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diff --git a/24695.txt b/24695.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e0ec105 --- /dev/null +++ b/24695.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9509 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Snowshoe Trail, by Edison Marshall + +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 Snowshoe Trail + +Author: Edison Marshall + +Posting Date: March 8, 2009 [EBook #24695] +Release Date: February 26, 2008 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SNOWSHOE TRAIL *** + + + + +Produced by Ben Collver. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + +THE SNOWSHOE TRAIL + + +by + +EDISON MARSHALL + + + + Author of "The Strength of the Pines," + "The Voice of the Pack," etc. + + + +With Frontispiece by Marshall Frantz + + + + +A.L. Burt Company Publishers, New York +Published by arrangement with Little, Brown and Company. + +Copyright 1921, By Little, Brown, and Company. +All rights reserved + + + + +To Agnes, of the South--this story of the North + + + + +The Snowshoe Trail + +I + +It was not the first time that people of the forest had paused on the +hill at twilight to look down on Bradleyburg. The sight always seemed +to intrigue and mystify the wild folk,--the shadowed street, the spire +of the moldering church ghostly in the half-light, the long row of +unpainted shacks, and the dim, pale gleam of an occasional lighted +window. The old bull moose, in rutting days, was wont to pause and +call, listen an instant for such answer as the twilight city might give +him, then push on through the spruce forests; and often the coyotes +gathered in a ring and wailed out their cries over the rooftops. More +than once the wolf pack had halted here for a fleeting instant; but they +were never people to linger in the vicinity of men. + +But to-night it was not one of these four-footed wild folk--this tall +form--that emerged from the dark fringe of the spruce forest to gaze +down at the town. But he was none the less of the forest. Its mark was +upon him; in the silence of his tread, the sinuous strength of his +motions; perhaps it lay even in a certain dimness and obscurity of +outline, framed by the thickets as he was, that was particularly +characteristic of the wild denizens of the woods. But even in the +heavy shadows his identity was clear at once. He was simply a +woodsman,--and he held his horse by the bridle rein. + +The long file of pack horses behind him halted, waiting for their master +to go on. He stood musing, held by the darkened scene below him. Hard +to read, in the deepening shadows, was the expression on his bronzed +face. It revealed relief, of course, simple and heartfelt joy at the +sight of his destination. Men do not wander over the blazed trails of +the North Woods and not feel relief at the journey's end. There was a +hint of fatigue in his posture, the horses' heads were low; and the +shacks below meant food and rest. But there was also a pensiveness, a +dreamy quietude in his dark eyes that revealed the greater sweep of his +thoughts. + +He had looked down on Bradleyburg on many previous occasions, but the +scene had never impressed him in quite this way before. Already the +shadows had crept out from the dark forests that enclosed the little +city and had enfolded it in gloom: the buildings were obscured and the +street was lost, and there was little left to tell that here was the +abode of men. A dim light, faint as the glowing eyes of the wild +creatures in the darkness, burned here and there from the window of a +house: except for this the wilderness would have seemed unbroken. + +"It's getting you down," the man muttered. "It's closing you in and +smothering you--just as it has me." + +Perhaps, had his words carried far enough in the silence, the +townspeople in the houses below wouldn't have understood. His horses, +sniffing at his knees, did not seem to hear. But the woodsman could not +have made himself any clearer. Words never come easy to those that +dwell in the silences of the North. To him it seemed that the twilight +was symbolic of the wilderness,--stealing forth with slow +encroachments until all of the little town was enfolded within itself. +It was a twilight city, the little cluster of frame shacks below him. +It could be brave and gay enough in the daylight, a few children could +play in its streets and women could call from door to door, but the +falling darkness revealed it as it was,--simply a fragment that the +dark forests were about to claim. The day was done in Bradleyburg; as +in the case of many of the gold camps of the North the wilderness was +about to take back its own. + +It had had a glorious past, this little city lost in the northern +reaches of the Selkirks. In the man's own boyhood it had been one of +the flourishing gold camps of the North; and miners had come from all +over the continent to wash the gravel of its streams. In all directions +up the hillside the tents and shacks had stretched, dance halls were +gay, freighters plied along the winding road to the south. The man's +mother had been one of the first women in the camp; and one of the last +to go. The mines were fabulously rich; tens of thousands in dust were +often taken in a single day by a lone miner, fortunes were made and lost +at the gambling tables, and even the terrible winters could not triumph +over the gold seekers. But in a little while the mines gave out, one +terrible winter night the whole town was destroyed by fire, and now that +the miners were drifting to other camps, few of the shacks were rebuilt. +Of the six thousand that had been, scarcely threescore remained. A few +trappers ran their lines out from the town, a few men had placer claims +in the old diggings, two or three woodsmen made precarious livings as +guides for such wealthy men as came to hunt moose and caribou, and +Bradleyburg's course was run. The winter cold had triumphed at last, +and its curse was over the city from October till June. The spruce +forest, cleared away to make room for the cabins, had sprung up again +and was steadily marching toward the main street of the town. + +But the man on the hilltop felt no regret. Except for a few memories of +his young days he had no particular fondness for the little cluster of +shacks. Long ago the wilderness had claimed him for its own; his home +was the dark forest from which even now he was emerging. Bradleyburg +was simply his source of supplies and his post office, the market for +his furs. He had reached back and stroked the warm nose of his horse. + +"Another half mile, old fellow," he said gently. "Then oats--rice and +meat for me at Johnson's--and oats--honest-to-goodness oats--for +you. What you think about that, eh, Mulvaney? Then show a little speed +this last half-mile." + +The man swung on his horse, and even the cattlemen of the plains would +have found something to admire in the ease and grace with which his body +slipped down into the saddle. The horse moved forward, the pack animals +pushed on behind him. A few minutes later they had swung down into the +still street of the town. Tired as he was, his hands were swift and +strong as he unpacked the animals and tied them in the bar back of +Johnson's,--the little frontier inn. As always, after the supper +hour, a group of the townsmen were gathered about the hotel stove; and +all of them spoke to him as he entered. He stood among them an instant, +warming his hands. + +They had few words at first. The lesson of silence is taught deeply and +sure in the North. The hostess went to her kitchen to order the man's +supper, the townsmen drew at their pipes. + +"Well, Bill," one of them asked at last, "how's everything with you?" + +It was not the usual how-d'ye-do of greeting. The words were spoken in +actual question, as if they had special significance. + +The man straightened, turning sober eyes. "Nothing startling yet," he +replied. + +"In after supplies?" + +"Yes--and my mail." + +There was a long pause. The conversation was apparently ended. Bill +turned to go. A stranger spoke from the other side of the fire. + +"How's Grizzly River?" he asked. Bill turned to him with a smile. + +"Getting higher and higher. All the streams are up. You know that +bald-faced bay of Fargo's?" + +Fargo was the Bradleyburg merchant, and the stranger knew the +horse,--one of the little band that, after the frontier custom, +Fargo kept to rent. "Yes, I remember him." + +"Well, I've got him this fall. You know he's a yellow cuss." + +The stranger nodded. In this little community the dumb brutes were +almost as well known as the human inhabitants. The meaning was wholly +plain to him too, and the term did not apply to the horse's color. +Yellow, on the frontier, means just one thing: the most damning and +unforgivable thing of all. When one is yellow he gives up easily, he +dares not lift his arms to fight, and the wilderness claims him quickly. +"There's a little creek with a bad mudhole just this side of the ford," +Bill went on. "All the horses got through but Baldy, and he could have +made it easy if he'd tried. But what did he do but just sit back on his +haunches in the mud, like an old man in a chair, his head up and his +front legs in his lap, and just give up? Quite a sight--that horse +sitting in the mud. I had to snag him out." + +The others smiled, but none of them with the brilliance of the +story-teller himself. The wilderness picture--with the cowardly horse +sitting in the mud--was again before his eyes; and none of the +hardship of the journey could cost him his joy in it. Bill Bronson was +no longer just a dim form on the twilight hilltop. The lamplight showed +him plain. In this circle of townspeople he was a man to notice twice. + +The forests had done well by him. Like the spruce themselves he had +grown straight and tall, but his form was sturdy too. There was a lithe +strength about him that suggested the larger felines; the hard trails +of the forest had left not a spare ounce of flesh on his powerful +frame. His mold, except for a vague and indistinct refinement +in his long-fingered and strong hands, was simply that of a +woodsman,--sturdy, muscular, untiring. His speech was not greatly +different from that of others: the woodspeople, spending many of the +long winter days in reading, are usually careless in speech but rarely +ungrammatical. His clothes were homely and worn. He wore a blue +mackinaw over a flannel shirt, dark trousers and rubber boots: garments +that were suited to his life. + +But it was true that men looked twice into Bill Bronson's face. His +features were rugged, now his mouth and jowls were dark with beard, yet +written all over his sunburned face was a kindliness and gentleness that +could not be denied. There was strength and good humor in plenty; and +it was hard to reconcile these qualities with an unquestioned +wistfulness and boyishness in his eyes. They were dark eyes, the eyes +of a man of action who could also dream, kindly, thoughtful eyes which +even the deep shadows of the forest had not blinded to beauty. + +As he waited for his meal he crossed the dark road to the little +frontier post office, there to be given his two months' accumulation of +letters. He looked them over with significant anxiety. There were the +usual forders from fur buyers, a few advertisements and circulars, and a +small batch of business mail. The smile died from his eyes as he read +one of these communications after another. Their context was usually +the same,--that his proposition did not look good, and no investment +would be made in a plan as vague as his. The correspondents understood +that he had been grubstaked before without result. They remained, +however, his respectfully,--and Bill's great hand crumpled each in +turn. + +Only one letter remained, written in an unknown hand from a far-off +city; and it dropped, for the moment, unnoticed into his lap. His eyes +were brooding and lifeless as he stared out the hotel window into the +darkened street. There was no use of appealing again to the business +folk of the provincial towns; the tone of their letters was all too +decisive. The great plans he had made would come to nothing after all. +His proposition simply did not hold water. + +He had been seeking a "grubstake,"--some one to finance another +expedition into the virgin Clearwater for half of such gains as he +should make. In a few weeks more the winter would close down; the +horses, essential to such a trip as this, had to be driven down to the +gate of the Outside,--three hundred miles to the bank of a great +river. He had time for one more dash for the rainbow's end, and no one +could stake him for it. He had some food supplies, but the horse-rent +was an unsolved problem. He could see no ray of hope as he picked up, +half-heartedly, the last letter of the pile. + +But at once his interest returned. It had been mailed in a far distant +city in the United States, and the fine, clear handwriting was obviously +feminine. He didn't have to rub the paper between his thumb and +forefinger to mark its rich, heavy quality and its beauty,--the +stationery of an aristocrat. The message was singularly terse: + +My Dear Mr. Bronson: + +I am informed, by the head of your provincial game commission, that +you can be employed to guide for hunting parties wishing to hunt in the +Clearwater, north of Bradleyburg. I do not wish to hunt game, but I do +wish to penetrate that country in search of my fiance, Mr. Harold +Lounsbury, of whom doubtless you have heard, and who disappeared in the +Clearwater district six years ago. I will be accompanied by Mr. +Lounsbury's uncle, Kenly Lounsbury, and I wish you to secure the outfit +and a man to cook at once. You will be paid the usual outfitter's rates +for thirty days. We will arrive in Bradleyburg September twentieth by +stage. Yours sincerely, Virginia Tremont. + +Bill finished the note, pocketed it carefully, and a boyish light was in +his eyes as he shook fragrant tobacco into his pipe. "The way out," he +told himself. "She won't care if I do my prospecting the same time." + +His thought swung back to a scene of many Septembers before, of a camp +he had made beside a distant stream and of a wayfarer who had eaten of +his bread and journeyed on,--never to pass that way again. There had +been one curious circumstance connected with the meeting, otherwise it +might not have lingered so clearly in Bill's memory. It had seemed to +him, at the time, that he had encountered the stranger on some previous +occasion. There was a haunting familiarity in his face, a fleeting +memory that he could not trace or identify. Yet nothing in the +stranger's past life had offered an explanation. He was a newcomer, he +said,--on his first trip north. Bill, on the other hand, had never +gone south. It had been but a trick of the imagination, after all. And +Bill did not doubt that he was the man for whom the girl sought. + +The little lines seemed to draw and deepen about the man's eyes. "Six +years--but six years is too long, for Clearwater," he murmured. "Men +either come out by then, or it gets 'em. I'm afraid she'll never find +her lover." + +* * * * * + +He went to make arrangements with Fargo, the merchant, about supplies. +At midnight he sat alone in the little lobby of the inn; all the other +townsmen had gone. The fire was nearly out; a single lamp threw a +doubtful glow on the woodsman's face. His thoughts had been tireless +to-night. He couldn't have told why. Evidently some little event of +the evening, some word that he had not consciously noticed had been the +impulse for a flood of memories. They haunted him and held him, and he +couldn't escape from them. + +His thought moved in great circles, always returning to the same +starting point,--the tragedy and mystery of his own boyhood. He knew +perfectly that there was neither pleasure nor profit in dwelling upon +this subject. In the years that he had had his full manhood he had +tried to force the matter from his thoughts, and mostly he had +succeeded. Self-mastery was his first law, the code by which he lived; +and mostly the blue devils had lifted their curse from him. But they +were shrieking from the gloom at him to-night. In the late years some +of the great tranquility of the forest had reposed in him and the bitter +hours of brooding came ever at longer intervals. But to-night they held +him in bondage. + +It was twenty-five years past and he had been only a child when the +thing had happened. He had been but seven years old,--more of a baby +than a child. He smiled grimly as the thought went home to him that +childhood, in its true sense, was one stage of life that he had missed. +He had been cheated of it by a remorseless destiny; he had been a baby, +and then he had been a man. There were no joyous gradations between. +The sober little boy had sensed at once that the responsibilities of +manhood had been thrust upon him, and he must make good. After all, +that was the code of his life,--to take what destiny gave and stand up +under it. + +If the event had occurred anywhere but in the North, the outcome might +have been wholly different. Life was easy and gentle in the river +bottoms of the United States. Women could make a brave fight unaided; +even fatherless boys were not entirely cheated of their youth. Besides, +in these desolate wastes the code of life is a personal code, primitive +emotions have full sway, and men to not change their dreams from day to +day. Constancy and steadfastness are the first impulses of their lives; +neither Bill nor his mother had been able to forget or to forgive. Here +was an undying