughing. + +"Were you? Maybe you're right," Marcel agreed. "Well, say, let's cut the +fooling. See here, Keeko," he went on earnestly. "I've got all the pelts +you need to my own share. I wouldn't be robbing even an Eskimo, who most +folks reckon to rob. As for me, I'm no sort of real trader. I just hunt +pelts because it suits me, and I like to hear Lorson Harris squeal when +I make him pay my prices. Still, you don't reckon to accept, that way. +That being so, how's this? I'm just free as air to hunt where I choose. +My outfit's scattered, and each hunts on his own. Well, I've all the +catch I need. You can guess that, seeing I've given nine days and nights +to trailing this old moose that isn't worth the cost of the powder that +shot him up. Cut me out as a trader. Just take me on as guide. I'll join +your outfit till it freezes up, and I'll find you the best foxes the +North Country ever produced. I'll promise you that three thousand +dollars and to spare. It isn't bluff. It's just God's truth. And if you +feel like you're sick to death of the sight of what folks who's friendly +call my face any old time, why you only need to say things, and I'll hit +a trail out of sight at a gait that would leave a caribou flapping its +ears with worry. I mean that, every darn word, and the chairman and half +this fool committee are voting for it. Well?" + +The appeal was irresistible. Keeko would have been less than the woman +she was had she further resisted the happy enthusiasm and youthful +impulse of this great creature who had been a stranger to her less than +an hour ago. There was honesty and confidence in every word he uttered, +and there was that simple boyish admiration in his good-looking eyes +which made the final unconscious appeal. She yielded, yielded in that +spirit which promptly left Marcel her slave for all time. + +Her eyes were brimming with a smile that possessed the moisture of tears +of thankfulness. + +"Guess this committee is unanimous," she said. "There's no argument left +in them. But it wants to record the biggest vote of thanks to the +chairman that was ever passed--and doesn't know how to express it. +We----" + +But Marcel was on his feet and holding out his great hands to help the +girl to hers. His eyes were wide and shining in a way that must have lit +a happy smile in the steady eyes of Uncle Steve, had he been there to +witness. + +"Where's your camp?" he cried. "I need to start my job right away." + +The man's demand was thrilling with the feelings of the moment. Keeko +ignored his help. She, too, was on her feet in a moment, and pointing +away amongst the shadows of the forest to the west. + +"Back on the river," she cried, catching something of the infection of +the other's headlong impulse. Then with a glance down at the fallen +moose which had been the means of bringing them together, her tone +altered to one of almost tenderness. "But this?" she questioned. + +Marcel laughed. + +"Don't worry with that. I'll come along for the skull and the horns when +the wolves have done with it. I've quit big game. I'm out for fox, +silver and black. I'm out to break Lorson Harris's bank roll--for you. +Come on!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +SUMMER DAYS + + +The youth in Marcel was abundant, it was even headlong. But even so, +there was a strong steadying strain of wisdom in him, the wisdom of the +Northland, bought at a price that few can afford to pay. It served to +hold the balance under the influence of this new adventure. + +It was something more than adventure. There was a significance in the +extraordinary encounter with Keeko that dimmed to the commonplace every +thrill he had ever experienced in the past. It had lifted him at a bound +to that pinnacle of manhood, which until the moment when woman presents +herself upon youth's stage of life can never be reached. + +Every pre-conceived object in life had suddenly been brushed aside by +the exhilaration of the moment. The subdued colours of his horizon had +been completely overwhelmed by the new radiance. Even Uncle Steve, that +precious guide and friend, who had always occupied the central place in +his focus, had almost been forgotten. + +For Keeko, too, whose youth had been shadowed from the moment +understanding had broken through the golden mists of childhood's +dream-world, a new meaning to life had been born. She made no attempt to +look ahead, and the shadows of the past had no power whatever to rob her +of one moment of chaste delight. All she knew, or cared, was that, +almost on the instant, the personality of something over six feet of +manhood had taken possession of her will. And, with that splendid +abandon which generous nature mercifully ordains for youth, she yielded +herself to the ecstasy of it. + +Keeko was resting upon a fallen tree-trunk. It had been torn up by the +roots and flung headlong by the merciless fury of a winter storm. Marcel +was standing beside her. The way had been long, but there was no real +weariness in either. They had simply paused at their journey's end to +survey the great gorge lying at their feet. In the heart of it lay the +highway that came up out of the south. + +It was a scene of crude immensity which left all life infinitesimal. The +barren of it suggested the body of Nature gnawed to the bone, picked +clean of the fair flesh with which it is her wont to distract the eyes +and senses of man. There lay a frowning, rock-bound chasm at their feet, +and deep down in the heart of it a broad, sluggish stream. The two +youthful figures were gazing out across the gaping lips at the far-off, +distant hills rising up in defence of the secrets of the Northern seas +of snow and ice. + +For some moments they sat in silence before the might and mystery of +that untrodden world. Awe lurked in the eyes of both. It was that awe of +the Northland which breeds terror in the weak, and only the strong may +survive. + +Marcel broke the spell of it. He laughed with a quiet confidence that +found no echo in the girl's heart. + +"It's pretty darn big," he said, with something almost like contempt in +his tone. "But it pays us--toll. I--a man. And you--why, you just +a--girl." + +It was the pride of youth and strength that spoke. Uncle Steve would not +have talked that way--now. Years ago--perhaps. Years ago before his +terrible journey across Unaga, when he, too, had defied the very things +Marcel now spurned. + +But the awe in Keeko's eyes only deepened. + +"Maybe you're right," she said doubtfully. "But sometimes it scares me. +Scares me to death." + +She drew a long breath as she made the admission. + +Marcel's quick answer came with a laugh of amusement. + +"Yet you come up this river with just three neches," he cried. "You make +rapids that would hold me guessing, for all the outfit of Eskimo I +carry. You'll beat it back south to your home against a two mile stream +with a deadly winter hard on your moccasined heels. I just want to laff. +You're scared! Why, get a look right out there, just as far as you can +see. I mean where the haze shuts down like a curtain on a forbidden +world. There, where there's the dim outline of one big hill propping up +the roof of things, standing above all the others. If you took the +notion there were pelts there that would worry Lorson Harris to pay for, +you'd think no more of making those hills than you worry with the trail +over this darn river. That scare notion isn't worth two cents." + +The admiration, the obvious delight of Marcel as he derided the girl's +plea left a great warmth of pleasure flooding Keeko's eyes. + +"You think that?" she cried. Then with a nod: "I'm kind of glad. But you +don't know Little One Man--yet. And Snake Foot. And Med'cine Charlie. It +isn't me. I've maybe the will. But--I haven't the skill, or the grit. +No. My boys were raised on the rapids of the Dubawnt River. If you heard +Little One Man I guess you'd know just what that means. As for me, I've +learned things from necessity. I had to learn, same as I've to collect +those furs Lorson Harris is going to pay for. Oh, I'm not full of a +courage like you think. It's will. Will bred of necessity. It's the sort +of will that can't reckon the balance of chances. Chances just don't +exist. That's all. It's as you say. That ghost of a hill yonder would +have to hand me what I need if I couldn't get it nearer home. But I'd be +scared--sure. Badly scared, same as I felt watching you waiting on that +moose." + +Marcel withdrew his gaze from the tremendous view beyond the river. He +turned to the scene of the little encampment so far down below. He saw a +moving figure by the canoes, beached on the barren foreshore. He beheld +the curl of smoke rising from a camp-fire. He knew that a meal was in +preparation. It was all as he understood such things, and its interest +for him was that it was the home of the girl who had so suddenly taken +possession of his life. + +"Necessity," he said reflectively. "Guess I'm not just wise to things +like older folk. But it seems to me 'necessity' is the thing of all +things in life. It sort of seems the key that unlocks the meaning of +everything. It sets you chasing pelts to sell for dollars, and it leaves +their finding just the one thing worth while. If you got plenty food you +don't care two cents if you eat it or not. If you haven't, why the +thought of food sets you dreaming beautiful dreams of things you never +tasted, and maybe you'd hate anyway if folks handed them to you. If you +got a swell bed that's all set ready for you, maybe your fancy sets you +sleeping on the hard ground with just a blanket to cover you. If you +hadn't, then the thought of that darn blanket would likely set you crazy +to grab the other feller's. I come along out every season chasing pelts. +Seeing I don't need 'em it leaves me trailing a bull moose that hands me +a chance of getting to grips with the business of life an' death. Say, +give me 'necessity' all the time. It's the thing that makes men of the +folks you can make anything of at all, and, anyway, makes life a thing +to grab right up into your arms and hug so as if you never meant to let +go. Necessity for you--a girl--is just the thing that beats me. Why, the +men folk around you must be all sorts of everyday folk that wouldn't +matter a circumstance if the whole darn lot got lost in the fog of their +own notions, and were left to hand in their checks hollering for the +help they never fancied handing you." + +There was hot indignation in the final denunciation. Keeko revelled in +his sympathy. She pondered a moment. Then a fresh impulse urged her. + +"I was just wondering," she said, her gaze avoiding the figure standing +so heedlessly at the brink of the canyon, "I kind of feel I ought to +tell you of that necessity. Yet it's hard. As I said, there's secrets, +and if you start in to talk free north of 60 deg. you're liable to hand over +those secrets that belong to the folk who reckon they've the right to +impose them on all those belonging to them. I've no sort of secret of my +own. None at all. But I guess my step-father has. And that secret is the +reason that's brought him to face the storms and evil spirits of Unaga." +She laughed without any lightness. "Will you be content to hear the +things I may tell you--without asking me to show you how it is these +things are so?" she demanded. + +"I don't ask a thing," the man replied promptly. "I don't need to know a +thing. You don't get the way I feel. You're a girl. You need furs for +trade. Guess that trade means the whole of everything to you, and is +liable to make you plenty happy. Well--why, it pleases me to death to +help you. That's all." + +For a moment Keeko let her wide blue eyes dwell on the man's youthful +face. + +"That only makes me want to say things more," she retorted, with a +slight flush dyeing her soft cheeks. "So I'm just going to say those +things right away, and I don't care what secret I hand out doing it. +When a man's generosity gets busy it's to limits mostly a long way +ahead. Well, when it's that way I don't reckon a woman feels like +slamming the door in his face. I've a step-father and a mother. My +mother's sick--sick to death. She's all I've got, and all I care for. +She's kind of a weak woman who's been up against most of the worry and +kicks a world can hand her. And now she's sick to death, and looks like +getting that peace that life never seemed to be able to hand her. My +step-father's a tough man, and I hate him. Say, you guess that my scare +isn't worth two cents. I'm scared of my step-father like nothing else in +the world. Oh, I'm not scared that he might raise a club at me. That +wouldn't worry me a thing. Guess I could deal with that--right. No. I'm +not scared that way. It's something different, and it's come through +nothing he's ever done or threatened against--me. No, it's my poor +mother. I tell you he's letting her die. He's been letting her die all +these years when I wasn't old enough to understand. He wants to be rid +of her. He's just a murderer at heart, because he's letting her die +through neglect he's figgered out. And my mother isn't only a sick woman +dying of the consumption the life he's exposed her to has brought on. +She's got a broken heart that he's handed her. But sick as she is, she's +wise, and she lies abed thinking not for herself but for me--all the +time. And lying there she's worked out a way so I'll be able to get free +of my step-father, and play a hand in life on my own when she's gone. It +was she taught me to handle a rifle when I'd got hands strong enough to +hold it. It was she who set me in the charge of Little One Man years +ago, and with Snake Foot and Charlie, to learn the business of pelt +hunting. Then when I'd learned all she reckoned I need she lay around +and figgered things out further. It was all done without fuss, it was +all done in a small way so my step-father shouldn't guess the meaning. +She just grew me into a pelt hunter who he thought some day would be +useful hunting for him, and he was kind of pleased. Oh, yes, I hunt for +him, but for every dollar I make for him there's five for myself. And +those five are hidden deep so he'll never find them. I've done this five +seasons, and my sick mother reckons this is to be my last. She guesses +she'll never see another spring, and she wants to see me with five +thousand dollars clear when I get back to home. Then, when she's gone, +she wants me to hit the trail quick. She wants me to take Little One Man +and Snake Foot and Charlie with me, and, with my five thousand dollars, +she wants me to look around beyond my step-father's reach, and make good +in the craft I've learned. With that thought in her mind she guesses to +lie easy in the grave she reckons I'll see is made right for her. That's +my 'necessity' and it's big--if you could only see into the notions of +two women." + +Marcel listened without a word of comment. And as he listened his eyes +hardened, and the youthful curves about his lips drew tight into fine +lines. For all his inexperience of the lives of others the story set a +fierce anger raging in his hot, impulsive heart. The unthinkable to him +was a man who could so beset a woman. + +He nodded. + +"And you trade the pelts with Lorson Harris?" he said. + +"Sure." Keeko smiled up into his face. It was the shrewd smile of one +who approves her own subtlety. "But I divide the catch before I make +home. Five-sixths are for me. And I set them aside, and Little One Man +helps me cache them. The rest is the catch I hand my step-father. He +makes careful tab of it, and then, after a rest, I set out with the dogs +over the winter trail for Seal Bay to make trade. Oh, it's easy. We pick +up the cache as we go, and trade the whole, and I just hand my +step-father the price of the furs he's tabbed." + +The girl's smile was infectious. + +"It's bright," Marcel cried. "And--and I'm glad." Then his eyes sobered +at the thought of his own purpose. "It's easy, too," he went on eagerly. +"But it's going to be easier. We'll fool this--cur. We'll fool him as he +doesn't dream. Say, you didn't need to tell me, Keeko. There wasn't any +need. Still, it shows the trust you feel. And it makes me glad. Now I'll +tell you the notion I've fixed. You're going to get a whole heap more +than that three-thousand-dollar trade. You surely are. And when you go +back you'll be free of--of him, just as far as dollars can make you. But +I'm hoping you'll go back feeling better than that. Maybe you'll be able +to feel that when your poor sick mother is gone you aren't just alone in +the world with Little One Man and Snake Foot and Charlie. There's +another feller just waiting around to hand you all the help you need any +old time. And this old tree-trunk you're sitting on will find me all the +time. We'll make a cache in it. And each end of the open season I'll get +around and open the cache. Come here yourself, or send word by Little +One Man, and, just as hard as I can lay paddle to the waters of this old +river, I'll beat it to your help for all that's in me. Maybe I'm only a +kid chasing pelts, but I'd be mighty thankful to Providence for the +chance of making good helping you." He laughed with the full sun of his +optimism shining again as he flung out a hand. "Say, shake on it, Keeko! +We're partners in an enterprise to beat a devil man. Do you know what +that means? You've likely got your notions. I've got the notion that +was handed me by the best man in the world and a dark-faced angel woman. +It means you can just claim me to the last breath. That's so. It surely +is." + +Keeko took the hand that was thrust out at her. And in a moment her own +was crushed gently between the youth's warm, strong palms. And the +pressure of them thrilled the girl as nothing else had ever thrilled her +in her life. + +Her only answer was to gaze up at him with wide, thankful eyes. She had +no words. She felt that any attempt to speak must choke her. So she sat +there on the ages-old trunk, with a wild feeling of unaccountable +emotion in utter and complete possession of her soul. + +Marcel abruptly seated himself beside her on the tree-trunk. + +"Say, Keeko," he cried, his seriousness gone, "guess this has been all +sorts of a talk, and I've blown a horn that would have worried the angel +Gabriel. Well, I've just got to make good--that's all. That being so, +there isn't a day to waste. I'll have to hit back to my outfit and +collect my 'truck,' which I need to tote along over here. It'll take me +all a piece of time, but not an hour longer than my craze to start'll +let it. I'll get back in a hell of a hurry. Meanwhile you need to put +Little One Man and Snake Foot and Charlie wise, and see and fix things +to start out right away. We're going to hit out north-west to a silver +fox country I know of, and when we're through with it Lorson Harris'll +start in to drop silver fox prices to the level of grey timber wolf. It +makes me feel good--the thought of it." + +He sprang up with an energy that suggested the effort it required to +tear himself away. And promptly the woman in Keeko asserted itself. + +"But you'll eat first?" she said invitingly. + +Marcel laughed in frank delight. + +"Why, surely," he cried. "I was guessing you might ask me." + +Keeko joined in his laugh. They were children at heart, and little more +in years. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE HEART OF THE WILDERNESS + + +Marcel and Keeko were standing at the dawn of a new life. The man had +looked into a woman's wide, blue eyes. He had gazed upon softly rounded +cheeks, as perfect as physical well-being could make them. He had +contemplated rich, ripe lips that tempted him well-nigh to distraction. +Thus it was that the passionless life of the outworld had no longer +power before the stirring of a soul at last awakened from its pristine +slumbers. + +The meaning of their encounter was no less for Keeko. She was less of +the wilderness, perhaps, than Marcel. She had not been so wholly bred to +it as he. Her child's eyes had looked upon some measure of civilization, +and her mind had gathered a brief training amongst the youth of her own +sex. But the result was no less. The grey shadows, which, as far back as +she could remember, had overhung her home life seemed suddenly to have +been lifted, and the rugged desolation of the Northland had been +transformed into a veritable Eden of hope and delight. + +It was his new inspiration that lent wings to the feet of Marcel when he +hastened to collect his personal outfit. It was under the same +inspiration that he flung himself into the task of preparing for the +fulfilment of his pledge. And from the moment he joined the girl's +outfit on the banks of the river that came up out of the south he +became the acknowledged leader, whose will was absolute. + +And Keeko's spirit was swift to respond. She displayed a readiness that +must have astonished the Indians who were accustomed to implicit +acknowledgment of her rule. Or, perhaps, in their savage hearts, they +understood something of the change that had been wrought. Here was a +great white man, a man whose power and abilities they were quick to +recognize and appreciate, whose body was great, and whose eye was clear +and commanding. Here was a white girl, fairer than any they had ever +known, and whose spirit had served them in a hundred ways. Well? What +then? They were all men of maturing years--these Indians. They had had +many squaws of their own. Perhaps? Who could tell? It seemed natural +that Keeko should choose her man from those of her own colour. And if +this man were to be the chosen one they were ready to yield him the same +fidelity they would yield to her. + +So the night before the morning of departure came round. In three days +Marcel had completed every preparation, and all was in readiness for the +earliest possible start. + +By the time supper was finished the summer daylight showed no sign of +giving way to the two-hour night. Marcel had that in his mind which he +was determined to do before their well-earned rest beside the camp-fire +was taken. And he pointed at the iron-bound cliff which frowned down +upon the waters of the river. + +"Say, Keeko, I've a notion to set it up before we quit," he said, with a +laugh. "Do you feel like passing me a hand?" + +Keeko turned from the sluggish waters, black with the reflection of the +barren walls of the gorge. + +"What are you going to set up?" she questioned like one dragged back +from the contemplation of happy dreams. + +"Oh, it's just a notion," Marcel laughed, in a boyish, half shamefaced +fashion as he lit his pipe with a firebrand. "Will you--come along?" + +Keeko was on her feet in a moment. For all the days of labour there was +no weariness in her body. Besides---- + +"Guess you're handing me a mystery," she cried happily. "Seeing I'm a +woman I can't just miss it." + +So they passed up the rugged foreshore to the foot of the path that cut +a perilous ascent to the fringe of the primordial forest above. It was +the man who led, and Keeko had no desire that it should be otherwise. + +In a few minutes they were standing beside the fallen tree-trunk where +Marcel had first gazed down upon the scant encampment over which his +sovereignty was now absolute. He drew a deep breath as he gazed again +upon that first scene of the new life that had come to him. + +"Gee!" he said, "I'm kind of glad." + +"Glad?" + +Keeko was regarding him amusedly. In those first three days of their +life together, in her woman's way, she had been studying him. And that +which she had learned filled her with a tender, almost motherly +amusement. He was transparent in his simplicity. His singleness of +purpose was almost amazing. But under it all she had become aware of a +strength and latent force that could only be guessed at. Their talks had +been less intimate during the time of their preparations, and she +understood that it was the result of the purpose that preoccupied him. +Now she speculated as to that which was in his mind. What was the boyish +whim that had brought them to the place he had selected as their tryst? +What was it that had made him express such gladness? + +"I was thinking of that darn old moose," Marcel explained with eyes +alight and whimsical. + +The girl waited and he went on. + +"Say, I guess life's a pretty queer thing," he observed profoundly. +"It's a mighty small piece between content and discontent, isn't it? +It's so small you'd think anyone of sense could fix it so we couldn't be +discontented--ever. Yet we either can't or won't fix it. One leads to +good and the other leads to bad--and only time can say how bad. I was +getting mighty near discontent. Why? Because I'd got most everything I +wanted except the things--I wanted." He laughed. "I was crazy for +something, and I didn't quite know what. There was something in me +crying out, hollering help, and I couldn't hand that help. Well, I guess +there isn't a sound like that going on in me now. I'm just crazy with +content." + +"Why?" + +The girl's question was instant, but, in a moment, she regretted it. + +The man's eyes regarded her steadily for a moment, and Keeko hastily +turned away. Promptly the echoes of the canyon were awakened by the +youth's laughter. + +"I couldn't just tell you--easy," he cried. "But I'm about as content as +a basking seal. That's all. It's easier telling you how I feel glad +thinking of that old moose. Oh, yes, that's easy. I owe him a debt I +can't repay easy, seeing he's dead. Still, I feel like doing the best I +know to make him feel good about things." + +Marcel's mood infected the girl. + +"You're--you're not reckoning to start in and--bury him?" she cried. + +Marcel shook his head. + +"There's only his bones left. The rest of him is chasing around in the +bellies of a pack of timber wolves. No. It's his head and his antlers. +The wolves have cleaned his head sheer to the bone, as I reckoned they +would, and I've toted their leavings right here, and I guess we're going +to set it up a monument. Say, Keeko," he went on, with real seriousness, +"I couldn't quit this camp here without setting up a monument. Do you +know why?" + +Keeko sat herself on the old tree-trunk. She made no reply. She simply +waited for whatever he had to say. + +"It's to commemorate something," he went on quickly, gazing out over the +canyon. "I've found something I've been looking for--years. And I just +didn't know I was looking for it. Well, that old moose found it for me. +So I'm going to set his skull up, with his proud antlers a-top of it, in +the best and highest place I can set it, so his old dead eye sockets can +just look out over the territory he reigned over till Fate reckoned it +was time to set a human queen reigning in his stead. I don't guess he'll +worry about things. He'll just feel proud that it wasn't a feller of his +own sex ever beat him, and, if I know a thing, he'll feel sort of +content and pleased watching over things for us." + +The whim of the man, intended to be so light, was full of real feeling. +Keeko was torn between tears and laughter. In the end she trusted +herself only to a simple question. + +"Where are you going to fix him up?" she demanded. + +The spell was broken. Marcel promptly became the man of action. He +pointed at the gnarled and broken head of a stunted tree growing at the +very edge of the canyon, with its battered crest reaching out at a +perilous angle over the abyss. + +"At the head of that," he said, "so he can watch for your coming up out +of the south, and--tell me about it." + +"But----!" + +A sickening apprehension had seized upon Keeko as she contemplated the +overhang of the tree. It was almost at right angles to the face of the +cliff. It projected out nearly thirty feet, and below--Her woman's heart +could not repress a shudder at the thought of the three hundred feet +drop to the rocky shoals in the waters below. + +"You don't mean that?" she demanded a little desperately. + +Marcel nodded. + +"It's plumb easy." + +There was no showiness, no bravado. Marcel had no thought to dazzle the +girl. His purpose was a simple, boyish act. + +He moved off into the forest while Keeko looked after him. From her +heart she could have begged him to abandon, or modify his plan. But she +refrained, and, somehow, sick at the thought of his purpose, she still +realized a thrill at the object of it all. She looked at the roots of +the overhanging tree and shuddered. They were partly torn out of the +ground. + +Marcel returned with his trophy. It was a burden of no mean weight. And +Keeko's recognition of the fact only added to her fears. + +"How--?" she began. But her question remained unasked. + +"It's a cinch," Marcel cried. "Don't worry a thing. See those?" He +pointed at two thongs of plaited rawhide, each secured to one of the +horns. "Guess I'll tie them into a sling about the old trunk, and move +the poor feller's head up as I get out, leaving it hanging below. Then, +when I get to the end, I'll just haul it up, and fix it in its place. +I've got it all figured." + +Keeko nodded. + +"I can help you fix the slings," she said eagerly. + +"Sure." + +The approval had its effect. Keeko set her teeth, and beat down her +panic. + +The minutes stretched out into the better part of half an hour before +the sling was successfully adjusted about the tree-trunk. But at last +Marcel stood up from his task and regarded the moose head swinging just +beyond the face of the cliff. Then he followed Keeko's gaze, which was +in the direction of the upstanding roots of the tree where they had been +partially torn from their hold in the ground. It was only for a moment, +however. He had no misgivings. Forthwith he divested himself of his +pea-jacket and stood ready for the final task. + +"What--what can I do now?" + +Keeko's voice refused that steadiness which was its wont, and Marcel +laughed. + +"Do? Why just sit around and act audience while I do the balancing act. +Guess that old moose is yearning for his place out there. He didn't +figure on the honour, but--he's earned it." + +And, despite her fears Keeko smiled at the boyishness of it all. + +In a moment her breath was drawn sharply. Marcel was out on the log. He +had passed from the cliff edge and was sitting astride of the trunk with +his feet and calves gripping tight about it like a horseman on a bucking +broncho. His progress was rapid. He lifted the sling and set it out at +the full reach of his powerful arms, and then drew himself out after it. + +Keeko watched. She watched with wide, apprehensive eyes. It was a fear +quite new to her. A vivid imagination possessed her. She saw the great +body of this man lying crushed and broken upon the rocks below, and the +terror of it left her with nerves and muscles straining. She did not +pause to consider the reason of her fears. She knew it, and acknowledged +it to herself. In the battle of life which she had been forced to fight +a champion had suddenly appeared. A champion such as she had sometimes +dreamed of. And with perfect trust and simple faith she had yielded her +soul to him. + +Foot by foot Marcel moved out, always thrusting his trophy ahead of him. +There was a growing vibration in the leaning tree. It laboured under his +weight. He pressed on, his whole mind and purpose concentrated. Keeko +watched the roots for a sign of the strain. There was none. She glanced +out at the distance he yet had to go. And the length of it prompted a +warning cry she dared not utter. Farther and farther he passed on. Then +came a pause that suggested uncertainty. + +Keeko's heart leapt. Was he dizzy? Had he suddenly become aware of the +perilous depth below him? Was his nerve----? + +The moment passed. He was moving on again. The far off head of the tree +was coming nearer, but the vibration had increased with his movements. +Would the roots hold? Could they be expected to with the balance so +heavily against them? Keeko could look no longer, and, in the agony of +the moment, she seized hold of the upstanding roots and clung to them in +a ridiculously impotent frenzy of hope that the weight of her own light +body might help him. + +The vibrations of the tree ceased and Keeko raised her terrified eyes +for the meaning. + +A wave of partial relief swept over her. Marcel had reached his goal. He +had swung up the great moose head to set it in position. It was a +breathless moment. She understood that his greatest difficulties had +begun, and again she withdrew her gaze. But she clung to the roots of +the tree, desperately determined that if the tree fell it should drag +her to the disaster waiting upon him. + +The suspense seemed endless. But at last there was renewed vibration in +the tree. Keeko raised her eyes again. Marcel was moving backwards, and +there, right at the broken head of the tree, the fleshless skull with +its magnificent antlers was set up in its place. + +The girl was still clinging to the upstanding roots when Marcel leapt +from his seat on the trunk and stood confronting her. His quick, smiling +eyes took in the meaning of the situation at once. He reached out and +removed the hands from their task, and, in doing so, he retained them +longer than was necessary. + +"You guessed you could hold that up if it--fell?" he asked. + +And Keeko's reply was full of confusion. + +"I didn't think," she stammered. "I didn't know what to do. It was +shaking, and I thought--I thought----" + +"You didn't want me to get smashed on the rocks below. Well--say--!" +Marcel turned abruptly and pointed at the splendid antlers. "There he +is," he laughed. "Isn't he a dandy? You could see him miles. And he's +feeling good. He just told me that before I quit him. And he said he'd +stop right there and see no harm came along your way. So I patted his +darn old head, and told him I'd come along each year and see the rawhide +was sound, and, if necessary, I'd fix him up again. Well?" + +Keeko's fears had passed like a summer storm and the sun of her smile +had returned again to her eyes. + +"I'm just glad," she said. Then she became serious. "Say, do you believe +in omens?" She was gazing out at the great antlers. "I don't guess you +do. Only Indians worry with omens. Not folks of sense. Still, I kind of +fancy that feller set up that way is our omen. He's going to hand us +good luck in plenty. We'll get a great 'catch' where we're going, and +we'll get back-safe. Do you think that?" + +"Sure. Guess I think a heap more than that, though." Marcel's smile was +good to see. "That's not the limit of our luck," he went on. "Not by a +lot. Say, I was raised by a feller who handed me a whole heap of wisdom. +Guess there's more wisdom in him than ever I could get a grip on. He +always guessed that luck was real in the folk who understood that way. +He said a feller made his luck by faith. The darn fool who squealed +because things went wrong queered his own luck, and just chased it out +of sight. Get a notion and hammer it through so long as you've a breath +in your body, and, if you act that way, luck'll pour itself all over you +till you're kind of floating around on a sea of desire fulfilled. That's +been his way, and I reckon it's good. I'm out to act as he said, so I +don't reckon that hollow-eyed feller out there is the whole meaning of +things. I've got all my notions and I'm going to push 'em plumb +through." + +Keeko nodded. + +"That's the grit a man needs," she said. "Maybe a woman does, too, +only--she's kind of different." + +"Is she?" Marcel shook his head, and his eyes were full of a boyish +humour. "She isn't--when it comes to grit. Say, there's only one woman I +know except you, and those poor folks you see in Seal Bay, who--who +don't know better. But that other woman and you have taught me things +about grit most fellers don't ever learn. Most all the time a feller +who's built strong can fight to the limit of his muscles. A gal isn't +born with muscles worth speaking about, and she spends her life mostly +fighting beyond the limit. Say, she's born to troubles and worries all +the time. And she mostly gets through all the time. Why? Grit! She +doesn't just care a darn. She's going to get through--and she does. Say, +let's get along down and leave that wall-eyed old figurehead keeping +guard. Come on." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE CLOSE OF THE SEASON + + +For days the journey continued through the ever deepening gorge. The +stern grey walls remained unbroken, except for occasional sentry trees +which had survived the years of storm and flood. Carpets of Arctic +lichen sometimes clothed their nakedness, and even wide wastes of +noisome fungus. But these things had no power to depress Marcel and +Keeko; the Indians, too, passed them all unheeded. They were concerned +alone with the perils of the waters which were often almost +overwhelming. + +The journey northward was one continuous struggle by day, and the daylit +night was passed in the profound slumbers of exhausted bodies, with the +canoes beached on some low foreshore dank with an atmosphere of hideous +decay. + +For Keeko and the Indians it seemed as if the land was rising ever +higher and higher, and the endless waterway was cutting its course +deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. But there was no +question. Marcel was piloting them to a hunting ground of his own, and +this passage was the highway to it. + +Only once did Keeko protest. It was a protest that was natural enough. +But Marcel swept it aside without scruple. + +"I call this 'Hell's Gate,'" he said, with a ready laugh. "Sounds +rotten? But I always figger you need to pass through 'some' hell to make +Paradise. We're in a mighty big country, and a-top of us are hundreds, +and maybe thousands, of miles of forests that never heard tell of man. +Wait. There's a break soon, just beyond the big rapids. That's where +these darn old walls of rock fade right out, and make way for a lake +that's like a sea." + +It was his undisturbed confidence that broke the constant threat of +imagination. This north country was Marcel's home. He knew no other. So +they drove on, and on, to the goal that he had set. + +The great rapids came at them as he had promised. And, in turn, they +were passed on that narrow margin which is the line drawn between safety +and destruction. Then came the mouth of the gorge, and the stretch of +open river where it debouched upon the "lake that was like a sea." + +For Keeko it was all like some wonderful dream with Marcel the magician +who inspired it. + +Two days later they had landed in a country whose relation to that which +Keeko knew was only in the swarming flies and mosquitoes, and the keen +air, which, even in the height of the open season, warned her of the +terrors which must reign when the aurora lit the night of winter. + +"Guess this is Paradise," Marcel explained, in answer to Keeko's +expressed delight at the wide openness of it all, and at the sight of +the sparse, lean Arctic grass which replaced the monotony of the +shadowed river. "Guess it's a matter of contrasts," he went on. "It's +kind of light, I guess, and it makes you think it's green. There's bush, +or scrub, and bluffs of timber. But there's other things. It's mostly a +sort of tundra and muskeg. There's more flies to the square inch than +you'd reckon there's room for. But it's the home of the silver fox +that's never been hunted." + +His words were lost upon the girl. Her whole attention had become +absorbed with her first glance out across the lake. She was staring at a +range of tremendous hills far away to the north-east, and her wonder-lit +eyes were held by a strange phenomenon that filled the sky. + +It was a blaze of ruddy light tinting a world of frothing cloud. To her +it looked like a stormy oasis in the steely blue of an almost cloudless +sky. It might have been the splendid light of an angry sunset, only that +the sun was shining directly behind her. She pointed at it. + +"That!" she cried, in a startled, hushed voice. "What's that?" + +Marcel regarded the scene for some silent moments. It was a spectacle +that stirred him. He was closer to Nature than he knew. The primitive +was deeply rooted in him for all the pains at which Uncle Steve had been +to widen his outlook through the learning which his dead father had left +behind. Here was a caldron of fire playing its reflection upon a tumult +of cloud. The cloud itself stood unaccounted in a perfect sky. + +But the answer came readily. Marcel knew those streaks of red and gold, +those rosy tints in contrast against the threatening cloud. They were +the lights of Unaga. The lights from the Heart of Unaga, the dread Heart +that haunted the Indian mind, and the secret of which Uncle Steve had so +recently disclosed to him. + +What could he say to this girl to whom he could not lie? + +Doubt and hesitancy passed. These things could not long exist in a +nature such as his. + +"Guess I haven't seen it ever like that before," he said. Then he +corrected himself. "Not in my recollection. But I know what it is. +That's the Heart of Unaga. It's a heart always afire. It's real red-hot +fire that no man's ever had the nerve to get near. The Eskimo know it. +And it scares them to death. They sort of reckon it's the world where +the devil reigns. The hell that some folks reckon is real, and +hot--and--hellish. But the feller that banks on learning and isn't +worried by superstition'll just hand you the plain truth. It's a +volcano, a real, live volcano which they reckon is the heart of Unaga." + +The awe in Keeko's eyes only deepened. + +"It's--it's just amazing," she cried. Then she added with a deep breath, +"It's--dreadful." + + * * * * * + +From the moment of their landing on the shores of the lake Marcel and +Keeko became absorbed in the work that had brought them thither. + +The wonder of the fiery Heart of Unaga swiftly passed, and only in the +brief moments over the camp-fire its fascination claimed them. At such +moments neither was quite free from the superstition they derided. For +Keeko it was a mystery of the unknown. For Marcel it was, perhaps, the +key to the whole life effort of the man who was his second father. + +But the fur hunt was theirs, and with this no mystery of Unaga was +permitted to interfere. Marcel was determined on a result such as he had +never desired before. He dreamed of silver fox, he thought of silver +fox. Silver and black fox had become the sole purpose of his life. + +So they beat this great, wide, half-created valley with trap and gun. +They beat it up with all the skill of a life of experience, and reward +came plentifully. It came rapidly, too. Sometimes it was almost +overwhelming. + +It was a land teeming with game of every description known to the +regions north of 60 deg.. The neighbourhood of the lake was alive with +feather. Geese swarmed in their thousands, and there were moments when +the sky was black with their legions. Duck, too, of every description +had winged up from the south to the virgin waters of the North as Nature +reluctantly released these hunting-grounds from the bonds of winter. +Beaver and musk-ox, caribou and black-tail, reindeer and all the legions +of lesser furs abounded. Thus, in consequence, it was the normal +hunting-ground of the pariah of the beast world. Fox swarmed to the +feast that was spread out. And it was the fox alone that needed to fear +the coming of the fur hunter. + +The slaughter of fox was immense, but selection was discriminate. Only +the silver or black were troubled about, and these were collected with a +care and skill that ensured the perfection of the pelts. Marcel was +better than his word. He lived on the trail, and the Indians were given +no rest. Keeko, borne on the uplift of success, knew no weariness when +the effort promised treasure. They were working against time. Each of +them knew it. And Marcel had the whole season mapped out almost to the +hour. + +So the days drew out into weeks, and the sun dropped lower and lower +towards the horizon. Steadily the nights grew longer, and the working +hours less. With each passing day the store of perfect pelts mounted. +They were pegged out and dried, and set ready for storing at the moment +the frost should bite through the air and hold them imperishable against +their journey down to Keeko's home. + +Life was almost uneventful in the monotony of success. Rains came, and +gales blew down off the distant hills to the north-east. There were +times when the great lake justified Marcel's description of it. It raged +like a storm-swept sea, and white capped waves broke upon its bosom. But +with the passing of the storm and the flattening influence of the rain, +or under the breaking forth of the chilly Northern sunshine, peace was +restored, and the calm looked never to have been broken. + +But for all the vagaries of climate, for all the unvarying nature of +their labours, there was no monotony in the hearts of Marcel and Keeko. +With every passing hour they came nearer and nearer to each other. The +youth in them was driving them to that splendid ultimate, which is the +horizon of all things between man and woman. There were no doubts. And +their only fear was the nearing of that dreaded day when parting must +come, and each would be forced to pursue the journey alone. + +The parting was in the back of their minds almost from the moment of +their arrival at the valley of the lake. Each day that passed was marked +off in Keeko's mind. It was always one step nearer to the time when she +would be forced to bid farewell to the glad light of Marcel's happy +eyes, and the sound of his deep-toned, cheerful voice. + +She knew. She had known it from those first happy days of their +preparations for this northward adventure. And she admitted it without +shame. She had learned to love the boy with a depth and strength she had +never thought to yield to any man. + +Love? It had seemed so far removed from her life, and from those with +whom her life had been associated. She had thought a thousand times of +those men with whom she had been brought into contact. And the very idea +of love had only filled her with nausea. Her experience, from her +step-father down to the loafing "sharps" of Seal Bay, had firmly planted +in her mind the conviction that the men who haunted the shadows north +of 60 deg. were only creatures whose quality of soul dared not display +itself in the sunlight of truth and honesty. + +Yet here, here where the world's dark secrets were more deeply hidden +than anywhere else, even with Marcel's simple confession of a hidden +purpose, secret movements, she had found a man before whom her woman's +heart had at once prostrated itself. It was amazing even to her. She +found no explanation even in her moments of heart searching. More than +that she had no desire to explain or excuse. The wonderful dream of life +had come true. She had yielded unbidden, and nothing she could think of +in life could undo the work that had been accomplished almost in the +first moments of their meeting. + +So it was she watched the store of pelts mount up, she watched the +growing laze of the sun as it rose less and less above the horizon, and +she noted with dread the steady lengthening of the brief summer night. +Soon, far too soon, must come that parting which would rob her life of +the light which had so suddenly broken through its shadows. + +And Marcel was no less troubled. But his nature refused to admit the end +which Keeko saw ahead. His was a splendid optimism that refused defeat. +He had the tryst he had established in his mind. And far back behind his +ingenuous eyes the purpose lurked that should necessity arise he would +cut every tie that bound his life, no matter at what cost, and pursue to +its logical end the wonderful dream that had been vouchsafed to him. + +With determination such as this Marcel delayed the start of the return +journey to the last possible moment. And Keeko set no obstacle in the +way. She asked no margin of time for accident by the way. She was +prepared to accept all chances. The last moments before the permanent +freeze up must see her back at her home. For the rest this wild, uncouth +land was a radiant garden of delight to her. + +But time waits no more for lovers than it waits for those whose hope is +dying with the years. In the Northern wilderness time must be calculated +almost to the second, and so the limit of safety was reached in a +dalliance that had nothing to do with the necessities of their trade. +The moment had come when the return must begin, or the disaster of +winter would terminate for ever their youthful dream. The night frosts +had done their work upon the pelts. The day was no longer sufficiently +warm to seriously undo it. So the canoes floated laden at their moorings +as Keeko had dreamed they would, and the last night on the shores of the +lake was already closing down. + +The camp-fire of driftwood and peat was glowing ruddily. The Indians +were already deep within their fur-lined bags, and slumbering with the +utter indifference engendered of complete weariness of body. Marcel and +Keeko were squatting beside each other over the cheering warmth which +kept the night chills at bay. Marcel was smoking. Keeko had no such +comfort. + +"I'd say Lorson Harris'll need to hand you something a heap better than +five thousand dollars," Marcel observed with a laugh of genuine +satisfaction and without turning from his contemplation of the fire. +"Where'll you keep it so----?" + +Keeko looked up with a start. Her thoughts had been far removed from the +profit of her trade. + +"At the bank at Seal Bay," she said hastily, lest her abstraction should +be noticed. + +"You keep it all--there?" + +"No." Keeko shook her head. "But I'll have to--this. It's just too big. +I'd be scared to carry it with me." + +Marcel laughed again. + +"That 'scare' again," he said. Then he turned, and for a moment gazed at +the perfect profile which showed up against the growing dusk. "Say, you +make me laff. Scare? You don't know what it means." + +Keeko's eyes lit responsively as she turned and looked into his strong, +fire-lit face. + +"Not now," she said quietly. "When I'm down there alone +it's--different." + +"Alone?" Marcel removed his pipe from between his strong teeth. Then he +nodded. "Yes," he agreed, "maybe it's different then." + +Just for a moment the impulse was strong in him to fling all +responsibility to the winds. He wanted to crush her in his great arms +and tell her all those things which life ordains that woman shall yearn +to hear. But the impulse was resisted. He knew it had to be. + +"But you don't ever need to be alone again," he said simply. "You're +forgetting. There's that darn old moose. That's a sign. You've only to +send word, or come right along up. You see, the folks who're alone are +the folks who've got no one to go to when things get awry. I guess you +can't ever feel just alone now--whatever happens." + +Keeko's eyes were very soft, very tender as she looked up into Marcel's +face. + +"It's good to hear that. It's good to feel that," she said gently. "And +I do feel it," she added with a deep sigh. "I've a whole heap to thank +God for, and, if it's not wrong to put it that way, still more to thank +you for. I just don't know how to say it all. But just as long as I live +I----" + +"Cut it right out, Keeko. Cut it right out." + +Marcel spoke hastily. He spoke almost roughly. He was in no frame of +mind to listen complacently to any words of thanks from this girl. +Thanks? If thanks were due it was from him. She had given him her trust +and confidence. She had given him moments in his life such as he had +never dreamed could fall to the lot of any man. In the firelight he +flushed deeply at the thought, and again impulse stirred and nearly +overwhelmed him. + +"I just can't stand thanks from you, Keeko," he said impulsively. +"Thanks only need to come from folks whom you help feeling you don't +fancy doing it. You've handed me the sort of happiness that makes a +feller feel like getting onto his hands and knees and thanking God for. +Say, I can't talk to you same as I fancy to, and I guess it's not my +fault. You don't know who I am, or a thing about me. And you can't hand +me much more about yourself. Still, I sort of feel the time'll come when +we can open out things. What I want to say is, you've handed me a trust +that isn't hardly natural. You've chased this country with a feller who +might be any old thing from a 'hold-up' to a 'gun-artist,' and they're +around in plenty north of 60 deg.. And it's the big white heart inside you +made you act that way, and I sort of feel that big white heart is still +my care, even after we've made good-bye at that old moose head. I wish +to death I could say the things I fancy right, but I just can't, and +it's no use in talking. But don't you ever dare to hand me thanks, or +I'll have to get right up and break things." + +Keeko's reply was a low thrilling laugh, full of a gentle gladness which +she cared not if he read. + +"Maybe you haven't said the things the way you fancy saying them," she +said, in her gentle fashion. "But you've said them the way I'd have you +say them. But you're right. There's folks in a person's life you can't +thank, you haven't a right to thank, and maybe that's how we're fixed. +You've jumped right into my life with your big body and generous heart, +and I--well, I guess you haven't found things easier because I've butted +into yours. Still, the thing's happened, and it makes me kind of glad. +Some day--But there--what's the use?" + +The temptation was irresistible. Marcel flung out one great hand and +closed it over the hands the girl was holding out to the fire. + +"That's it," he said hoarsely, while his body thrilled at the girl's +warm clasp in his. "What's the use? Neither you nor I can say the things +we feel. That's so. There's a great big God of this Northland looking on +and fixing things the way He sees. As you say 'Some day'! Meanwhile +there's the start back to-morrow morning. Just get right along and +sleep, and dream good, and be sure you're aren't alone in the +world--ever again." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE FAREWELL + + +A burden of grey hung depressingly over the world. A bleak north wind +came down the river gorge. The sun's power had weakened before the +advance of the Arctic night. Beaten, dismayed, it lived only just above +the skyline. + +The sightless sockets of the old moose stared wide-eyed down the river. +They were fulfilling the task that had been set them. The howling of the +gale, the polar cold, the blinding storm of snow; these things would +have no power to turn them from their vigil. The wide-antlered, +bleaching skull was the guardian of the tryst, and its sole concern was +its watch and ward. + +The chill and cheerlessness of it all was reaching at the hearts of the +boy and girl who were at the moment of parting. Marcel was silently +whittling a stout twig of tamarack, whose toughness threatened to dull +the keen edge of his sheath-knife. Keeko was standing a few feet from +him, within a yard or so of the precipice which dropped sheer to the +waters below. Her eyes were following the direction of the gaze of the +old moose, and the picture her mind was dwelling upon was far removed +from what she beheld. + +It was of the long, lonesome winter, with her mother dying by inches, +while she, herself, spent her days in the avoidance of her step-father +whom she had learned to fear as well as to hate. Marcel had no such +bitterness to look out upon. But he was none the less weighted down that +the farewell must be spoken. + +The hot blood of youth was surging through his veins. Manhood's reckless +passion was beating in heart and brain. A desperate desire to yield to +the call of Nature was urging him mercilessly. Yet, through it all, he +knew that the farewell must be said now, for both their sakes, for the +sake of honour, of loyalty, for the sake of Love itself. + +Oh, yes. He knew how easy it would be to sweep along on the tide of +passion. But he loved Keeko. Loved her with all his simple heart and +body, and his love was bound up with an honour which he had no power to +outrage. + +Time and again in the madness of the moment he thought to urge Keeko to +abandon all and return with him to the home which he knew would hold +nothing but welcome for her. He thought of all that happiness which +might be hers in the kindly associations of Uncle Steve and An-ina. He +thought of all the wretchednesses of soul he would save her from, the +dread of that step-father, whom she had declared to be a murderer at +heart. Then he remembered the dying mother whose one care was the child +of her heart, and he realized that his own desire must not be. The +farewell must be taken now. + +Once he thought to continue the journey with her to help her complete +her final task of trading her pelts. But he remembered in time, and +thrust temptation from him. There was An-ina demanding his protection in +Uncle Steve's absence during the winter. There was his pledge to that +man who never questioned his given word. + +Looking up his ardent gaze rested on the figure poised so near the brink +of the gorge. + +"Keeko!" + +His voice was deep with feeling. Its tone was imperative, too. + +"Yes--Marcel?" + +Keeko's reply was low-voiced and almost humble. She felt his gaze even +before he spoke. Had she not intercepted it a hundred times in their +work together? Oh, yes. She knew it. And that which she had seen, and +read, had been the answer she most desired to all the yearnings of her +woman's heart. Now she knew that the moment she most dreaded had come at +last. And she wondered and feared as she had never feared in her life +before. + +Marcel drove his knife deeply in a diagonal cut into the hard wood of +the tamarack. + +"You've a month to the freeze up," he said. "It's the limit you need. +I've figgered it. I've talked it out with Little One Man." + +"Yes. I can make home in a month." + +Keeko drew a sharp breath. She could make home. Never in her life had +she felt as she felt now. Home! + +Marcel ripped his knife in an opposite diagonal on the reverse of the +wood. The force he applied seemed almost vicious. + +"Are--you glad?" + +"I--s'pose so." + +"You--s'pose so? Of course you are. There's your poor sick mother." + +"Yes." + +The girl's reply was almost inaudible. Marcel wrenched the wood in half +with his powerful hands. It snapped, and he examined the pronged ends +critically. + +With an effort Keeko bestirred herself from her despondency. + +"Yes," she cried desperately. "I must get home. I want to. I love my +mother, Marcel. She's suffered. Oh, how she suffers. Yet through it all +she thinks only of me. She schemes and hopes only for me. Maybe I can't +hope to save her life, but I can tell her the things that'll let her die +almost happy. It's the best I can do, and I--I'm glad to do it." + +Marcel nodded over his two pieces of wood. + +"That's how I feel about it," he said. "It seems to me we haven't any +sort of right to set up the things that 'ud please us against the +happiness of those who've been good to us. I'd thought of beating down +this river with you, to see things through for you. Then I remembered a +sort of mother woman who looks to me for the help of a son. Then I +thought of asking you to cut the home with a step-father, who's a +murderer at heart, and come along where you'd find only love and +friendship. Then I remembered your sick mother. I'm guessing the self of +things is mighty big, but there's something bigger. Still--Say, come and +sit right here!" + +He was smiling. But his eyes were full of a deep tenderness. + +Keeko obeyed. She had no desire to deny him. He seemed to have robbed +her of all will of her own. His will had become wholly her desire. She +took her seat on the tree-trunk, just removed from his side by a rift in +the great log which was hidden under a growth of lichen. + +Marcel's eyes sought hers. But she had turned from him. She was gazing +out at the moose head set up over the gorge. + +"How am I to hear if you're needing my help?" he demanded. "I can't make +here till the first break of spring. There's just one hell of a long +winter before that." + +Marcel was endeavouring to smother his feeling. Keeko shook her head. +Had she not thought and thought over this very thing? + +"I won't need help," she said. "Not now. You've helped me through my +only worry. If mother lives, things'll just go on the same. If--she +doesn't? She and I--we got it fixed. I hit right out for myself as we've +planned it--that's all." + +But the hot blood had mounted to Marcel's head. "It's not!" he cried +with startling force. "D'you think you're going out of my life that way? +You?" Suddenly he broke into a laugh that echoed down the gorge. He +pointed out at the moose head. "Look at the old feller," he cried. "He's +winking his old eyes and flapping the comic ears he hasn't got. I swear +if you could only hear it he's busting his sides laffing at the joke of +you reckoning to cut yourself out of my life that way. No, sir! I'm +coming right along here at the first break of spring, and if I don't +find you around, or a sign from you, I'm beating up this river to look +for you, if I have to chase it sheer up to its source. Say, you can't +hide yourself in a corner of this darnation territory I won't find you +in. And I guess I'm just as obstinate as a she-wolf chasing a feed of +human meat. It can't be done, Keeko. Not now. I tell you it can't be +done." + +The man's force was no less for all his smiling eyes. And Keeko made no +pretence. + +"But why?" she cried, with a gesture of her hands that made him desire +to imprison them. "Why should you worry? You've helped me to the things +that'll leave me free of--everything. I haven't a right. I haven't any +sort of right to take you from your folks, and from those things it's +your work to do for them. Besides, who said I figgered to cut myself out +of your life?" She smiled up into his eyes with an almost child-like +confidence. "I don't want to. I--I hadn't a thought that way. Say, if I +thought I'd never see you again I'd feel like nothing in the world ever +could matter. The thing I'm guessing to make plain is when we quit here +you don't need to worry a thing. I'll get through, and next spring I'll +come right along up and tell you how I'm fixed." + +Marcel sat up, and, reaching out, caught and imprisoned the hands he +desired. + +"You'll do that?" he cried, while he drew her round so that she faced +him. "Sure? Sure you mean that? You'll come right along up here with the +break of winter, and we'll----" + +"I certainly will." + +Keeko's youth was no less than Marcel's. Her eyes were without any +shyness. She looked into his fearlessly, and read without shame all that +they expressed. She was glad. Her heart was full of a delight of which +even parting could not rob her. The memory of that which she beheld now +would be hers during the long, drear months of winter, a sheet anchor of +hope, of joy, something to tell her always that, whatever might chance, +life still held for her a priceless treasure of which it could never +wholly rob her. + +Marcel released her hands lingeringly. + +"Here," he cried holding up the pieces of tamarack he had cut. "These +darned bits of wood." Then he raised the lichen, which had been +carefully loosened, and revealed the gaping rift in the tree-trunk +beneath it. "Our cache," he added. "Say, maybe when spring breaks +there's things might make it so you can't get along up here. You see, +it's a chance. You can't just say. Maybe I'm scared. Anyway, I got a +notion you might need me in a hurry. I'm scared for you. That's it. I'm +scared for you. Well? You've got your boys. Either of 'em could make +this place in the winter. Here, grab this little old stick. I'll keep +the other. It's just a token. I've set your name on it. Well, send it +along up, and cache it in this cache, and when I come along and find it +here, instead of you, at the break of spring, I'll know you're held up +and need me, and you can gamble your big white soul I'll beat the trail +to your help like a cyclone in a hurry. Oh, I know. You'll guess nothing +can happen that way. But it's just my notion, and you're going to kind +of humour me. Git that? When I find that token set in this cache I'll +make up the river just as hard as hell'll let me." + +In spite of her confidence Keeko accepted the stick the boy passed to +her and sat gazing at it. It was then that she discovered the lettering +that had been cut on it. There were just two words in letters crudely +formed: "LITTLE KEEKO." + +For a while her eyes dwelt upon them absorbing all the tenderness they +conveyed. Then, in a moment, all the truth in her, the woman, roused +into active purpose. She handed it back to him. + +"You've given me the wrong token," she said, with a laugh. "I need one +with your name on it." + +She held out her hand and Marcel passed her the other half of the stick. +It was inscribed with the single word: "MARCEL." Instantly the girl rose +from her seat and moved away. + +"We best get back to camp," she said. + +It was her woman's defence. Another few moments and Keeko knew she would +have been powerless before her own passionate emotion. + +She led the way to the head of the path which went down to the little +camp on the foreshore below. + + * * * * * + +Marcel was standing beside the tree which had become the centre of all +things for him. The grey night sky had remained. It had only deepened +its threat with the dawn. But the reality of the moment was nothing to +the desolate winter that had settled upon his heart. + +The farewell lay behind him. He was alone, desperately alone, in a world +where he had never realized loneliness before. And there, far out down +on the broad bosom of the river, were the canoes carrying with them his +every hope, his every desire. + +The bitterness, the depression robbed him of all the buoyant manhood +that was his. Keeko had gone. Keeko. Keeko with her wonderful eyes, and +the grace and symmetry of a youthful goddess. Yes, she had gone, and +between them now lay that long winter night with all its manifold +chances of disaster. With the break of spring he might look for her +coming again. Yes, he might look for it. But would she come? He +wondered. And again and again he cursed himself that he had listened to +other than the promptings of his desire. + +The canoes reached the bend of the river driven by paddles in hands that +were wonderfully skilled. They were about to pass out of view behind the +grey wall of stone which lined the waterway. The figure of the girl in +the prow of the hindmost boat was blurred and indistinct. Marcel had +eyes for nothing else. He raised his fur cap and waved it slowly to and +fro. And as he waved he thought he detected a similar movement in the +boat. He could not be sure at the distance. But he believed. He hoped it +was so. He wanted it to be. + +He turned away. The boats had passed the grey barrier. There was nothing +left but to set out to rejoin his outfit, and return---- + +His wandering gaze had fallen on the tree-trunk which held such happy +memories for him. He was gazing upon the lichen covering their cache. +The lichen was sadly, recklessly disturbed. He knew he had not left it +in that condition. He was far too experienced, too old in the craft of +the trail to leave a cache in such a state. He stepped over to it +hurriedly, and raised the covering Nature had set. He peered down into +the deep pocket beneath it. + +The next moment a sharp exclamation broke from him. He plunged a hand +into the pocket and drew out the token he had handed to Keeko +over-night. + +He stared at it. It was her demand for his help. She had placed it +there--when? It must have been during the night. Why? What did she mean? +Did she desire him to follow--now? + +He turned it about in his big fingers, and in a moment discovered fresh +characters cut roughly into the wood. It was a word prefixing the name +which he had set there: "MY MARCEL." + +"My Marcel!" + +He was not dreaming. No--no! The little added word was there cut in by a +hopelessly unskilled hand. But it was there, as plain as intent could +make it. "My Marcel." It told him all--all that a man desires to know +when a woman bares her heart to him. It was Keeko's farewell message +that he was not intended to discover till the break of winter. It was +her summons to him, not for mere help, but a summons to him telling him +that her love was his. + +He ran to the edge of the cliff. He searched the grey headland where the +shadows had swallowed up the canoes. There remained nothing--nothing but +the dull, cold prospect of the coming of winter--the relentless Arctic +winter. + +He stood there without sign or sound. He made no movement. But the heart +of the man was shining in his eyes. + +A shot rang out in the woods behind him. It was distant, but it split up +the silence with a meaning that could not be denied. + +Marcel turned. The light in his eyes had changed. They were shadowed as +not even the parting had shadowed them. Oh, yes, he knew. It was a +signal to him. His own men were searching for him. It warned him that +winter was fast approaching, that merciless winter of Unaga, and these +men, these Sleepers, were eager to return to the warm comfort of their +quarters