ignominy and hatred; besides--for the North is a +far-famed keeper of secrets--the mystery and the dreadful uncertainty, +haunting like a ghost. As a little boy he had tried to comfort his +mother with his high plans for revenge; and she had whispered to him, +and cried over him, and pressed him hard against her; and he had +promised, over and over again, that when manhood came to him he would +right her wrongs and his own. He remembered his pathetic efforts to +comfort her, and it had never occurred to him that he had been in need +of comforting himself. He had been a sober, wistful-eyed little boy, +bearing bravely the whole tragic weight upon his own small shoulders. + +The story was very simple and short,--nothing particularly unusual in +the North. His father had come early to the gold fields of Bradleyburg, +and he had been one of few that was accompanied by his wife,--a tender +creature, scarcely molded for life in the northern gold camps. Then +there had been Rutheford, his father's partner, a man whom neither Bill +nor his mother liked or trusted, but to whom the elder Bronson gave full +trust. Somewhere beyond far Grizzly River, in the Clearwater, Bronson +had made a wonderful strike,--a fabulous mine where the gravel was +simply laden with the yellow dust; and because they had prospected +together in times past, Bronson gave his partner a share in it. + +They had worked for months at their mine, in secret, and then Rutheford +had come with pack horses into Bradleyburg, ostensibly for supplies. He +had been a guest at the Bronson cabin and had reported that all was well +with his generous partner. And the next night he had disappeared. + +Weeks were to pass before the truth was known. Rutheford did not return +to the mine at all; he was traced clear to the shipping point, three +hundred miles below Bradleyburg. And he did not go empty-handed. The +pack horses had not carried empty saddlebags. They had been simply +laden with gold. And Bronson never returned to his family in +Bradleyburg. + +There was only one possible explanation. The gold had represented +the season's washings--an amount that went into the hundreds of +thousands--and Rutheford had murdered his benefactor and absconded with +the entire amount. No living human being except Rutheford himself knew +where the mine lay; there was no way for Bronson's family either to +reclaim the body or to continue to work on the mine. Search parties had +sought it in vain, and the lost mine of the Bronsons became a legend, a +mystery that had grown constantly more dim in the passing years. + +"When I am gone," little Bill would whisper to his mother, as she knelt +crying at his feet, "I will go out and find my papa's mine. Also I will +chase down Rutheford, and track him all over the world until I find him, +and make him suffer for all he has done!" + +This was a northern child, and his baby eyes would gleam and his +features draw, and then his mother, half-frightened, would try to quiet +him in her arms. This was the North, the land of primitive emotions, +take and give, receive and pay, simple justice and remorseless +vengeance; and when the storm swept over the cabin and the snow deepened +at the doorway, those terrible, whispered promises seemed wholly fitting +and true. + +"I'll follow him till I die, and he and his wife and his son will pay +for what he has done to us." + +But the years had come and passed, and Rutheford had not been brought to +justice nor the mine found. It was true that in a past summer Bill had +traced his father's murderer as far as the shipping point, but there all +trace of him was irremediably lost. Bill had made many excursions into +the Clearwater in search of the lost mine, all without success. He had +had but one guide,--a hastily scrawled map that Bronson had once drawn +for his wife, to show her the approximate position of the claim. There +had been no hope of avenging the murder, but with each recurring spring +Bill had felt certain of clearing up the mystery, at least of finding +the mine and its wealth and the bones of his father. But the last days +of his mother, gone at last to her old home in the United States, could +be made easier; but his own future would be assured. But now, at +thirty-two, the recovery of the mine seemed as far distant as ever. +Devoting his life to the pursuit of it, he had not prepared himself for +any other occupation; he had only a rather unusual general education, +procured from the Bradleyburg schools and his winter reading, and now he +was face to face with economic problems, too. + +He would try once more. If he did not win, the dream of his youth would +have to be given over. He had devoted his days to it; such a force as +was about to send Virginia Tremont into the wilderness in search of her +lover had never come up in his life. He sat dreaming, the ashes cold in +is pipe. + +He was called to himself by a distinct feeling of cold. The fire was +out, the chill of the early midnight hours had crept into the room. The +man rose wearily, then strode to the door for a moment's survey of the +sky. + +For a breath he stood watching. His was the only lamp still glowing: +only the starlight, wan and pale, lay over the town. The night wind +came stealing, an icy ghost, up the dark street; and it chilled his +uncovered throat. The moon rose over the spruce forest, ringed with +white. Already the frost was growing on the roofs. + +The ring around the moon, the nip in the air, the little wind that +came so gently, yet with such sinister stealth, all portended one +thing,--that the great northern winter was lurking just beyond the +mountains, ready to swoop forth. Of course there would be likely time +in plenty for a dash into Clearwater; yet the little breath of fall +was almost gone. Far away, rising and falling faint as a cobweb in +the air, a coyote sang to the rising moon,--a strange, sobbing song of +pain and sadness and fear that only the woodsman, to whom the North +had sent home its lessons, could understand. + + + +II + +Bill Bronson found that he had the usual number of difficulties to +contend with, when arranging for the journey. He had to procure more +horses for the larger outfit, and he was obliged to comb the town of +them before he had enough. This was not an agricultural land, this wild +realm of the Selkirks, and all of the animals were originally Indian +stock,--the usual type of mountain cayuses with which most big-game +hunters are acquainted. Some of them were faithful and trustworthy +animals, but many were half-broken, many cowardly and vicious. On those +he rented he took the risk; he would be charged on the books for all +those that were not returned to their owners at Bradleyburg by October +twentieth. + +Bill knew perfectly that he would play in good fortune if the loss in +horseflesh did not cost him most of the gains of the undertaking. Even +the sturdy mustangs were not bred for traversing the trails of +Clearwater. There were steep hills where a single misstep meant death, +there were narrow trails and dangerous fords, and here and there were +inoffensive-looking pools where the body of a horse may sink out of +sight in less time than it takes to tell it. These were not the +immense-chested moose or the strong-limbed caribou, natives of the place +and monarchs of its trails. Besides, if the winter caught them on the +higher levels, they would never eat oats in Johnson's barn again. The +six feet of snow covers all horse feed, and the alternatives that remain +are simply a merciful bullet from the wrangler's pistol or death of slow +starvation. + +Bill had certain stores in his cabins,--the long line of log huts +from which he operated in the trapping season,--yet further supplies +were needed for the trip. He bought sugar, flour, great sacks of +rice--that nutritious and delightful grain that all outdoor men learn +to love--coffee and canned goods past all description. Savory bacon, +a great cured ham of a caribou, dehydrated vegetables and cans of +marmalade and jam: all these went into the big saddle-bags for the +journey. He was fully aware that the punishing days' ride could never +be endured on half-rations. Camp equipment, rifles, shells and a +linen tent made up the outfit. + +He encountered real difficulty when he tried to hire a man to act as +cook. Evidently the Bradleyburg citizens had no love for the mountain +realms in the last days of fall. For the double wage that he promised +he was only able to secure a half-rate man,--Vosper by name, a +shifty-eyed youth from one of the placer mines, farther down toward the +settlements. + +Up to the time that he heard the far-off sound of their automobile +struggling up the long hill, he had made no mental picture of his +employers. He rather hoped that Mr. Kenly Lounsbury--uncle of the +missing man--would represent the usual type of middle-aged American +with whom he had previously dealt,--cold-nerved, likeable business men +that came for recreation on the caribou trails. Virginia Tremont would +of course be a new type, but he felt no especial interest in her. But +as he waited at the door of the hotel he began to be aware of a curious +excitement, a sense of grave and portentous developments. He did not +feel the least self-conscious. But he did know a suddenly awakened +interest in this girl who would come clear to these northern realms to +find her lover. + +The car was in evident difficulties. It was the end of the road: in +fact, the old highway for the last three miles of its length was simply +two ruts on the hillside. As soon as it came in sight Bill recognized +the driver,--a man who operated a line of auto-stages, during the +summer months, on the long river-road below. The next instant the car +drew up beside the hotel. + +To a man of cities there would have been nothing particularly unusual in +this sight of a well-groomed man and girl in the tonneau of an +automobile. The man was a familiar type, of medium size, precise, his +outing clothes just a trifle garish; the girl trim and sweet-faced, and +stylish from the top of her head to the soles of her expensive little +boots. But no moment of Bill's life had ever been fraught with a +greater wonder. None had ever such a quality of the miraculous. None +had ever gone so deep. + +He had not known many women, this dark man of the forests. He had seen +Indian squaws in plenty, stolid and fat, he had known a few of the wives +of the Bradleyburg men,--women pretty enough, good housekeepers, +neatly clad and perhaps a little saddened and crushed by the very +remorselessness of this land in which they lived. But there had been no +girls in Bradleyburg to grow up with, no schoolday sweethearts. He had +known the dark and desolate forests, never a sweetheart's kiss. His +mother was now but a memory: tenderness, loveliness, personal beauty to +hold the eyes had been wholly without his bourne. And he gazed at +Virginia Tremont as a man might look at a celestial light. + +If the girl could have seen the swift flood of worship that flowed into +his face, she would have felt no scorn. She was of the cities, caste +had hardened her as far as it could harden one of her nature, she was a +thoroughbred to the last inch, used to flattery and the attentions of +men of her own class; yet she would have held no contempt for this tall, +bronzed man that looked at her with such awe and wonder. The surge of +feeling was real in him; and reality is one thing, over the broad earth, +that no human being dares to scorn. If she could have read deeper she +would have found in herself an unlooked-for answer, in a small measure +at least, to a lifelong dream, an ideal come true, and even she--in +her high place--would have known a little whisper of awe. + +All his life, it seemed to him, Bill had dreamed dreams--dreams that +he would not admit into his conscious thought and which he constantly +tried to disavow because he considered their substance did not exist in +reality and thus they were out of accord with the realism with which he +regarded life. On the long winter nights, when the snow lay endless and +deep over the wilderness, and the terrible cold locked the land tight, +he would sit in his trapping cabins, gazing into the smoke clouds from +his pipe, and a tender enchantment would steal over him. He would have +admitted to no human being those wistful and beautiful hours that he +spent alone. He was known as a man among men, one who could battle the +snows and meet the grizzly in his lair, and he would have been ashamed +to reveal this dreamy, romantic side of his nature, these longings that +swept him to the depths. He would go to his bed and lie for long, +tingling, wakeful hours stirred by dreams that through no earthly chance +could he conceive as coming true. Arms about him, lips near, beauty and +tenderness and hallowed wakenings,--he had imagined them all in his +secret hours. + +In the deep realms of his spirit, it seemed to him, he had always known +this girl,--this straight, graceful, lovely being with eyes of an +angel and smile of a happy child. He had denied her existence, and here +she was before him. Dark hair, waving and just a little untidy in the +brisk wind, oval face and determined little chin, shadowing lashes and +the exquisite contrasts of brunette beauty, a glimpse of soft, white +flesh at the throat through her dark furs, smart tailored suit and +dainty hands,--they were all known to him of old. For all the +indifference and distance with which she looked at him and at the other +townspeople, there was a world of girlish sweetness in her face. For +all her caste, there was spiritual beauty and gracious charm in every +facial line. + +Curiously, Bill had no tinge of the resentment he might have expected +that his dream should come half-true only to be shattered like the +bubble it was. Because he had no delusions. He knew that he was only +an employee, that a girl of her caste would ever regard him as the great +regard those that serve them--kindly but impersonally--but for now +he asked for nothing more. To him she was a creature past belief, a +being from another world, and he was content to serve her humbly. He +knew that he was of the forest and she of the cities of men, and soon +they would take separate trails. His only comfort, heretofore, had +been that his dream could not possibly come true, that the stuff of +which it was made could never exist in the barren, dreadful, accursed +place that was his home; but his nature was too big and true for any +bitterness--to hate her because she was of a sphere so infinitely apart +from his. But he wouldn't give her his love, he told himself, only his +adoration. He wasn't going to be foolish enough to fall in love with a +star! Yet he was swept with joy, for did not a whole month intervene +before she would go back to her kind? Would she not be in his own +keeping for a while, before she left him to his forests and his snows? +Could he not see her across the fire, exult in her beauty, even aid her +in finding her lost lover? His eye kindled and his face flushed, and +he leaped to help her from the tonneau. + +"I suppose you are Mr. Bronson?" she asked. + +It was the same friendly but impersonal tone that he had expected, but +he felt no resentment. His spirits had rallied promptly; and he was +already partly adjusted to the fact that his joy in the journey would +consist of the mere, unembellished fact of her presence. + +"Yes. Of course this is Miss Tremont and Mr. Lounsbury. And just as +soon as I pack the horses we'll be ready to start." + +"I don't see why you haven't got 'em already packed," Lounsburg broke +in. "If I ran my business in this shiftless way----" + +Bill turned quickly toward him. He saw at once that other elements +beside pleasure were to enter into this journey. The man spoke +querulously, in a tone to which Bill was neither accustomed nor +reconciled. If the girl had chosen to abuse him, he would have taken it +meekly as his due; but it hadn't been his training to accept too many +rude words from a fellow man. Yet, he remembered, he was the uncle of +the girl's fiance, and that meant he was a privileged person. Besides, +his temper had likely been severely strained by the rough road. + +"Don't be ridiculous, Uncle," the girl reproved her. "How did he know +exactly when we were going to arrive?" She tuned back to Bill. "Now +tell us where we can get lunch. I'm starved." + +"This country does--stimulate the appetite," Bill responded gravely. +Then he showed them into the hotel. + +He did a queer and sprightly little dance as he hurried toward the barn +to get his horse. + + + +III + +Mr. Kenly Lounsbury, addressed affectionately as Uncle by his nephew's +fiancee, was in ill humor as he devoured his lunch. In the first place +he hadn't been getting the attention that he had expected. He was used +to being treated with a certain deference, an abject humility was as +fitting to a man of wealth and position. These northern people, +however, didn't seem to know how to fawn. They were courteous enough, +gave good service, but were inclined to speak to him as man to +man,--an inference of equality that he regarded with great displeasure. +His nephew's penniless fiancee, instead of himself, received all the +attentions. Even the burly ruffian who was to guide them looked at her +as if she were an angel. + +The girl's voice rang over the table. "What's worrying you now, Uncle?" +she asked. + +Lounsbury looked up angrily. "What's worrying me now is--that I was +such a fool as to come up into this country at the approach of winter. +I don't like the place, and I don't like the people, and I abominate the +service! Fancy eating on these great, thick plates for a month! I +don't trust that big outlaw who is going to take us into the woods, +either. Virginia, I have a distinct premonition of disaster." + +"I rather think--that we'll be glad enough to have any china plates at +all before we get back. And Mr. Bronson----" + +"By the way, don't call him _Mr._ Bronson. You must learn to teach +these beggars their places. Call him just Bronson. You'll get twice +the service." + +"Yes, Uncle. I was just going to say that he seemed very trustworthy. +And it's hardly--well, the sporting thing to become discouraged so +soon." + +All through the journey so far this had been Lounsbury's one +satisfaction--that he was doing the sporting thing. He knew perfectly +that many of his business associates, many of his city's great whom +he would have been flattered to know, came up into these gloomy +forests every year in pursuit of big game; and he had heard of +enduring hardships in a "sporting" way. But the term was already +threadbare,--and the journey only commenced. The reason went back to +the simple fact that Lounsbury was not a sportsman and never could be, +that the red corpuscle content in his blood was wholly within the law. + +Yes, Virginia felt at a disadvantage. This man's money had financed the +trip; the fortune her own father had left had been almost depleted from +reverses resulting from the war, and only the most meager sort of an +income--according to her standards--was left. An orphan, she had +always looked up to her fiance's uncle as her guardian and adviser; to +see signs of discouragement in him now was a serious blow to her. + +She had been somewhat surprised, in the first place, at his willingness +to undertake the journey. He usually did not care to go so far from the +White Way of his native city. The years had taught her to look for +selfish motives behind his every action; certainly, she told herself, he +was not of the unselfish mold of his nephew, Harold Lounsbury, the +sweetheart of her youth, but in this particular case the expedition +seemed entirely altruistic. She wondered now whether, after all her +dreams, she would be forced to turn back before her purpose was +accomplished. + +They pushed back their chairs and started to leave the dining room. But +it was not written that Kenly Lounsbury should reach the door without +further annoyance. The waiter came shouting after them. + +"Excuse me, Mister," he said kindly, holding out a quarter, "you left +some money on the table." + +Virginia laughed with delight and pocketed the coin herself, but +Lounsbury's face became purple. These northern fools did not even know +the meaning of a tip. + +A few minutes later the pack train emerged through the little alley at +the side of the hotel and halted in front. Bill Bronson led his own +bay, Mulvaney, and the pack horses were tailed,--the halter rope of +each tied to the tail of the horse in front, like elephants on parade. +The idea was simply to keep them in formation till they were launched +forth upon the trail. Vosper, the cook, led three horses with riding +saddles at the end of the line. + +Virginia had changed to outing clothes when she emerged into the street, +leaving her tailored suit in charge of the innkeeper. Bill beamed at +her appearance. "Miss Tremont," he began, doing the honors, "this is +Mr. Vosper, who will cook the beans." + +Both nodded, the girl smiling rather impersonally, and Bill noticed a +horrifying omission. Vosper actually lacked the intelligence to remove +his hat! The first instinct of the woodsman was to march toward him and +inflict physical violence for such an insult to his queen, but he caught +himself in time. Vosper, damaged in the encounter, would likely refuse +to make the trip, upsetting all their plans. + +But at that instant Bill forgot all about it. He suddenly noticed his +employers' clothes. And he gazed in open-mouthed astonishment. + +Both Virginia and Lounsbury were well gotten up according to their idea +of proper garb for outdoor people. The man wore knickerbockers with +gold stockings, riding habit and stock, the girl a beautifully tailored, +fine-textured lady's riding habit. Both were immediately conscious of +the guide's stare, and Virginia was aware of a distinct embarrassment. +Something, somewhere, had evidently gone wrong. Lounsbury took refuge +in hauteur. + +"Well?" he demanded icily. + +"Excuse me," Bill replied. "But those aren't--are those the clothes +you're going to wear on the trip?" + +"We're not parading for any one's benefit, I hope," was the sarcastic +answer. "These are our rough clothes. Have you any objections to 'em?" + +The guide's eyes puckered about the corners. "No, sir--not any +objections--and they'd be all right for a day or two--until bad +weather. But they are hardly the togs for the North. What you want is +a good pair of slicker pants, both of you, and plenty of wool inside. +Also a rubber coat of some kind, over sheepskin. In the first good snow +those clothes would just melt away. If you'll come with me, I'll help +you lay in some--and I'll pack 'em right on one of the horses for the +time of need. There's a store adjoining the hotel----" + +Virginia's confusion had departed, giving way to mirth, but Lounsbury +was swollen and purple with wrath. "You--you----" he began. His face +grew crafty. "I suppose you get a commission on every garment you +sell." + +Bill turned rather quiet eyes on the man; and for one little instant the +craven that dwelt under Lounsbury's skin told him he had said one +sentence too many; but he took heart when Bill looked away. "I'll keep +what I've got on," he announced. "I'm not used to being told what kind +of clothes to wear. Virginia, we'll start on." + +"Wait just a minute, Uncle," the girl replied coolly. She turned to +Bill. "You say these won't do at all?" + +"They'll be torn off of you in the brush, Miss Tremont. And they won't +turn the cold and the snow, either. This is the North, you know." + +"Then I, for one, am going to take your advice. Please help me pick out +the things, Bronson." + +They left Lounsbury fuming in the road, and they had a rather enjoyable +ten minutes searching through Fargo's stock for suitable garb. He +selected a pair of slicker pants to wear over riding trousers, a coat +lined with sheepskin, boy's size, and an awkwardly made but effective +rubber coat for outside wear when the snow lay on the branches. It was +not, Virginia decided, quite like choosing gowns at her modiste's; yet +she was bright-eyed and laughing at the end. + +Bill unhitched a pack, inserted the bundle of clothes, then bracing his +boots against the horse's side pulled and tugged until the pack was +right again. "You'll be glad you've got these things before the trip is +done," he prophesied. He pointed to the North, an unlooked for sobriety +upon his face. + +Far against the horizon the clouds were beginning to spread, dark and +gray and strange, over the northern hills. These were not the clouds of +summer rains. They were the first banners of an enemy--a grim and +dreadful foe who had his ramparts in the wilds, and his ambush laid for +such feeble creatures as would dare to brave his fastness. + +* * * * * + +Bill Bronson gave his last directions, tightened the last cinch, and +slipped his rifle into the saddle scabbard. "There's just one thing +more--the choice of horses," he said. "Miss Tremont, of course you +can take your pick." His tone was trustful. "Of course that will be +all right with the other gentlemen--for you to have the best and +safest horse." + +Strangely, neither of the two men seemed to greet this suggestion with +especial enthusiasm. "I want a good and a safe horse," Lounsbury said +evenly. "Of course you must provide Miss Tremont with the same." + +The woodsman sighed, ever so softly. He returned to Vosper, but if the +latter had any suggestions to offer, the hard eyes of the guide caused +him to think better of them. "I'm sorry to say that good horses--and +safe horses--aren't to be found in the same animal up here," Bill +explained. "If you have a good horse--one that'll take the mud and +swim the river and stand up under the day's march--he'll likely have +too much sense and spirit to be safe. He'll more than likely prance +around when you get on and buck you off if he thinks he can get away +with it. If you've got a safe horse, one that's scared to death of you, +he won't be a good horse--a yellow cuss that has to be dragged through +every mud-puddle. These are all Indian ponies, the best that can be got +up here, but they're not old ladies' driving mares. Miss Tremont, the +best horse in this bunch is my bay, Mulvaney--but nobody can ride him +but me. I'd love to let you ride him if you could, and after a day or +two I'd be willing for you to try it. But he doesn't know what fear is, +and he doesn't know when to give up." + +The man spoke soberly. It was wholly plain that Mulvaney was very dear +to his heart. Men do not ride over the caribou trails without +engendering strong feelings toward their mounts. Sometimes it is love. +And not unusually it is detestation. + +"That little black there--Buster, we call him--is the next best bet. +It's an important choice you're making, and I'll tell you about him. He +threw a man off once, and when I got him he was supposed to be the most +vicious animal in the Northwest. The truth is, he hasn't got a vicious +hair on his head. But he will try to get away, and he will dance a bit +when you first get on and wheel in circles, and he's hard to catch in +the morning. But he's sure-footed and courageous and strong; he'll take +you up hills where the others can't go. The other two horses--Colt +and Scotty--maybe seem safer, but they haven't got the life Buster +has, nor the sense." + +Bill reached to pet the black Buster, and the animal shied nervously. +Virginia walked up to him and seized his bridle rein. In an instant she +had vaulted into the saddle. + +He wheeled and plunged at first, but soon she quieted him. In none too +good humor, Lounsbury made his selection, and Vosper took what was left. +Bill led his animal to Virginia's side. + +"And are there any special instructions--before we start?" he asked. + +"I can give you some special instructions," Lounsbury interrupted. "I +didn't come up here to risk my life on a wild mustang in the mountains. +I want you to pick easy trails--you can if you've just got energy +enough to try." + +A half-smile lingered a moment at the woodsman's lips. There was no +choice of trails into Clearwater. He might have told Lounsbury that +once they were out of sight of the roofs of the town they were venturing +into the Unknown, a land where the caribou and the moose made trails +through the forest but where men came not, a land of beasts rather than +men, of primeval grandeur but savage might. "Have you any orders to +give?" he asked the girl again. + +"None. All I can do is tell you what I have already done--and then +let you do the best you can. As you know, he left six years ago." + +"I know. I saw him when he came through." + +His eyes were fast upon her, and he saw her start. Her face seemed to +flame. Stranger as he was to the hearts of women, Bill could +understand. It was word of her lover, a message from the dead, and it +moved her to the depths. But he couldn't understand the curious weight +of depression that descended upon him. + +"You did?" she answered quickly. "Was he all right--then?" + +"All right, but that was just after he came to the North. I was camping +on this side of Grizzly River, and he stayed to eat with me. He said +his name was Lounsbury. I've never heard of him since." + +The surface lights died in her eyes. "Then that doesn't help us much, +except to know that he got that far, at least," she went on. "I'll tell +you the whole thing, simply; maybe it will help you in deciding where to +look for him. He was twenty-seven then--and he'd spent the fortune +his father left him. He had to have more, and he came up here--to +look for gold. + +"Like many other men--before him," Bill interrupted gravely. + +"He had some sort of definite plan--a vacation place to go--but he +never told me what it was. He told me he was going into Clearwater. He +had to have money--he was in debt and besides, he was engaged to marry +me. The last word I ever heard of him was a note he wrote from +Bradleyburg. I was just a girl then--and I've waited ever since. +His friends, his aunt, sometimes even his uncle thought that he was +dead. I've always felt, just as sure as I am here, that he was still +alive--and in some trouble--and he couldn't come back. Mr. Lounsbury +has hired detectives, but none of them have ever made a real search. +He's financing this trip now--I've been able to persuade him at last to +make one great try to find him. What's what we've hired you to do." + +"It's a big order," Bill spoke softly. "There's just one thing we can +do--to look into the country where he's gone and try to trace him. +Every man who goes through Clearwater leaves his mark--there's not so +many of them that their trails get crossed. My plan would be to watch +for the camps he made--there'd be some sign of 'em yet--the trees he +cut and the trails he blazed--and trace him clear to the Valley of the +Yuga." + +"And what is there?" + +Bill's ears, trained to the silences of the woodland, caught the almost +imperceptible tremor in her voice. "There are a few Indians who have +their tents there--trappers and fishers--and I know how to get +things out of 'em. If he's passed that way, they'd know about it. If +he hasn't--something has happened to him--somewhere between here and +there. He couldn't have remained out of sight so long." + +"I want you to make every try. I can't bear--to give up." + +Even this woodsman, knowing men to the heart but stranger to the world +of women, knew that she meant what she said. She wasn't of the mold +that gives up quickly. For all her cool exterior, her impersonal voice, +the grace and breeding that went clear to her finger tips, he had some +measure of understanding of an ardor and an intensity that might have +been native to his own wilderness. Not often has girlhood love stood +such a test as this,--six years of silence. He could not doubt its +reality; no small or half-felt emotion could have propelled her forth +into these desolate wastes. Her love had gone deep and it lived. + +He answered very gravely and humbly, perhaps a even a little sadly: +"I'll do everything I can to find him for you, Miss. I'll get your +sweetheart for you if it can be done." + +To Vosper and Lounsbury the two little sentences were just the +assurances of a hired employee, half-felt and forgotten soon. But +Virginia heard more clearly. She had a vague feeling that she was a +witness to a vow. It seemed to her that there was the fire of a zealot +in his dark eyes, and by token of some mystery she did not understand, +this strong man had seen fit to give her his oath. She only knew that +he spoke true, that by a secret law that only strong men know he would +be as faithful to this promise as if he had given bond. + + + +IV + +It was one of the decrees of the forest gods that no human being shall +ride for five miles through the spruce forests of the Selkirks and fail +to glean at least some slight degree of wilderness knowledge. Both +Virginia and Lounsbury had been on horseback before. Virginia had +ridden in the parks of her native city: long ago and far away a +barefoot, ragged boy--much to be preferred to the smug and petulant +man who now tried to hard to forget those humble days--had bestrode an +old plow horse nightly on the way to a watering trough. But this riding +had qualities all its own. There was no open road winding before them. +Nor was there any trail,--in general or particular. + +It was true that the moose had passed that way, leaving their great +footprints in the dying grass. They had chosen the easiest pathway over +the hills, and Bill was enough of a woodsman to follow where they led. +Traversing the Clearwater was simply a matter of knowing the country and +going in a general direction. Almost at once the evergreen thickets +closed around them. + +Virginia found that safety depended upon constant watchfulness. The +evergreen branches struck cruel blows at her face, the spruce needles +cut like knives. Sometimes the horse in front would bend down a young +tree, permitting it to whip back with a deadly blow; she had to watch +her knees in the narrow passages between the trunks; and the vines +reached and caught at her. Sometimes the long-hanging limbs of the +young trees made an impassable barrier, and more than once she was +nearly dragged from the saddle. Shortly they came to the first fallen +log. + +Mulvaney, Bill's horse, took it lightly; and the man turned to watch the +girl. Her horse stepped gingerly, making it without trouble. Then the +guide saw fit to give her a little good advice. + +"Kick Buster in the ribs just before you come to a log," he said. +"He'll jump 'em then. It's a whole lot safer--if he tries to step +over 'em he's apt to get his foot caught and give you a bad fall." + +Virginia looked up coldly. She wasn't accustomed to being spoken to in +quite this tone of voice, particularly by an employee. But she saw his +sober eyes and immediately forgot her resentment. And she found an +actual delight in bounding over the next obstruction. + +"And there's one more thing," the guide went on. "I've ridden plenty of +horses, and I've found there's only one way to handle 'em. I'm going to +try a new way to-day, because there's a lady in the party. But if I'm +tried too heavy----" + +"Go ahead," the girl replied, smiling. "I suppose you mean--to +swear." + +"Not just to swear. Call names. These horses won't think we're present +if we don't swear at 'em. And the only name they know refers to them is +one that casts slurs upon their ancestry, but I'll try to avoid it +to-day. I suppose I can make a roaring sound that sounds enough like it +to fool the horses." + +Virginia was naturally alert and quick-witted, and she needed both of +these traits now. The guide helped her all he could, warning her of +approaching thickets; yet the first hour was a grim initiation to the +woods. Lounsbury was having even a more difficult time. He was afraid +of his horse, to start with--and this is never an auspicious +beginning. A frightened rider means a nervous, excited animal--and +nervousness and excitement are unhealthy qualities in the Selkirks. +Neither put trust in the other, and Lounsbury's cruel, lashing blows +with the long bridle ends only made matters worse. The horse leaped and +plunged, slipped badly on the hills, progressed awkwardly over the +fallen logs, and flew into wild panic when he came to the quagmires. +The man's temper fell far below the danger point in the first hour, and +he was savage and desperate before half of the afternoon's ride was +done. + +The thickets were merciless. They knew him, those silent evergreens: +they gave no welcome to his breed; and it seemed to him they found a +hundred ways to plague him. Their needles scratched his face, their +branches whipped into his eyes, the limbs dealt cruel blows at his side +and the tree trunks wrenched at his knees. Worse still, they soon came +to a hill that Bill advised they take on foot. + +"Not me," Lounsbury shrilled. "I'll swear I won't walk any hills. +You've provided a vicious horse for me, and I'm going to ride him +up if it kills him. I didn't come out here to break my wind on +mountains--and this horse needs the devil taken out of him, anyway." + +It was in Virginia's mind that none of the emphatic but genial oaths +that Bill had let slip from time to time grated on her half so much as +this frenzied complaint of her companion, but she kept her thoughts to +herself. But Bill turned with something dangerously like a smile. + +"Suit yourself, of course," he replied. "I'm not asking you to walk up +to spare your horse. Only, from time to time a horse makes a misstep on +this hill--just one little slip--and spins down in backward +somersets a thousand feet. If you want to try it, of course it's all +right with me." + +He swung off his horse, took the bridle reins of both his own animal and +Virginia's, and started the long climb. And it was to be noticed that +at the first steep pitch Lounsbury found that he was tired of riding and +followed after meekly, but with wretched spirit. + +They stopped often to rest; and from the heights Virginia got her first +real glimpse of Clearwater. Her first impression was simply vast and +unmeasured amazement at the dimensions of the land. As far as she could +see lay valley after valley, range upon range, great forests of spruce +alternating with open glades, dim unnamed lakes glinting pale blue in +the afternoon sun, whole valleys where the foot of white man had never +trod. She felt somewhat awed, scarcely knowing why. + +Rivers gleamed, marshes lay yellow and somber in the sun, the dark +forests stretched until the eyes tired; but nowhere were there any +homes, any villages or pastures, not a blaze upon a tree, not the smoke +of a camp fire. Bradleyburg was already obliterated and lost in the +depths of the woodland. The silence was incredible,--as vast and +infinite as the wilderness itself. It startled her a little, when they +paused in their climb, to hear the pronounced tick of her wrist watch, +even the whisper of her own breath. It was as if she had gone to an +enchanted land, a place that lay in a great sleep that began in the +world's young days, and from which the last reaches of time it could +never waken. + +Bill, standing just above her, pointed to a dash of golden across the +canyon. "That's quivering asp," he told her, "turned by the frost. It +seems good to see a bit of color in this world of dark woods. It's just +like a flash of sunshine in a storm." + +She listened with some surprise. The same detail had held her gaze, the +same thought--almost the same simile--had come into her mind; but +she had hardly expected to find a love of the beautiful in this bronzed +forester. In fact, she found that a number of her preconceived ideas +were being turned topsy-turvy. + +Heretofore, it seemed to her, her thought had always dwelt on the +superficialities rather than the realities of life. Her income was +pitifully small according to her standards, yet she had never had to +consider the question of food and shelter. She had known social +success, love of beauty and of art, gayety and luxury; she had had petty +discouragements and triumphs, worries and fears, but of the simple and +primitive basis of things she took no cognizance. She had never dealt +with essentials. They had always seemed outside her life. + +Virginia had never lived in the shadow of Fear,--that greatest and +most potent of realities. In truth she didn't know the meaning of the +word. She had been afraid in her bed at night, she had been +apprehensive of a block's walk in the twilight, but Fear--in its true +sense--was an alien and a stranger. She had never met him in the +waste places, seen him skulking on her trail through the winter snows, +listened to his voice in the wind's wail. She didn't know the fear of +which the coyotes sang from this hill, the blind and groping dread of an +immutable destiny, the ghastly realization of impotence against a cruel +and omnipotent fate. She hadn't ever learned about it. Living a +protected life she didn't know that it existed. Food and shelter and +warmth and safety had always seemed her birthright; about her house +marched the officers of the law protecting her from evildoers; she lived +in sight of great hospitals that would open their doors to the sick and +injured and of charitable institutions that would clothe and feed the +needy: thus the world had kept its bitter truths from her. But she was +beginning to learn them now. She was having her first glimpse of life, +life stripped of all delusion, stark and naked, the relentless reality +that it was. + +Fear was no stranger to these forests. Its presence, in every turn of +the trail, filled her with awe. A single misstep, a little instant of +hesitation in a crisis, might precipitate her a thousand feet down the +canyon to her death. Dead trees swayed, threatening to fall; snow +slides roared and rumbled on the far steeps; the quagmire sucked with +greedy lips, the trail wandered dimly,--as if it were trying to decoy +her away into the fastnesses where the wilderness might claim her. No +one had to tell her how easy it would be to lose the trail, never to +find it again. The forests were endless; there were none to hear a +wanderer's cry for help. Wet matches, an accident to the food supplies, +a few nights without shelter in the dismal forest,--any of these might +spell complete and irrevocable disaster. + +What had she known of Death? It was a thing to claim old people, +sometimes to take even her young friends from their games among the +flowers, but never had it been an acquaintance to hers. It was as +wholly apart from her as the beings of another planet. But here she had +come to the home of Death,--cold and fearful obliteration dwelling in +every thicket. She found herself wondering about it, now, and dreading +it with a new dread that she had never dreamed of before. The only real +emotions she had ever known were her love for Harold Lounsbury and her +grief at his absence: in these autumn woods she might easily learn all +the others. She had never known true loneliness; here, except for her +fiance's uncle with whom she had never felt on common ground and two +paid employees--the latter, she told herself, did not count--she was +as much alone as if she had been cast upon an uninhabited sphere. +Already she knew something of the great malevolence that is the eternal +tone of the wilderness, the lurking peril that is the North. + +This new view influenced her attitude toward Bill. At first she had +felt no interest in him whatever. Of a class that does not enter into a +basis of equality with personal employees, to her he had seemed in the +same category with a new house servant or chauffeur. He had been hired +to do her service; he was either a bad servant or a good one, and from +her he would receive kindness and patronage, but never real feeling or +friendship, never more than an impersonal interest. But now that she +knew something of the real nature of this expedition, affairs had taken +a new turn. She suddenly realized that her whole happiness, her +comfort, perhaps even life itself depended upon him. He was their +protector, their source of supplies, their refuge and their strength as +well. + +The change did not mean that she was willing to enter upon a basis of +comradeship with him--yet. But she did find a singular satisfaction +in the mere fact of his presence. Here was one who could build a fire +in the snow if need be, whose strong arms could cut fuel, who could +manage the horses and bring them safe to the journey's end. His rifle +swung in his saddle scabbard, his pistol belt encircled his waist; he +knew how to adjust the packs, to peg the tent fast in a storm, to find +bread and meat in the wilderness. She began to notice his lithe, strong +figure as he sat in his saddle, the ease with which he controlled his +horse and avoided the pitfalls in the trail. When the moose tracks were +too dim for her eyes to see, he followed them with ease. When the +horses bolted from some unfamiliar smell in the thicket, he was quick to +round them up. The animals were swift in obedience when he spoke to +them, but they were only terrified by Lounsbury's shrill shouts. He was +cool of nerve, self-possessed, wholly self-reliant. She listened with +an eager gladness to his soft whistling: simple classics that she +herself loved but which came strangely from the lips of this son of the +forest. + +His eyes were bright and music was in his heart,--in spite of the dark +menace of these northern woodlands. He was not afraid: rather he seemed +to be getting a keen enjoyment out of the afternoon's ride. And the +great truth suddenly came to her that in his strength lay hers, that she +had entrusted her welfare to him and for the present, at least, it was +secure. And she put her own cares away. + +She would not have admitted that she had simply followed the example of +the uncounted millions of women that had preceded her through the long +reaches of the centuries that had found strength and peace in the +shelter of a strong man's arm. She only knew that her mind no longer +dwelt on danger, but it had marvelously opened to receive the image of +the grim but ineffable beauty of this wild land through which she rode. +She felt secure, and she began to have an intangible but ever-increasing +delight in the wonderland about her. + +* * * * * + +Her first impression of the wilderness was that of a far-stretching +desert, forgotten and desolate and unpeopled as the fiery stars. +Likewise this was Lounsbury's view, as in the case of every tenderfoot +who had preceded him, but Lounsbury would likely grow old and perish +without discovering his mistake. Clear eyes are needed to read the +secrets of the wild: the dark glass through which he gazed at the world +had never cleared. Vosper had lived months and years in the North, but +he had only hatred in his heart of these waste places and thus received +no glory from them. But Virginia soon found out the truth. + +"There's an old bull been along here not twenty minutes ago," Bill told +her after they reached the hilltop. "The mud hasn't begun to dry in his +tracks." + +"An old bull?" she repeated. "Do cattle run here----?" + +"Good Lord, there isn't a cow this side of the shipping point. I mean a +bull moose. And he's a lunker, too. Maybe we'll catch a glimpse of +him." + +In her time she had talked enough to big-game hunters to have +considerable respect for the moose, the largest of all deer tribe, and +she thrilled a little at the thought that she was in his own range. She +didn't get a sight of the great creature, but she began to pay more +attention to the trail. Seeing her interest the guide began to read to +her the message in the tracks,--how here a pair of otters had raced +along in the dawn, stopping at intervals to slide; how a cow caribou and +calf had preceded them at midday; how a coyote had come skulking the +previous night. Beside a marsh he showed her the grim evidence of a +wilderness tragedy,--the skeleton and feathers of a goose that a +stalking wolf had taken by surprise. And once he showed her a great +tear in the bark of a tree, nearly as high as she could reach on +horseback. + +"What is it?" she inquired. + +"That's the sign that the lord of the manor has been along. Miss +Tremont, did you ever hear of an animal called the grizzly bear?" + +"Good heavens! A bear couldn't reach that high----" + +"Couldn't? Some of these bears could scoop the man out of the moon!" + +He showed her gray, crinkling hairs that had caught in the bark, +explaining that mysterious wilderness custom of the grizzly of measuring +his length on the tree trunks and leaving a mark, as high as he can +bite, for all to see. According to many naturalists any bear that +cannot bite an equal height immediately seeks a new range, leaving the +district to the larger bear. But Bill confessed that he took the legend +with a grain of salt. "I've seen too many bear families running around +the woods together," he explained. "Pa bears, ma bears, and baby bears, +all different sizes." + +Virginia noticed that he spoke with great respect for that huge forest +king, the grizzly; but she needn't have wondered. The great creature +was worthy of it. + +Perhaps the most intelligent wild animal that roams the American +continent--on the same intellectual plane with the dog and +elephant--he was also the most terrible. The truth has been almost +established among the big-game hunters that wild animals, with few +exceptions, even when wounded practically never charge or attack the +hunter. But his imperial majesty, the grizzly, was first on the list +of exceptions. He couldn't be entirely trusted. His terrible strength, +his ferocity, most of all his courage won him a wide berth through this +mountain land. + +She began to catch glimpses of bird life,--saucy jays and +glorious-colored magpies and grossbeaks. She cried out in delight when +a pine squirrel scampered up a little tree just over her head, pausing +to look down at these strange forms that had disturbed the cathedral +silence of the tree aisles. And all at once Bill drew up his horses. + +"Miss Tremont, do you like chicken?" he asked. + +She was somewhat startled by the abrupt question, and her horse nosed +Mulvaney's flanks before she drew him to a halt. It occurred to her +that such a query scarcely came under the title of small talk, and she +found some difficulty in shaping her answer. "Why yes," she agreed. +"I'm very fond of chicken." + +"It's pretty good, boiled with rice," the man went on gravely. "We'll +have some for supper." + +Virginia stared at him in blank amazement as he slipped down from the +saddle and drew his automatic, small-calibered pistol from the holster. +He stole forward into the flaking shadows of late afternoon, and at once +the brush obscured him. Then he shot,--four times in succession. + +She was wholly unable to guess what manner of target he had. Chickens +were one thing that she found it hard to believe ranged in these +northern woods. She felt certain that he had missed the first three +shots, but she waited with considerable interest the result of the +fourth. And soon he pushed through the thickets to her side. + +In his hand he held a queer, gray, shapeless bundle that at first she +could not recognize. Then she saw that they were gray grouse, almost +the color of a Plymouth Rock hen, and there was not one, but four! He +started to stuff them into his saddlebag. "Pretty lucky that time," he +explained. "Got 'em through the neck. That leaves the meat clean----" + +He seemed wholly matter-of-fact about the incident, but Virginia +continued to stare at him in open-mouthed astonishment. "Four of them?" +she cried. + +"One apiece. There was five in the flock, but the other looked like a +tough old hen. But don't look so amazed, Miss Tremont. They are fool +hens--Franklin's grouse--and that means that they'll set all day and +let you pepper at 'em. And with a little practice it's easy to get them +in the neck pretty near every time." + +He swung into the saddle, and they started forth upon the last hour of +their day's journey. And Vosper made the only remark worth recording. + +"When I was in Saskatchewan last year," he began in a thin, far-carrying +voice, "I must 'a shot a thousand grouse and didn't miss one." + +Virginia felt that she'd like to go back and shake him. + + + +V + +Now that they were upon the last hour of the day's ride Virginia began +to be aware of the full measure of her fatigue. She was strained and +tired from the saddle, her knees ached, her face burned from the scratch +of the spruce needles. Ever she found it more difficult to dodge the +stinging blows of the boughs, she was less careful in the control of her +horse. From sheer exhaustion Lounsbury had stopped his complaints. + +The first grayness of twilight