and their winter's sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THROUGH THE EYES OF A WOMAN + + +An-ina smoothed her brown hand over the superfine surface of the spread +of buckskin where it lay on the counter in the store. Her dark eyes were +critically contemplating it, while she held ready a large pair of +scissors. + +A great contentment pervaded her life. It was in her wide, wise eyes now +as she considered the piece of material which was to provide a shirt for +Steve. The buckskin had been prepared by her own hands. It was soft, and +tawny with the perfect tint she desired. It could not be too soft, or +too good for Steve. That was her thought as she prepared to hew it into +shape for the sewing and beading which no other hands would be permitted +to work. + +Her contemplation was broken by the abrupt flinging open of the door of +the store. She turned quickly, expectantly, and the smiling content in +her eyes, as they rested on the figure of Steve, left no doubt as to the +welcome nature of the interruption. + +"You mak your plan?" she demanded. + +The manner of her question was that of poignant interest. Her whole +thought was centred on the life and well-being of this white man. For +the moment the buckskin was forgotten. + +Steve closed the door. He came over to the counter behind which were +piled the stores of his trade. He leant against it, and his steady eyes +regarded the handsome, dusky woman, who had come to him at the moment of +his life's disaster, and had been his strong comfort and support ever +since. + +"Yes." He nodded, in the decided fashion that was always his. "We can't +wait." + +"You go--before Marcel come?" + +There was no surprise in the woman's reply. + +"The outfit's ready. The dogs are hardened to the bone. Every day, I +guess, is a day lost. The snow's thick on the ground and the waters are +frozen up. Well? We can't guess the time it'll take us this trip. We +can't spare an hour. If we get through, it don't matter. If we fail we +need to make back here before the 'Sleepers' crawl out from under their +dope. If we wait for Marcel, and he don't get right along quick, it +means losing time we can't ever make good. You get all that?" + +The woman turned up the oil lamp. The day was dark for all the lolling +sun in the horizon. She passed across to the stove, roaring comfortingly +under its open draft. She closed the damper and stood over it with hands +outstretched to the warmth. It was a favourite attitude of hers. + +"An-ina know," she said. "An' Marcel? What it keep him so much long? All +time he come before snow. Now? No. Why is it?" + +A shadow of anxiety descended upon her placid face. A pucker drew her +brows together. Her heart was troubled. + +Steve shook his head. He showed no sign of sharing her concern. + +"He'll be along," he said confidently. "I'm not worried a thing. I'd +trust Marcel to beat the game more than I would myself. You needn't to +be scared. No. It's not that." + +"What it--then?" + +An-ina's eyes were full of a concern she had no desire to conceal. She +had nothing to conceal from this man who was the god of her woman's +life. + +"I just can't say," Steve said. "But--I'm not worried. The thing is we'd +fixed it that I didn't quit till Marcel got to home." + +"Why?" + +Steve shrugged, but his eyes were smiling. + +"Oh, I guess we don't fancy leaving you without men folk around. It +isn't that things are likely to worry any. But you see--you're all we've +got. You're a sort of anchor that holds us fast to things. You see, I +guess Marcel reckons you his mother, and I, why--it don't need me to say +how I feel." + +The look in the woman's dark eyes deepened. She knew the feelings +prompting Steve. Oh, yes. She knew. And she thanked the God she had +learned to believe in, and to worship, for the happiness which he had +permitted her in the midst of the terrors of this desolate Northern +country. Her answer came at once. It came full of her generosity. + +"Ah," she cried quickly. "You think all this thing--you men! An' what +An-ina think? Oh, An-ina think much. So much. Listen. She tell. Marcel +him big feller. Him mak' summer trail. Far--far. An-ina not know. Him +wolf all come around. Him river with much water--rapids--rocks. Him +muskeg. Him everything bad, an' much danger. An-ina she not say, 'An-ina +come too, so no harm come by Marcel.' She say, 'no.' Marcel big man. +Marcel brave. Him fight big. So him God of white man kill Marcel all up, +then An-ina heart all break, but she say it all His will. So she not +say nothing. Steve him go by Unaga, where all him devil men. They get +him. They kill him. Then An-ina all mak' big weep--inside. She say +nothing. She not say 'An-ina come, too, so she frighten all devil men +away.' Oh, no. An-ina woman. She not scare any more as Steve an' Marcel. +She sit by fire. She mak' Steve him shirt. She have gun, plenty. No man +come. Oh, no. She not scare for nothing. An-ina brave woman, too. Steve, +Marcel mak' her coward. Oh, no. Outfit ready--Julyman--Oolak--all him +dogs. Yes. Steve him go--right away. Bimeby Marcel him come. So." + +An-ina's voice was low and soft. But for all her halting use of the +white man's tongue, with which she found so much difficulty, there was +decision and earnest in every word she uttered. There was the force, +too, of a brave, clear-thinking mind in it. And it left Steve with +difficulty in answering her. Besides for all his desire to protest, he +knew he must go, or sacrifice that thing which had brought him to Unaga. + +With characteristic decision he accepted her protest. He knew her +generosity and courage. But a sense of shame was not lacking at the +thought that the very position he had used to convince Marcel could not +be allowed to stand where his purpose was threatened. + +"I've got to go," he said almost doggedly. "But I hate the thought of +leaving you, An-ina. If Marcel would only get around now, I'd feel easy. +But there's not a sign of him. He's late--late and--Psha! It's no sort +of use. I must pull out right away." + +He stood up from the counter and came over to the stove. An-ina's dark +eyes watched him. Even in her untutored mind she understood the strength +of character which overrode his every scruple, his every sentiment. Her +regard for him was something of idolatry, and deep in her soul she knew +that the gleanings in his heart left by that white woman were hers. +Maybe they were only gleanings, but she asked no more. She was content. +She knew no distinction between mistress and wife. The natural laws were +sufficient. He was the joy of her savage heart, and she was the only +woman in his life. It was as she would have it. + +He came up to her and stood gazing down at the long, thin hands +outspread to the warmth. Then with an unaccustomed display of feeling he +thrust one arm through hers, and his strong hand clasped itself over +both of hers. + +"Say, An-ina, I'm going a hell of a long trail. It's so long we just +can't figure the end. It's a winter trail northward, and I don't need to +tell you a thing of what that means. I'd say anyone but you and Marcel +would guess I'm crazy. Well, I'm not. But it's a mighty desperate chance +we're taking. If we win through, and get what we're chasing, it means +the end of this country for all of us. Maybe you'll be glad. I don't +know. If we fail--well, I can't just figure on failure. I never have and +I don't reckon to start that way now. But I got to hand you 'good-bye' +this time. It's not that way with us usually. But this time I sort of +feel I want to. You're just a great woman, and you've been mostly the +whole meaning of things to me since--since--Anyway, I've done the best +I know to hand you all the happiness lying around in a territory there's +nothing much to in that way. But all that's nothing to what you've been +to me. Well, my dear, I don't guess it's our way talking these things, +but I got that inside me makes me want to say a whole heap about how I +feel and what I think. Guess I'm not going to try though. It wouldn't +amount to anything if I talked a day through. I wouldn't have said half +I needed to. You and Marcel are all I've got, and you two dear folk'll +be the last thought I have in life. You'll help him, my dear, won't +you? You're just Marcel's mother, and if I don't get back you'll need to +be his father, too. Good-bye." + +An-ina made no reply. She had listened to him with a heart that was +overflowing. As he said "good-bye" she turned her head, and the +speechlessness of their farewell was deep with simple human passion. + +A moment later they had moved apart. It was Steve's initiative. + +"Now? You go--now?" + +An-ina's voice was heroic in its steadiness. There was not a sign of +tears in her shining eyes. She followed him to the door as though his +going were an ordinary incident in their day's routine, and stood there, +while he passed out, the very embodiment of that stoicism for which her +race is so renowned. + + * * * * * + +An-ina was alone. Only the skeleton of her life at the fort remained to +keep her company. The flesh was shorn from the bone. That flesh which +had made her life an existence of joy which the greatest terror of Unaga +was powerless to rob her of. It is true there were a few of the trail +dogs left behind, and some of the reindeer. But what were these half +wild creatures in exchange for a human companionship in which her whole +soul was bound up? + +But An-ina was free of the vain imaginings which curse the lives of +those who boast the culture of civilization. She was content in her +woman's memory, in her looking forward, and the present was full of an +hundred and one occupations which held her mind to the exclusion of +everything but the contemplation of the coming joy of reunion. + +She had claimed to herself a bravery equal to that of her men folk. She +might well have claimed more. She possessed, in addition to that active +courage which belongs to the adventurer, the passive, courageous +endurance of the woman. So, with an unruffled calm, she set about the +daily "chores" that were hers, and added to them all those labours which +were necessary that this outland home should lack nothing in its welcome +to her men. + +For the moment the world about her was still and silent. It was as +though Nature remained suspended in doubt between the seasons. The open +season was passed, when the earth lay bare to the lukewarm sun of +summer. A white shroud covered the nakedness of the world, and already +ice was spread out over the waters. But winter had not yet made its +great onslaught. + +It was coming. Oh, yes. It was near. The brief hours of daylight warned +that. So did the mock-suns which hovered in the sky, chained by the +radiant circle which held the dying sun prisoned. Then in the north the +heavy clouds were gathering. They gathered and dispersed. Then they +gathered again. And always they banked deeper and darker. The wind was +rising. That fitful, patchy wind which is so full of threat, and which +bears in its breath the cutting slash of a whip. + +There were moments in her solitude when An-ina read these warnings with +some misgivings. They were not for herself. They were not even for +Steve. The winter trail was no new thing to her great man. Besides, he +was equipped against anything the Northern winter could display. +Accident alone could hurt him. That was her creed. Marcel was different. +He was only equipped for summer, and he should have returned before that +first snowfall. How could his canoes make the waters of the river when +they were already frozen? + +Thus it was she speculated as each dawn she sought the sign of his +return, and at the close of each day, with the last of the vanishing +light. + +For a week she went on with her endless labours in that cheerful spirit +of confidence which never seemed to fail her. Then there came a change. +She sought the gates of the fort more often, and stood gazing out +longer, and with eyes that were not quite easy. Her unease was growing. +She spurned it, she refused to admit her fears. And, in her defence, she +redoubled her labours. + +Thus ten days from the moment of Steve's going passed. It was the +evening of the tenth day. + +With a desperate resolve she had refused to allow herself her last +evening vigil. Snow was in the air and had already begun to fall. So she +sat over the great stove in the store, and plied her needle, threaded +with gut, upon the shirt that was some day to cover Steve's body. Not +once did she look up. It was almost as if she dared not. She was +fighting a little battle with herself in which hope and confidence were +hard pressed. + +It was in the midst of this that the door was thrust open wide, and, +with the opening, a flurry of snow swept in upon the warm atmosphere. +But that which caused her to start to her feet, and drop the treasured +garment perilously near to the stove, was the figure that appeared in +the white cloud that blew about it. It was Marcel, with snow and ice +about his mouth and chin, and upon his eye-lashes, and with his thick +pea-jacket changed from its faded hue to the virgin whiteness of the +elements through which he had succeeded in battling his way. + +"An-ina!" + +It was the glad cry of greeting she had yearned for in the big voice of +a man whose delight is unmeasured. + +"Marcel!" The woman's reply was full of joy. Then, with a sigh that was +a deep expression of relief: "An-ina glad--so glad!" + +Marcel turned and closed the outer storm door. Then he shut the inner +door securely. A moment later he was freeing himself from icicles and +snow at the stove. + +"Say, I had to beat it like hell," he declared with a great laugh, while +An-ina gathered up her sewing and laid it aside. Her mother mind was +running upon a hot supper for her boy. "I was just worried to death at +you folks sitting around guessing. Winter got me beat by just two weeks, +and now the snow's falling in lumps, and it's mighty near down to zero. +Where's Uncle Steve?" + +"Gone." An-ina had forgotten the supper. "Him gone where you know. Him +gone days. Maybe ten. No wait. Oh, no. Him guess you come soon. So him +go." + +"And Julyman? And Oolak?" + +"All gone. All him gone by land of fire. Oh, yes." + +An-ina sighed. It was her only means of expressing the feelings she +could not deny. + +Marcel's eyes had sobered. He flung off his pea-jacket and possessed +himself of An-ina's chair. He sat there with his great hands spread out +to the warmth, enduring the sharp cold-aches it inspired. He was gazing +steadily at the glowing patch where the side of the stove was red hot. +His mind was busy with thoughts which robbed him of half the joy of his +return. + +The thought of supper returned to the woman. + +"So. I mak' him supper," she said. "Him boys. They come too?" + +"Oh, yes," Marcel laughed shortly "Guess they're back in the woods +there, doping like hell so they shan't lose any sleep. They were kind of +mad with me getting back late. I had to rawhide two of them, or the +whole darn lot would have bolted. You see, I was held up." + +An-ina would have questioned further but there was no encouragement in +Marcel's tone or manner. He had not turned to reply. His attitude was +one the squaw recognized. He wanted to think. So she moved silently away +and passed to the old kitchen to prepare his food. + +Marcel sat on. He was thinking, thinking hard. But not in any direction +that An-ina would have guessed. For once there was confusion of thought +and feeling that was quite foreign to his nature. He was thinking of +Keeko, he was thinking of Uncle Steve, and he was thinking of An-ina. He +was angry with himself and as nearly angry with Uncle Steve as he could +be. He cursed himself that through his delay An-ina should have been +left alone for two weeks. He was troubled at the thought that Uncle +Steve saw fit to leave her, and refused to await his return. And towards +An-ina he felt that contrition which his deep regard for her made so +poignant. But through all, above all, floated the spirit of Keeko, and +he knew that whatever might have befallen nothing would have made him +act differently. He was troubled to realize that for the first time in +his life Uncle Steve and An-ina had only second place in his thought. + +His reflections were broken by An-ina's quiet return. + +"Supper--him all fixed. Marcel come?" + +Marcel started up. And the shadows passed out of his handsome eyes. The +gentle humility with which An-ina addressed him was irresistible. He was +smiling again. His deep affection for this mother woman was shining in +his eyes. + +"Will I come?" he cried. "Say, you just see." + + * * * * * + +Marcel had eaten his fill. He had been well-nigh famishing when he +arrived, and the simple cooking and wholesome food that An-ina set +before him was like a banquet compared to the fare of the trail, on +which he had subsisted all the open season. + +Now he was lounging back in the rawhide-seated chair with his pipe +aglow. He was ready to talk, more than ready. And An-ina's soft eyes +were observing him, and reading him in her own wise way. + +"You tell me--now?" she said, in the fashion of one who knows the value +of food to her men folk's mood. + +Marcel nodded with a ready smile. + +"Any old thing you fancy," he cried. "What'll I tell you? About the darn +outfit, the pelts we got? The woods? The rivers? The skitters? The----" + +An-ina shook her head. His mood was what she desired. + +"No. Marcel say the thing that please him. An-ina listen." + +Marcel laughed. He had come home with the treasure hugged tight to his +bosom. He had promised himself that this was his secret, to be imparted +to no one--not even to Uncle Steve. An-ina had demanded that he should +speak as he desired, and he knew that his one desire was to talk of +Keeko. Now, he asked himself, why--why, for all his resolve, should he +withhold the story of this greatest of all joys from the woman who was +his second mother? + +His laugh was his yielding. + +"Oh, yes," he cried impulsively. "I'll tell you the thing that pleases +me. I'll tell you the reason I was held up. And--it's the greatest +ever!" + +An-ina rose quickly from her seat. + +"You tell An-ina--sure. It long. Oh, yes. An-ina say this thing--'the +greatest ever.'" + +She was gone and had returned again before Marcel had dragged himself +back from his contemplation of the things which he desired to talk of. +It was a gentle hint from An-ina that roused him. + +"Oh, yes? An-ina listen." + +Marcel started. He stirred his great bulk, and re-lit the pipe he had +failed to keep alight. + +"I'd forgotten," he said, with another laugh that was not free from +self-consciousness. "Say," he went on, "I've hit the greatest trail ever +a feller struck in this queer darn country. Gee!" He breathed a profound +sigh. "It was queer. I was trailing an old bull moose. I followed it +days." + +An-ina was watching him. She beheld the radiant light in his frank eyes. +She noted the almost feverish manner in which he was clouding the +tobacco smoke about him. She even thought she detected an unsteadiness +in the hand that held his pipe. She waited. + +"Oh, yes," he went on. "I was in a territory I guess I've hunted plenty. +I kind of knew it all, as it's given to anyone to know this darn land. I +followed the trail right up to the end, but--I didn't make a kill. No." + +His tone had dropped to a soft, deep note that thrilled with some +emotion An-ina had never before been aware of in him. A startled light +shone in her eyes, and her work lay unheeded in her lap. + +"No. I didn't make a kill, but I came right up to the end of that trail, +and found----" + +"A woman?" + +Marcel sat up with a jolt. His wide, astonished eyes stared almost +foolishly into the dark native eyes smiling back into his. + +"How d'you know--that?" he demanded sharply. + +He planted his elbows on the table, resting his square chin upon his +hands. + +An-ina laughed that almost silent laugh so peculiar to her. + +"An-ina guess him. An-ina look and look. An-ina see Marcel all +smiling--inside. She hear him voice all soft, like--like--Ah, An-ina not +know what it like. So she think. She say, what mak' Marcel all like this? +Him find something. Him not scare. Oh, no. Marcel not scare nothing. No. +Him much please. Marcel boy? No. Him big man. What him mak' big man much +please. An-ina know. It woman. So she say." + +Marcel wanted to laugh. He wanted to shout his delight. He wanted to +pour out the hot, passionate feelings of his heart to a woman who could +read and understand him like this. He did none of these things, however. + +He simply smiled and nodded, while his whole face lit radiantly. + +"That's a hell of a good guess," he cried. "Yes. I found a--woman. A +beautiful, blue-eyed white woman. And she called herself, 'Keeko.'" + +An-ina swiftly rolled up the buckskin she was working. She laid it on +the supper table beside her. Then she drew up her chair, and she, too, +set her elbows on the table, and supported her handsome, smiling face in +her hands. Again it was the woman, the mother in her. It was her boy's +romance. The boy she had raised to manhood with so much love and +devotion. And she was thirsting, as only a mother can, for the story of +it. + +"So. Marcel him say. An-ina listen." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +KEEKO RETURNS HOME + + +Keeko had beaten the winter where Marcel had failed. But then Keeko's +journey had been southward towards the sun, where the forest sheltered, +and the river pursued a deep-cut course to the westward of the great +hills supporting the wind-swept plateau of Unaga. + +For all these easier conditions, however, the journey was a hard beat up +against the sluggish flow of the river. It permitted no relaxation, and +only a minimum of rest. Then the portages up the rapids had been +rendered doubly laborious by reason of cargoes such as the girl and her +Indians had never been called upon to deal with before. + +It should have been a happy enough journey. Was it not in the nature of +a procession of great triumph? Had not Keeko's summer labours been +crowned far beyond her dreams? Surely this was so. The ardent little +feminine scheme, worked out on a sick bed, and executed with great +strength and courage had been brought to a complete and successful +issue. Oh, yes. The shadows which had threatened Keeko's future had been +completely confounded. She knew beyond a doubt that she was independent, +as her mother desired her to be. When the moment came she knew she was +in the privileged position of being free to cut the bonds which had +hitherto held her to the man whose brutality was surely enough driving +her suffering mother to the grave. + +But depression weighed the girl down. Look forward as she might, hope +would not rise at her bidding. Marcel had been snatched out of her life +like a shadowy dream, and the future offered her little enough comfort. +Then there was her mother, and all that might have happened at the post +in her long absence. + +It was in such a mood that she emerged into the horseshoe loop of the +river and beheld the dark walls of the old Fort Duggan. Her pretty face +and serious eyes reflected her feelings as she piloted her boat towards +the landing in the cold, crisp air of the brief daylight. Furthermore it +was with no easing of her mood that she beheld the figure of her +step-father on the landing awaiting her approach. + +Just for a moment she wondered. Just for a moment she asked herself if +he had had warning from some stray Shaunekuk of her coming. She realized +a spasm of fear that perhaps prying eyes had witnessed her caching of +the great bulk of her furs, that part which represented her own personal +fortune. But the fear passed. It could not be so. Her plans had been +laid and executed far too carefully. + +So she coldly awaited the man's greeting. + +It came. And its tone was unusually modulated. It was almost gentle. The +man's eyes were a reflection of his tone as he gazed down at her. The +effect was startling, and a light of wonder crept into Keeko's eyes as +she looked up into the bloated face with its beard and general air of +brutishness. + +"You've cut it fine, Keeko," he said, with a swift, calculating glance +at the sky. "I was getting well-nigh scared. We'll be snowed under right +away." Then he drew a deep breath as of relief. "I'm glad you got to +home." + +Keeko had her part to play and she never hesitated. + +"I was held up, but--I've had a good catch," she said, without +enthusiasm. She pointed at the bale of pelts in her canoe. "They're +silver fox. There's two more bales in the other boat. Guess Lorson +Harris'll hand you a thousand dollars." + +"Silver fox?" The man's eyes lit with cupidity. For a moment his +seriousness passed out of them. "Why, that's great! You haven't got +beyond grey fox and beaver ever before. It was a new territory?" + +Keeko nodded. She was yearning to ask one question. One question only. +But she knew the value of her success with this creature whom she could +not yet openly defy. + +"Yes. It was that held me up. I made farther down the river. Right to +its mouth. It's a great fox country. Next year----" + +But Nicol was unable to restrain his impatience. He turned to Little One +Man. + +"Haul 'em ashore an' open 'em out. We need to see the quality." + +Little One Man looked at Keeko. + +The girl nodded at once. Nicol saw the look and understood, and, for a +moment, his eyes flashed with that ungovernable temper which was part of +him. But the danger passed as swiftly as it came. Little One Man had +flung the bundle ashore as Keeko stepped from the boat, and, in another +moment, Nicol's sheath knife was ripping the thongs of rawhide which +held it. + +Keeko stood looking on watching the man's hands as he ran his fingers +through the silken mass. He caressed the steely blue fur with the +appreciation of a real pelt hunter, and presently stood up with a look +in his eyes such as Keeko had never before beheld. + +"How many?" he demanded. + +"Sixty." + +Nicol blew a faint whistle of astonished delight. + +"You said a thousand dollars," he exclaimed. "Lorson Harris'll need to +pay more than sixteen dollars for those pelts. We'll need twenty. Say, +gal, you've done well. You surely have." + +Keeko desired none of his praise. One thought only was in her mind. Up +to that moment she had been playing the game she knew to be necessary. +Now she reckoned she could safely abandon tactics in favour of her own +desire. + +"How's--mother?" she demanded. + +Nicol stood up. His movement was a little precipitate. Nevertheless a +moment passed before he withdrew his gaze from the treasure he coveted. +When he finally did so it was not to look in the girl's direction. He +was gazing out at the forest backing the fort. + +Keeko became impatient. She was alarmed, too. + +"How is she?" she cried urgently. + +Nicol shook his head. He turned to the waiting Indians. + +"We'll have them up at the store, and fix 'em ready for transport," he +ordered. Then he sought to take the girl's arm while his hard eyes +assumed a regret that utterly ill-suited them. "Come along up to the +fort while I tell you." + +But Keeko avoided him. Panic had seized her. + +"No," she cried, in a tone she rarely permitted herself. "Tell me +here--right now. Is--is she dead?" + +She would take no denial. There was something in her clear, fearless +eyes finely compelling. The man nodded. + +"Dead?" + +The girl spoke in a low, heart-broken whisper. She had forgotten the +man. Dead! Her mother was dead. That poor suffering creature who had +clung so long to life in her frantic desire to safeguard her child. +Dead! And she would never know the success of the plans she had laboured +so ardently to work out. + +Stunning as was the blow Keeko promptly reacted. + +"When did she die?" she demanded, in a tone that no longer needed +disguise. + +"I'd say a month after you quit." + +"And where--where's she buried?" + +The man nodded in the direction of the woods at the back of the fort. + +"Back there," he said. Then his manner became urgent. "Say, once we saw +the end was coming ther' wasn't a thing left undone to make her easy. +Lu-cana'll tell you that. We sat with her the whole time, and did all we +knew. And we buried her deep down wher' the wolves couldn't reach her, +and I set up a cross I fixed myself, and cut her name deep on it so +it'll take years to lose." + +Keeko recognized a sort of defence in the man's words and in his manner. +It seemed to be his paramount purpose. She saw in him not a sign of real +sorrow, real regret. Contempt and bitterness rose and robbed her of all +discretion. + +"When you saw the end coming!" she replied scornfully. + +But Nicol ignored the tone. + +"Yes," he said deliberately. "She didn't go short of a thing we could +do--Lu-cana and me. We did our best-I don't guess you could have done a +thing more. Will you come along up, an'--I'll show you." + +"No!" + +The reply was fierce. Keeko was at the extremity of restraint. She could +no longer endure the man's presence. She could no longer listen to him. + +"There's the pelts," she cried, pointing. "See to them. That's your +work." Then she looked him squarely in the eyes. "The other is for +me--alone." + +Nicol submitted. He had no alternative. And Keeko hurried away up to the +fort. + + * * * * * + +There was unutterable grief in Keeko's attitude. At her feet lay the +low, long mound which marked her mother's grave. Beyond, at the head of +it, was a rough wooden cross, hewn from stout logs of spruce. And deeply +cut on the cross-bar was her mother's name prefixed by words of +endearment. Just behind the girl stood the heavily blanketed figure of +Lu-cana, whose eyes were shadowed by a grief which her lips lacked the +power to express. + +All about them reigned the living silence of the forest with its threat +of hidden dangers. It was a silence where the breaking of a twig, the +rustle of the soft, rotting vegetation, inches deep upon the ground, +might indicate the prowling approach of famished wolf or scavenging +coyote, the stealing of wildcat or even of the deadly puma. + +The minutes passed as the two women stood voicelessly at the grave side. +That which was passing in their minds was their own. Both, in their +different fashions, had loved the woman laid so deep in the ground at +their feet. And both knew, and perfectly understood, the life she had +endured at the hands of the man who had set up the monument to her +memory. + +After a long time Keeko stirred. She drew a deep breath. It was the sign +of passing from thought to activity. She turned to the woman behind her. + +"How did she die, Lu-cana?" she asked, in a low voice. + +Lu-cana drew near. She spoke in a tone as if in fear of being +overheard. And as she spoke she looked this way and that. + +"She weep--weep all time when you go," she said brokenly. "She big with +much fear. Oh, yes. She scare all to death. So. Days come--she live. She +not eat. Oh, no. Days come many. An' all time she weep inside. She not +speak. No. Her eye--it all time look around. Oh, much fear. Then one day +she not wake. She die all up." + +"And he?" + +"Oh, him come all time. Him sit and mak' talk to her. I not know. Only +him talk. Him go--she weep. Him go--she watch all scare. So it come she +die all up." + +Keeko pointed at the cross at the head of the grave. + +"He set that up? Yes?" + +"Him mak' him totem." + +Keeko stood staring at the cross for some moments. Then she moved over +to it and grasped it. It stirred in its setting. Then she left it, and +returned to Lu-cana. + +"He dared to set that up," she cried bitterly. "'In loving memory.'" She +read the words before the name of her mother. "He dared to set +up--that?" + +Her eyes shone with a fierce light as she turned and looked into the +squaw's face. + +"Yes. Him set 'em up." + +Lu-cana failed to understand that which lay at the back of Keeko's eyes. +She could not read the words on the totem. She did not know their +meaning when she heard them. All she knew was that the white man had +done this thing. + +Keeko pointed at it. + +"Guess I'll make a new--totem," she said, in a tone that was only cold +and hard. "And we'll set it up. You and me, Lu-cana. And that one--that +one," she repeated with bitter emphasis, "we'll break it, we'll smash +it, and we'll burn it in the cook stove till there's nothing left." + + * * * * * + +Keeko remained for two months at the fort. And the length of her stay +was the result of careful calculation, and the necessity which her final +break from association with her step-father demanded. Then, too, there +was the season to consider. Before she set out on her journey to Seal +Bay the fierce winter of Unaga must have completely closed down. No +storm or cold had terror for her. All she required was the +case-hardening of the world, which would leave an iron surface upon +which the dog trains could travel. + +During those two months the force of Keeko's character developed with +giant strides. She was alone, utterly alone. Her whole life depended +upon her own powers to carry out the plans which had seemed almost +simple while her mother was still alive. Now everything had suddenly +changed. Inevitably, had there been a shadow of weakness in the girl it +must have found her out, and tripped her into some pitfall, floundering. +But there was no such weakness. + +From the first moment the enormous change wrought by her mother's death +left her keenly understanding. Until the final break, her step-father +must be humoured, conciliated. The thought was humiliating, but +necessity urged. And she accepted the inevitable with simple courage. + +Well enough was she aware of the danger in which she stood, and further +the danger in which her required course placed her. + +Had she known all that lay in the man's ruthless heart, had she been +present at her mother's bedside, and listened to those talks which +Lu-cana had told her of, had she had less youth and courage and a +deeper understanding of the realities of life, it is likely that panic +would have sent her fleeing headlong from a presence that filled her +with nothing but loathing. But she had been spared all this knowledge, +and Nicol saw to it that nothing should startle her, nothing should +excite her distrust until, in the fulness of time, his purposes had +fully ripened. + +As it was he accepted the position which Keeko had created. He played +his part as she played hers. And right up to the very last moment before +the girl's departure for Seal Bay nothing was permitted to disturb the +harmony between them. + +The man gave her farewell and received the girl's calm response. He +watched her Indians break out the two sleds on the bitterly frosted +trail. He heard her sharp tones echoing through the still air as she +gave the order to "mush." And all the while he stood smiling, while his +eyes followed every movement of the girl's graceful, fur-clad body with +the insensate lust of an animal. + +Robbed of all suspicion Keeko went forth with a heart high with hope. +Away out lay her cache of priceless furs to be picked up within the next +few hours. All the great plan which she and her mother had so carefully +prepared looked to be reaching fulfilment. She had only to sell her furs +and return and pay over her step-father's due. It would be springtime +then. + +All her mind and heart turned to Marcel. Yes. He would be there. Far +away up the river where the old grey skull of the moose was watching for +her coming. And then--and then--But imagination carried her no further. +She was left longing only for that moment to come. + +Nicol remained only long enough to see the runners of the hindmost sled +vanish in a flurry of powdered snow round the limits of a woodland +bluff. Then he turned back to the dark old fort, and the mask under +which he had so carefully concealed himself fell away. Straightway he +returned to his store to flood his senses with the raw spirit which +alone made his degenerate life tolerable. + + * * * * * + +Winter was howling about the old fort. Drifts were piled feet deep +against every obstruction that stood in the way of the driving snow. The +fort was closed up. Every habitation was made fast against the onslaught +of the elements Life was unstirring. + +Far out in the woods bayed the fierce, famished timber wolf. The lighter +but more doleful howl of coyote seemed to reply from every point of the +compass. And amidst the rack of savage chorus came the harsh human voice +that had little the better of the animal world in the pleasing quality +of its note. + +A train of three dogs hauling a light sled broke from the shadows of the +forest. A single human figure on snow-shoes laboured along beside it. It +was a figure entirely unrecognizable, except that it was human. + +There was no pause, no uncertainty. The train came on and halted at a +word of command at the doorway of the fort. In a moment the human figure +was beating with its fur-mitted fists upon the door that had weathered +the ages of storm. + +The door was flung wide from within, and the blear eyes of Nicol peered +out into the night-light. In a moment an exclamation of recognition +broke from him. + +"Alroy!" he cried. "'Tough' Alroy!" Then something of gladness at the +prospect of companionship lit his eyes with a happier light. "Say, come +right in," he invited, almost boisterously. "I'll send along some neches +to see to your darn train." + +Tough needed no second invitation. He smelt warmth, rest, and there was +the promise in his mind of a good "souse." For the time he had had +enough of Unaga. He had had enough of his employer, Lorson Harris. He +had had enough of snow and ice, and the merciless cold of the twilit +trail. God! but he was glad to leave it all behind him for the warmth of +Nicol's store, and the raw spirit he knew was to be found there in +generous quantities. + +Half an hour later, divested of his furs, clad only in rough buckskin +and pea-jacket, with feet encased in thick reindeer moccasins, Tough sat +over the trader's stove with a pannikin of evil smelling rye whisky in +his hand. + +"Guess I've driven through hell an' damnation to git your darn report," +he said, his wicked eyes beaming across the stove at his host on the far +side of it. + +"Lorson's blasted orders?" + +"You mean blasted Lorson's orders!" + +"Amen--or any other old chorus--to that," returned Nicol, with a gleam +of brooding hate in his dark eyes. "Say, that swine has got all us +fellers by the back o' the neck, and he twists us this way and that as +he darn pleases, till we're well-nigh crazy. I'd give half a life to cut +it--to make a break that would quit me of it all. But----" + +"You're scared," Tough laughed, as he gulped at his spirit. "Guess we +all are." Then he added as an after-thought: "I wonder. I don't know I +would if--I dared. He's tough. He'd beat a dead man to pieces if he felt +that way. He's plumb to the neck in work that 'ud shame a black, but he +pays good for the doin' of it. And he reckons to pay you mighty well, if +you put this thing through right. Best hand me your news. He don't want +it wrote out." + +Nicol leant back in his chair, and thrust his feet on the rail of the +stove. + +"No, he don't fancy a thing wrote out," he said. "And anyway I'm writin' +out nothing for Lorson Harris. He's got one piece of my paper, and I +guess that's mostly why I'm here." + +"And your summer trip?" + +Tough recalled his host to the business in hand. He did it amiably, +almost pleasantly, but such things were entirely upon the surface. Tough +Alroy was Lorson's most trusted agent. + +Nicol shook his head. + +"Guess I didn't do all I figured to," he said. "You see, my fool woman +took on and died. It cut the season short. But I located ther's a fort +way out more than three hundred miles north-east of this lousy hole. +Yes, it's more than three hundred miles north-east. Might be even four +hundred. And there are folks running it. White folks. Three of my +Shaunekuk boys got it dead pat. They ran into an outfit of queer sort of +Eskimo pelt hunters. They were hunting the territory away north, up +along this darn river. And they came from that post to the north-east. +They said they were part of an outfit run by a feller named Brand. He +was one of the white men running that post. They said these folk traded +with Seal Bay. It was a big piece of luck. You see, the Shaunekuk never +go into Unaga proper. They're scared to death of it. They make the +forests along this river, that's all. Well, this outfit of queer Eskimo +haven't ever been seen along this territory before. So you see I might +have saved myself one hell of a rush trip that only took me to a place +where I got a sight of a mighty tough looking hill, all smoke and fire. +The three neches were out on their own and had their yarn waiting on me +when I got back. That's my yarn, and all there is to it. Guess it's what +Lorson Harris needs--until we make that fort, itself, for him." + +Tough nodded. His wicked black eyes were serious, and, in their +seriousness, were never more wicked. + +"It'll do," he said. "Sure, it'll do. Guess it's a rough map of the +trail we're chasing. But it's only the beginning. See, and listen close. +Lorson Harris don't care a curse for the trade you make here with these +fool neches. You ain't here for that, whatever you happen to think. +You're here to make that trail. You're here to make that fort. And when +you've made it, it's up to you to get possession of it. See? Lorson +Harris means to bring that post right into his grip. There's a reason. A +hell of a reason. It's so big he's ready to dope out a hundred thousand +dollars to the man who can blot out the fellers trading there, and grab +their trade. He reckons you're the man to do it. Well?" + +Tough was leaning forward. His manner was deadly earnest and intended to +impress. His keen black eyes stared hard into the bloated features of +the man beyond the stove. He waited, watchful, alert. + +"A hundred thousand dollars!" + +Nicol's astonishment was without feigning. Suddenly he bestirred +himself. He felt there must be some trick in it all. + +"Would I need to--remain buried alive there?" he demanded. + +Tough shook his head. + +"Get possession of that place, that trade. Out those folks running the +trade, and Lorson'll hand you one hundred thousand dollars in cash, and +you'll be quit of the North if it suits you that way. You'll be quit of +Lorson Harris, too. Well?" + +"Gee!" Nicol passed a moist palm across his forehead. + +"It's a swell proposition!" + +"It's a hell of a proposition!" + +"Well? You need to say right now. I don't need to remind you of Lorson +Harris." + +"God curse Lorson Harris!" + +"Just so." + +Tough was unrelenting in his pressure upon his victim. Lorson Harris +chose his agents well. + +Suddenly Nicol flung out his hands in a furious gesture. + +"God's hell light on him! Yes," he cried, with eyes aflame, and his +ungovernable temper surging. "I'll put his filthy work through. But when +I've done it he'll need to hand me that hundred thousand dollars in cash +right here before he learns a darn thing of the place he's yearning to +grab. Get me? He reckons that he's got the drop on me. Well, maybe he +has. But he don't get my tongue wagging till I get the cash pappy. Savee +that, and savee it good!" + +"But you'll do it?" + +"That's what I've been shouting at you." + +"Good. Now listen, and I'll pass you the rest of Lorson's message." + +Tough emptied his pannikin to the dregs, and, leaning back in his chair, +beamed across at the man he knew to be at the mercy of Lorson Harris. +There was no feeling, no sympathy in him. He cared not one jot for +anyone in the world but himself, and his standing with the man who paid +for his services. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE FAITH OF MEN + + +The men crouched for warmth and the shadow of comfort over a miserable +fire. The dogs were beyond, herded far within the shelter, their fierce +eyes agleam with a reflection of the feeble firelight as they gazed out +hungrily in its direction. It was a cavernous break in the rock-bound +confines of a nameless Northern river. + +Steve passed a hand down his face. He brushed away the moisture of +melting ice. It was a significant gesture, accompanied as it was by a +deep breath of weariness. Two hundred miles and more of Arctic terror +lay behind him. As yet he had no reckoning of how much more lay ahead. + +The world outside was lost in a chaos of warring elements. So it had +lain for a week. In the fury of the blizzard the Arctic night was +reduced to a pitchy blackness worse than the sightlessness of the blind. + +How long? It was the question haunting Steve's mind, and the minds of +those others with him. But the shrieking elements refused to enlighten +him. It was their joy to mock, and taunt, and, if possible, to slay. + +Steve rose from his seat over the fire. He turned and moved towards the +mouth of the shelter. Beyond the light of the fire he had to grope his +way. At the opening the snow was piled high, driven in by the storm. +There was left only the narrowest aperture leading to the black +darkness beyond. + +He paused at the opening. He was half buried in the drift, and the lash +of the storm whipped his face mercilessly. For some moments he endured +the assault, then his voice came back to the figures of his companions +squatting moveless over the fire. + +"Ho, you, Julyman!" he called sharply. + +Moments later the Indian stood beside the white man, peering out into +the desolation beyond. + +"She's not going to last a deal longer." + +Steve was wiping his face with a _bare_ hand. + +Julyman missed the movement in the darkness. + +"She mak' him break bimeby--soon. Oh, yes." + +There was something almost heroic in the attempt Julyman made to throw +confidence into his tone. But Steve needed no such support. He was +preoccupied with his own discoveries. His bare hand was still wiping +away the curiously moist snow that beat upon his face. + +"Yes," he said conclusively. "She'll break soon." Then after a moment: +"She's breaking _now_." + +An interruption came from the distant dogs. It was the snarling yap of a +quarrel. Then came the echo of Oolak's harsh voice and the thud of his +club as he silenced them in the only manner they understood. + +Steve's announcement failed to startle his companion. Nothing stirred +Julyman but the fear of "devil-men," and his queer native superstitions. + +"Him soften. Oh, yes," he said. "Wind him all go west. Him soft. Yes." + +The wind had been carrying "forty below zero" on its relentless bosom. +Its ferocity still remained, but now it was tempered by a warmth wholly +unaccounted for by the change in its direction. A western wind in these +latitudes was little less terrible than when it blew from the north. It +had over three thousand miles of snow and ice to reduce its temperature. + +Steve's voice again came in the howl of the wind. + +"Guess we'll get back to the fire," he said decisively. + +Julyman needed no second bidding; he turned and moved away. + +Back at the fire Oolak watched his companions retake their places. He +had no questions to ask. He simply waited. That was his way. He seemed +to live at all times with a mind absorbed. + +Steve pointed at the diminished pile of scrub wood. + +"Best make up the fire," he said, addressing Julyman. + +The Indian eyed him doubtfully. Their store of fuel was perilously low. + +"Sure," Steve nodded. And the Indian obeyed without further demur. + +Steve re-lit his pipe and sucked at it comfortably. Then he spoke with +an assurance he could not have displayed earlier. + +"Say," he exclaimed, without looking up from the fire. "You get the +meaning of it? Maybe you don't get the meaning I do." + +He laughed. It was a curious laugh. It had no mirth. But it was an +expression of feelings which required outlet. + +"No. Maybe you don't," he went on. "You see, I got a--notion. The wind's +west--now. It should be a hell of a cold wind. It isn't. No. It should +be hellish cold," he reflected. "Why isn't it? The hills lie west. The +big hills. Maybe _the_ big hill. Well? I kind of wonder. Maybe it's +that. It's a guess. A hell of a guess. Does the west wind hereabouts +blow across the big fire hill? And are those fires so almighty hot they +set the snow melting where all the world's freezing at 60 deg. below? Is it +a sort of chinook in the dead of winter?" + +He raised his eyes to the faces of his companions. The dusky figures +were half hidden behind the smoke of the fire, which rose between them. +He nodded at the steady gazing black eyes. + +"Yes," he said. "Guess that break's come. We'll be out on the trail +right away. And we'll beat up against a breeze that's warming. It'll +lead us to--the Heart of Unaga." + + * * * * * + +The splendour of the Arctic night was shining over the world. There was +scarcely a breath of wind. The air currents were still from the west, +but the wind had died out. For the moment the amazing warmth which had +stirred the imagination of Steve and his companions had passed. + +A silver sheen played upon the limitless fields of snow. It was like a +world of alabaster. The light came from every corner of the heavens. It +came from the glory of a full moon, hard-driven to retain supremacy over +its satellites. It came from the myriads of burnished stars, gleaming +with a clarity, a penetrating sparkle, unknown to their brethren of +lower latitudes. It came from the supreme magnificence of an aurora of +moving light, dancing and curtseying with ghostly grace, as though +stepping the measure of a heavenly minuet. Its radiance filled half the +dome of night. It was a glory of frigid colour to ravish the artist eye. + +The men on the trail had lost all sense of degrees of cold. It was +simply cold. Always cold. A thermometer would have frozen solid. They +knew that. Cold? So long as a strong, warm life burned in their bodies, +and their stores of food remained, it was the best they could hope for. + +And the dogs. They were bred to the Arctic cold. So is the bear of the +Pole. They needed no better than to follow their labours with a couch +burrowed beneath the snows, and hours for the dream feast which their +ravening appetites yearned and never tasted. + +The outfit had broken trail as Steve had promised, and it was moving +through the ghostly world like insects a-crawl over the folds of an +ill-spread carpet. + +The course had been deflected in response to the change of wind. Steve +had left the shelter of the river where it had definitely turned +northward. He had left it without regret. He had no regret for anything +which did not further his purpose. Adresol! The quest of the Adresol +pastures was the whole aim and object of his life. Somewhere out there +over the desolate wastes he believed the great secret of it all lay +awaiting his discovery. Nothing else, then, was of any significance. + +For the moment Nature seemed bent on favouring him. For over two hundred +miles she had beaten him well-nigh breathless. She had hurled her storms +at him without mercy, and, at the end of her transcendent fury, she had +found him undismayed, undefeated. Perhaps his tenacity excited her +admiration. Perhaps she was nursing her wrath for a more terrible +onslaught. Whatever her mood he was ready to face it. + +At the beginning of the third week since leaving the shelter on the +river Steve trod the first of the western hills under foot, and awaited +the coming of the train upon its summit. His dark, fur-clad figure stood +out in relief against the world about him. It looked squat, it was +utterly dwarfed in the twilit vastness. But there was something +tremendous in the meaning of that living presence in the voiceless +solitudes which the ages have failed to stir. + + * * * * * + +The sleds were still. The dogs lay sprawled for rest awaiting the will +of their masters. Julyman stood abreast of Steve, tall, lean, but bulky +in his frosted furs. Oolak stood over his dogs, which were his first +care. + +"You can feel it now," Steve said, thrusting a hand under his fur +helmet. A moment later he withdrew fingers that were moist with sweat. +"If the wind came down at us out of the hills now we'd need to quit our +furs. Do you get that? Quit our furs here in the dead of winter. It's +getting warmer every mile." + +"It warm. Much warm. Oh, yes." + +Julyman's resources of imagination were being sorely taxed. + +Steve nodded. + +"Yes," he said. "It isn't wind now. There's no wind. It's the air. It's +warm. It's getting warmer. Later it'll get hot as hell." + +He drew a profound breath. He felt that victory was very near. It only +needed---- + +"We got to beat on all we know," he said, examining the brilliant +heavens. "We need to grab every moment of this weather. We don't know. +We can't guess the things waiting on us. Yes. We'll 'mush' on." + +His tones were deep. The restraint of years which the Northland had bred +into him was giving way before the surge of a hope that was almost +certainty. And his order was obeyed by men who knew no law but his will. + +But for all the urgency of his mandate, for all his efforts, progress +slackened from the moment the first hill was passed. From the seemingly +limitless plains of snow, rolling maddeningly in a succession of low +hills and shallow hollows, now it seemed that Nature spurned the milk +and water fashioning of her handiwork, and had hurled the rest of the +world into a wreckage of broken, barren hills. + +Into the midst of this chaos Steve plunged. + +For awhile the confusion robbed him of all certainty. It not +infrequently left decision floundering. The mountains leapt at him with +a rush from every side, confusing direction and reducing even instinct +to something like impotence. With familiarity, however, his trained mind +adapted itself. Then the rush went on with the old irresistible +confidence. + +But human endurance was sorely tested. The tasks often became well-nigh +insuperable. There were moments when dogs and Indians lay beaten in the +midst of their labours, without will, without energy to stir another +yard. It was at such times that despair knocked at the strong heart of +the man who had never learned to yield, and who had never quite known +defeat. + +But even in the worst moments the steadily warming air never failed to +lure. It breathed its soft message of promise into Steve's ready ears, +supporting a heart powerless to resist the appeal. + +The change to warmth, however, had another and less pleasing aspect. The +snow lost its icy case-hardening. A rot set in. On the hill-tops the ice +was not always reliable. In the valleys men sank up to their knees in +slushy depths. Even the broad tread of snow-shoes failed to save them. +Then, too, the dogs floundered belly-deep, and the broad bottoms of the +sleds alone saved the outfit from complete disaster. The increasing +hardships left Steve without respite. It was only on the hill-tops, when +the veer of the wind carried it to the northward, and, for a brief +spell, Arctic conditions returned, that any measure of ease was +ironically vouchsafed. + +The effort was tremendous. It went on for days whose number it was +difficult to estimate in the grope of the unchanging twilight. A day's +work might be a single hill conquered. It might be a moist, clammy +valley crossed. Perhaps two miles, three, or even five. Distance +remained unconsidered. For always was the next effort no less than the +last, till mind, and heart, and body were worn well-nigh threadbare. +There was no pause, no hesitation. It must be on, on to the end, +or--disaster. + +Steve knew. Only the barest necessity of rest could be permitted both +for himself, his men, his dogs. The faith of his men still burned +strongly in hearts which he had never known to fail, but he dared not +risk the chance of a prolonged inactivity with its opportunity for +contemplation of the hell through which they were all passing. He knew. +Oh yes. He knew from his understanding of his own feelings and emotions. + +He lived in the daily hope of discovering something with which to dazzle +imagination already dulling. His faith was pinned to the summit of a +great, grey headland towering amongst its fellows ahead. He had +discovered its presence long since, and, from the moment of discovery, +he had sought its elusive slopes. Instinct, that had no great reason to +support it, warned him that the view from its summit would tell them the +things they desired to know. And they were the things they all must +learn quickly if failure were not to rob them of the fruits of their +great adventure. + +Yes. He desired that dull grey summit just now as he desired nothing +else in the world. + +Every emotion was stirring when, at length, Steve found himself climbing +the last of the upward slopes of the "Hill of Promise," as he had named +it. He had laughed as he coined the name. But there had been no laughter +in his heart. If the promise were not fulfilled----? + +But it would be fulfilled. It must be fulfilled. These were the things +Steve told himself in that fever of straining which only mental +extremity knows. + +He topped the last rugged lift to the summit. His men were somewhere +below, floundering in his wake. He had no heed for them just now. Hope, +a fever of hope alone sustained his weary limbs over the inhospitable +ice. + +A great shout echoed down the slope. It came with all the power of a +strong man's lungs. + +"Ho, you! Quick!" + +Steve had reached the rugged crest. A second shout came back to the +floundering Indians. + +"God! It's a--wonder!" + + * * * * * + +The moment was profound. Eyes that were prepared for well-nigh anything +monstrous gazed out spellbound. Tongues had no words, and hearts were +stirred to their depths. The whole world ahead was afire. It was a +conflagration of incalculable immensity. + +The horizon was one blaze of transcendent light. It was rendered a +hundred-fold more amazing by its contrast against the grey of the Arctic +night. At a given point, in the centre of all, a well of fire was +belching skywards. It was churning the overhanging clouds of smoke, and +lighting them with the myriad hues that belong to the tumbled glory of a +stormy summer sunset. Then, too, rumblings and dull thunders came up to +the watching men like the groanings of a world in travail. + +For miles the hill-tops seemed to have been swept clear of ice and snow. +They were shorn of their winter shroud. They stood up like black, +unsightly, broken teeth, against a cavernous background of fire burning +in the maw of some Moloch colossus. They stood out bared to the bone of +the world's foundations. + +Julyman shaded his eyes with hands that sought to shut out a vision his +savage superstition could no longer support. Oolak had no such emotion. +He turned from it to something which, to his mind, was of greater +interest. Steve alone remained absorbed in that radiant beyond. + +The Arctic night no longer reigned supreme. It seemed to have been +devoured at a gulp. The heavenly lights had lost all power in face of +this earthly glory. A mist of smoke had switched off the gleam of +starlight, and the moon and mock-moons wore the tarnished hue of silver +that has lost its burnish. The ghosts of the aurora no longer trod their +measure of stately minuet. They had passed into the world of shadow to +which they rightly belonged. + +The heart of Unaga was bared for all to see, that fierce heart which +drives the bravest Indian tongue to the hush of dread. + +"We not mak' him--that! Oh, no!" + +Julyman's tone was hushed and fearful. He moved close to the white man +in urgent appeal. + +"Boss Steve not mak' him. No. Julyman all come dead. Julyman not mush +on. Oh, no." + +"Julyman'll do just as 'Boss' Steve says." + +Steve had dragged his gaze from the wonder that held it. He was coldly +regarding the haunted eyes of a man he knew to be fearless enough as men +understand fearlessness. + +This was no time for sympathy or weakness. It was his purpose to +penetrate to that blazing heart, as nearly as the object of his journey +demanded. He was in no mood to listen patiently to words inspired by +benighted superstition. + +"Him--Unaga!" Julyman protested, his outstretched arm shaking. "No--mak' +him? Yes?" + +"We mak' this!" + +It was Oolak who answered him. He spoke with a preliminary, contemptuous +grunt. He, too, was pointing. But he was pointing at that which lay near +at hand. He stood leaning his crippled body on his gee-pole, and gazing +down at that which lay immediately in front of them, groaning and +grumbling like some suffering living creature. + +Steve followed the direction of the outstretched arm. He had been +absorbed in the distance. All else had been forgotten. He found himself +gazing down upon what appeared to be a cascading sea of phosphorescent +light. He recognized it instantly, and the fiery heart of Unaga was +forgotten. + +A mighty glacier barred the way, and the peak on which they stood was +its highest point. It stretched out far ahead. It reached beyond such +range of vision as the Arctic night permitted. It sloped away down, +down, so gradually, yet so deeply, so widely that it warned him of the +opening of the jaws of a mighty valley, through the heart of which there +probably flowed the broad bosom of a very great river. The play of the +phosphorescent light was the reflection of Unaga's lights caught by the +myriad facets of broken ice upon its tumbled surface. + +Steve nodded. + +"Yes. We make this," he cried, in a fashion to forbid all discussion. +Then after a pause that gave his decision due effect: "There's a valley +away out there. And I guess it'll likely hand us the things we got to +know. We've beaten those darn hills. We've beaten the snow and ice--and +the cold. The things we're going to find down there need beating, too." + +He turned from the barrier which left him undismayed. A great light was +shining in his eyes as he passed Julyman by. They rested eagerly, +questioningly, upon the unemotional face of Oolak whose keen +understanding he knew to be profound. + +"Well?" he demanded in the fashion of a man aware that his question is +not in vain. + +Oolak turned. He raised his face, and his sensitive nostrils distended +with a deep intake of breath. A moment later he made a swift gesture +with the gee-pole on which he had been supporting himself. + +"I mak' him smell. So!" + +He spoke with unusual animation. + +Steve had been seeking and waiting for just such words. + +"You smell--what?" he demanded. + +"Oolak smell him all sweet--lak'--lak'----" + +Steve interrupted with a nod. + +"I know," he cried. "Like--like----" + +But that which he would have said remained unspoken. There was no need +for words. The rest was in his eyes, in his voice. Oolak's corroboration +of the evidence of his own senses meant the final triumph he was +seeking. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE VALLEY OF DREAMS + + +Steve's dream of triumph was brief. Born at the moment of his first +sight of the burning heart of Unaga it lived to provide a stimulant for +jaded mind and body at a time of need. Then he awoke to realities such +as he had never contemplated. + +For once experience and imagination failed him. He was entering a land +of wonder in the belief that he was prepared for everything monstrous in +Nature. He believed that with the stupendous vision of Unaga he had +witnessed Nature's most sublime effort. So, out of his confidence he was +trapped as easily as a man of no experience at all. + +At his bidding dogs and men moved to the assault of the glacial barrier. +The thing that they contemplated was by no means new. A hundred times +had the broken surface of glacier formed some part of their long winter +trail. It was never without danger, but it was never a sufficient +barrier to give them pause. + +The surface of the glacier appeared to be that which they all knew. The +only feature for disquiet were the thunderous detonations, the deep +rumbling groans that rose up out of its far-off heart, and found a +hundred echoes amongst the surrounding hills. For the rest, it was a +broken surface, bearing every feature of a summer thaw frozen down again +by the icy breath of winter, and adorned with a patchwork of drift +snow. + +Half a mile from the grey headland which was their starting point, +confidence received its first check. It was Oolak who made discovery. +The watchful, silent creature was unerring in his instincts, unerring in +his scent of a treachery he always anticipated. He had halted his dogs, +and stood in the half light, peering out this way and that at the +legions of ice spectres surrounding them. Then, quite suddenly, he +hailed the white man to his side, and indicated the ice on which they +were standing. + +"It all him move," he said, with his peculiarly significant brevity. + +Steve stood for a moment without reply. He was less sensitive to +indications than the Indian. In fact he failed to realize the thing the +other had discovered. He shook his head. + +"Guess you're----" + +But his denial remained uncompleted. It was interrupted by a sharp cry +from Julyman some distance away with the rear sled. The two men turned +in his direction. They beheld his lean figure busy amongst his dogs, +plying his club impartially, as though in an effort to quell some canine +dispute. + +But that was not all. As they gazed they saw the iron-shod tail of the +sled rise up. It seemed to be flung up with great force. For a moment it +remained poised. Then it crashed over on its side to the accompaniment +of a cracking, splitting roar, like the bombardment of massed artillery. + +Steve waited for nothing. Even with the roar of sub-glacial thunders +hammering on his ear drums, he rushed to the man's assistance. Oolak +turned to his own dogs. + +The din subsided almost in a moment. Steve reached the sled where +Julyman had beaten the dogs to the required condition. In a moment they +were at work setting things to rights. After that the dogs were strung +out afresh, and Julyman "mushed" them on, and brought them abreast of +the train of the waiting Oolak. + +The dogs crouched down on the rough surface of the inhospitable ice. +Their great limbs were shaking under heavy coats of fur, and they +whimpered plaintively, stirred by some unspeakable apprehension. The men +were standing by, gazing back over the ghostly field of ice, with wonder +and disquiet in their eyes. + +Again it was Oolak who spoke. He pointed at the headland from which they +had started. It was dim, shadowy, half lost in the grey twilight. + +"Him all go back," he said, as though he were making the most ordinary +announcement. + +Then he pointed at something nearer. It was just beyond where the sled +had been overturned. + +"Him all break up. So." + +His tone had changed. There was that in his harsh voice which was +utterly new to it. + +It was the moment of Steve's awakening from the dream of triumph he had +dreamed. It was the moment of the shattering of the confidence of years. +A wide fissure, of the proportions of a chasm, had opened up just beyond +where the mishap had occurred. It was as Oolak said. The grey headland +looked to be moving backwards, vanishing in the shadows of the Arctic +night. + +The approach to the heart of Unaga was yielding a reality that had been +entirely uncalculated. + +The widening chasm, stretching far as the eye could see on either hand, +had completely cut off all retreat. Steve and his men were standing on a +belt of ice that was moving. It was slipping away from the parent body, +gliding ponderously almost without tangible motion, down the great +glacial slope. They were trapped on the bosom of a glacial field in the +titanic throes of its death agony; a melting, groaning mass riding +monstrously to its own destruction in those far-off, mist-laden depths +of the valley below. + +It must have been unbelievable but for the definite evidence of it all. +Here, in the depths of an Arctic winter, with the whole earth shadowed +under a grey of frigid night, a glacial field, which a thousand years +could not have built up, was melting under a heat no less than the +summer of lower latitudes. + +It was a moment for panic. But Steve resisted with all his might. + +The position was supremely critical. There were no means of retreat in +face of that amazing fissure. There could be no standing still. They +must go on with the dread tide of grinding ice, on and on to the end. +And for the end their trust must be in the gods of fortune for such +mercies as they chose to vouchsafe. + +Steve's order rang out amidst the booming of the ice. It was urgent. It +was fierce in the need of the moment. The Indians knew. He had no need +to explain. Before them lay the hideous downward slope with possible +hell at the bottom. And the demon of avalanche was hard upon their +heels. + +In a frenzy the dogs leapt at their work. There was no need for club or +urging. They were only too eager to quit the quaking ice and lose their +consciousness of the thunders of the under-world in a rush of vital +movement. + +Steve warned himself there remained a fighting chance. It was the man's +courage which inspired the thought. The dogs took the only chance they +knew. They at least understood the soullessness of Nature's might when +arrayed for destruction. + +Steve drove