had come, like mist, over the distant +hills; but the peaks were still bathed in the sunset's glow. She began +to have a real and overwhelming longing for camp and rest. And in the +midst of her dejection the dark man in front threw her a smile. + +"It goes hard at first," he told her gently. "But we'll soon be in +camp--with a good fire. You'll feel better right away." + +It had not been Virginia's way--or the way of Virginia's class--to +depend upon their menials for encouragement; but, strangely, the girl +felt only grateful. + +She was hungry, chilled through by the icy breath of the falling night, +half-sick with fatigue. The last mile seemed endless. And she was +almost too tired to drag herself off the horse when they came to camp. + +Back among the dark spruce, by the edge of a fast-flowing trout stream, +Bill had built a cabin,--one of the camps of his trap line. It was +only a hut, perhaps ten feet long by eight wide; it had no floor and but +slabs for a roof, no window and no paneled interior; only the great +logs, lifted one upon another; yet no luxurious hotel that had been her +lodging for the night on previous journeys had ever seemed to her such a +haven; none had ever been such a comfort to her tired spirit. Her heart +flooded with joy at the sight of it. Bill smiled and held the door open +wide. + +"Sit down on that busted old chair," he advised. "I'll have a fire for +you in a minute." + +A rusted camp stove had been erected in the cabin and she watched, +fascinated, his quick actions as he built a fire. With astonishingly +few strokes he cut down a pitch-laden spruce, trimmed the branches, and +soon came staggering into camp with a four-foot length of the trunk +across his brawny back, grunting like a buffalo the while. This he +split and cut into lengths suitable for the stove. With his hunting +knife he cut curling shavings, and in a moment a delicious warmth began +to flood the cabin. The girl's body welcomed it, it stole into her +tissues and buoyed up her spirits. She opened her hands to it as to a +beloved friend. + +It was only warmth,--the exhalation from a rusted stove in a crudely +constructed cabin. Yet to Virginia it was dear beyond all naming. In +one little day on that dreadful trail she had, in some measure at least, +got down to essentials; the ancient love of the fire, implanted deeply +in the germ plasm, was wakened and recalled. It was not a love that she +had to learn. The warp and woof of her being was impregnated with it; +only in her years of ease she had forgotten what an ancient friend and +comfort it was. + +In her past life Virginia had never known the real meaning of hunger. +Her meals were inadvertent; she had them more from a matter of habit +than a realization of bodily craving. But curiously, for the last hour +her thought had dwelt on food,--the simple, material substance with no +adornment. The dainty salads and ices and relishes that had been her +greatest delight in her city home hadn't even come into her mind, but +she did remember, with unlooked-for fondness, potatoes and meat. And +now she watched Vosper's supper preparations with an eagerness never +known before. + +Although Vosper had been hired for cook, Virginia noticed that Bill kept +a watchful eye over the preparation of the food; and she felt distinctly +grateful. She saw the grouse in the process of cleaning, and the red +stains on Vosper's hands did not repel her at all. She beheld the +smooth cascade of the rice as Bill poured it into the boiling water, her +own hand opened a can of dehydrated vegetables that was to give flavor +to the dish. She gave no particular thought to the fact that the hour +was revealing her not as an exquisite creature of a higher plane, but +simply a human animal with an empty stomach. If the thought did come to +her she didn't care. She only knew she was hungry,--hungry as she had +never dreamed she could be in all her days. + +The white flesh of the grouse was put with the rice, one bird after +another, until it seemed impossible that four human beings could consume +them all. In went the seasoning, spaghetti and the vegetables, and not +even Lounsbury railed at the little handful of ashes that floated on top +the mixture. And Virginia exulted from head to toes when Bill passed +the tin plates. + +It was well for Virginia's peace of mind that no one told her how much +she ate. In her particular set it wasn't a mark of breeding to eat too +heartily; and an entire grouse, at least two cups of the stew and +several inch-thick slices of bread with marmalade would have been +considered a generous meal even for a harvest-hand. + +As soon as the meal was done she felt ready for bed. Bill ventured into +the darkness with an ax over his shoulder, but not until his return did +she understand his mission. His arms were heaped with fragrant spruce +boughs. These he laid on the cot in the cabin, spreading the blankets +he had provided for her over them. He placed the pillow and turned down +the blanket corners. + +"Any time you like," he told her gently. "Vosper is putting up the +linen tent for we three men, and I'll build a fire in front of it to +keep us warm while we smoke. You must be tired." + +She smiled wanly. "I am tired, Bronson," she confessed. "And thank +you, very much." + +She didn't notice the wave of color that flowed into his bronzed cheeks +and the strange, jubilant light in his eyes. She only knew that she was +warm and full-fed, and the wind would bluster and threaten around her +cabin walls in vain. + +For a long hour after Virginia was asleep Bill sat by the fireside +alone, his pipe glowing at his lips. Lounsbury had gone to his +blankets, Vosper was splitting wood for the morning's fire. As +often, late at night, he was held and intrigued by the mystery about +him,--the little, rustling, whispered sounds of living things in the +thicket, the silence and the darkness and the savagery. + +He knew perfectly the tone and spirit of these waste places: their +might, their malevolence, their sadness, their eternal beauty. He hated +them and yet he loved them, too. He had felt their hospitality, yet he +knew that often they rose in the still night and slew their guests. +They crushed the weak, but they lent their own strength to the strong. +And Bill felt that he was face to face with them as never before. + +He was going to plumb their secret places,--not only for the missing +man, but for the lost mine he had sought so long. He must not only +fight his own battles, but he had in his charge a helpless, tender thing +of whom his body must be a shield. Never, it seemed to him, had he met +the wilderness night in just this mood,--threatening, vaguely +sinister, tremulous and throbbing with impending drama. + +"You've got something planned for me, haven't you?" he asked his forest +gods. "You've got your trap all set, and you're going to test me as +never before. And Heaven give me strength to meet that test!" + +At that instant he started and looked up. The stars were obscured, the +firelight died swiftly in unfathomable darkness, the tops of the spruce +were lost in gloom. A flake of wet snow had fallen and struck his hand. + +* * * * * + +All night long the storm raged over the spruce forest; lashing rain that +beat and roared on the cabin roof, then the unutterable silence of +falling snow. The camp fire hissed and went out, the tent sagged with +the load, the horses were wet and miserable in the glade below. +Virginia slept fitfully, waking often to listen to the clamor of the +storm, then falling into troubled dreams. Bill lay at the tent mouth +for long hours, staring into the darkness. + +In the morning the face of the wilderness was changed. Every bough, +every spruce needle, every little grass blade had its load of snow. The +streams were higher, a cold and terrible beauty dwelt in the forest. +The sky was still full of snow, dark flakes against the gray sky, and +the clouds were sullen and heavy. Bill rose before daylight to build +the fire at the tent mouth. + +This was no work for tenderfeet, striking a blaze in the snow-covered +grass. But Bill knew the exact course to pursue. He knew just how to +lay his kindling, to protect the blaze from the wind, to thrust a +fragment of burning candle under the shavings. Soon the blaze was +dancing feebly in the darkness. He piled on fuel, and with Vosper's aid +started breakfast preparations. + +When the meal was nearly ready he knocked at the cabin door. "Yes?" +Virginia called. + +Bill hesitated and stammered. He didn't exactly know whether or not he +was stepping outside the bounds of propriety. "Would you like to have +me come in and build a fire for you to dress by?" he asked. + +Virginia considered. Few were the eyes, in her short days, that had +beheld her in bed; but to save her she could not think of a reason why +this kind offer should not be accepted. She was down to the realities; +besides, the room was disagreeably chilly. She snuggled down and drew +the blankets about her throat. + +"Come ahead," she invited. + +With scarcely a glance at her he entered and built a fire, and a few +minutes later he brought in her steaming breakfast. The door was open +then, and she saw the snow without. + +Her face was a little pale and her voice was strained when she spoke +again. "What does it mean?" she asked. + +"What? The snow?" + +"Yes. Does it mean that winter has come?" + +"No. When winter does come, there never is any question about it--and +it really isn't due for another month. If I thought it was real winter +I'd advise going back. But I think it's just an early snowfall--to +melt away the first warm day." + +"But isn't there danger--that by going farther we'd be snowed in?" + +"Even if winter should close down, and we find the snow deepening to the +danger point, it wouldn't be too late to turn back then. Of course +we've got to keep watch. A week or so of steady snow might make these +mountains wholly impassable--the soft, wet snow of the Selkirks can't +even be manipulated with snowshoes to any advantage. We'd simply have +to wait till the snow packed--which might not be for months. But we +can go on a few days, at least, and ride safely back through two feet of +snow or more. Of course--it depends on how badly you want to go on." + +"I want to go--more than anything in the world." + +"Then we will go on. I've already sent Vosper to get the horses." + +He turned to his work. Lounsbury, his mood still unassuaged, called +from his bed. "Bring me my breakfast here, Bronson," he commanded. +"Lord, I've had a rotten night. This bed was like stones. I can't +compliment you on your accommodations." + +Bill brought him his breakfast, quietly and gravely. "They're not my +accommodations," Bill replied. "They're God Almighty's. And I made it +just as comfortable for you as I can." + +"I think you could have provided folding cots, anyway. I've a great +mind to turn back." He looked into the snow-filled sky. "By George, I +will turn back. There's no sense in going any farther in this wild +goose chase. It's a death trip, that's all it is--going out in this +snow. Tell Miss Tremont that we're starting back." + +Bill stood straight and tall. "I've already talked that over with Miss +Tremont," he answered quietly. "She has given the order to go on." + +The fleshy sacks under Lounsbury's eyes swelled with wrath. "She has, +has she? I think she's already told you that I'm financing this trip, +not her, and I've told you so too. I'm doing the hiring and giving the +orders." + +"In that case, it's your privilege to order me to turn back, and of +course I will obey. You will owe me, however, for the full thirty +days." + +For a moment a spectator would have eyed Lounsbury with apprehension; to +all appearances he had swollen past the danger mark and was about to +explode. "You'd hold me up, would you--you--you--I'd like to see +you get it." + +Bill eyed him long and grimly. There was a miniature flake of fire in +each of his dark eyes and a curious little quiver, vaguely ominous, in +his muscles. There was also a grim determination in the set of his +features. "I'd get it all right," he assured him. Then his voice +changed, friendly and soft again. "But you'd better talk it over with +Miss Tremont, Mr. Lounsbury. The snow is likely only temporary. I'll +see that you turn back before it gets too deep for safety." + +They folded the tent and packed the horses, and shortly after eight Bill +led the way deeper into the forest. The snow-swept trees, the white +glades between, the long line of pack horses following in the wake of +the impassive form of Bill made a picture that Virginia could never +forget. And ever the snow sifted down upon them, ever heavier on the +branches, ever deeper on the trail. + +If the record of the wild things had been clear in yesterday's mud it +was an open book to-day. Everywhere the trail was criss-crossed with +tracks. In that first mile she saw signs of almost every kind of living +creature that dwelt in this northern realm. Besides those of the larger +mammals, such as bear and moose and caribou, she saw the tracks of those +two savage hunters, the wolverine and lynx. The latter is nothing more +nor less than an overgrown tomcat, except for a decorative tuft at his +ears, and like all his brethren soft as flower petals in his step; but +because he mews unpleasantly on the trail he has a worse reputation than +he deserves. But not so with the wolverine. Many unkind remarks have +been addressed to him, but no words have ever been invented--even the +marvelous combinations of expletives known to the trapper--properly to +describe him. The little people of the forest--the birds in the +shrubbery and the squirrels in the trees and the little digging rodents +in the ground--fear him and hate him for his stealth and his cunning. +Even the cow caribou, remembering his way of leaping suddenly from +ambush upon her calf, dreads him for his ferocity and his strength; and +the trapper, finding his bait stolen from every trap on his line, calls +down curses upon his head. But for all this unpopularity he continues +to prosper and increase. + +Virginia saw where a marten and a squirrel had come to death grips in +the snow: the tracks and an ominous red stain told the story plainly. +The squirrel had attempted to seek safety in flight, but the marten was +even swifter in the tree limbs than the squirrel himself. The little +animal had made a flying leap to the ground,--a small part of a second +too late. The marten, Bill explained, were no longer numerous. Fur +buyers all over the world were paying many times their weight in gold +for the glossy skins. + +"Marten can catch squirrel, but fisher can catch marten," is an old +saying among the trappers; and as they rode Bill told her some of his +adventures with these latter, beautiful fur bearers. The fisher, it +seemed, hunted every kind of living creature that he could master except +fish. When the names of the animals were passed around, Bill said, the +otter and the fisher got their slips mixed, and the misnomer had +followed them through the centuries. He showed her the tracks of the +ermine and, now that they were reaching the high altitudes, the trail of +the ptarmigan in the snow. Mink, fox, and coyote had hunted each other +gayly through the drifts, and all three had hunted the snowshoe rabbit +and field mouse; a half-blind gopher had emerged from his den to view +the morning and had ducked quickly back at the sight of the snow; an owl +had snatched a Canada jay from her perch and had left a few clotted +feathers when the daylight had driven him from his feast. + +The rigors of the day's travel were constantly increasing. The wet snow +steaming on their sides sapped the vitality of the horses; to keep them +at a fair pace required a constant stream of nervous energy on the part +of their riders. Virginia found it almost impossible to dodge the +snow-laden branches. They would slap snow into her face, down her neck +and into her sleeves: it sifted into her eyes and hair and chilled her +hands until they ached. The waterproof garments that she wore were +priceless after the first mile. + +Lounsbury had an even more trying time. His clothes soaked through at +once, and the piercing, biting cold of the northern fall went into him. +He was drenched, shivering, incoherent with wrath when they stopped for +noon. He was not enough of a sportsman to take the consequences of his +arrogance in good spirit. He didn't know the meaning of that ancient +law,--that men must take the responsibility of their own deeds and +with good spirit pay for their mistakes. He didn't know how to smile at +the difficulties that confronted him. That ancient code of +self-mastery, of taking the bitter medicine of life without complaint +clear to the instant of death was far beyond his grasp. "You've made +everything just as hard for us as you could," he stormed at Bill. "If I +ever get back alive I'll get your guide's license snatched away from you +if I never do another thing. You don't know how to guide or pick a +trail. You brought us out here to bleed us. And you'll pay for it when +I get back." + +Bill scarcely seemed to hear. He went on with his work, but when the +simple meal was over and the packing half done, he made his answer. He +drew a cloth sack from one of the packs, swung it on his shoulder, and +stepped over to Lounsbury's side. + +"There's a couple of things I want to tell you," he began. He spoke in +a quiet voice, so that Virginia could not hear. + +Lounsbury looked up with a scowl. "I don't know that I want to hear +them." + +"I know you don't want to hear 'em, but you are going