for the fringe of it all, where the ice lapped against the +rising walls of the valley to which they were dropping. It was his only +course. He felt it to be his only chance. He had no real hope. It was +instinctive decision unsupported by reason. He knew that ahead lay the +great valley obscured under a fog of mist, and he could only guess at +the perils that lay hidden there. + +No, he did not know. He had no desire to question. Instinct alone could +serve him now, and instinct urged him to flee from the middle course of +the glacier as he would flee from the breath of pestilence. + +From the first moments of blind rush for safety all sense of time became +utterly lost. So, too, with fatigue. So, too, with the matter of +distance. Labour became well-nigh superhuman amidst the moving ice +hummocks. And the speed, and the jolting, and pitching of the sleds +transformed the chaotic world about them into still more utter +confusion. + +The sweaty mist came up from below seeking to enshroud them in long, +gauzy tentacles. + +How long the struggle endured it would have been impossible to tell. +There was thought only for the fissures that opened with a roar at their +feet, for the ice driving down upon their heels, for the melting streams +coursing amongst the hummocks. And--the threat of the enveloping mists. + +The dogs ran with the recklessness of a stampede, and the precious +burden of the sleds was a treasure upon the salving of which mind and +body were concentrated to the exclusion of all else. Even the security +of life and limb was a matter of far less concern. + +The mist closed down. The terror of sightlessness was added to the rest. + +Utter helplessness supervened. It was the final disaster. The closing +down of the fog meant the last of intelligent effort. The whole outfit +was left groping, blind, and conscious only of the terror of the +downward rush they could no longer check. Ghostly ice hummocks rose up +at them out of the darkness and buffeted like frigid legions advancing +to the attack. Fissures yawned agape. The booming ice roared on, +deafening, maddening. It was the struggle of brave men doomed. It was +sublimely pitiful. It was a moment for the tears of angels. + + * * * * * + +Out of the west the breeze had freshened. It came in little hasty gusts, +like the breath of invisible giants. The inky night seemed to lighten, +and, here and there, the flash of a star shone out, while a faint, +silvery sheen struggled for mastery in the stirring fog which fought so +desperately to deny the eyes of the Arctic night. + +A distant booming came up out of the fog. It was the softened sound of +far-off thunder. There was another sound, too. It was less awesome, but +no less significant. It was the steady droning of cascading waters +falling in a mighty tide. It suggested the plunge into the darkness of +an abyss, or even the lesser immensity of surging rapids in the course +of a mountain river. + +Steadily the western breeze increased. It lost its patchiness and +settled to a pleasant, warming drift. Slowly the inky darkness rolled +away. The peeping stars remained, or only lost their radiance in the +gossamer lightness of passing mist. The silver of the aurora shone down +triumphantly upon the _snowless earth_, and the glory of the moon lit +the remoteness with its frigid smile. + +On the dark monotony of an earth robbed of its winter clothing a cluster +of moving figures stood out in faint relief, and presently a light +flashed out like the infinitesimal blaze of a firefly in the night. It +passed, and then it came again. Again it passed. And again it came. +This time it lived and grew. A fire had lit, and the group of figures +were crouching over it as though to protect it against the dark +immensity of the world surrounding them. + + * * * * * + +The distant thunders had died away. No longer was there the ominous +droning of falling waters. The utter stillness of the Arctic night was +supreme. + +The steady play of the western breeze came down the highway of the +valley whose far-off slopes rose to unmeasured heights. To the westward +the dull reflections of earthly fire lit the sky with deep, sanguinary +hues, and the starlight seemed to have lost its power behind a haze of +cloud. For the rest the night was lit by the aurora. + +Steve and his Indians were standing on the moist banks of a broad, +flowing river, the surface of whose waters served as a mirror to the +splendid lights above. Away behind them, where the ground rose up +towards the higher slopes, was the glimmer of the fire which marked +their camp. They were all three gazing out at the western reflection of +earthly fires. + +For the moment there was silence. For the moment each was absorbed in +his own thought. None gave a sign of the nature of that thought, but it +was an easy thing to guess since their faces were turned towards the +reflection of Unaga's fires. + +It was Steve who first withdrew his gaze. He seemed reluctant. He turned +and surveyed the snowless territory about them. + +It was an extraordinary display of Nature's mood. They were treading +underfoot a growth of lank grass, and the slopes of the valley were clad +with bluffs of bare-poled woodlands. The air was warm. It was warmer +than the breath of a temperate winter, and the low-growing scrub marking +the course of the river was breaking into new growth of a whitish hue. + +The amazement of the discovery of these things had long since passed. +Steve and his Indians had returned again to the reality of things. + +Steve drew a deep breath. + +"We can't make another yard with the dogs," he said. "The snow's gone. +It's gone for keeps." + +It was a simple statement of the facts. And Oolak and Julyman were +equally alive to them. + +"Then him all mak' back?" + +There was eagerness in Julyman's question. The terror of that through +which they had passed was still in his mind. So, too, with the fiery +heart of Unaga that lay ahead. Oolak had nothing to add, so he kept to +his customary silence. + +Steve shook his head. + +"There's no quitting," he said simply. "Guess we've come nigh three +hundred miles. We've got through a territory to break the heart of a +stone image. God's mercy helped us back on that darn glacier when we +were beat like dead men. It's a sort of dream I just can't remember, and +don't want to anyway. Say, do you guess a miracle was sent down to us, +which kept us clear of going over that darn precipice with the ice? Was +it a miracle that carried us where there wasn't worse than a flow +banking on the slope of this valley? Was the mercy of it all sent to +have us quit now, with the end of things coming right to our hand? I +just guess not. It's there ahead. Somewhere down this valley. We can +smell it so plain we'll need the poison masks in a day's journey. +There's going to be no quitting. The sleds'll have to stop right here. +And the dogs. You boys, too. Guess I'm going on afoot. When I've located +the stuff," he went on, his eyes lighting, and his words coming +sharply, "when I locate the stuff in full growth, the harvest we're +yearning to cut, why, then I'll get right back here, and we'll go afoot, +all three of us, and we'll cut it, and bale it, and portage it right +here to the sleds. And when we've got all we can haul we'll cast for +that trail the Sleepers make in summer, and just cut out all that hell +of ice we came over. That's how I see it. And we're going to put it +right through if it breaks us, and beats us to death." + +Steve spoke with his eyes fixed upon the far-off lights of Unaga. His +words were the words of a man obsessed. But there was nothing in his +manner to suggest a mind weakening under its burden. It was simple, sane +determination that looked out of his eyes. + +Julyman answered him, and a world of relief was in his tone. + +"Him dog. Him sled. All him Indian man him stop by camp. Oh, yes." + +Steve nodded. Then he pointed out down the river. + +"It's a crazy territory anyway," he said. "Those darn fires have turned +it summer when winter's freezing up the marrow of things. When summer +gets around I guess it's likely the next thing to hell. But the thing +we're yearning for is lying there, somewhere ahead. And I'm after it if +I never make the fort again, and the folks we've left behind. Come on. +We'll get right back to camp. I need to fix things for the big chance +I'm going to take, and you boys'll wait around till I get back. If +things go wrong, and this thing beats me, why, just hang on till you +figger the food trucks liable to leave you short, then hit a trail over +the southern hills and work around back to the fort with word to Marcel +and An-ina. Guess there won't be any message." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE HEART OF UNAGA + + +Alone in the great silence. Without even the cry of desolation wrung +from starving wolf, or the howl of depression which ever seems to haunt +the heart of the coyote world. Alone with groping thought, with burning +hope, and the undermining of doubt which the strongest cannot always +shake off. Steve had taken the plunge which robbed him of human +companionship. + +It was the prompting of that spirit which borders so closely the line +where earthly sanity passes. It was the spirit which finds its +inspiration in the Great Purpose which drives on for the achievement of +the human task on earth. The dreamer of dreams is born to translate his +visions into reality, or to lie broken before the task. Steve was no +visionary. He was something more, something greater. His was the stern +heart of purpose selected for the translation of the dream of the +dreamer who had fallen by the way. + +Steve permitted himself no reflection upon the spiritual appeal of his +purpose. These things might concern those of a wider, deeper +intelligence. Or, perhaps, those whose weakness unfitted them for the +battle of the strong. It was for him to claim issue in the battle he +sought. And come life and victory, or death and defeat, he was prepared +to accept the verdict without complaint. + +The twinkling eyes of the heavens searched down upon the infinitesimal +moving figure. Their cold smile was steely, perhaps with the irony the +sight inspired. Their world was so coldly indifferent to human survival. + +The snowless breasts of the valley rose up miles away to the north and +south. And between their swelling contours lay a country of lesser hills +and valleys, equally snowless, and whose heart was the flood of a great +river. + +Sterility had passed. Here were no barren hill-crests with a hundred +weatherworn facets. Here were no fields of snow, driven by the fierce +gales of the polar seas. Here were no glacial fields bound in an iron +grip throughout the ages. The fires in the heart of Unaga were burning. +Their warming was in the breath of the breeze. It was in the very earth, +yielding its fruit with the freedom of the temperate world. + +A wood-clad country of almost luxurious vegetation, there was in it a +suggestion of the sub-tropical. But under the twilight of Arctic winter +it had lost the happy hues of a sunlit season. True, the conifers +retained their dull, dark foliage, but, for the rest, the bare branches +were alive with a new-born cloak that possessed the whiteness of +fresh-fallen snow. Even the lank grass under foot was similarly +awakening. + +The wonder of it all must have been amazing had Steve not been prepared +for some such phenomenon. Was not this crazy valley the reality of that +vision he had set before Marcel? It was the melting spring of temperate +latitudes transposed to the confines of the Arctic Circle. It was a land +of still, wonderful, voiceless life, whose air was sweet, and heavy +laden with a subtle perfume. + +He wondered, as he paced on under the burden of the pack his broad +shoulders were supporting. His mind was a riot with questioning. What of +the rest? Would the whole dream become reality? Why not? What of the +day when the sun rose again from its long winter sleep? + +For answer he gazed out ahead where a pillar of fire looked to be +supporting the clouded heavens. The logic of it all was plain. There was +no real question in his mind. With the returning light of the sun, and +the steadily rising temperature, the ghostly foliage would promptly +assume Nature's happy green and the world would ripen with the rapidity +of a forcing house. Then---- + +Steve's eyes were suddenly raised to the dark vault of the skies. The +lights of the night had been largely obscured. Only the heart of Unaga +still remained shining with unabated splendour. It was _raining_! + +Rain had ceased. The dripping figure of Steve was at rest on the low, +white-clad summit of a hill. He had no care for his condition as he +steamed under the dank heat of the valley. His eyes were steadily +regarding the wonder world of the west. + +For a long time he stood almost without movement. He was seeking, +seeking in every direction. But the rosy twilight baffled him. Unaga +buried her secrets deeply, and only was there the perfume in the air +which she could not conceal. This was the key with which Steve meant to +open the door of her treasure house. + +He raised his face and drew a deep breath through sensitive nostrils. +Then he exhaled slowly, deliberately, and his lips moved. Now there was +taste in the air as well as perfume. The change had come with the +rainfall. + +He stooped and deposited his pack on the moist ground. Then he +unfastened it. A few moments later he was standing erect again, and his +face was half hidden under a curiously constructed mask. Again he turned +to the west. Again he inhaled deeply. And as he did so satisfaction lit +his steady eyes. The scent of the air, its sickly sweetness, had +entirely passed as he breathed under the mask. + +He returned to his pack and fastened it up. Then he reslung it upon his +shoulders. When he passed from the summit of the hill the mask that was +to serve him when the danger line was reached had been removed. + + * * * * * + +Steve laboured on sweatily. He had halved the weight of his pack. He had +even removed his buckskin shirt. The heat was amazing. It nearly stifled +him. + +With each mile gained the spectacle of Unaga's fires grew in intensity +and sublime fury. The whole of the western world looked to be engulfed +in a caldron of fire; while the belching source of it all flamed at the +summit of its earthly column, amidst a churning, rose-tinted froth of +cloud banks. + +Changes came in swift succession. Perhaps the most significant of all +was the complete change in the aspect of the heavens, and in the +sulphurous grit with which the air was laden. The stars had vanished. +The flood of northern light had lost its clearness; now only a ghostly +shadow of its glory remained. There was only one moon. Its manifold +reflections were lost in the mist, and the shining silver of its own +light was painfully tarnished. + +For all this, however, the light in the valley was no less. Its +character had changed. That was all. The rosy twilight was growing to an +angry gleaming. + +Steve knew his journey's end was near. How near he could not tell. He +reminded himself that there must be a barrier, a dividing line, beyond +which no life could endure. But he also knew that the field of Adresol +must lie on the hither side of it. If that were not so, what of the +Indians to whom it yielded supplies for the pleasant calm of their +winter's sleep? + +Steve knew he was by no means witnessing a simple volcanic eruption. It +was something far greater. The suggestion of it all was so colossal that +he could find no concrete form in which to express his belief. In his +mind there had formed an idea that here was a whole wide territory +forming one great vent to the subterranean fires demanding outlet. It +seemed to him that those fires had been lit just where they now burned. +Maybe they had been lit on the day that dry land was first born upon the +earth, and throughout the ages had never been permitted to die out. + +Fascination held him enthralled as he laboured over the weary miles of +the valley. Every swamp became a potential objective for examination. +Every broken hill might conceal some secret valley where subterranean +heat produced a growth foreign to the more open regions. He could afford +to miss no canyon however small, lest the secret he sought lay hidden +there. And all the time with the hot breath of the westerly breeze in +his nostrils, the lure of the sickly perfume beckoned him on. + + * * * * * + +It was sheer mental and bodily weariness that brought Steve to a +prolonged halt. The heat was overpowering him at last. This strange land +with its ruddy twilight had become a labour beyond endurance. It was as +if the waters of the river were being evaporated into a steam which left +the air unbreathable. + +Halfway to the summit of a great wood-clad hill, that jettied across +from the southern slopes of the valley to the northern limits beyond, he +had flung himself to rest in a wide clearing surrounded by the cold +delicacy of white-hued foliage. In his moment of helplessness there +seemed to be no end to his journey. He felt that the great summit he +was reaching towards meant only a descent beyond, and then again +another, and still another steep ascent. + +Only for a few moments had he sprawled, seeking rest. He was thinking +and gazing back over his long solitary trail, peering into the reverse +of that upon which he had looked so long. It was intensely restful thus +to turn his gaze from the belching fires. Once his heavy eyelids closed. +But he bestirred himself. Later he would sleep, but not now. His day's +work was--Again his eyes closed heavily, and his hand fell from the +support of his head. + +It was that which wakened him. And in a moment a thrill of panic flashed +through his nerves. With all his will flung into the effort, he forced +himself to complete wakefulness. He sat up. He groped in his loosened +pack. He pulled out of it the mask he had tested once before, and, with +desperate haste, adjusted it over mouth and nostrils. + +It had been near, so near. He knew now how nearly disaster had clutched +at him. Furthermore he knew that even now the danger was by no means +passed. The heavy fumes of Adresol were creeping through the woods about +him. They were stealing their ghostly, paralyzing way low down upon the +ground, drifting heavily along until the open below brought them to the +stronger air currents which would disperse them on their eastward +journey, robbing them of their deadly toxin, and reducing them to a +simple sickly perfume. + +He had leapt to his feet. He stood swaying like a drunken man, while a +strange bemusing attacked his brain and left a singing in his ears. +Staggering under the influence of the deadly drug, he fled from the +clearing up towards the hill-top. + + * * * * * + +It was victory! Complete, overwhelming. + +Steve was gazing out upon a wide, seemingly limitless table-land. In +every direction it spread itself out, far as the eye could see. To the +west it looked to launch itself into the very heart of the land of fire +which was shedding its ruddy light from miles and miles away. To the +north it went on till it lost itself against the slopes of the lofty, +containing hills of the valley. Southward, its spread was swallowed up +under a rolling fog of smoke, which settled upon the world like a pall. +It was a great, white, limitless field of dead white lily bloom, +unbroken, unsullied, like the perfect damask of napery, purer in tone +than virgin snow. + +The great cup-like blooms stood up nearly to the height of his +shoulders. They were superb in their gracious form, and suggested +nothing so much as a mask of innocence and purity concealing a heart of +unimaginable evil. + +Steve gazed at those nearest him with mixed feelings of repulsion and +delight. Nor could he wholly rid himself of the fear his knowledge +inspired. His mask was closely adjusted over mouth and nostrils, and he +knew that it was only that product of the dead chemist's genius that +stood between him and a dreamless sleep from which there would be no +awakening. + +And as he gazed he became aware of a strange phenomenon. Each lily was +slightly inclining its gaping mouth towards the distant heart of Unaga, +which inspired its life. To him it suggested an attitude of the +devoutest worship. It seemed to his mind that these strange plants, +containing all that was most beneficent, and all that was most deadly in +their composition, were yielding a silent expression of thankful worship +to the tremendous power which saved them from the frigid death to which +the dead of Arctic winter would otherwise have condemned them. + +His feelings yielded to the profound wonder of it all. For all his fear +his soul was stirred to its depths. And his thankfulness was no less +than his wonder. + +Yes, it was victory at last, after years of ceaseless effort. It was a +victory surpassing even his wildest hopes. Here was the wonderful field +of growing Adresol in all the glory of full bloom. Here was an +inexhaustible supply of the drug the world of healing science was crying +out for. It was here, in its deadliest form, awaiting the reapers. A +harvest such as would accomplish everything he had ever hoped to +achieve. + +And as the moments passed, and his confidence in the protecting mask +grew, so a wonderful spirit buoyed him. It was a condition he had parted +from many years ago. A happy, joyous smile lit his eyes. It grew, and +broke into a laugh. He reached out and daringly plucked a great stem +supporting a perfect bloom. He stood gazing into the deep, cup-like +heart for prolonged moments. He was thinking of Ian Ross and the days so +far back in his mind. Fifteen years? Yes. More. And now---- + +He contemplated with joy the labours ahead. The return to Oolak and +Julyman. The work of the harvest. The portaging of it. The packing of +the sleds. Then the long, last homeward trail with a success achieved +beyond his dreams. It was something indeed to have lived for and +laboured for. Marcel! + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +KEEKO AND NICOL + + +It was all so drab, so cheerless. Outside the snow was still piled to +the depth of many feet, the ice still held the river in its chill +embrace. But the temperature was rising. The open season was advancing. + +Keeko was aware of it. There were weeks of melting to pass yet. But +soon---- + +Inside, the vault-like store was warm enough. But it was dark, and +squalid, and it reeked with the taint which only the centuries can +impart. These things impressed themselves never so much upon Keeko as +now, while she sat over the warming stove. + +She had just returned from Seal Bay. She had passed most of the winter +on the trail with her Indians. She preferred their company in desperate +circumstances to the associations of Fort Duggan. During those long +months she had planned the future for herself, a future which had +nothing to do with Nicol, but which took him into her calculations. She +possessed a wonderful faculty for clear thinking. And her decision had +been irrevocably taken. + +Nicol was leaning on the heavy oaken bench that served him for a +counter, and about him, and behind him, were the piled stocks of his +trade. He was preoccupied. Keeko was glad enough. She had returned only +in the execution of her plans, and to prepare for the moment when she +intended to steal her freedom, and shut this man's companionship for +ever out of her life. + +Just now her thoughts were far away as she basked in the warmth of the +stove. They were upon the coming spring, the opening river, upon the old +moose head set up to watch for her coming, and--upon Marcel. + +Once she turned her head, and into her pretty eyes there crept a look +which was almost of disquiet. The man's dark head and bearded face were +bent over the sheet of paper upon which he was scratching with a stub of +pencil. There was a small heap of paper money beside him. There was also +a largish glass of raw rye whisky, from which he frequently drank. It +was the sight of this latter that caused the girl's look of disquiet. It +was the second drink in less than half an hour. She turned away with an +added feeling of repugnance, and she reckoned again the number of weeks +that must pass before her freedom came. + +It was at the moment of her turning back to the stove that the +scratching of the pencil ceased. The man looked up, and his bold smiling +eyes were turned upon the girl. He drained his glass noisily while his +eyes remained upon the pretty buckskin-clad figure that so lewdly +attracted him. There was nothing pleasant in the smile. And the glazing +of his eyes was that of excessive alcoholism, and primitive, animal +passion. He was unobserved, and he knew there was no need to disguise +his feelings. + +After a while he crushed the pile of paper money into a hip pocket, and +helped himself liberally to more of the spirit. + +"It's pretty darn good," he said abruptly, with an appreciative smack of +the lips under his curtain of whiskers. + +"You mean--?" Keeko did not look round. + +"Why, the price." Nicol laughed harshly. + +Keeko heard him drink. She heard him gasp with the scorch of the liquor +passing down his throat. She waited. + +The man moved round and came across to the stove. His gait was unsteady +and Keeko was aware of it. She hated, and well-nigh feared the proximity +of a man who drugged himself with alcohol on every pretext and at every +opportunity. + +"Say, you've done well, kid," Nicol exclaimed, with coarse familiarity, +and with the intention of conciliation. "Sixteen hundred dollars for +those pelts? Gee! You surely must have set Lorson hating you bad." + +Keeko was torn by emotions she was powerless to check as she desired. +She knew this man for all he was. She knew that he was little better +than a savage animal, and, at moments, when alcohol had completed its +work, was something even more to be feared. + +Of the sober savage in him she had no fear. She had the means to deal +with that always to her hand. But influenced by drink it was a different +matter. That was his condition now. It was a condition to disturb any +young, lonely woman. + +She knew she had a difficult part to play. But her mind was made up. She +would play it so long as it would serve. After that---- + +She shook her head. + +"No," she said coldly, without looking up. "Guess he didn't know his +dollars were going to Fort Duggan. If he had, maybe it would have been +different. He doesn't figger to pay big money to the folks he--owns. I'm +just a free trader to him. He doesn't even know my name. Maybe he hates +free traders. But he's ready to pay if the pelts are fine quality. He +didn't worry a thing." + +The man's amiability beamed. + +"You're a smart kid," he said, with his bold eyes on the pretty figure +which the girl's mannish buckskin had no power to conceal. + +Again she shook her head. + +"The North teaches a mighty tough lesson. If you don't learn it good +you're beat right away." Keeko suddenly looked up, and her eyes were +gazing directly into the man's. "I've learned a heap. I'm not yearning +to learn more. Still--Say, there's times I feel I'd like to get back to +the sheltered days when the school-ma'm sat around over a girl till she +hated herself. If I'm smart I'm no smarter than I need to be." + +"No." + +Nicol's eyes were almost devouring as Keeko turned back to the stove. + +"We've all got to be smart if we're going to lay hold of the things held +out to us," he said. He laughed cynically. "That's how I always figger. +Guess I haven't a notion to miss a thing now. The days of foolishness +are over." + +Keeko was well enough aware of the thoughts which lay at the back of her +own words. Now she strove to penetrate his. + +"Yes," she said with a quiet confidence which she by no means felt. + +Ease, confidence could never be hers in this man's presence, for all she +had been brought up to look on him as a step-father. The thoughts of the +weeks lying ahead were in her mind. They were always there now. Time. +She was playing for time. So she adopted the tone and attitude best +suited to help her. + +After a moment's silence the man suddenly flung out his hands. It was a +movement expressive of his volcanic temper. That which had for its +inspiration cynical disregard for anything and everything which +interfered with the fulfilment of his own selfish desire. + +"Hell!" he cried. "What's the use talking? We got to fix things right +here and now. It's for you, as it's for me. We've got to play the game +together. There's no other way. Say, I got to make a trip when the ice +breaks. It's a hell of a trip. It's going to hand us one of the things +held out to us." He laughed harshly. "I've got to grab it for both of +us. I need you to stop around while I'm away. You can run this layout +just as you fancy to. It don't matter a curse to me, so you stop +around." + +"What's the trip?" There was a sharpness in the girl's question which +had not been in her tone before. "What's the thing held out that's +for--both of us?" + +"Money. Big money." + +"Big money?" + +In a moment the girl's every faculty became alert. + +Nicol realized the change. His temper resented it. But his cunning +robbed him of the retort that leapt to his lips. And all the while the +girl's cold, pretty eyes provoked those passions in him which the dead +mother had dreaded. Keeko could have no understanding of the unbridled +licence rampant in his besotted body. + +He nodded. + +"It's so big I just can't get all it means--yet. You and me--we're going +to be partners in it." + +"Partners?" + +"Sure." + +"What's needed from me?" + +Keeko's suspicions were stirring When Nicol talked of "big money" and +snatching that held out to him, it was not easy to believe in the +honesty of it all. + +"Just stop around till I get back." + +The girl withdrew her gaze and sat with hands spread out to the warmth +of the stove. + +"You best tell me," she said quietly but firmly. + +She looked for an explosion and she was not disappointed. The hot blood +rushed to the man's bloated cheeks. His eyes lit furiously. He had +looked for prompt acquiescence. It had been his habit to browbeat the +woman who had followed him throughout a long career of crime, and it +drove him half crazy to find opposition in her daughter. There could be +no doubt of Keeko's determination. She was tacitly demanding her place +in the proposed partnership. + +"I'm telling nothing--not a darn thing. It's up to me, and no concern of +anyone else. Get that. We're either partners or crosswise. And I guess +it's not healthy getting crosswise with me. You'll share in the result. +Ain't that good enough? All I need from you is to sit around till I get +back." + +Keeko choked back the angry retort she longed to hurl at him. Those +nightmare weeks that lay ahead were uppermost in her mind. They must be +bridged at any cost. So she smiled in a fashion that stirred the man's +pulses and melted his swift wrath instantly. + +"Say, you're asking me to partner in this thing whatever it is," Keeko +said in a disarming fashion. "You're asking me to act the grown woman, +and treating me like a foolish kid. You guessed just now I was smart. +Well? Let's be reasonable folk. Here, listen. You're talking of big +money. I guess I know all about big money in this country. The only +feller north of 60 deg. who can handle and pay big money is Lorson Harris. +And he only reckons to pay big money for something he's looking for bad. +The thing he needs bad generally has a deal of dirt in it. Well, how +much dirt is there to this trip while I sit around? Guess I'm either a +woman or a kid. If I'm a kid I can't run the layout with you away. If +I'm a woman I'll be treated that way. There's nothing in the North to +scare me, not even your bluff, any more than Lorson Harris. But tell it +all. We'll stand even then. Anyway it's not good betting blind, and I +don't feel like acting that way." + +The girl's smile robbed her determination of its offence. And Nicol fell +for it. The bully in him was struggling with those purposes, that +passion which was his greatest weakness. The struggle was brief enough +as such a struggle is bound to be. In a moment he capitulated. + +"Say," he cried, "you'd break up the patience of Satan. Here, the +thing's worth a hundred thousand dollars." + +"A hundred thousand dollars?" + +The startled tone, the amazement in Keeko's eyes, were genuine enough, +and the man grinned his enjoyment. + +"Sure," Nicol laughed in the delight of his success. "Do you know what +it means? How'd you fancy living like a swell woman on the world's best, +and with folks around you to act the way you say? How'd you feel with +pockets stuffed with dollars, and wearing swell gowns instead of the +darn buckskin that hides up half the woman in you? How'd you like living +where you've as much chance of snow as eating ice cream in hell, and +supping your tea without needing to blow aside the dead flies floating +on top to make a place for your dandy lips? It means that--all that--and +more, and it's for you and me." + +The girl had recovered from her surprise. Her worst suspicions were +confirmed. Her wits were alert, sharpened by the hideous necessity of +placating this amazing creature she dared not openly flout. + +She smiled again. She threw into her smile all the blandness her sex +alone can command. + +"I guess you're right. It's Lorson all right. It's too good to let slip. +Well?" + +"Too good? Well, I'd smile. Too good? Gee!" Nicol was wholly deceived as +Keeko intended him to be. He turned abruptly away to the counter where +the bottle of rye whisky stood and helped himself to a full measure of +it. He drank it down at a gulp. He had won the day. He had swept aside +the antagonism he had felt threatened his ultimate purposes. He was on +the high road to achieving all he had promised the dead mother in her +tortured moments. He felt that Keeko was dazzled. He was buying her as +he believed he could buy any woman. The rest would be easy. It only +needed a little patience, a little care. So he drank without fear of the +potent spirit he loved. + +He staggered back to the stove and stood swaying beside the girl. And he +rested one powerful hand on her buckskin-clad shoulder while his lewd +fingers moved, gently caressing the soft flesh underneath. A wild, +panicky desire set Keeko half mad to fling his filthy hand from its +contact. But she resisted the impulse. She knew she dared not risk it in +his present mood and condition. Filled with unutterable loathing she +submitted to it. + +"Well?" she demanded, while she forced the smile to her eyes