to hear 'em just +the same. I want to tell you that first I'm doing everything any human +being can to make you more comfortable. You can't take Morris chairs +along on a pack train. You can't take electric stoves, and you can't +boss the weather. It's your own fault you didn't provide yourself with +proper clothes. And I'm tired of hearing you yelp." + +Lounsbury tried to find some crushing remark in reply. He only +sputtered. + +"I can only stand so much, and then it makes me nervous," the guide went +on, in a matter-of-fact tone. "I don't care what you do when you get +back to town. I just don't want you pestering me any more with your +complaints. I've stood a lot for Miss Tremont's sake--she probably +wouldn't like to see anything happen to you. But just a few more little +remarks like you made before lunch, and you're apt to find yourself +standing in mud up to your knees in one of these mud holes--wrong end +up! And that wouldn't be becoming at all for an American millionaire." + +Lounsbury opened his mouth several times. The same number of times he +shut it again. "I see," he said at last, clearly. + +"Good. And here's some clothes of mine. They're not handsome, and +they'll not fit, but they'll keep you dry." + +He dumped the larger portion of his own waterproofs on the ground at +Lounsbury's feet. + + + +VI + +In the two days that followed, the pack train crossed the divide into +Clearwater. From now on the little rivers, gathering headway as they +coursed down into the ravines, flowed into the Grizzly and from thence +into the great Yuga, far below. The party had crossed ridge on ridge, +hill on hill that were a bewilderment to Virginia; they had gained the +high places where the marmots whistled shrill and clear at the mouth of +their rocky burrows and the caribou paced, white manes gleaming, in the +snow; they had seen a grizzly on the far-away slide rock; they had lost +their way and found it again; walked abrupt hillsides where the horses +could scarcely carry their packs, descended into mysterious, still +gullies, forded creeks and picked their way through treacherous marshes; +and made their noon camp on the very summit of a high ridge. The snow +was deeper here--nearly eighteen inches--but the gray clouds were +breaking apart in the sky. Apparently the storm was over, for the time +being at least. + +They had trouble with slipping packs on the steep pitches of the +morning's march and made slow progress. Bill glanced at his watch with +displeasure. He rushed through the noon meal and cut their usual rest +short by a full half-hour. + +"We're behind schedule," he explained, "and we've got a bad half-day +before us. I was counting on making Gray Lake cabin to-night, and we've +got to hurry to do it." + +"That is beyond Grizzly River," Lounsbury remarked. + +Bill turned in some wonder. He hadn't know that Lounsbury was so well +acquainted with the topography of the region. Stranger still, the man +started at his glance, flushing nervously. "I heard some one say that +Gray Lake was beyond Grizzly River," he explained lamely. "By all means +make it if we can." + +There was no possible deduction to make from the incident, so Bill +turned his thought to other matters. "It's almost necessary--that we +make it," he said. "There's no horse feed nor decent camp site between +here and there. Besides, I don't like to put Miss Tremont up in a tent +to-night. The best cabin in my whole string is at Gray Lake--a really +snug little place, with a floor and a stove. Keep most of my trapping +supplies there. If we can make the ford by dark, we'll run in there +easy, it's only a mile or so over a well-run moose trail." + +"And you think we're entirely safe in going on?" the girl asked. + +"As far as I can see. I'm a little bit worried about Grizzly +River--I'm afraid it's up pretty high--but I'll try it first and see if +it's safe to ford. The snow-storm has quit--I think we'll have nice +weather in a few days. If it should begin again we could turn back and +make it through before the drifts got too deep to cross--that is, if +we didn't delay. And besides, when we get across Grizzly River we're in +favorable country for your search. We can put up at the cabin a few +days and make a thorough hunt for any sign of the missing man. If the +weather will permit--and I believe it will--we can follow down the +river to the Yuga and make inquiries of the Indians." + +His words heartened the party. Even Lounsbury had begun to show some +eagerness; Vosper, flinching before the hard work of the trail, was +jubilant at the thought of a few days' rest. They pushed on into the +snow-swept waste. + +The clouds knit again overhead, but as yet the air was clear of snow. +The temperature, however, seemed steadily falling. The breath of the +horses was a steam cloud; the potholes in the marsh were gray and +lifeless with ice. And it seemed to Virginia that the wild things that +they passed were curiously restless and uneasy; the jays flew from tree +to tree with raucous cries, the waterfowl circled endlessly over the +gray lakes. + +This impression grew more vivid as the hours passed; and there was an +elusive but sinister significance about it that engrossed her, but which +she couldn't name or understand. She didn't mention the matter to Bill. +She couldn't have told why, for the plain reason that in her simplicity +she was not aware of her own virtues. A sportswoman to the last hair, +she simply did not wish to depress him with her fears. There was a +suspense, a strange hush and breathlessness in the air that depressed +her. + +The same restlessness that she observed in the wild creatures began to +be noticeable in the horses. Time after time they bolted from the +trail, and the efforts of all the party were needed to round them up +again. Their morale--a high degree of which is as essential in a pack +train as in an army--was breaking before her eyes. They seemed to +have no spirit to leap the logs and battle the quagmire. They would try +to encircle the hills rather than attempt to climb them. + +She wondered if the animals had a sixth sense. She was a wide-awake, +observing girl, and throughout the trip she had noticed instances of a +forewarning instinct that she herself did not possess. On each occasion +where the horses were more or less unmanageable she found, on +progressing farther, some dangerous obstacle to their progress,--a +steep hill or a treacherous marsh. Could it be that they were +forewarned now? + +Fatigue came quickly this afternoon, and by four o'clock she was longing +for food and rest. She was cold, the snow had wet the sleeves and +throat of her undergarments, the control of her horse had cost her much +nervous strength. The next hour dragged interminably. + +But they were descending now, a steep grade to the river. Twilight, +like some gray-draped ghost of a shepherdess whom Apollo had wronged and +who still shadowed his steps, gathered swiftly about them. + +Bill urged his horse to a faster walk; tired as the animal was he +responded nobly. Because Virginia's horse was likewise courageous he +kept pace, and the distance widened between the two of them and the +remainder of the pack train. Lounsbury's shrill complaints and Vosper's +shouts could not urge their tired mounts to a faster gait. The shadows +deepened in the tree aisles; the trail dimmed; the tree trunks faded in +the growing gloom. + +"We won't be able to see our way at all in five minutes more," Virginia +told herself. + +Yet five minutes passed, and then, and still the twilight lingered. The +simple explanation was that her eyes gradually adjusted themselves to +the soft light. And all at once the thickets divided and revealed the +river. + +She didn't know why her breath suddenly caught in awe. Some way the +scene before her eyes scarcely seemed real. The thickets hid the stream +to the right and left, and all she could see was the stretch of gray +water immediately in front. It was wide and fretful, and in the +half-light someway vague and ominous. It had reached up about the +trunks of some of the young spruces on the river bank, and the little +trees trembled and bent, stirred by the waters; and they seemed like +drowning things dumbly signaling for help. Because the farther bank was +almost lost in the dusk the breadth of the stream appeared interminable. +In reality it was a full ninety yards at the shallower head of the +rapids where the moose trail led down to the water. + +The roar of the river had come so gradually to her ear that now she was +hardly aware of it; indeed the wilderness seemed weighted with silence. +But it was true that she heard a terrifying roar farther down the +stream. Yet just beyond, perhaps a mile from the opposite bank, lay +camp and rest,--a comfortable cabin, warmth and food. She hoped they +would hurry and make the crossing. + +But Bill halted at the water's edge, and she rode up beside him. He +seemed to be studying the currents. The pack train caught up, and +Lounsbury's horse nudged at the flank of her own animal. "Well?" +Lounsbury questioned. "What's the delay? We're in a hurry to get to +camp." + +"It's pretty high," Bill replied softly. "I've never tried to cross +when it was so high as this." It was true. The rains and the snow had +made the stream a torrent. + +"But, man, we can't camp here. No horse feed--no cabin. We've got to +go on." + +"Wait just a minute. Time is precious, but we've got to think this +thing out. We can put up a tent here, and cold as it is, make through +the night someway. I'm not so sure that we hadn't ought to do it. +The river looks high, and it may be higher than it looks--it's hard +to tell in the twilight. Ordinarily I cross at the head of the +rapids--water less than three feet deep. But it isn't the depth that +counts--it's the swiftness. If the river is much over three feet, a +horse simply can't keep his feet--and Death Canyon is just below. To +be carried down into that torrent below means to die--two or three +parties, trying to ship furs down to the Yuga, have already lost their +lives in that very place. The shallows jump right off into ten feet of +water. It'll be tough to sleep out in this snow, but it's safer. But +if you say the word we'll make the try. At least I can ride in and see +how it goes--whether it's safe for you to come." + +Lounsbury didn't halt to ask him by what justice he should take this +risk--why he should put his own life up as a pawn for their comfort +and safety. Nor did Bill ask himself. Such a thought did not even come +to him. He was their guide, they were in his charge, and he followed +his own law. + +"Try it, anyway," Lounsbury urged. + +Bill spoke to his horse. The animal still stood with lowered head. For +one of the few times in his life Bill had to speak twice,--not +sharply, if anything more quietly than at first. The the brave Mulvaney +headed into the stream. + +As Bill rode into those gray and terrible waters, Virginia's first +instinct was to call him back. The word was in her throat, her lips +parted, but for a single second she hesitated. It was part of the creed +and teachings of the circle in which she moved to put small trust in +instinct. By a false doctrine she had been taught that the deepest +impulses of her heart and soul were to be set aside before the mandates +of convention and society; that she must act a part rather than be +herself. She remembered just in time that this man was not only an +employee, a lowly guide to whom she must not plead in personal appeal. +She had been taught to stifle her natural impulses, and she watched in +silence the water rise about the horse's knees. + +But only for a second the silence endured. The the reaction swept her +in a great flood. The generous, kindly warmth of her heart surged +through her in one pulse of the blood; and all those frozen enemies of +her being--caste and pride of place and indifference--were scattered +in an instant. "Oh, come back!" she cried. "Bronson--Bill--come +back. Oh, why did I ever let you go!" + +For Bill did not look around. Already the sound of the waters had +obscured the voices on the shore. Again she called, unheard. Then she +lashed her horse with the bridle rein. + +The animal strode down into the water. Vosper, his craven soul +whimpering within him, had fallen to the last place in the line, but +Lounsbury tried to seize her saddle as she pushed forward. + +"Where are you going, you little fool?" he cried. "Come back." + +The girl turned her head. Her face was white. "You told him to go in," +she replied. "Now--it's the sporting thing--to follow him." + +The water splashed about her horse's knees. Lounsbury called again, +commandingly, but she didn't seem to hear. She lifted her feet from the +stirrups as Bill had done before her, and the angry waters surged +higher. + +Already she knew the strength of the river. She felt its sweeping force +against the animal's frame: the brave Buster struggling hard to keep his +feet. Ahead of her, a dim ghost in the half-light, Bill still rode on +toward the opposite shore. And now--full halfway across--he was in +the full force of the current. + +It was all too plain that his horse was battling for its life. The +stream had risen higher than Bill had dreamed, and the waters beat +halfway at the animal's side. He knew what fate awaited him if he +should lose his foothold. Snorting, he threw all of his magnificent +strength against the current. + +It was such a test as the animal had never been obliged to endure +before. He gave all that he had of might and courage. He crept forward +inch by inch, feeling his way, bracing against the current, nose close +to the water. In animals, just the same as in men, there are those that +flinch and those that stand straight, the courageous and the cowardly, +the steadfast and the false,--and Mulvaney was of the true breed. +Besides, perhaps some of his rider's strength went into his thews and +sustained him. Slowly the water dropped lower. He was almost to +safety. + +At that instant Bill glanced around, intending to warn his party not to +attempt the crossing. He saw the dim shape of Virginia close behind +him, riding into the full strength of the current. + +All color swept in an instant from his face, leaving it gray and ashen +as the twilight itself. Icy horror, groping and ghastly, flooded his +veins as he saw that he was powerless to aid her. Yet his mind worked +clear and sure, fast as lightning itself. Even yet it was safer for her +to turn back than attempt to make the crossing. He knew that Buster's +strength was not that of Mulvaney, and he couldn't live in the deepest, +swiftest part of the river that lay before her. + +"Turn back," he said. "Turn your horse, Virginia--easy as you can." + +At the same instant he turned his own horse back into the full fury of +the torrent. It had been his plan to camp alone on the other side of +the river, returning to the party in the better light of the morning; +but there was not an instant's hesitation in turning to battle it again. +His brave horse, obedient yet to his will, ventured once more into that +torrent of peril. Virginia, cool and alert, pressed the bridle rein +against her horse's neck to turn him. + +On the bank Lounsbury and Vosper gazed in fascinated terror. Buster +wheeled, struggling to keep his feet. Mulvaney pushed on, clear to the +deepest, wildest portion of the stream. And then Virginia's horse +pitched forward into the wild waters. + +Perhaps the animal had simply made a misstep, possibly an irregularity +in the river bottom had upset his balance. The waters seemed to pounce +with merciless fury, and struck with all their power. + +In the half-light it was impossible even for Bill to follow the +lightning events of the next second. He saw the horse struggle, +flounder, then roll on his back from the force of the current. It swept +him down as the wind sweeps a straw. And he saw Virginia shake loose +from the saddle. + +He had but an instant's glimpse of a white face in the gray water, of +hair that streamed; an instant's realization of a faint cry that the +waters obscured. And then he sprang to her aid. + +He could do nothing else. When the soul of the man was made it was +given a certain strength, and certain basic laws were laid down by which +his life was to be governed. That strength sustained him now, those +laws held him in bondage. He could be false to neither. + +He knew the terror of that gray whirlpool below. He had every reason to +believe that by no possible effort of his could he save the girl; he +would only throw away his own life too. The waters were icy cold: +swiftly would they draw the life-giving heat from their bodies. Soaked +through, the cold of the night and the forest would be swift to claim +them if by any miracle they were able to struggle out of the river. Yet +there was not an instant's delay. The full sweep of his thoughts was +like a flash of lightning in the sky; he was out of the saddle almost +the instant that the waters engulfed her. He sprang with his full +strength into the stream. + +On the bank the two men saw it as in a dream: the horse's fall, the +upheaval of the water as the animal struggled, a flash of the girl's +face, and then Bill's leap. They called out in their impotence, and +they gazed with horror-widened eyes. But almost at once the drama was +hidden from them. The twilight dropped its gray curtains between; +besides, the waters had swept their struggling figures down the stream +and out of their sight. + +Already the river looked just the same. Mulvaney, riderless, was +battling toward them through the torrent, but the stress and struggle of +the second