again. + +The man leered down at her out of his inflamed eyes. He shook his head +with maudlin indulgence. + +"You don't need to know any more," he said thickly. "What's the use? +You're a gal with clean notions. Guess my hands are used to the dirty +sort of work Lorson needs." + +"Then it is Lorson?" + +"Lorson? Sure it's Lorson. Is there any other dirty swine in the North +ready to buy the lives of men?" + +"Life?" + +"Oh, hell! Yes," the man cried, with a gesture of tolerant impatience. +"Of course it's life. Lorson! A hundred thousand dollars! It couldn't be +for a thing less than life. It don't rattle me any." + +Suddenly he flung caution to the winds. His passions were aflame, and +his bemused brain was incapable of reckoning cost. + +"It's some folks up north," he went on. "They've a secret trade. Lorson +needs that trade. He's had 'em trailed, but they're wise, and they've +fooled him all the time. He's crazy about it, and----" + +Keeko had risen abruptly from her seat. The movement had rid her of +those hideously searching fingers. She could stand them no longer. She +stood up with one foot resting on the bench she had vacated, tilting it, +and holding it balanced. Her smile had gone, but she was searching the +bleared eyes of the man. + +"He wants them--murdered!" she said. + +But her tone, her look conveyed nothing to the man who had been her +step-father. He went on ignoring the interruption completely. + +"He means to get them. He set it up to me to locate 'em last summer +while you were on the river. It was a tough trip, but I beat all I +needed out of the hides of an outfit of the Shaunekuk, and I got the +location of their post all right. Gee!" He laughed drunkenly. "Oh, yes, +I got all the word I need, an' I guess there ain't a soul but me knows +it. Well, I'm going along up north this opening, and I'm going to finish +the job, and when it's done, and Lorson's handed the cash-pappy over, +and it's set deep in my dip, why, then I'll pass him all he needs. He +can get all I know--then. It's a cinch that hundred thou----" + +"Who are the folks Lorson means to murder? Do I know them? Have I----?" + +The man shook his head. The change in the girl's tone was lost upon him. + +"Guess not. I'd say no one knows 'em except Tough Alroy and Lorson. +They're an outfit carrying on a trade under the name of Brand--Marcel +Brand----" + +The bench under the girl's moccasined foot crashed to the ground. +Instantly she was stooping over it. + +When Keeko finally looked up the bench was under her foot again, +balanced as before, and she was smiling. She was pale under the weather +tanning of her face. That was all. Her mouth was set, and sharp lines +were drawn about it. But she smiled. Oh, how she smiled. + +Her lips parted. Her parching tongue moved in a vain effort to moisten +them. She cleared her throat which was dry--dry as a lime kiln. When she +spoke it was with effort, and her voice had lost its usual quality. + +"Marcel--Marcel Brand," she said. "It--it sounds foreign. Maybe it's +French-Canadian." + +The man shrugged. The nationality of the name did not concern him. He +was not even thinking of the murder for which he was to receive a price. +It was of the girl he was thinking with all the animal there was in him. +The alcohol he had consumed was driving him to let go all control. + +"Don't know. Can't say," he said indifferently. "It don't matter two +cents to me. It's the dollars when I've done and what they'll buy me. +Say, kid--" he drew a long breath like a man preparing for a +plunge--"what's the matter with us two making out together? I'll be able +to buy you----" + +"You're my step-father!" Keeko's eyes lit curiously. + +"Step-father?" The man laughed as if he had just listened to something +profoundly humorous. "Step-father?" He shook his head. He moved a step +nearer, his swaying body ill-balanced as he approached. "I'm no +step-father to you, kid. There ain't a sign of relationship. You're your +mother's kid by her man, the man she married, and she and I never saw +the inside of a church together. She couldn't have married me if I'd +felt that way. Her man's alive I guess. Leastways, we ain't heard of his +death. I'm no step-father of yours. That's the stuff she handed you so +you wouldn't think bad of her. I couldn't marry her and didn't want to, +but I can marry you. See? And this hundred thousand dollars makes it so +I can hand you----" + +He lurched forward, his arms out-held. And as he came Keeko sprang back. + +"Quit it!" she threatened. "Quit! A step nearer and----" + +But the man's passions were aflame. He laughed roughly. + +"Quit nothing," he cried. "You can't fool me. I'm out to make good for +you, and you're standing in. You're going to----" + +"You fool man!" + +Keeko's tone was cold and her words full of contempt. The white ring of +her gun barrel covered him squarely. It was directed at the pit of his +stomach, while her eyes, alight with cold purpose, stared unflinchingly +into his drunk and passion-distorted face. + +The man's movement ceased. The animal shining in his eyes changed to a +sudden, livid fury. The standing veins at his temples visibly pulsed, +and Keeko knew he was only gathering afresh the forces which her action +had momentarily paralyzed. With lightning impulse she seized the chance +afforded her. + +"You cur! You filthy brute!" she cried fiercely. "Do you think you can +play me as you play the miserable women of the Shaunekuks? Get sense as +quick as you know how. Get sense. Do you hear? Get out and do the work +you reckon to do, but don't dare to make an inch towards me, or you'll +never live to do the murder you're reckoning on." + +It was the promptness, the strength and nerve of it all that achieved +the girl's purpose. There was no pretence now. Her eyes were alight with +a sober, frigid hate and determination. + +The man understood. His fury was that of a man whose lusts are thwarted, +but his helplessness before the threatening gun was sufficiently +obvious. + +He sobered abruptly, as once before Keeko had sobered him. + +"You can put up your gun," he cried savagely. + +He waited. As the girl ignored his invitation he turned abruptly to the +counter. + +But he was not permitted to reach it. Keeko's voice rang stridently +amongst the rafters of the place. + +"Stop!" + +Nicol stopped and turned. + +"You can stop right there," the girl said coldly. "I'm going right out. +I'm quitting. You best understand that. I'm quitting, and I'm taking my +outfit with me. I don't pass another night under this roof. You best +remember I've all I need to fight you. If you get out after me you'll +get shot like the dog you are. So you best think--hard." + +Keeko moved towards the door. Not for one moment did she turn her back, +or lower her gun. And the man's furious eyes followed her till the slam +of the door shut her out from his view. + +For awhile Nicol remained staring at the dark timbers of the closed +door. For awhile it seemed as if his bemused brain failed to grasp the +meaning of that which had happened. Then he turned swiftly. He reached +the counter and drained the bottle of the last dregs of the spirit it +contained. Then, reaching under the counter, he possessed himself of the +gun that was always lying there, and made for the door and flung it +open. + +He stood in the doorway seeking a sight of the girl he had marked down +for his own. But there was none. She was nowhere to be seen. Only he +looked out upon, the snow, and the woods, and the ice-bound river. So, +after awhile, he seemed to change his mind. He closed the door and +returned to the stove and seated himself on the bench beside it. + + * * * * * + +Keeko was with her Indians at work. Snake Foot, and Med'cine Charlie, +and Little One Man were working as they always worked for the white +woman they loved. + +The outfit with which they had returned from Seal Bay was changed. The +dogs were fresh, and the long sled was laden with a canoe that was +securely lashed to it. The blankets and stores were loaded in the frail +body of the light vessel. + +Keeko's plan was clear in her mind, and urgency was speeding her efforts +and the efforts of her helpers. She had only one thought now. It +was--Marcel. She knew. Oh, yes. There could be no doubt. For her there +was only one Marcel. There could be no other. It was Nicol's purpose to +murder him and his people. It was for her to defeat that purpose. + +Daylight was at its last extremity when the work was completed. And, +while Keeko enveloped herself in her heavy Arctic furs, and secured the +lashings of her snow-shoes, Little One Man put the only question he had +asked as to the journey about to begin. + +"We mak' him--yes?" he said, his parchment-like eyelids blinking his +enquiry. + +"North." Keeko's answer came promptly. "Guess we follow the river till +the ice breaks up. Then we camp, and I make the rest by the water." + +"Oh, yes. Him moose head. Yes? And him big hunter--Marcel?" + +Keeko smiled into the dusky face of her faithful ally. + +"That's so--if God wills it." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE DEVOTION OF A GREAT WOMAN + + +The daylight was lengthening. Very slowly the lolling sun was returning +to life and power. A sense of revivifying was in the air. As yet the +grip of winter still held. The snow was still spread to the depth of +many feet upon the broad expanse of the valley of the Sleepers. But its +perfect hue was smirched with the lateness of the season. It had assumed +that pearly grey which denotes the coming of the great thaw. + +Marcel was standing on the drifted bank of the little river, winding its +way towards the Northern hills. He was there for the purpose of +ascertaining the conditions prevailing. But his purpose had been +forgotten. + +Erect, motionless, superb in his physical greatness, he was gazing out +at the wall of western hills, heedless of that which he looked upon. He +was absorbed in thought that was reaching out far, far beyond the hills +which barred his vision. It was somewhere out there where the eyeless +sockets of an old moose looked down upon the great river coming up out +of the south, cutting its way between the granite walls of the earth's +foundations. + +Keeko! He was thinking, dreaming of the girl who had come to him in the +heart of the far-off woods, with all her woman's appeal to his youthful +manhood. He was thinking of her wonderful blue eyes, her radiant smile, +her amazing courage. They were the same thoughts which had lightened +even the darkest moments of the howling storms of winter and transformed +the deadly monotony of it all into something more than an endurance to +which the life of the Northern world condemned him. + +But there was more than all this stirring him now. He was moved to +impatience, the impatience of headstrong youth. It was not new. He had +had to battle against it from the moment of his return to the fort. More +than all else in the world he desired to fling every caution, every +responsibility to the winds, and set out for the meeting-place over +which the old moose stood guard. + +He knew it could not be. He knew it would be an act of the basest +ingratitude and selfishness. Uncle Steve had not yet returned. He could +not return for weeks yet. If he, Marcel, yielded to his desires An-ina +must be left alone. His impatience was useless. He knew that. The +Sleepers would awaken soon, and demand their trade. He could not fling +the burden of it all on the willing shoulders of An-ina. He must wait. +He could do no less. + +He turned away. It was an act of renunciation. The signs on the river +had told him nothing, because he had asked no question. He knew it all +without asking. He had known before he had sought his excuse. So he +floundered through the snow back to the fort. + +The silence was profound. The world at the moment was a desert, a frigid +desert. There was no life anywhere. There were not even the voices of +warring dogs to greet him, and yield him excuse to vent the impatience +of his mood. + +He passed the gateway of the stockade where he had so often stood +searching the distance in the long years. And so he approached the +doorway of his home. A weight of depression clouded his handsome eyes. +He was weighted with a trouble which seemed to him the greatest in the +world. + +The door of the store opened before he reached it. Keen, watching, +understanding eyes had been observing his approach. They were eyes that +read him with an ease such as was denied them on the contemplation of +the pages of an open book. An-ina had made up her mind, and she stood +framed in the doorway to carry out her purpose. + +The man's eyes lighted at sight of her. His trouble was lifted as though +by some strong hand. This mother woman never failed in her comfort even +in the simple fact of her presence. With his thought still filled with +the white beauty of Keeko, the soft copper of An-ina's skin, the smiling +gentleness of her dark eyes were things at all times to soften the +roughness of Marcel's mood. + +"Marcel come back? The ice all hold? Oh, yes. Bimeby the trail open and +Marcel mak' him. An-ina know. But--not yet." + +Marcel made no attempt to conceal his feelings from this woman. He had +told her all. He had spread out before her all his hopes and fears, all +the impatience of his youthful heart. She had endured the burden of it +throughout the long winter not unwillingly, and her sympathy had been +yielded abundantly. + +Marcel laughed. It was not out of any feeling of joy. It was the +self-consciousness of youth before the eyes of maturity. + +He shook his head. + +"Not yet," he said. "Uncle Steve isn't back anyway." + +"No." An-ina sighed. For a moment her smile died out, and her wistful +gaze was unconsciously turned towards the North. It only encountered the +crude interior of the storage sheds where the canoes and trail gear +were usually kept. One of the sheds was standing empty. + +Presently her eyes came back to the man's face, and they were smiling +confidently again. + +"He come--bimeby. Yes." + +Even in the midst of his own troubles Marcel could never be forgetful of +this devoted creature. + +"He certainly will," he said, in no doubtful fashion. "He'll be along +before the Sleepers wake. Say, An-ina, I'm not wise to many things. But +there's one I know, like--like nothing else. The North can't beat Uncle +Steve." + +The dark eyes lit with a feeling which even Marcel realized. + +"Marcel good. But An-ina, too, know he come--sure." + +The woman paused with her gaze again turned upon the sheds, and after a +moment she looked deeply, earnestly into the eyes of the man who held +her mother love. + +"That why An-ina say to Marcel now," she went on. "She think much. Oh, +yes. An-ina think much--this white girl who mak' Marcel all much happy. +She far away. Long, long by the trail. Maybe she come where Marcel say +when the river all break up. It all long piece 'way. Marcel wait while +river him break, then long-piece 'way river break too. So. This Keeko +girl she come by river. No? She mak' trail. She think Marcel not come. +He no more care find Keeko. So. Marcel go all heap sick. No Keeko--no +nothing." + +The woman's halting words lost nothing of their purpose in their +limitations. Marcel's brows drew sharply together in alarm at the +prospect she painted for him. Then, after a moment, he passed a hand +across his forehead as though to brush his fears aside. + +"But Uncle Steve's not back yet," he said, as though the fact clinched +all argument finally. + +An-ina, however, had no intention of accepting any such finality. She +shook her head. + +"That all so. Oh, yes," she said. "Uncle Steve not come back long +whiles. But he come back. When him come An-ina say: 'Good. Much good.' +Then An-ina say: 'Marcel lose all up white girl, Keeko. Bad. Much bad. +No good--nothing.'" She shook her head. "Marcel go now. Take plenty dog. +Sled. Canoe. Oh, yes. Take all thing. Reindeer. Everything plenty. So. +When river all break Marcel find white girl, Keeko. He bring Keeko to +An-ina. An-ina much happy. Uncle Steve happy--too." + +The woman drove straight to the purpose at which she aimed. All the +problems concerning the lives of the men she loved held for her a +perfectly simple solution. Steve would come back to her in his own good +time. There was nothing to be considered on that score. Marcel loved the +white girl, Keeko. He must meet her again when the winter broke, or he +would know no happiness. Then he must go--go now--so that he should be +there to greet her when her canoes came up out of the south. + +Self never entered into An-ina's calculations. So long as the path of +life was made as smooth and pleasant for her men folk as the Northland +would permit there was nothing else with which she need concern herself. +She would be alone, unprotected. When the Sleepers roused from their +torpor their trade must be seen to. Well, that was all right. She could +see to it all. She saw nothing in these things which must be allowed to +interfere with the happiness of any one belonging to her. Then, too, +there was the white girl Keeko. Her simple woman's mind was stirred to +wonder and curiosity as to the woman who had taken possession of the +heart of the man who was to her as a son. + +The unselfishness of it all appealed to the simple heart of the youth. +But the passion that had taken possession of him overrode his finer +scruples. The selflessness of the woman was the mother in An-ina. The +emotions of the man were the emotions belonging to those primal laws of +nature wherein self stands out supreme over every other instinct. An-ina +was urging him to go--to go now--to leave her unprotected. It was the +very thing for which he had blamed Uncle Steve. And he knew from the +moment her words had been spoken that he intended to take her at her +word. He shook his head, but his eyes were shining. + +"I just can't do it, An-ina," he said a little desperately. "I can't +leave you here alone. Suppose----" + +An-ina interrupted him with her low, almost voiceless laugh. + +"An-ina know," she said with a curious gentle derision which was +calculated out of her years of study of the youth. "An-ina no good. She +not nothing, anyway. Indian man come beat her head. She fall dead quick. +Oh, yes. She not know gun from the 'gee-pole.' She got not two hands. +She not learn shoot caribou, same like Marcel. She big fool-woman. +An-ina know. Marcel think that. Steve not think that way. Oh, no. Boss +Steve plenty wise. So Marcel come wise--later." Again came her low +laugh. "This Keeko. This white girl so like the sun, the moon, all him +star. Marcel love her? Oh, yes? An-ina say 'no.' Marcel not love her. +Marcel love her, he say: 'An-ina no 'count Indian woman. She go plumb to +hell--anyway. She nothing. Only Keeko. Marcel love her all to death. He +go find her. He not care. Only so he find her.'" + +Marcel stood dumb with amazement. His eyes were alight with a laugh he +strove to restrain, but they were alight with something else, too. +An-ina watched him. And her laugh came again as she flung her final +taunt. + +"Indian man say him love An-ina?" she cried. "Indian man not come fetch +her--quick? Indian man say him not leave mother for An-ina? Then An-ina +spit at him." + +It was the savage breaking through the years of simple culture. The +appeal of it all was beyond Marcel's power to resist. Suddenly he flung +out his two great arms, and the hands that were immense with his +muscular strength came down on the woman's soft, ample shoulders, and he +held her in a great affectionate embrace. + +"That's fixed it, you dear mother thing!" he cried, his face flushing +with the joy of it all, the shame of it. "I'm going right away. I'm just +going to leave you right here to the darn Sleepers, to the wolves, and +the dogs, and any old thing that fancies to get around. There's no woman +going to spit at--your Marcel." + + * * * * * + +Marcel had gone. An-ina had seen to that. She had given him no chance to +change his mind, or to permit his duty to override his desire. + +There had been little enough likelihood of any such thing happening. The +man was too human, too young, too madly in love. But An-ina was taking +no risk. So, with her own hands, she helped him prepare his outfit, and +she saw to and considered those details for his comfort which, in his +superlative impulse, he would probably have ignored. He went alone. He +refused to rouse one single Sleeper to lend him aid. His journey was in +that treacherous time between the seasons, when the snow and ice would +be rotting, and the latter part of his journey would find his winter +equipment an added burden. + +Then he had set out. An-ina watched his great figure move away with joy +and pride thrilling her heart. He was out to battle with the elements, +with everything which the life of the Northland could oppose to him, for +the possession of the woman he loved. In her simple, half savage mind it +was the sign of the crown of manhood to which she had helped him. She +was glad--so glad. + +The joy of her thought was her great support in the long days of +solitude that followed, and it filled her mind with a peace that left +her undisturbed. She filled each moment of her waking hours with the +labours which had become her habit. The Sleepers would soon awaken, and +all must be made ready for that moment when the work of the open season +began. It was her simple pride that with the return of her man he should +be able to find no fault. + +Ah, she was longing for that moment. The return of her man. Perhaps a +triumphant return. She did not know. She could not guess. His success +would give her joy only that she would witness the light of triumph +shining in his eyes. Happiness for her would lie in his return. + +He would come. She knew he would come. Her faith was expressed in the +sublime trust and confidence which her woman's adoration had built up +about the idol of her life. No god of the human mind was ever endowed +with greater, more infallible powers. So the hours of labour were brief +and swiftly passing, for she felt that each detail of her daily life was +carried out under the approving eyes that, in her imagination, were +always looking on. She was happy--utterly, completely happy. She could +have sung throughout the hours of waking, had song been her habit. She +could have laughed aloud, if the Indian in her permitted it. Heart, +mind, and body were absorbed in her faith. + + * * * * * + +It was in the dead of night. An-ina stirred restlessly under the +blankets which were those that once had covered the white mother of +Marcel. In a moment she was wide awake, sitting up in the darkness, +listening. The savage barking of the three old dogs, the only dogs now +left in the compound behind the fort, had roused her from sleep. It was +a furious chorus that warned her of the unusual. It suggested to her +mind the approach of marauding wolves, or some other creature that +haunted the Northern wastes. + +She sprang from her bed without a moment's hesitation. Fear was unknown +to her. She knew the old dogs, long past the work of the trail, were not +easily disturbed in their slumbers. It was for her to ascertain, if +necessary---- + +The chorus was still raging as she flung open the door of the store, and +stood peering out into the brilliant night. Steve's repeating rifle was +ready in her hand. She had lit the lamp before she removed the bars of +the door, and stood silhouetted against its yellow light. Only a woman +or the utterly reckless could have committed such a folly. + +With every sense alert, those senses that were so keenly instinct with +the perception of the animal world, she searched the shadows within the +stockade, and the distance beyond its open gateway. There was no sign of +the marauder she looked for. But nevertheless the chorus of the canine +displeasure and protest went on. At last she pulled the door to behind +her and passed out into the night. + +Once in the open her search was swift and keen. The great enclosure +yielded nothing to disturb, so she passed on to the gateway, where the +barking of the aged dogs had no power to confuse her observation. + +The coldly gleaming sky shone radiantly upon the white-clad earth. The +calm of the world was unbroken. Even the wind was dead flat, and not a +sigh came from the woods which hid up the dreaming Sleepers. There was +nothing. Nothing at all. And she determined to return and to silence the +foolish old trail dogs with the weight of a rawhide. Just a few moments +longer she waited searching with eyes and ears, then she turned back. + +But her purpose remained unfulfilled. She stood seemingly rooted to the +spot while her ears listened to the faint distant shout of a human +voice. It was prolonged. It had nothing in it of a cry of distress. It +was the call of a voice suggesting a simple signal of approach. + +For an instant her heart seemed to leap into her throat. Then, in a wild +surge, it started to hammer as though seeking to free itself from the +bonds that held it. That call. She knew it. There could be no mistake. +Nor could she mistake the voice that uttered it. It was the voice of +Steve. It was the great return of which her faith had assured her. And +high and shrill she flung back her answer, with all the power of her +lungs and a grateful heart. + + * * * * * + +The greeting had been all An-ina had ever dreamed it. It had been even +more, for she had gazed into steady grey eyes shining with the light of +triumph. + +They were standing in the store where the stove, banked for the long, +cold night, was radiating its comforting warmth. Steve, sturdy, +unemotional, was replying to the question which had come with the +passing of the woman's greeting. + +"We're loaded right down, and the dogs are well-nigh beat," he said, in +his quiet way. "Guess that's not the reason they're way back camped +while I got on to home though. It's the green weed in full bloom, and +we daren't open the bales with folks around without masks. We daren't +risk a thing that way. I kind of guessed I'd best get on and warn you +and Marcel, and make ready to pass it right into the store-house quick." +He thrust up a hand and pushed his fur cap back from his brow. And, for +a brief moment, he permitted play to his feelings. "Say, it's great, +An-ina! And--and I'm just glad. I guess we've been as near hell as this +land can show us, but we've made good. The boys are with me back there. +They're feeling good and fit, and we've--Where's Marcel?" + +An-ina's eyes were shining with the joy of a triumph no less than the +man's. It was the greatest moment of her life. Had not her idol proved +himself even beyond her dreams? Her gladness only deepened at his sharp +question. She had her great story to tell. The story which no woman's +heart can resist. + +"Him go," she said, with a little gesture of the hands. "An-ina send +him. Oh, yes." + +"Gone? Where?" + +Steve was startled. For a moment a sickening doubt flashed through his +mind, and robbed his eyes of the shining joy of his return. + +"It Keeko. She call--call. All the time she call to Marcel, who is great +man like to Boss Steve. Yes. Oh, yes. She call--this white girl, Keeko. +And An-ina say, 'Go! Marcel go! Bring this white girl.' But Marcel say, +'No. Uncle Steve not come back. An-ina alone. Oh, no. Marcel go bimeby.' +Then An-ina say, 'Go.' She know. Him all sick for Keeko. So. Marcel go." + +An-ina's low, gentle laugh came straight from the woman in her. Just as +her account of Marcel's reluctance to leave her was a touch of the +mother defending her offspring. + +But Steve missed these things. He was amazed. He was +wondering--searching. + +"White girl? Keeko?" he exclaimed sharply. "What crazy story--Tell me!" +he commanded. "Tell me quick!" + +He flung aside his cap, and the furs which encased his sturdy body. Then +he caught up a bench, and set it beside the stove. He sat down, and held +out his strong hands to the warmth with that habit which belongs to the +North. + +An-ina remained standing. It was her way to stand before him. She would +tell her story thus. Was she not in the presence of the man whose smile +was her greatest joy on earth? + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE VIGIL + + +Marcel flung the fuel upon the fire, and gravely watched the flames lick +about the fresh-hewn timber, and the pillar of smoke rolling heavily +upwards on the breath of an almost imperceptible breeze. + +It was cold--beyond the reach of the great fire--bitterly cold. For all +April was near its close the signs of thaw had again given way to an +Arctic temperature. It was only another example of the freakishness of +the Northland seasons. His journey had been accomplished at a speed that +was an expression of his desire. He had taken risks, he had dared +chances amidst the rotting, melting snows, only to find at the river, +where the old moose head stood guard, that Nature's opening channels had +sealed again under a breath that carried with it a return to the depth +of winter. + +He had not been unprepared. He knew the Northland moods all too well. +Besides, his practised eyes had sought in vain the real signs of the +passing of winter. The migratory creatures of the feathered world had +given no sign. The geese and ducks were still waiting in the shelter of +warmer climates. Those wonderful flights, moving like clouds across the +sky, had put in no appearance, while the furry world still hugged the +shelter and sparse feeding grounds of the aged woods. + +His disappointment was none the less at the sight of the solid, +ice-bound river, lying in the depths of the earth's foundations. It was +impossible as yet for the girl with the smiling blue eyes, who had given +him that message of her love at the moment of her going, to approach the +tryst, and he was left with the negative consolation that when she +arrived she would find him awaiting her. + +His purpose, however, was simple. He was at the appointed spot, and he +intended to remain there until Keeko came to him. It was a matter of no +significance at all if he had to wait till the summer came and passed, +or if he must set out to search the ends of the earth for her. His +persistent, dogged mood was an expression of the passionate youth in +him. He loved as only early youth knows how to love, and nothing else +mattered. He was there alone with Nature in her wildest mood, a fit +setting for the primal passions sweeping through his soul. + +So, in the time of waiting, he had lit a great fire. It was a beacon +fire. And in his simple fancy it was sending out a message which the +voiceless old moose was powerless to convey. It was a message carrying +with it the story of the love burning deep in his heart. And he hoped +that distant, searching eyes might see and interpret his signs. The +thought of it all pleased him mightily. + +For ten days he had carried on his giant's work of feeding the +insatiable thing he had created. He laboured throughout the daylight +hours. At night he sat about, where his dogs were secured, gazing deep +into its ruddy heart, dreaming his dreams till bodily weariness overcame +him, and he sank into slumbers that yielded him still more precious +visions. + +It was all so simple. It was all so real and human. The cares of life +left Marcel untouched. The bitter conditions of the outlands passed him +by without one thought to mar his enjoyment of being. Life was a perfect +thing that held no shadows, and for him it was lit by the sunshine of +eyes the thought of which sent the hot blood surging through his veins +till the madness of his longing found him yearning to embrace the whole +wide world in his powerful arms. + +It was with all these undimmed feelings stirring that he took up his +customary position before his great signal fire at the close of a +laborious day. He had eaten. He had fed his vicious trail dogs and left +them for the night. His blankets and his sleeping-bag lay spread out +ready to receive him. And the old, sightless moose gazed out in its +silent, never-ceasing vigil. + +Night shut down with a stillness that must have been maddening to a less +preoccupied mind. The perfect night sky shone coldly with the burnish of +its million stars. The blazing northern lights plodded their ghostly +measure with the sedateness of the ages through which they had endured, +while the youth sat on unstirring, smoking his pipe of perfect peace. +They were moments such as Marcel would never know again. For all the +waiting his happiness was well-nigh perfect. + +His pipe went out. It was re-lit in the contemplative fashion of habit. +A whimper from the slumbering dogs left him indifferent. Only when the +flames of his fire grew less did he bestir himself. A great +replenishment and his final task was completed. + +Again he returned to his seat. But it was not for long. Tired nature was +making herself felt. She was claiming him in the drooping eyelids, in +the nodding head. And her final demand came in the fall of his pipe from +the grip of his powerful jaws. He passed across to his blankets. + + * * * * * + +A thunderous crash from the depths below and Marcel was wide awake +again. He was sitting up in the shelter of his fur bag with eyes alight +with question. He was alert, with the ready wakefulness which is the +habit of the trail. That crash! It was---- + +But he quickly returned to his rest. It was the splitting of the solid +bed of ice into which the river that came up out of the south had been +transformed. + +But somehow he did not readily sleep again. He was weary enough. His +mind was at rest. But sleep--sleep was reluctant, and the old thread of +his waking dreams came again as he gazed across at the beacon fire. + +Hours passed. He had no idea of time. He had no care. He lay there +watching the dancing firelight, building for the hundredth time those +priceless castles of the night which the daylight loves to shatter. +Never were they more resplendent. Never was their lure more +irresistible. + +But a drowsy fancy began to distort them. He had no knowledge of it. He +never realized the change. He passed to the realms of sleep like a tired +child, striving to follow the course of the flying sparks from the fire +till his final memory was of a hundred pairs of blazing eyes peering at +him out of the darkness. + +He awoke with the grey of dawn. And as his eyes opened he heard a voice, +a gentle, low voice in which rang a world of gladness and tender +feeling. + +"Why I just knew no one but Marcel could have lit that fire." + +"Keeko!" + +Every joyous emotion was thrilling in the man's exclamation. He leapt +from his blankets, and stood staring, in utter and complete amazement, +at the vision of the girl's smiling beauty. + + * * * * * + +Neither knew how it came about. It simply happened. Neither questioned, +or had thought to question. The long months of parting had completed +that which the summer had brought about. It was the spontaneous +confession of all that which had lain deep in the heart of each. + +It was the girl who sought release from those caressing moments. Her +arms reaching up, clasped about the boy's muscular shoulders, parted, +and her warm woman's body stirred under the crushing embrace holding +her. Her lips were withdrawn from his, and, gazing up into the +passionate eyes above her, she spoke the desperate fears of her woman's +heart which had been submerged in the passion of the moment. + +"But there's no time to lose!" she cried urgently. "Oh, Marcel, I came +because I just didn't dare to wait. It's you--you and those you love. +They mean to murder you. You--and those others. And so I came to bring +you warning." + +The ardent light in the man's eyes changed. But the change seemed slow, +as though with difficulty only he was able to return to the things which +lay outside their love. But with the change came a look of incredulous +amazement that was almost derision. + +"Murder?" + +He echoed the word blankly. Then he laughed. It was the laugh of +reckless confidence engendered of the wild happiness of holding the girl +of his dreams in his arms, and feeling the soft, warm pressure of her +lips upon his. + +For all Keeko's urgency Marcel refused to be robbed of his joy at their +reunion. His embrace relaxed in response to her movement, but he took +possession of her hands. Deliberately he moved towards the fallen +tree-trunk where the lichen-covered cache of their token lay. He sat +himself down, and drew her down beside him. + +"Tell me," he said smilingly. "Tell it me all. You came to hand me +warning. They guess they're going to murder me, and Uncle Steve, and +An-ina. Tell me how you came, and all that happened. And the things that +happened to you, I reckon, interest me a heap more than this talk of +murder." + +The easy assurance of Marcel's manner sobered the girl's alarm. She +yielded herself at his bidding, and sat beside him with her clasped hand +resting in one of his. + +Just for a moment she turned wistful eyes upon the ice of the river +below them, and her gaze wandered on southwards. + +"Oh, it's a bad story," she cried. "I guess it's as bad as I ever +feared--worse. Maybe I best tell it you all. But, oh, Marcel, just don't +figger it's nothing. I know you. There's nothing I can say to scare you. +We've just got to get right away to your home, and hand the warning, and +pass them our help." + +The girl's appeal had a different effect from that she hoped. The man's +eyes lit afresh. He drew a sharp breath. His arm tightened about her +body, and the hand clasping hers crushed them with unconscious force. + +"You'll come right back with me to our home?" he cried in a thrilling +tone. "You?" Then in a moment the great joy of it all broke forth. "Say, +I could just thank God for these--murderers." + +But the woman in Keeko left her unsharing in his mood. She turned. And +her eyes were startled. + +"You could--! Say," she cried with a sudden vehemence in sharp contrast +to her appealing manner. "Do you think I made trail from Fort Duggan for +a fancy, after months of winter to Seal Bay and back, on the day I'd +just made home? Do you think I wouldn't have waited for the river? Do +you think I'd have done this if it wasn't all--real? Oh, man, man," she +cried in protest, "I'm no fool girl to see things that just aren't. I +guess David Nicol has located your post, and he's right on his way there +now--for murder. There's----" + +"On his way there now?" Marcel broke in sharply, fiercely. "How? How +d'you mean? He's located--Who's--this David Nicol? God! An-ina alone! +Tell me! Tell me quick. An-ina, my second mother, she's alone at the +post. A woman! God in heaven! Tell me quick." + +The change was supreme. No tone the girl had used could compare with the +force of Marcel's demand. There was no laugh on his lips now, no smile +in his eyes. A deadly fear, such as Keeko had never beheld in them +before, had taken possession of them. He was stirred to the depths of +his very soul. + +Keeko's reply came at once. + +"Yes. Nicol's the man I believed my step-father. He's a murderer. He's +the man who sent my mother to her grave before I made home last summer. +He's the man who Lorson Harris is going to hand a hundred thousand +dollars for the murder of your outfit, and to steal your trade. He's the +man who asked me to share with him the price of his crime, and would +have held me prisoner to obey his will if I hadn't just had the means +right there to help myself. Oh, my dear, my dear. I'm scared. I'm scared +to death now for the folks you love. That's why I struck out on a chance +for this old moose head, with my boys and dogs. I hoped, I prayed--oh, +God, how I prayed!--that I could get around and find you, and hand you +warning." + +Marcel was no longer seated. He was standing, his great height towering +over the girl who was gazing up at him with tears of emotion shining in +her pretty eyes. He did not realize them. He was no longer thinking of +her. He was no longer thinking of his love, and the happiness that was +so newly born. His thought was far back over the trail of ice and snow +over which he had so recently passed. He was contemplating a dusky face +with eyes of velvet softness, carrying out her patient labours for the +men she loved. He was contemplating the stealing approach of the +would-be murderer. He saw in fancy the dawn of horror in the mother +woman's eyes as she awoke to realization---- + +Suddenly he flung out his clenched fists in a gesture of superlative +determination and threat. + +"Say!" he cried, his eyes hot with a fire such as Keeko had never +thought to see in them. "It's two hundred miles of hell's own territory +with the thaw coming. I'm going right back--now. I'm going just as quick +as I can load my outfit. She's alone--do you get it? An-ina! She raised +me--she's my Indian mother woman. God help the swine that harms her +body!" + +He turned and moved abruptly away. Keeko had come to him with her love. +She had faced everything the north country could show her to bring him +the warning. He had forgotten her. He had forgotten everything, but the +gentle creature whose dark-eyed terror haunted him. + +Keeko understood. She had no feeling other than a great, unvoiced joy in +the splendid manhood of it all. She stood up. She moved after the man as +he made towards his camp. She overtook him. + +"They're all down there, Marcel dear. They're down there on the river," +she said, as she came to his side and her two hands clasped themselves +about his swinging arm. "There's Little One Man, Snake Foot, and +Med'cine Charlie. They're good boys, and the dogs are fresh, and ready. +I saw to that. We can start right away, and I guess you can't just set +the gait too hot." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE STORE-HOUSE + + +Steve pushed back from the table in An-ina's kitchen. The woman was +standing ready to minister to his lightest demands. She had waited on +him throughout the meal, and remained standing the whole time. It was a +habit, which, throughout their years of life together, Steve had been +powerless to break her of. It was her pride thus to wait upon him. + +Her soft, watchful eyes were observing him closely as he filled and lit +his pipe. There was something approaching anxiety in their depths. It +may have been the dull yellow lamplight that robbed the man's face of +its usual look of robust health. But if the shadows wrought upon it and +the curious pasty yellow tint of the skin were due to the lamplight, +certainly the hollows about the eyes, the cheeks, which had become +almost alarmingly drawn, and the sunken lines about the firm mouth could +not have been attributed to a similar cause. + +An-ina understood this. She understood more. She had realized, during +the weeks that had elapsed since Steve's return from the heart of Unaga, +a curious growing bodily lassitude in the man. It was something +approaching inertia, and she knew its cause. Fear had grown up in her +simple Indian mind and heart. She wanted to speak. She wanted to offer +her warning. But somehow Steve's will was her law, and she knew that +will was driving him now in a fashion that would only leave her words +wasted. So, while her lips remained silent, her feelings were clearly +enough expressed in her eyes. + +"Just a draw or two at the old pipe, An-ina," Steve said, with his +flicker of a smile that was full of gentleness. "Guess you can't know +the relief of being rid of the mask for awhile. The taste of every +breath I draw through it makes me well-nigh sick. Still, it's got to be. +It's that or quick death. And I'm not yearning to 'cash in' yet. There's +more than two weeks of it still. We brought a hell of a cargo of the +stuff. More than I guessed. I'd like to get through with it before +Marcel gets back with--this Keeko." + +An-ina nodded. Something of her anxiety became absorbed by her tender +smile at the reference to Marcel and Keeko. + +"The thaw him no come," she said. "Maybe him not find Keeko. Maybe it +long--heap long time. Oh, yes?" + +Steve stood up and turned his back to the cook-stove. His sunken eyes +were reflective. + +"No. The thaw's quit, and a sharp spell's closed down again," he said. +"He guessed the girl was coming up the river." He shook his head. +"There'll be no river open for weeks yet." + +He passed across to the door and flung it open. Outside the night was +coldly bright, and the still air had a bitter snap in it. He remained +only a moment, then he closed the door again. + +"We'll get no change till the next moon," he said as he returned. +"Anyway, I'll need to get things through before he comes. I don't want +the boy to take a hand in the packing. It's a big risk." + +"Yes. Boss Steve take all risk. An-ina know." The woman sighed. "An-ina +mak' pack. Oh, no! Much big risk. She not mak' pack. So Boss Steve him +say. Boss Steve die all up bimeby. Leave An-ina. Leave him Marcel--an' +this Keeko. All mak' big weep. Oh, yes." + +Steve's eyes smiled gently. He came over to the woman's side. One hand, +that seemed to have lost much of its muscular shape, rested gently on +her shoulder. + +"Don't you just worry a thing, An-ina," he said. "Guess I know. When +Marcel gets back I'll be around all right. I reckon to get through +quick. That's why I work late into the night. After I get through, and +get quit of the masks, I'll eat good, and be as I was. I just get sick +with the dope on the mask, that's all. I'll get right on now." + +He laid aside his pipe and passed out of the kitchen. And, as he went, +the woman's eyes gazed yearningly after him. + + * * * * * + +Steve had lit his lamp. It burned up. It flooded the great store-room +with its rank light. He watched it till it settled into full flame, half +his strong face hidden up under the mask saturated with its nauseating +"dope." Habit forced him to a swift upward glance at the three +ventilators in the roof. They were all set wide open. Then he glanced +round him surveying the work that occupied his working-day, and half the +night he would gladly have devoted to much-needed rest. + +It was a curious scene. It was full of fascination in that it +represented the complete triumph which for so many years had been +withheld from him. + +The great store-house, built with so much care and close study of its +purposes, and which had stood for so long empty, a pathetic expression +of man's hope deferred, was filled to its capacity. A greater part of +its shelving was groaning under bales of closely pressed Adresol in +hermetically-sealed wrappings, while the floor was piled with vast +quantities of the deadly plant awaiting the process that would render it +comparatively harmless to those who had yet to handle it. + +In its raw, limp state the plant was unwholesome enough to look at. Its +pale foliage had something of the rubbery look of seaweed. But the +crushed blooms, oozing thick sap from their wounds, were something +almost evil for eyes that had knowledge behind them. Even in his most +triumphant mood Steve was not without a feeling of repulsion at the +sight. His mask held him impervious to the deadly fumes of the oozing +sap, but well enough he knew that, in such a presence, it was only that +ingenious contrivance that stood between him and swift death. + +He turned to the window to see that it was secure. The door, too, he +tried to assure himself that it was shut tight. He was fearful lest the +heavy escaping fumes should reach those beyond. The ventilators were +built high, chimneys that carried the fumes well up into the night air, +where their diffusion was assured, leaving them robbed of their deadly +poison. But the window and door were dangerous outlets that needed close +watch. + +Finally he passed to the far end of the room where his lamp stood on the +bench beside the baling machine, and the rolls of curious-looking cloth, +almost like oilskin, or some rubber-proofed material, and the large +vessel of sealing solution with its brush for application sticking up in +it. And forthwith he set to work at the scales upon which he measured +his quantities. The organization of it all was perfect. It was Steve +through and through, and his calm method seemed to rob the whole process +of any sense of danger. + +But Steve was sick. He knew it. He knew it was a race between his +condition and the completion of the work. He was living in an atmosphere +of contending poisons, breathing one to nullify the effects of the +other. There were moments when he wondered how long his body could +endure the struggle which he knew must go on to the end, whatever that +end might be. + +His determination remained unweakening. He knew that An-ina had become +aware of his condition, and it only made him the more urgent that his +task should be completed before Marcel's return. Whatever happened +Marcel must not be permitted to participate in the danger. So, for all +his appearance of calm, he worked with a feverish energy in the deadly +atmosphere. + +Whatever Steve's bodily condition mentally he was fully alert. It even +seemed as if his bodily weakness stimulated the clear activity of his +mental powers. Working through the long hours of voiceless solitude he +held under almost microscopic review every aspect of the situation his +final triumph had created. Everything must fall out--provided his sick +body endured--just as he had calculated. There was only one thing that +disturbed the perfect smoothness of the road that lay open before him. +It was the story he had listened to from the lips of An-ina. It was +Marcel, and this girl with the Indian name of--"Keeko." + +The thought was in his mind now. He was uneasy. The whole possibility of +Marcel's encountering such a woman in Unaga had seemed so absurdly +remote. A white girl! And yet An-ina had assured him it was true, and +the manner of her assurance left it impossible for him to doubt. + +Who was this Keeko? How came she in those far remotenesses which he knew +Marcel hunted? He could not think, unless--His searching mind offered +him only one solution. It seemed remote enough. It even seemed +extravagant. Lorson Harris was the evil genius he had to fear. And he +sought to connect him with the mystery of it all. Was this Keeko some +Delilah seeking to betray the secret he had fought to retain so long? +Had she discovered Marcel for the sole purpose of serving Lorson Harris? +Was she one of those beautiful lost souls haunting the vice-ridden +shores of Seal Bay? It was just possible. There were such women, clever +enough, hardy enough to accomplish such a task. It looked like the only +solution of the mystery. And he smiled to himself as he thought of the +tender soul who had told him the story of it all with such appreciation +of its romance. + +He realized only too well the fascination such a woman must exercise +over a boy of Marcel's years. He would be clay in her hands. Chivalrous, +honourable, unsuspicious, what an easy prey he must prove! It was too +pitifully easy once the woman discovered him. But even with this +realization he was by no means dismayed. He remembered poignantly that +An-ina had assured him that Marcel would bring the woman to the fort. +Well, if that happened Lorson Harris was by no means likely to have +things all his own way. He, Steve, had learned his lesson of women, and +was not likely to---- + +Steve was in the act of bearing down upon the lever of the baling +machine. He paused, with the lever pressed only half way home. He stood +listening, his bent figure unmoving. There was a sound beyond the door. +It might have been the sound of a snowfall from the roof above him. It +might have found its source in many things. Yet it was unusual enough to +hold the man listening acutely. + +Presently, as there was no repetition of it, he dismissed the matter. He +was always fearful of possible approach. A moment's thoughtlessness on +the part of An-ina, on the part of his Indians, and the mischief would +be done. Even there was always the risk of Marcel's return, and the +attraction of the light of the lamp through the window. He dared not for +his own sake bar the door. There was always the risk of his mask failing +him. + +He completed his operation. The oozing weed was compressed, and the +binding cords made fast. Then the lever was raised, and the sticky mass +was passed on to the outspread sheet for its final packing. + +For all the cloth was spread, however, and the bundle was set in place +Steve hesitated before enfolding it. The disturbing sound still haunted +him curiously. He could never resist the dread of the deadly atmosphere +of the room. It needed only one breath--moments one might count upon the +fingers of a hand. The thought occurred to him to risk all and bar the +door. But it remained only a thought. He forced himself to continue his +work like a man who recognizes the weakness prompting him. + +He folded the cloth about the bale and reached for the solution brush. +But the brush remained where it was. Distinct on the still night air +came the sound of a footstep. It was too heavy for An-ina. It had +nothing of Indian moccasins in it. It was the heavy footstep of a man, a +white man. Marcel! + +Steve swung about in an agony of apprehension. But for once in his life +his forethought had failed him. He was too late. There was the swift +opening and shutting of the door and a man stood inside the room with +his back against it. But it was not Marcel. A heavy gun was thrusting +forward, and the muzzle of it was covering Steve's body. Helpless, +impotent, the man who had taken and survived every chance the Northern +world could offer him, stood like any weakling awaiting the shot that +must rob him of life in the hour of his triumph. + +Steve stared wide-eyed. The man was no taller than himself. He was +white, and above his fur clothing was a dark, brutish face with eyes of +almost Indian blackness. For a moment they shone fiercely in the +lamplight. They were alive with demoniac purpose. A purpose he had come +so many weary miles to fulfil. Then, in a moment, the whole picture +changed with the rapidity of a kaleidoscope. + +The ferocious purpose in the black eyes faded to a ghastly terror. The +lids widened, and the eyeballs rolled upwards. A voiceless gasp escaped +through wide open lips, where a moment before they had been firm set +with murderous intent. The out-held gun-arm dropped, and the weapon +clattered heavily to the ground. The man reeled. He tottered forward. +Then, with a sigh, a deep drawn sigh, his knees gave under him and he +plunged face downwards amongst the litter of the Adresol whose secret he +had come to steal. The deadly drug had done its work. + + * * * * * + +Steve passed down the room. He came to a stand beside the body of the +man, fallen with its face buried amidst the bruised and oozing Adresol. +His features were lost in the very heart of a limply spread white bloom. +It was as though he were seeking to intake the very dregs of the poison +with which the air was laden. + +Steve stooped. Seizing the heavy body in his strong arms he dragged it +clear of the weed, and laid it upon its back. Then he stood up and gazed +down from behind his mask upon the lifeless face that gazed sightlessly +up at him. + +In those long, silent, contemplative moments memory leapt back, bridging +the weary years. There was neither passion nor pity in his heart. It +was almost as if all feeling had passed from him, absorbed in a deep +curiosity at the signs which the years had set upon a once handsome +face. Even in death they remained. And only a dreadful pallor robbed it +of the deeper signs which debauchery had impressed. + +Yes. Death had been merciful in that it had restored the features to +something of their early good looks. Those good looks, which, backed by +the subtle tongue of the seducer, had been sufficient to attract the +weak vessel of a foolish woman's heart from the path of virtue that had +been marked out for it. + +Oh, yes. Steve recognized that ghastly, lifeless face. And just for one +moment he hoped that as Death secured its stranglehold the dead creature +had recognized his. He wondered. + +"Garstaing! Hervey Garstaing!" + +The words sounded faintly in the heavy atmosphere. It was Steve's voice +hushed to something like a whisper. It was a passionless whisper. There +was neither contempt nor hatred in it. Neither was there a shadow of +pity. + +He turned back to the lamp. He picked it up, and brought it towards the +door. The body of his would-be murderer lay sprawled across the floor +barring his way. He thrust out a foot and pushed it aside. Then he +passed on. + +Without one backward glance he turned out the light, and, passing out, +made fast the door and removed his dreadful mask. + +But, for a while at least, he did not return to the woman who was +awaiting him. He moved on to the great gateway of the stockade. Then he +leant against one of the gate-posts and stood breathing the pure, cold +night air, while his thoughts drifted back over a hundred scenes, +which, until that moment, had remained deep buried in the back cells of +memory. He was thinking hard, wondering and searching, striving to probe +the full meaning of the man's attack. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE HOME-COMING + + +Steve gave no sign. He saw no reason to admit anyone to the secret of +that which had transpired in the store-house. He waited for the approach +of an accompanying outfit, he searched to discover the supporters of +Hervey Garstaing in his attempt on his life, and, failing all further +development, he saw no use in sounding a note of alarm to disturb those +who looked to him for leadership and protection. Besides, he was more +than reluctant to lay bare anything that could stir afresh those +memories from which only the passing of the years had brought him peace. + +So he went on with his work, that work whose completion had become +well-nigh an obsession. The dead body of Garstaing lay huddled aside, +ruthlessly flung where it could least obtrude itself and interfere with +the labours upon which he was engaged. Its presence was no matter of +concern. It lay there held safe from decay by the power of the drug +which had robbed it of life. Later, with leisure, and when the desire +prompted, Steve would dispose of it as he might dispose of any other +refuse that displeased or disgusted him. + +To a man of lesser hardihood, of less singleness of purpose such an +attitude must have been impossible. But Steve had learned his lessons of +life in a ruthless school. He had no thought for any leniency towards an +enemy, alive or dead. He had no reverence for the empty shell, which, +in life, had contained nothing but vileness. + +To the last he fought out the battle of physical endurance, and he won +out. It was a bitter, deadly struggle in which will alone turned the +scale. When the last bale of Adresol was packed, and the door of the +store-house was made secure, its treasure in the keeping of its dead +guardian, Steve knew that he was about to pay the price. The final +removal of his mask found him an extremely sick man. And for two weeks +he was forced to fight against the effect of the deadly toxins he had +been inhaling for so long. He had saved others from the risk of handling +the Adresol. Now he was called upon to pay for his self-sacrifice. + +In her silent, unquestioning fashion An-ina understood, and, for nearly +two weeks, she watched and ministered to the man of her love with +smiling-eyed devotion. Steve never admitted his condition, and An-ina +never reminded him of it. That was their way. But never in all their +years of life together had the woman been more surely her man's devoted +slave. Her every service was an expression of the happiness which the +privilege yielded her. Every thought behind her dark eyes was a prayer +for the well-being of her man. + +For all the inroad the poisons had made upon him, Steve's robust, +healthy body was no easy prey, and, slowly but surely, it won its way +and drove back a defeated enemy. The spirit of the man was invincible, +and then, too, his knowledge of the drugs, both Adresol and those +antitoxins which he had been forced to oppose to it, was well-nigh +complete. The dead father of Marcel had left him in no uncertainty. He +had equipped him perfectly through his writings. + +So, with the complete break-up of winter Steve was once more in his +place at the helm of his little vessel. He was there calm, strong, +resourceful, ready to deal with every matter that came along as the rush +of the open season's business descended upon the fort. + +It, was as well. The rush was considerable as the Sleepers roused from +their hibernation. An-ina, Julyman, Oolak, were all his able +lieutenants, but Steve's was the guiding mind and hand. The others were +people of the same colour as these half Eskimos. + +The hubbub and chaffer of it all went on the day long. The store was +alive with the squat, black-eyed, dusky creatures, swathed in their +Arctic furs. They brought all their trade, surplus stocks of the dried +Adresol weed, pelts, beaver and grey fox, wolf and seal. And for these +they demanded equipment and supplies for the open season's hunt. They +were mainly a good-natured and unsuspicious crowd whose guttural tongue +was harsh and very voluble. They needed handling. Essentially they +needed handling by the white man. + +Steve had been relieved for his midday meal. He was relieved by An-ina, +assisted by Julyman. Oolak stood by with his club, ready for any display +of the predatory instincts that yielded to temptation. + +Steve had not yet returned from the kitchen. He had finished his hearty +meal and lit his pipe. He was standing before the window, from which all +covering had been removed at the advance of the open season. + +The air was chill. For the moment he was staring out reflectively at the +clear, bright sunlight, while the buzz of voices in the store hummed +upon his ears. It was well-nigh a perfect Northern spring day. The sky +was a-froth with white, sunlit clouds. But the sunlight had little +relation to the sunlight of more temperate climates at such a season. It +was fiercely bright against the melting snows, with a steely chill that +entirely lacked the gracious promise of budding trees and tender +shooting grass. At best it spoke of the final passing of the wastes of +snow and ice. + +These things, however, were not concerning Steve. It was one of those +moments of solitude in which he could give run to the thoughts that most +nearly concerned him. His eyes had parted from the shadowy smile which +they usually wore before the eyes of others. Just now they were scarcely +happy, and the drawn brows suggested a lurking trouble that disturbed +him. He was thinking of Marcel. Ever since the visitation of Hervey +Garstaing, Marcel had rarely been out of his thoughts. + +He removed his pipe and passed a hand across his broad brow. It was a +gesture of weariness. There were no eyes to witness the action, so he +attempted no disguise. It mattered little enough to him that the whole +world about him was awakening. It mattered nothing to him that the white +world was passing, and the rivers were starting to flood. The feathered +world might wing to greet the new-born season. It might darken the sky +with its legions. Such things had no power to stir his pulses, any more +than had the thought of the great triumph he had achieved over the +desperate Arctic elements, if all was not well with--Marcel. + +This was his haunting fear. He was thinking of Marcel--and this white +girl, Keeko. Even when he had listened to the delighted tones of An-ina, +as she told him the story which she had obtained from the boy's own +lips, his fears had been stirred. The woman's delight had been the +simple delight of a woman in such romance. That side of it had left him +cold. He knew the Northern world, his world, too well. He knew the type +of woman that haunted the habitations of man in such regions as Unaga. +And so he had feared for Marcel. + +Since that time had happened those things which warned him of a +wide-flung conspiracy of which his secret trade in Adresol was the +centre. Oh, yes, it had needed but one flash of inspiration to warn him +of this thing, and his concern was that this beautiful white woman, +Keeko, was a link in the chain of the conspiracy with which he was +surrounded. + +He saw the hand of Lorson Harris in it, guiding, prompting, from that +office he knew so well in Seal Bay. + +Hervey Garstaing was his tool. There could be no doubt as to that to +which the man had sunk. It was the simple logic of such a career as his. +A man reduced to haunting Mallard's in his endeavour to escape the law +must inevitably sink lower and lower. Garstaing was a Northern man. +Sooner or later the Northern wilderness would claim him. The next step +would be the embrace of Lorson Harris. No man "on the crook" north of +60 deg. could escape that. Then--? But there was no need to look further in +that direction. + +But this girl, or woman, this Keeko--her very name suggested to him the +vampire creatures haunting the muddy shores of Seal Bay--had discovered +Marcel last summer. Marcel, a boy. A boy in years--a child in mind. She +would be beautiful. Oh, yes, Lorson Harris would see to that. She would +be possessed of every art and wile of the women of her trade. It would +be too pitifully easy. She must have returned to her headquarters with +the secret he had held so long hidden. And then the coming of the +murderer to complete the task Lorson Harris had set. + +Now Marcel had gone again to meet this Delilah. He had returned to her +in all his splendid youth to be dragged down, down to those backwaters +of vice in which her life was spent. Or, having achieved her purpose, +would she meet him again? Would she not rather have gone to receive the +reward of her betrayal? Anyway it mattered so little. Her mischief was +complete. Body and soul, this youth was doubtless hers. What manner of +man would he return? + +This it was that haunted Steve throughout the long hours of each passing +day. Mind and heart had been set on one great purpose of selfishness. He +had gambled his life against overwhelming odds for the sake of this +youth. He had won out at terrific cost to himself. And now the joy of +his thought was submerged in the prospect of that moral destruction +which the evil scheming of Lorson Harris had brought about. + +The hopelessness of it all was in simple proportion to the strength and +depth of the love and parental affection of the man's heart. But he knew +that until the naked truth, however hideous, was revealed he must +continue the labours that were his. If the merciless hand of Lorson +Harris had destroyed the simple soul of Marcel, then Lorson should pay +as he little dr---- + +Steve started. His depressed brows lightened. His eyes, so full of +brooding, widened as he listened. The sound of a voice, big, strong, +reached him over the guttural buzz of the trading Sleepers' tones. + +"Uncle Steve? He's back. He's--safe?" + +The tone was urgent. It was Marcel. And there was that note of force and +anxiety in his voice which Steve never remembered to have heard before. + +Impulse urged him. It was quite beyond his power to restrain it. He +waited not a moment for An-ina's reply. Snatching his pipe from his +mouth he shouted swift response as he made for the store. + +"Why, surely, boy," he cried. "It don't seem to me there's a thing north +of 60 deg. to do me hurt." + + * * * * * + +The two men were standing in the doorway of the store, just where they +had met. Outside were two dog trains newly drawn up, and four figures, +stranger figures, were moving about them. + +Inside the store the clamour of traffic went on undisturbed by the new +arrival. Oolak, with his club, continued to shepherd the queer, squat +creatures he despised. Julyman was at the rough counter at the command +of An-ina, whose outward calm was a perfect mask for the feelings +stirred at the unexpected return of Marcel. It was all so characteristic +of these people, for all there were momentous words and happenings +passing, for all Marcel was conveying news of the threat to their lives +which had brought him at such speed back to his home. + +The older man, broad of shoulder, sturdy under his rough buckskin, was +no match for the youngster who towered over him. And that which he +lacked in stature was made up for in the undisturbed expression of his +face. Marcel was urgent in his youthful grasp of the threat +overshadowing. Steve, while apparently listening to him, seemed to be +absorbed in the movements of the strangers beyond the door. + +Marcel's story was a brief outline, almost disjointed. It was the story, +roughly, as Keeko had brought it to him. He told of the purpose of the +man Nicol, bribed by Lorson Harris to steal the secret of their trade. +He told of Nicol's confession to Keeko that he had located the +whereabouts of the fort, and his purpose forthwith to raid it, and wipe +out its occupants, and so earn the price of his crime. He told of +Keeko's ultimate terror of this creature's proposals to herself and of +the desperate nature of her flight from Fort Duggan to warn Marcel, and +seek his protection. + +It was all told without a thought for anything beyond the urgency of the +threat, and his own youthful absorption in the girl who had taught him +the meaning of