before had been instantly cut short. There was no spreading +ripples, no break in the gray surface of the stream to show where the +two had fallen. The stream swept on, infinite, passionless for all its +tumult, unconquerable,--like the River of Death that takes within its +depths the souls of men, never to yield them, never to show whence they +have gone. + +The storm recommenced, the wind wailed in the spruce tops, and the snow +sifted down into the gray waters. + + + +VII + +Bill Bronson had no realization of the full might of the stream until he +felt it around his body. The waters were fed from the snowfields on the +dark peaks, and every nerve in his system seemed to snap and break in +the first shock of immersion. But he quickly rallied, battling the +stream with mighty strokes. + +He knew that if the rescue were accomplished, it would have to be soon. +The torrent grew ever wilder as it sped down the canyon: no human being +could live in the great, black whirlpool at its mouth. Besides, the +cold would claim him soon. Just a few little instants of struggle, and +then exhaustion, if indeed the icy waters did not paralyze his muscles. + +He swam with his eyes open, full in the current, and with a really +incredible speed. And by the mercy of the forest gods almost at once he +caught a glimpse of Virginia's dark tresses in the water. + +She was ten feet to one side, toward the Gray Lake shore of the river, +and several feet in front. The man seemed simply to leap through the +water. And in an instant more his arm went about her. + +"Give yourself to the current," he shouted. "And hang on to me." + +He knew this river. They were just entering upon a stretch of water +dreaded of old by the rivermen that had sometimes plied down the stream +in their fur-laden canoes,--a place of jagged rocks and crags and +bowlders that were all but submerged by the waters. To be hurled +against their sharp edges meant death, certain and speedily. He knew +that his mortal strength couldn't avail against them. But by yielding +to the current he thought that he might swing between them into the open +waters below. His arm tightened about the girl's form. + +He had not come an instant too soon. Already she had given up. A fair +swimmer, she had been powerless in the rapids. She had not dreamed but +that the trail of her life was at an end. She was cold and afraid and +alone, and she had been ready to yield. But the sight of the guide's +strong body beside her had thrilled her with renewed hope. + +Even in the shadow of death she was aware of the strong wrench of his +muscles as he swam, the saving might of his powerful frame. She knew +that he was not afraid for himself, but only for her. Even death, with +all its shadow and mystery, had not broken his spirit or bowed his head: +he faced it as he faced the wilderness and the whole dreadful battle of +life,--strongly, quietly, with never-faltering courage. And the girl +found herself partaking of his own strength. + +Up to now she had not entered into comradeship with this man. But had +held herself on a different plane. But he was a comrade now; no matter +the outcome, even if they should find the inhospitable Death at the end +of their trial, this relationship could never be destroyed. They fought +the same fight, in the same shadow. Now she would not have to enter the +dark gates of Eternity alone and afraid. Here was a comrade; she knew +the truth at the first touch of his arm. He could buoy up her spirit +with his own. + +"If I let go of you, can you hang on to my shoulder?" he asked her. + +"Yes----" + +He tried to look into her face, to see if she spoke the truth. But the +shadows were almost impenetrable now, and the air was choked with +falling snow. + +"Then put your hand on my shoulder. I can't make progress the way I'm +holding you now. I'll try to work in to the nearest shore." + +She seized his shoulder, but nearly lost her grasp in a channel of swift +water. Her fingers locked in the cloth of his shirt. And he began, a +little at a time, to cross the sixty feet of wild water between them and +the shore. + +He had never been put to a greater test. Every ounce of his strength +was needed. The tendency of the stream was to carry him into the center +of the current, he was heavily clothed and shod, and the girl, +exhausted, was scarcely able to give aid at all. More than once he felt +himself weakening. Once a sharp pain, keen as a knife wound, smote his +thigh, and he was shaken with despair at the thought that swimmer's +cramps--dreaded by all men who know the water--were about to put an +end to the struggle. In the icy depths his bodily heat was flowing from +him in a frightfully rapid stream. + +Closer and closer he swam, and at last only thirty feet of fast, deep +water stretched between. But it seemed wholly impossible to make this +last stretch. The sharp pain stabbed him again, and it seemed to him +that his right leg only half responded to the command of his nerves. In +a moment more they would be flung again into the cascades. + +"I'm afraid I can't make it," he said, too softly for Virginia to hear. +He wrenched once more toward the shore. + +But the river gods were merciful, after all. A jack pine had fallen on +the shore, struck down by a dead tree that had fallen beyond, and its +green spire, still clothed with needles, lay half-submerged, forty feet +out into the stream. Bill's arm encountered it, then snatched at it in +a final, spasmodic impulse of his muscles. And his grip held fast. + +For an instant they were tossed like straws in the water, but gradually +he strengthened his grip. He caught a branch with his free hand, then +slowly pulled up on it. "Hang on," he breathed. "Only a moment more." + +He drew himself and the girl up on the slender trunk, then crawled along +it toward the shore. Now they were half out of the water. And in a +moment later they both felt the river bottom against their knees. + +He drew her to the bank, staggered and fell, and for a moment both of +them lay lifeless to the soft caress of the snow. But Bill did not dare +lose consciousness. He was fully aware that the fight was only half +won. And despair swept the girl when her clear thought returned to tell +her they had emerged upon the opposite shore from the party, and that +they were drenched through and lost in the night and storm,--endless, +weary paces from warmth and shelter. + +Before the thought had gone fully home she saw that Bill was on his +feet. The twilight had all but yielded to the darkness, yet she saw +that he still stood straight and strong. It was not that he had already +recovered from the desperate battle in the river. Strong as he was, for +himself he had only one desire--to lie still and rest and let the +terrible cold take its toll. But he was the guide, the forester, and +the girl's life was in his care. + +"Get off your clothes," he commanded. "All of them--the darkness +hides you--and I'll wring 'em out. If I don't you can't live to get +to the cabin. Your stockings first." + +The thought of disobedience did not even come to her. He was fighting +for her life; no other issue remained. + +"Rub your skin all over with your hands," he went on, "and keep moving. +Above all things keep the blood going in your veins. Rub as hard as you +can--I can't make a fire here--with no ax--in the snow." + +Already she had tossed him her drenched stockings, and he was wringing +them in his strong hands. She rubbed her legs dry with her palms, and +put the stockings back on. Then she drew off her coats and outing suit, +and he wrung them as dry as he could. Then quickly she dressed again. + +"Now--fast as you can walk toward the cabin." + +He was not sure that he could find it in the darkness. He hoped to +encounter the moose trail where it left the ford; beyond that he had to +rely on his woodsman's instincts. He was soaked through and exhausted +and he knew from the strange numbness of his body that he was slowly +being chilled to death. It was a test of his own might and endurance +against the cruel elements and a power beyond mere physical strength +came to his aid. + +They forced their way through the evergreen thickets of the river bank, +walking up the stream toward the ford. He broke through the brushy +barriers with the might of his body; he made a trail for her in the +snow. The darkness deepened around them. The snow fell ever heavier, +and the winds soughed in the tree tops. + +After the first half-mile all consciousness of effort was gone from the +girl. She seemed to move from a will beyond her own, one step after +another over that terrible trail. She lost all sense of time, almost of +identity. Strange figures, only for such eyes as might see in the +darkness, they fought their way on through the drifts. + +But they conquered at last. Partly by the feel of the snow under his +feet, partly by his woodsman's instincts, but mostly because the forest +gods were merciful, Bill kept to the moose trail that led from the ford +to the cabin. And the man was swaying, drunkenly, when he reached the +door. + +His cold hands could scarcely draw out the rusted file that acted as a +brace for the chain. Yet his voice was quiet and steady when he spoke. + +"There are blankets in there, plenty of 'em," he told her. "It's +my main supply cabin. Spread some of them out and take off your +clothes--all of 'em--and get between them. I'll build a fire as fast +as I can." + +She turned to obey. She heard him take down an ax that had been left +hanging on the cabin walls and heard his step in the snow as he began to +cut into kindling some of the pieces of cordwood that were heaped +outside the door. She undressed quickly, then lay shivering between the +warm, heavy blankets. + +In a moment the man faltered in, his arms heavy with wood. She heard +him fumbling back of the little stove, then a match gleamed in the +gloom. She had never seen such a face as this before her now. Its +lines were deep and incredibly dark: utter fatigue was inscribed upon +the drawn features and in the dark, dull eyes. She was suddenly shaken +with horror at the thought that perhaps she was looking upon the first +shadow of death itself. + +He had cut the kindling with his knife, inserted the candle end, and a +little blaze danced up. She watched him feed the fire with strange, +heavy motions. He took a pan down from the wall, then went out into the +darkness. + +Haunted by fears, it seemed to her she waited endless hours for him to +return again. When he came the pan was filled with water from a little +stream that flowed behind the cabin. He put it on the stove to heat. + +She dozed off, then wakened to find him sitting on the edge of her bed, +holding a cup of some steaming liquid. Vaguely she noticed that he had +taken off his wet clothes and had put on a worn overcoat that had been +hanging back of the stove, wrapping two thick blankets over this. He +put his left arm behind her and lifted her up, then fed her spoonfuls of +the hot liquid. She didn't know what it was, other than it contained +whisky. + +"Take some of it yourself," she told him at last. + +He shook his head and smiled,--a wistful yet manly smile that almost +brought tears to her eyes. That smile was the last thing that she +remembered. The warm, kindly liquor stole through her veins, and she +dropped into heavy slumber. + +* * * * * + +In the stress of that first hour after the disaster of the river, +Lounsbury and Vosper had a chance to test the steel of which they were +made. This was the time for inner strength, and courage, and beyond all +things else, for self-discipline. But only the forest creatures, such +little folk as watch with beady eyes from the coverts all the drama of +the wilderness, beheld how they stood that test. + +For the first few seconds Lounsbury sat upon his horse and simply stared +in mute horror. Then he half-climbed, half-fell from the saddle, and +followed by Vosper, started running down the river bank. Immediately he +lost sight of Virginia and Bill. Almost at once thereafter the cold and +the darkness got into his spirit and appalled him. + +"They're lost, they're lost," he cried. "There's not a chance on earth +to get 'em out." + +The branches tripped him and he fell sprawling in the snow. He got up +and hastened on. Vosper, his thews turning to mushroom stalks within +him, could only follow, swearing hoarsely. At each break of the trees +they would clamber down to the water's edge and look over the tumultuous +wastes, and each time the twilight was deeper, the snow flurries +heavier. And soon they came to a steep bank which they could not +descend. + +"It's a death trip. I knew it was a death trip," Lounsbury moaned. +"And what's the use of going farther. They haven't a chance on earth." + +They did, however, push on a short distance down the river. Lounsbury +was of the opinion it was very far indeed. In reality it was not two +hundred yards in all. And they halted once more to stare with +frightened eyes at the stream. + +"It ain't the first this river's taken," Vosper told him. "And they +never even found their bodies." + +"And we won't find these, now," Lounsbury replied. They waited a little +while in silence, trying to pierce the shadows. "What do you suppose +we'd better do?" he questioned. + +"I don't know. What can we do?" + +"There's no chance of saving them. They're gone already. No swimmer +could live in that stream. Why did we ever come--it was a wild-goose +chase at best. If they did get out they'd be lost--and couldn't find +their way. It seems to me the wisest thing for us to do is to go +back--and build a big fire--so they can find their way in if they did +get out." + +It was a worthy suggestion! The voice of cowardice that had been +speaking in Lounsbury's craven soul had found expression in words at +last. He was frightened by the storm and the darkness, and he was cold +and tired, and a beacon light for the two wanderers in the storm was +only a subterfuge whereby he might justify their return to camp. The +understrapper understood, but he didn't disagree. They were two of a +kind. + +It was not that they did not know their rightful course. Both were +fully aware that such a fire as they could build could only gleam a few +yards through the heavy spruce thicket. They knew that braver men would +keep watch over that dreadful river for half the night at least, calling +and searching, ready to give aid in the feeble hope that the two +exhausted swimmers might come ashore. + +"Sure thing," Vosper agreed. "It'll be hard to make a good fire in the +snow, and we can't build one at all if them pack horses has got away by +now." + +"You mean--we'd die?" Lounsbury's eyes protruded. + +"The ax is in the pack. We wouldn't have a chance." + +Lounsbury turned abruptly, scarcely able to refrain from running. The +pack horses, however, hadn't left their tracks. And now the brave +Mulvaney had gained the shore and was standing motionless, gazing out +over the troubled waters. No man might guess the substance of his +thoughts. He scarcely glanced at the two men. + +They unpacked the animals, and by scraping off the snow and by the aid +of the keen ax and a candle-stub soon lighted a fire. To satisfy the +feeble voice of his conscience Lounsbury himself cut wood to make it +blaze high. They made their coffee and cooked an abundant meal. + +They stretched the tent in the evergreen thicket, and after supper they +sat in its mouth in the glow of the fire. Its crackle drowned out the +voices of the wilderness about them,--such accusations as the Red Gods +pour out upon the unworthy. And for all their shelter they were +wretched and terrified, crushed by the might of the wilderness about +them,--futile things that were the scorn of even the beasts. + +"Of course we'll never find the bodies," Lounsbury suggested at last. + +"No chance, that I can see. The winter's come to stay. We won't be +able to get any men from Bradleyburg to help us look for 'em. They +couldn't get through the snow." + +"You think--" Lounsbury's voice wavered, "you think--we can get back +all right ourselves?" + +"Sure. That is, if we start first thing to-morrow. There's a clear +trail through the snow most of the way--our own trail, comin' out. +But it will be hard goin' and not safe to wait." + +"Then I suppose--the horses will be sent down below, because of the +snow. That's another reason why they can't even search for the bodies." + +"Yes. Of course they may float down to the Yuga and be seen somewhere +by the Indians. But not much chance." + +They lighted their pipes, and the horror of the tragedy began slowly to +pass from them. The blinding snow and the cold and their own discomfort +occupied all their thoughts. There was only one ray of light,--that +in the morning they could turn back out of the terrible wilderness, down +toward the cities of men. + +They didn't try to sleep. The snow and the cold and the shrieking wind +made rest an impossibility. They did doze, however, between times that +they rose to cut more fuel for the fire. The hours seemed endless. + +Darkness still lay over the river when they went again to their toil. +Lounsbury, himself offered to cook breakfast and tried to convince +himself the act entitled him to praise. In reality, he was only +impatient to hasten their departure. Vosper packed the hungry horses, +slyly depositing portions of their supplies and equipment in the +evergreen thickets to lighten his own work. He further lightened the +packs by putting a load on Mulvaney. And they climbed down to the +water's edge to glance once more at the turbulent stream. + +"No use of waiting any more," Lounsbury said