love. In that supreme moment he had no thought for the +thing that had driven Steve out into the winter wilderness, fighting +the battle of his great purpose. He had no thought for the success or +failure that had attended him. Steve was there in the flesh, the same +"Uncle" Steve he had always known. It was sufficient. An-ina, too, was +there, safe and well, and the sight of her had banished his worst +anxieties. The lover's selfishness was his. Keeko was outside. She had +come with him to his home. She had promised him the fulfilment of his +man's great desire. Where then was the blame? Steve had no thought of +blame in his mind. And An-ina? An-ina's complete happiness lay in the +fact of her boy's return. + +"Say, Uncle," Marcel cried in conclusion, with impulsive vehemence. +"It's been one hell of a trip. It certainly has. And I'd say a feller +don't know one haf the deviltry of this forsaken country till he's hit +it haf thawed." + +"No." Steve smiled at the four figures he was watching as there flashed +through his mind the recollection of the journey of a white man, and a +woman, and two Indians, and a child at such a time of year a good many +seasons ago. + +"You're right, Uncle," Marcel went on, without observing the smile. "But +it just needed a woman to show the way, I guess," he cried, in a wave of +burning enthusiasm. "Keeko had us well-nigh hollering help from the +start. She set the gait. She showed us the way. She guessed that warning +needed to get through quick, with An-ina here alone. And she meant to +save her if the work of it killed her. She's just the greatest ever. +She's the bravest, the best----" + +Steve nodded. + +"Yes. I guess she's all you say." + +The older man's eyes had come back to the handsome face lit with +passionate enthusiasm. There was a twinkle of dry humour in them. + +"I know, boy," he said gently. "I get all that. That's why I want to get +right out now and hand her thanks and welcome to your home. Guess it's +not my way to have folks who've made near five hundred miles to do me +good service, standing around waiting while I'm asked to pass 'em +welcome. Guess I want to shake this white girl, with the queer Indian +name, by the hand. I want to make her just as welcome as I know how. Do +you feel like helping me that way?" + +In a moment a great laugh broke, through the shadow of disappointment +that had fallen upon Marcel's eyes at the other's first words. + +"You can just kick me, Uncle Steve," he cried. "You surely can. Guess +I'm every sort of crazy fool, trying to tell you the thing that's +Keeko's to tell. But I didn't think," he added, passing a hand across +his forehead. "I don't seem to be able to just now. You see--Say come +right along." + + * * * * * + +"So you're--Keeko." + +Marcel was standing by, looking on with a smiling happiness lighting his +face. But he was not observing. Observation at such a moment was +impossible to him. He was feasting his happy eyes on the girl's pretty +face under the brown fur cap which had been tilted from her forehead. He +was looking for her approval of Uncle Steve, and her smiling blue eyes +seemed to him all sufficient. + +Had he been less concerned with Keeko he must have discovered that which +was looking out of Steve's eyes. It was a curious, searching look that +had something startled in it. He must have become aware that, for all +the older man's self-restraint, something was stirring within him, +something that robbed him of a composure that the dangers and trials of +the life that was his had on power to rob him of. Uncle Steve was +smiling responsively, a gentle, kindly smile, but it was utterly +powerless to deny the other expression. + +Keeko withdrew her hands which had been held for a moment in both of +Steve's. + +"Yes," she said, something shyly. "I'm Keeko." + +"Keeko." Steve's echo of the name was reflective. "It's a queer name." + +The startled look had passed out of his eyes. But his intent regard +remained almost embarrassing. Then, quite suddenly, as the girl turned a +little helplessly, and her gaze settled itself upon the great figure of +Marcel, he seemed to become aware this was so. He, too, promptly glanced +away, taking in the three Indians standing beside the dogs. + +"Here, say," he cried authoritatively. "Unhitch those dogs and fix the +sleds. You boys best get the sleds unloaded." + +Then he turned again to Keeko. + +"I want to hand you a big show piece talk, Keeko," he said with quiet +ease. "I want to say how glad I am you came along with this boy of ours, +and to thank you for the things you figgered to do for us. I guess we +aren't going to let the thought of this feller--Nicol--worry us grey. +And Lorson Harris, big as he may be in Seal Bay, don't cut much ice up +here in the heart of Unaga. We've the measure of most things taken +that's likely to hand us worry. There's a home right here for you, for +just as long as you two fancy. I take it you've fixed things up between +you. Guess it scared me when I first heard tell of you, and I don't need +to tell you why I was scared. Now I've seen you it isn't that way. No," +he added, in contemplative fashion. "I kind of thank Providence. He +sent you where you found our boy, and later made things so you came +along--to home. My dear, I'm just glad." Then he added in response to +the wonderful light which his words brought into the girl's pretty eyes: +"Say, just come right in. An-ina's inside. She'll get you rested and +fed. And she'll hand you a mother's welcome, same as I do a--father's." + +The girl made no movement to obey. The tenderness, the simple kindliness +that rang in Steve's tones, was so utterly different from anything she +had ever listened to in the hard years of nomadic life she had been +forced to live. In contrast, the memory of her days at Fort Duggan left +her shuddering. The memory of the pitiful subterfuges to which she and +her dead mother had been forced to resort in the hope of saving her from +the merciless hands of the beast of prey who had ruined so utterly their +lives, was something that seemed to belong to some hideous nightmare. +For perhaps the first time since the iron of life had entered into her +woman's soul she wanted to fall to a-weeping. In her speechlessness +tears actually rose to her eyes. She was weary, weary of limb with the +hardship of her journey. But now, in the reaction of Steve's welcome, +she realized, too, an utter weariness of mind. But her tears were saved +from overflowing. She looked to the smiling Marcel, and, with a little +helpless gesture, held out her hands. + +It was all so unlike the woman who had faced every hardship on the +trail. It was all so unlike the strong courage which Marcel knew. He +caught her hands in his, and drew her to his side. Then, together, they +passed on to the store, while Steve's eyes followed them, and the +Indians remained at the work they had been set. + +Once Keeko and Marcel had vanished within the store there was no longer +need for disguise. Steve's smile passed out of his eyes. A great light +of startled wonder took its place. Unconsciously he turned in the +direction of the store-house, concealing its great burden of +Adresol--and that other. + +For a while he stood there. Then a sound broke from him. It was a +single, low-muttered word. + +"Keeko!" + +He moved away. He passed on to the open gateway of the stockade and +gazed far out towards the south-west. The sunlight upon the melting snow +was well-nigh blinding. But it troubled him not at all. His eyes were no +longer seeing. They were absorbed in a deep contemplation, visualizing +scenes that rose up at him out of the dim, distant past. He was thinking +of that moment of parting, when he had gazed down into the great blue +eyes of his baby girl as she was held up to him by her erring mother. + +"Keeko!" he muttered again. "Coqueline!" Then, after a long, almost +interminable pause: "Nita!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE GREAT REWARD + + +Years ago Steve had drunk to the dregs a despair that left life shorn of +everything but a desolate existence. The effect of that time had +remained in him. It would remain so long as he lived. But it was a +reverse of the picture which despairing human nature usually presents. +It had deepened the reserve of a nature at all times undemonstrative. It +had hardened a will that was already of an iron quality. It had deepened +and broadened a fine understanding of human nature, and finally it had +succeeded in mellowing a tolerance that had always been his. For him +those bitter moments had proved to be the cleansing fires which had +produced nothing but pure gold. + +Now the memory of those dread moments was stirring afresh. But despair +had no place in the emotions it provoked. It was all the other extreme. +A world of glad hope had taken possession of him. A gladness +unspeakable, almost overpowering. A great impulse drove him now. It was +a sort of wild desire to yield to the amazing madness of it all, and cry +from the house-tops of his little world all that was clamouring for +unrestrained expression. + +But the man had no more power to yield to this wild surge of feeling +than he had had power to yield to the despair of former years. So, for a +while, his voice remained silent, and only his lighting eyes gave index +of the thought and feeling behind them. + +With the departure of Marcel and Keeko for the mother welcome of An-ina, +Steve also returned to the store. He came to release the willing +creature, yearning for that moment when she could revel in the joy of +the contemplation of her boy's happiness. + +Steve took his place in the traffic that was going on, and nodded +soberly to the eager, dusky woman. + +"Get right along, An-ina," he said kindly. "Guess they're needing you." + +"Oh, yes? Marcel--Keeko." An-ina's eyes lit. + +"Sure--and Keeko." + +And the man's smile as he turned to the waiting customers was something +An-ina, at least, was never likely to forget. + +Steve contemplated many things for that night. He contemplated unlocking +the doors of those hidden secrets of his life to which no one had been +admitted. But disappointment awaited him. + +When the last of the Sleepers took their departure and the store was +closed for the night he passed into the kitchen for his supper. He +looked to find Keeko. He looked to find Marcel. He looked to revel in +those moments of happiness which still seemed utterly unreal, even +impossible. There were so many things he still had to learn before---- + +But An-ina had all the wisdom of a great mother. And, in response to his +question, he received the final verdict from which there was no appeal. + +"Keeko all beat to death," she said, with quiet assurance. "She sleep +plenty. Oh, yes. Marcel he much angry with An-ina." + +She glanced swiftly across at the great figure of Marcel, lounging over +the cook-stove, smoking with the happy content of a luxurious dreamer. +The smile that responded to An-ina's sly glance was one of boyish +shyness and held no threat of displeasure. + +"Guess An-ina packed her to bed, Uncle Steve," he explained. "Keeko +hadn't a notion that way, but it didn't signify with An-ina. She +reckoned Keeko ought to be plumb beat and needing her bed. So she just +handed her supper, and gave her her own bed to sleep in." + +Steve glanced from one to the other. Then, in his ready way he nodded. + +"Guess An-ina got these things better than you and me, boy," he said. +"Anyway where other folks are concerned. There's only herself she don't +know about. Guess we can feed ourselves for once, while she finds the +blankets she's mostly ready to pass on to other folks." + +A flicker of disappointment passed over the dusky face of the woman. But +there was no demur. She understood. Steve wanted Marcel to himself for +this, his first evening. So she bowed to the man's will. + +With her going the two men sat in at the supper table. And of the two it +was only Marcel who did real justice to the plain fare An-ina's hands +had set out for them. The lover in Marcel left him still a giant that +needed bodily support. But with Steve there was a burden of thought and +emotion that left food the last thing to be desired. + +For some moments there was a silence between them while the steaming tea +was poured from the iron pot on the corner of the stove. Each man helped +himself from the great dish of dry hash set for them. Steve helped +himself from sheer habit. Marcel ate hungrily. + +It was Marcel who broke the silence. He was in no mood for silence. +There were many things seeking outlet in his mind. But paramount was the +all-dominating subject of Keeko. + +"Say, Uncle," he cried suddenly, "isn't she just great? Isn't she----?" + +Steve nodded. + +"She's greater," he said, with twinkling eyes. + +Marcel's eyes widened as he stared across at the man whose sympathy he +most desired. + +"You're laffing at me," he said quickly. + +Steve shook his head. + +"No," he said. "I just mean that." + +"You do?" + +"Yes. There isn't a thing you could say, boy, to make that girl greater +in my eyes." Steve laid down the fork on his enamelled plate, and drank +some tea. "Say, the story of it all's so queer I can't get the full grip +of it. Maybe I will in time. When I've thought. Yes, it's queer. And the +queerest of it is you bringing her along to us the way you have." + +For a moment his reflective eyes gazed away into the distance. Then +alert and full of simple sincerity, they came back to the face of the +youth beyond the lamp which stood between them. + +"But I want to say right here that I'd sooner see you married to this +girl, Keeko, than any other woman in the whole darn world. The day that +sees her your wife'll give me a happiness you can't just dream about. +Does that make you feel right? I hope so, boy, I hope it bad." + +There was no need for the older man's question. The answer was looking +back at him out of Marcel's eyes, which were shining with a boyish +delight. + +"Thanks, Uncle," he returned for lack of better expression. Then, in a +moment, it seemed as if he could contain himself no longer. And words +literally tumbled from his lips. They were hot, frank impulsive words, +all unconsidered, all straight from an honest heart. "Say, you've just +been everything to me. You and An-ina. And I've never had a chance to +make return or do a thing. Oh, I know. But for you An-ina and I would +have been left to chase the country with no better lot than the darn +Sleepers. I've thought and thought. And I know. You've helped me grow a +man. You've taught me life. You've taught me just everything one man can +teach another. Oh, I guess I'm grateful. I feel so I can't ever repay +you. I've wanted to. I want that way now. And, say, you can't ever stop +me again. You're glad I'm going to marry Keeko. Why, it just means all +the world to me. Now I'm a man. I'm no fool kid any longer. The summer +trail's over for me, and I'm going to take my place in the great fight +you've been making all these years. You can't deny me--now. I--I won't +stand for it----" + +Steve's smiling shake of the head brought the boy to a blank-eyed stop. + +"The fight's won," he said. "There's no more fight for us." + +"You mean----?" + +Steve jerked his dark head in the direction of the store-house. + +"It's full," he said. "Full, plumb up, of green weed. There's thousands +of the deadly lily blooms in there, packed and ready for Seal Bay. +Lorson Harris has lost the dirty game he's playing, and now--now he'll +just have to pay us all we choose to ask." + +Marcel's food was forgotten. He stared across the table, blank amazement +looking out of his eyes. + +"You've found it? The growing weed? You've brought it home? Uncle!" + +"Yes." Never were Steve's eyes more sober. Never were they less +emotional. "You were full up to Keeko when you came along so I didn't +tell you. Two sled loads. As heavy as we could bank 'em up. I figure, +according to your father's reckoning of the stuff, there's well-nigh a +fortune lying back in that place." He paused and drew a deep breath. +"Yes. I got the trail. We can help ourselves. It's right in the heart of +Unaga, where the world's afire, like hell opened up from below. Say, +boy, I've seen wonders, the like I never dreamed about, and we beat all +this country could set up to keep safe its secrets. We passed through +one hell only to reach a worse. But we got it. We found it. And--the +fight's won." + +Marcel forgot everything in that concise narrative of Steve's success. +All his lover's selfishness faded before the tremendous significance of +that final great adventure. He even forgot his own disappointment that +he had not been permitted to share in it. This great thing had happened, +the fulfilment of the dream that had been theirs. Then in a moment he +remembered. A thought, an apprehension flashed swiftly through his mind. +Lorson Harris! The man--Nicol! + +"Is it finished?" he cried, with a swift change of manner. "Or is it +only just beginning? Say, Uncle--you've forgot. Harris! This feller we +brought you word of. Say----" + +Steve shook his head. + +"It's finished," he said, with a ring in his voice that carried absolute +conviction. "Oh, yes, it was like you to spare no effort to make home +with warning. I'm not blinded. Keeko made the journey to you with word, +but it was you who forced that journey through the haf thaw to save +An-ina and me. I can see you driving through as man never drove before, +and I guess I get the feeling that made you pass the credit on to Keeko. +But I allow she'll have a different yarn of that journey. Anyway, +there's no worry to this thing. I care nothing for Lorson Harris, or +this scum--Nicol. We've the growing weed. And the battle's won." + +For moments Marcel had no answer in face of Steve's denial, so sternly +confident and assured. Young and impulsive as he was the force of the +older man was still irresistible. He drew out his pipe and filled it +thoughtfully, and finally disappointment took possession of him. + +"Then there's nothing--nothing more? It's done?" + +Just a shadow of eagerness crept into Marcel's final question. He felt +he was being robbed of the last chance of making return and proving his +manhood to the man who had given up his life to him. + +Steve was swift to read the prompting of the other's words. He laughed +silently, gently, and his eyes were alight with deep affection. + +"No. There's things to do yet," he said. "Oh, yes. There's a whole heap. +Your father didn't reckon to quit on the first load. He reckoned to help +the world with all his knowledge and body. And that's what I figger to +do--with your help." + +"Ah!" + +"Guess I see it this way. This summer sees you and Keeko in Seal Bay. Me +too. We've to trade our weed. And I guess, if it suits your fancy, we'll +find the passon feller, that can't kick religion into that township, +ready to fix you and Keeko up. After that there's the winter trail for +us both, for just as many seasons as you fancy. We've a mighty big work +still, before we strip the heart of Unaga of the treasure the world +needs." + +In the reaction from his disappointment Marcel's generous nature +asserted itself. He saw himself at last admitted to that which he +considered the work of manhood. And he sought to embrace it all. + +"But you, Uncle," he cried earnestly. "Is there need? Why should you +have to go on? Think of all you've done. Why, say--pass the work to me, +and take an easy." + +Steve's eyes promptly denied him. + +"Easy?" He shook his head. "Why should I? Guess the north country's mine +for keeps, boy. And when my time gets around I hope it finds me beating +up the dogs at 40 deg. below, with a hell fire blizzard sweeping down off +the Arctic ice." + + * * * * * + +Steve was abroad early next morning. He had talked long and late with +Marcel over-night, and their talk had been mostly of Keeko and her life, +as the lover knew it. Never, to the moment they parted for the night, +did Steve display weariness of the subject of their talk. To Marcel it +seemed natural enough that this should be so. But then he was little +more than twenty, and in love. Steve's urgency for detail must have been +pathetic to any onlooker. To Marcel it was only another exhibition of +his goodness and sympathy for himself. + +Steve had little enough sleep after he left the boy. For once in a hardy +lifetime he lay under his blankets with a mind feverishly alert. He was +yearning for the passing of night. He was well-nigh crazy for the sun of +the morrow. Yet withal a wonderful happiness robbed him of all +irritation at his wakefulness. + +So it came in the chill dawn of a perfect spring morning, in which only +the melting snow had reason to weep, he was moving abroad in heavy boots +wading through the slush which would soon be past. He watched the sun +rise from its nightly slumber, and its brilliant light amidst the +passing clouds of night was a sign to him. It was the dawn of his great +day. It was the passing of his years-long night. + +As the clouds dropped away and vanished below the horizon, leaving the +sun safely enthroned, an amazing jewel set in the world's azure canopy, +he passed again into the store. Even on this great day habit remained. +He replenished the stoves, and set the boilers of water in place for +An-ina. After that he passed out again, and made his way to the +store-house that held his secret. + +He adjusted a mask upon his mouth and nostrils and tasted again the +sickening drug he had learned to hate. He unfastened the door and passed +within. For a long time he remained with the door closed behind him. +Later he reappeared, and, removing his mask, passed out into the pure +air of the morning. He secured the door behind him. + +Absorbed in thought, his eyes unsmiling, he was making his way back to +the main building. It was not until he had almost reached the door that +he became aware of An-ina's presence. It was her voice that caused him +to look up. + +"Look," she cried in her soft tones, and pointed. + +Steve followed the direction of her lean brown finger. Marcel and Keeko +were standing in the great gateway of the stockade. + +Steve's smile was good to see and An-ina responded in sympathy. + +"They love. Sure. Oh, yes," she said. + +Steve nodded. He was gazing at the tall, graceful figure of Keeko. He +seemed to have no eyes for the boy at all. Keeko, in her mannish clothes +of buckskin, her beaded, fur-trimmed tunic which revealed the +shapeliness of her youthful body. The vision of it all carried his mind +back so many years. + +"Keeko for Marcel. Marcel for Keeko. Yes?" + +Steve drew a deep breath. + +"Yes. Thank God." + +He moved away. There was no ceremony between these two. Steve's love for +An-ina was built upon the unshakable foundations of perfect +understanding. He strode out towards the gates, and the lovers heard the +splash of his boots as he waded the melting snow. They turned. And it +was Marcel who made half-shamefaced explanation. + +"I was telling Keeko of the weed," he said. "I was telling her of the +fire country which I guess she got a peek at last summer--from a +distance. She was asking to know the trade Lorson Harris was yearning to +steal, and the feller Nicol was ready to murder for. She guesses it's +most like a fairy yarn." + +Steve's eyes were steadily regarding the girl's smiling face. He noted +the beautiful, frank, wide eyes, the perfect lips that so reminded him-- + +The fresh, clear, transparent cheeks forming so perfect an oval. Then +there was her fair hair escaping from beneath the soft edges of her fur +cap. She was prettier even than he had first thought. + +"I allow it maybe sounds that way," he said. Then he shook his head. +"But there's nothing unreal to it. No. There's no more unreal to Adresol +than there is to the hell fires raging away out there in the heart of +Unaga, where the whole place is white like a lake of pure milk with the +bloom of the plant that breathes certain death, but which holds in its +heart the greatest benefit the world's ever known. It's all queer, I +allow. But--say--" He turned and pointed at the store-house. "It's all +there. It's baled ready for Lorson Harris to buy. You can get a peek at +it, at the stuff these folks reckoned to steal. Will you----?" + +The invitation stirred Marcel to prompt anxiety. He laid a hand on +Keeko's soft shoulder as she prepared to move away. + +"Is it safe, Uncle Steve?" he demanded hastily. "You see, Keeko's not +like----" + +"Safe? Sure." Steve produced two masks. "I've worked in there for weeks, +boy, with these things set on my face. I've worked all day and haf the +night--baling. Sure it's safe. You go, too. There's a mask for each, and +I guess they aren't just things of beauty. We'll go along over, and I'll +fix 'em for you. I kind of fancy Keeko should see what's hid up in that +store-house." + +Steve led the way, and, hand in hand, like two children, the others +followed him. At the door of the store-house he paused and turned. He +stepped up to Marcel and adjusted his mask. And while he adjusted it his +eyes remained unsmiling. He was careful, infinitely careful, in the +adjustment, and in reply to the youth's protest at the nauseating taste +of the drug he was forced to inhale his retort was briefly to the point. + +"Sure it's no bouquet," he said. "But it's that or a--halo, and wings +and things." + +Keeko offered no protest at all. She was impressed far more than she +knew. It seemed to her that the simple trust which prompted the man's +action in revealing his secret to her, the secret Lorson Harris was +willing to pay a hundred thousand dollars for, was something too simply +wonderful for words. + +With the adjustment of the masks Steve removed the fastenings that +barred the door. He held it closed a moment and turned to Marcel. + +"You'll go first, boy. You'll go right in. I guess you've got the masks +so I can't come with you. I want you to take Keeko, and show it all. +Maybe you'll find things there you don't understand. That don't matter. +Maybe you can figger them out between you." + +Then he turned to Keeko and his steady eyes regarded her seriously under +the disfiguring mask. + +"Get a look at it all, my dear. All. But say, as you value your +life--and Marcel's and my peace of mind--don't shift that mask a hair's +breadth, no matter how you feel--looking around. When you come out you +can tell me about things." + +He set the door ajar, and leading the girl by the hand Marcel passed +into the house of death. + + * * * * * + +Steve stood guard. He listened with straining ears. There came the faint +sound of muffled voices from within, and the sound of movement. The +moments dragged slowly. Once he thought he heard a series of sharp +exclamations. But he could not be sure. He expected them. That was all. + +After awhile the voices ceased, and there only remained the shuffling of +feet whose sound drew nearer. The visit was short, as he expected it +would be. He understood. A moment later he felt pressure against the +door. + +He opened it, and Keeko and Marcel returned to the open air. Without a +word Steve re-fastened the door. Marcel dragged the mask from his +troubled face and Keeko followed his example. + +Steve turned from the door and stood confronting them. His eyes were +hard. They were almost fierce as he looked into the startled faces +before him. + +"Well?" he demanded. Then his gaze rested on the girl. "You saw--it?" + +Keeko inclined her head. She hesitated. A curious parching of throat and +tongue left her striving to moisten her trembling lips. + +"Yes," she said, at last. + +"And it was--Nicol?" + +"Yes." + +Quite suddenly Steve laughed. It was a mere expression of relief, but it +succeeded in robbing his eyes of a light which so rarely found place in +them. He pointed at the closed door. + +"He came here in the night," he said. "I don't know how he came. I never +saw a sign of his outfit. Maybe they left him, as he didn't get back." + +He shrugged indifference. + +"It don't matter anyway. I was at work. Same as I'd been at work nights. +I'd a lamp burning. Maybe he saw me through the window. I guess that was +so. The door was shut, but unfastened. I didn't dare keep it fast, +working in there. Well, I heard a sound. The door was pushed wide and he +jumped in on me with a loaded gun at my vitals. He'd got me plumb set. +Sure. But the dope. It didn't give him a chance. It got a strangle-holt +right away, and he dropped dead at my feet. He's--he's your step-father? +The man you came to warn me of?" + +"Yes." + +Steve nodded. + +"Here, let's quit this place. Guess it's not wholesome standing around. +Pass me the masks. We'll get right over to the sheds. There, where it's +dry, and we can sit. There's things I need to tell you right away. Both +of you." + + * * * * * + +Marcel and Keeko were sitting side by side on one of the sleds which had +not yet been completely unloaded. Steve was squatting on an up-turned +box that had been used to contain food stores for the trail. He was +facing them, and his back was towards the building of the store. It was +rather the picture of two children listening to some wonderful fairy +story, told in the staid tones of a well-loved parent. Never for a +moment was attention diverted. Never was interruption permitted. Even +the approach of An-ina passed unremarked. + +And as Steve talked a beam of sunlight fell athwart his sturdy figure, +lightening its rough clothing, and surrounding him with a penetrating +light that revealed the sprinkling of grey beginning to mar the dark hue +of his ample hair. The lines, too, in his strong face, fine-drawn and +scarcely noticeable ordinarily, the searching sun of spring had no mercy +upon. + +"Oh, it's a heap long way back," he said, "and I guess it all belongs to +me. Anyway it did till Keeko got around. Say, you need to think of a +crazy sort of feller who guessed that most all there was in life was to +make good for the woman he loved, and the poor girl kiddie she'd borne +him. You need to figger on a feller who didn't know a thing else, and +thought he was acting square and right by his wife the whole darn time. +He was a fool, a crazy fool. But he did all he knew, and the way he knew +it. His duty was the law and order of a wide enough territory around +Athabasca, which is just one hell of a piece of country from here. When +you've thought of that you want to think of a real good woman, all +pretty, and bright, with blue eyes and fair hair, and her baby girl the +same. You want to reckon she was just about your ages, and was plumb +full of life, and ready for all the play going. When you've got that you +want to think of her man being away from their home months and months, +winter and summer. It was his work. And all the time there's a feller, a +mean, low, skunk of a feller with a good-looker face, and the manners +and talk of a swell white man, hanging around on that home doorstep. So +it goes on. How long I don't know. Then comes a time when this p'lice +officer gets out on a mission to Unaga. And it's the other feller that +has to hand him his orders. Do you see? That trip's a two years' trip, +and the pore gal is just left around home with her baby the whole time. +Oh, she's got her food, and home, and money. That's so. Well, at the end +of that trip the feller gets back. He's found up there a white kiddie, +and an Indian nurse woman, and the hell of a tragedy of the boy's +parents. So he brings the kiddie back, a little brother to his baby +girl." + +Steve drew a deep breath and stirred. When he went on his eyes were +gazing out at the sunlight beyond the shed. + +"When he made home with the life well-nigh beat out of him, his outfit a +wreck, and the nurse woman and the kiddie no better, his wife and his +baby girl were gone. They'd been gone a great while. So had the man. +They had gone together, and the man was wanted for stealing the Treaty +Money of the Indians he was the government agent for. Do you get that?" + +Keeko nodded. She was listening with breathless interest for she felt +the story was addressed to her. Marcel, too, was absorbed. But the +ultimate drift of the story was scarcely as clear to him yet. + +"Well, it don't need telling you the things that happened after that," +Steve went on with a half-smile that was something desperately grim. +"Maybe that feller went nigh mad. I don't know. Anyway, when he got +better of things he hit out after that skunk of an agent in the hope of +coming up with him, and killing him." + +"But he was saved that. Maybe it was meant he should be. We can't reckon +these things. Anyway he never saw his wife again. He never saw his baby +girl. And--he never saw Hervey Garstaing till weeks ago he came under +the label of Nicol--right along here to set the story of murder into his +book of life. He's there in that store-house and he's been dead weeks. +Only the rottenness in him hasn't broke out because of the weed. Anyway +he's dead. He was a scum that had no place in this world, and I guess +Providence handed it to him in its own fashion and time. He robbed me of +Nita. He robbed me of----" + +"Nita--my mother's name." Keeko's voice was choked. A world of emotion +seemed to be striving to overwhelm her. Marcel in bewilderment was +regarding only the strong face of the man seated in the sunlight. + +Steve inclined his head. + +"Yes. Nita was your mother." + +An uncontrollable impulse urged the girl. She had no power to resist it. +Why should she? This man--this man to whom Marcel had brought her, with +his steady eyes and strong face. He--he---- + +She sprang from her seat beside her lover, the great creature staring so +amazedly at the man, who, for a moment, had permitted a glance into +those close-hidden secrets of his heart. In a moment she was on her +knees at Steve's side, and the man's hands were grasping hers in their +strong embrace. + +"And you--you are my--father!" she cried. + +Steve crushed the hands in his with a power that told of the feeling +stirring. + +"Yes," he said simply. Then he added very gently, very tenderly. "And +you--you are my little baby girl Coqueline." + +And in the silence that followed there reached them from close behind +the sound of the low, soft voice of the mother woman. + +"So. An-ina glad. Oh, yes." + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Heart of Unaga, by Ridgwell Cullum + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HEART OF UNAGA *** + +***** This file should be named 23662.txt or 23662.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/6/6/23662/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan 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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