at last. + +"Of course not. Get on your horse." Then they rode away, these +two worthy men, back toward the settlements. Some of the pack +horses--particularly the yellow Baldy and his kind--moved eagerly when +they saw that their masters had changed directions. But Vosper had to +urge Mulvaney on with oaths and blows. + + + +VIII + +In Virginia's first moment of wakening she could not distinguish +realities from dreams. All the experiences of the night before seemed +for the moment only the adventures of a nightmare. But disillusionment +came quickly. She opened her eyes to view the cabin walls, and the full +dreadfulness of her situation swept her in an instant. + +Her tears came first. She couldn't restrain them, and they were simply +the natural expression of her fear and her loneliness and her distress. +For long moments she sobbed bitterly, yet softly as she could. But +Virginia was of good metal, and in the past few days she had acquired a +certain measure of self-discipline. She began to struggle with her +tears. They would waken Bill, she thought--and she had not forgotten +his bravery and his toil of the night before. She conquered them at +last, and, miserable and sick of heart, tried to go back to sleep. + +Her muscles pained her, her throat was raw from the water, and when she +tried to make herself comfortable her limbs were stiff and aching. But +she knew she had to look her position in the face. She turned, pains +shooting through her frame, and gazed about her. + +The cabin, she could see, was rather larger than any of those in which +they had camped on their journey. It was well-chinked and sturdy, and +even had the luxury of a window. For the moment she didn't see Bill at +all. She wondered if he had gone out. Then, moving nearer to the edge +of her cot, she looked over intending to locate the clothes she had +taken off the night before. Then she saw him, stretched on the floor in +the farthest corner of the room. + +He gave the impression of having dropped with exhaustion and fallen to +sleep where he lay. She could see that he still wore the tattered +overcoat he had found hanging on the wall, and the two blankets were +still wrapped about him. He was paying for his magnificent efforts of +the night before. Morning was vivid and full at the window, but he +still lay in heavy slumber. + +She resolved not to call him; and in spite of her own misery, her lips +curled in a half-smile. She was vaguely touched; someway the sight of +this strong forester, lying so helpless and exhausted in sleep, went +straight to some buried instinct within her and found a tenderness, a +sweet graciousness that had not in her past life manifested itself too +often. + +But the tenderness was supplanted by a wave of icy terror. She was a +woman, and the thought suddenly came to her that she was wholly in this +man's power, naked except for the blankets around her, unarmed and +helpless and lost in the forest depths. What did she know of him? He +had been the soul of respect heretofore, but now--with her uncle on +the other side of the river--; but she checked herself with a revulsion +of feeling. The strength that had saved her life would save him against +himself. They would find a way to get out to-day; and she thought that +this, at least, she need not fear. + +He had been busy before he slept. His clothes and hers were hung on +nails back of the little stove to dry. He had cut fresh wood, piling it +behind the stove. She guessed that he had intended to keep the fire +burning the whole night, but sleep had claimed him and disarranged his +plans. + +His next thought was of supplies. The simple matter of food and warmth +is the first issue in the wilderness; already she had learned this +lesson. Her eyes glanced about the walls. There were two or three +sacks, perhaps filled with provisions, hanging from the ceiling, safely +out of the reach of the omnivorous pack-rats that often wreak such havoc +in unoccupied cabins. But further than this the place seemed bare of +food. + +Blankets were in plenty; there were a few kitchen utensils hanging back +of the stove, and some sort of an ancient rifle lay across a pair of +deer horns. Whether or not there were any cartridges for this latter +article she could not say. Strangest of all, a small and battered +phonograph, evidently packed with difficulty into the hills, and a small +stack of records sat on the crude, wooden table. Evidently a real and +fervent love of music had not been omitted from Bill's make-up. + +Then Bill stirred in his sleep. She lay still, watching. She saw his +eyes open. And his first glance was toward her. + +He flashed her a smile, and she tried pitifully to answer it. "How are +you?" he asked. + +"Awfully lame and sore and tired. Maybe I'll be better soon. And +you----?" + +"A little stiff, not much. I'm hard to damage, Miss Tremont. I've seen +too much of hardship. But I've overslept--and there isn't another +second to be lost. I've got to dress and go and locate Vosper and +Lounsbury." + +"I suppose you'd better--right away. They'll be terribly +distressed--thinking we're drowned." She turned her back to him, +without nonsense or embarrassment, and he started to dress. She +didn't see the slow smile, half-sardonic, that was on his lips. + +"I'm not worrying about their distress," he told her. "I only want to +be sure and catch them before they give us up for lost--and turn back. +I can never forgive myself for failing to waken. It was just that I was +so tired----" + +"I won't let you blame yourself for that," the girl replied, slowly but +earnestly. "Besides, Uncle Kenly won't go away for two or three days at +least. He's been my guardian--I'm his ward--and I'm sure he'll make +every effort to learn what happened to us." + +"I suppose you're right. You know whether or not you can trust +Lounsbury. I only know--that I can't trust Vosper." + +"They'll be waiting for us, don't fear for that," the girl went on. She +tried to put all the assurance she could into her tone. "But how can we +get across?" + +"That remains to be seen. If they're there to help, with the horses, we +might find a way." The man finished dressing, then turned to go. "I'm +sorry I can't even take time to light your fire. You must stay in bed, +anyway--all day." + +He left hurriedly, and as the door opened the wind blew a handful of +snow in upon her. The snow had deepened during the night, and fall was +heavier than ever. Shivering with cold and aching in every muscle, she +got up and put on her underclothing. It was almost dry already. Then, +wholly miserable and dejected, she lay down again between her blankets, +waiting for Bill's return. And his step was heavy and slow on the +threshold when he came. + +She couldn't interpret the expression on his face when she saw him in +the doorway. He was curiously sober and intent, perhaps even a little +pale. "Go to sleep, Miss Tremont," he advised. "I'll make a fire for +breakfast." + +He bent to prepare kindling. The girl swallowed painfully, but shaken +with dread shaped her question at last. "What--what did you find +out?" + +He looked squarely into her eyes. "Nothing that you'll want to hear, +Miss Tremont," he told her soberly. "I went to the river bank and +looked across. They--they----" + +"They are gone?" the girl cried. + +"They've pulled freight. I could see the smoke of their fire--it was +just about out. Not a horse in sight, or a man. There's no chance for +a mistake, I'm afraid. I called and called, but no one answered." + +The tears rushed to the girl's eyes, but she fought them back. There +was an instant of strained silence. "And what does it mean?" + +"I don't know. We'll get out someway----" + +"Tell me the truth, Bill," the girl suddenly urged. "I can stand it. I +will stand it--don't be afraid to tell me." + +The man looked down at her in infinite compassion. "Poor little girl," +he said. "What do you want to know?" + +She didn't resent the words. She only felt speechlessly grateful and +someway comforted,--as a baby girl might feel in her father's arms. + +"Does it mean--that we've lost, after all?" + +"Our lives? Not at all." She read in his face that this, at least, was +the truth. "I'll tell you, Miss Tremont, just what I think it means. +If we were on the other side of the river, and we had horses, we could +push through and get out--easy enough. But we haven't got horses--even +Buster is drowned--and it would be a hard fight to carry supplies +and blankets on our backs, for the long hike down into Bradleyburg. It +would likely be too much for you. Besides, the river lays between. +In time we might go down to quieter waters and build a raft--out of +logs--but the snow's coming thicker all the time. Before we could get +it done and get across, we couldn't mush out--for the snows have come +to stay and we haven't got snowshoes. We could rig up some kind of +snowshoes, I suppose, but until the snow packs we couldn't make it into +town. It's too long a way and too cold. In soft snow even a strong man +can only go a little way--you sink a foot and have to lift a load of +snow with every step. Every way we look there's a block. We're like +birds, caught in a cage." + +"But won't men--come to look for us?" + +"I've been thinking about that. Miss Tremont, they won't come till +spring, and then they'll likely only half look for us. I know this +northern country. Death is too common a thing to cause much stir. +Lounsbury will tell them we are drowned--no one will believe we could +have gotten out of the canyon, dressed like we were and on a night like +last night. If they thought we were alive and suffering, the whole male +population would take a search party and come to our aid. Instead they +know--or rather, they think they know--that we're dead. There won't +be any horses, it will be a fool's errand, and mushing through those +feet of soft snow is a job they won't undertake." + +"But the river will freeze soon." + +"Yes. Even this cataract freezes, but it likely won't be safe to cross +for some weeks--maybe clear into January or February. That depends on +the weather. You see, Miss Tremont, we don't have the awful low +temperatures early in the winter they get further east and north. We're +on the wet side of the mountains. But we do get the snow, week after +week of it when you simply can't travel, and plenty of thirty and forty, +sometimes more, below zero. But the river will freeze if we give it +time. And the snow will pack and crust late in the winter. And then, +in those clear, cold days, we can make a sled and mush out." + +"And it means--we're tied up here for weeks--and maybe months?" + +"That's it. Just as sure as if we had iron chains around our ankles." + +Then the girl's tears flowed again, unchecked. Bill stood beside her, +his shoulders drooping, but in no situation of his life had he ever felt +more helpless, more incapable of aid. "Don't cry," he pleaded. "Don't +cry, Miss Tremont. I'll take care of you. Don't you know I will?" + +Her grief rent him to the depths, but there was nothing he could say or +do. He drew the blankets higher about her. + +"Perhaps you can get some more sleep," he urged. "Your body's torn to +pieces, of course." + +Fearful and lonely and miserable, the girl cried herself to sleep. Bill +sat beside her a long time, and the snow sifted down in the forest and +the silence lay over the land. He left her at last, and for a while was +busy among the supplies that he found on a shelf behind the stove. And +she wakened to find him bending over her. + +His face was anxious and his eyes gentle as a woman's. "Do you think +you can eat?" he asked. "I've warmed up soup--and I've got coffee, +too." + +He had put the liquids in cups and had drawn the little table beside her +bed. She shook her head, but she softened at the swift look of +disappointment in his face. "I'll take some coffee," she told him. + +He held the cup for her, and she drank a little of the bracing liquid. +Then she pushed the cup away. + +He waited beside a moment, curiously anxious. "Give me your hand," he +said. + +"Why?" + +Cold was her voice, and cold the expression on her face. It seemed to +her that the lines of Bill's face deepened, and his dark eyes grew +stern. But in a moment the expression passed, and she knew she had +wounded him. "Why do you think? I want to test your pulse." + +He had seen that she was flushed, and he was in deadly fear that the +plunge into the cold waters had worked an organic injury. He took her +soft, slender wrist in his hand, and she felt the pressure of his little +finger against her pulsing arteries. Then she saw the dark features +light up. + +"You haven't any fever," he told her joyfully. "You're just used up +from the experience. And God knows I can't blame you. Go to sleep +again if you like." + +She dozed off again, and for a little while he was busy outside the +cabin, cutting fuel for the night's blaze. He stole in once to look at +her and then turned again down the moose trail to the river. He had +been certain before that the others had gone; now he only wanted to make +sure. + +The long afternoon was at an end when he returned. He had gazed across +the gray waters and called again and again, but except for the echo of +his shout, the wilderness silence had been inviolate. Virginia was +awake, but still miserable and dejected in her blankets. They talked a +little, softly and quietly, about their chances, but he saw that she was +not yet in a frame of mind to look the situation squarely in the face. +Then he cooked the last meal of the day. + +"I don't want anything," she told him, when again he proffered food. "I +only want to die. I wish I had died--in the river last night. Months +and months--in these awful woods and this awful cabin--and nothing +but death in the end." + +He did not condemn her for the utterance, even in his thoughts. He was +imaginative enough to understand her despair and sympathize with it. He +remembered the sheltered life she had always lived. Besides, she was +his goddess; he could only humble himself before her. + +"But I won't let you die, Miss Tremont. I'll care for you. You won't +even have to lift your hand, if you don't want to. You'll be happier, +though, if you do; it would break some of the monotony. There's a +little old phonograph on the stand, and some old magazines under your +cot. The weeks will pass someway. And I promise this." He paused, and +his face was gray as ashes. "I won't impose--any more of my company +upon you--than you wish." + +The response was instantaneous. The girl's heart warmed; then she +flashed him a smile of sympathy and understanding. "Forgive me," she +said. "I'll try to be brave. I'll try to stiffen up. I know you'll do +everything you can to get me out. You're so good to me--so kind. And +now--I only want to go to sleep." + +He watched her, standing by her bed. After all, sleep was the best +thing for her--to knit her torn nerves and mend her tired body. +Besides, the wilderness night was falling. He could see it already, +gray against the window pane. The first day of their exile was gone. + +"I'll be all right in the morning," she told him sleepily. "And maybe +it's for the best--after all. At least--it gives you a better +chance to find Harold--and bring him back to me." + +Bill nodded, but he didn't trust himself to speak. + + + +IX + +There is a certain capacity in young and sturdy human beings for +accepting the inevitable. When Virginia wakened the next morning, her +physical distress was largely past and she was in a much better frame of +mind. She pulled herself together, stiffened her young spine, and +prepared to make the best of a deplorable situation. She had come up +here to find her lost beloved, and she wasn't defeated yet. This very +development might bring success. + +She realized that the fact that she had thus found a measure of +compensation for the disaster would have been largely unintelligible to +most of the girls of her class,--the girls she knew in the circle in +which she had moved. It was not the accustomed thing to remain faithful +to a fiance who had been silent an missing for six years, or to seek him +in the dreary spaces of the North. The matter got down to the simple +fact that these girls were of a different breed. Culture and +sophistication and caste had never destroyed an intensity and depths of +elemental passion that might have been native to these very wildernesses +in which she was imprisoned. Cool an self-restrained to the finger +tips, she knew the full meaning of fidelity. Orphaned almost in +babyhood, she had lived a lonely life: this girlhood love affair of hers +had been her single, great adventure. She had been sure that her lover +still lived when all her friends had judged him dead. Months and years +she had dreamed of finding him, of sheltering again in his arms, and +proving to all the world that her faith was justified. + +Bill was already up, and the room warmed from the fire. The noise of +his ax blows had wakened her. And she took advantage of his absence to +dress. + +"You up?" he cried in delight when she entered. His arms were heaped +with wood. "I'm not sure that you hadn't ought to rest another day. +How do you feel?" + +"As good as ever, as far as I can tell. And pretty well ashamed of +being such a baby yesterday." + +But his smile told her that he held no resentment. "I trust you'll be +able to eat to-day?" + +"Eat? Bill, I am famished. But first"--and her face grew instantly +sober--"I want to know just how we stand, and what our chances are. I +remember what you told me yesterday about getting out. But we can't +live here on nothing. What about supplies?" + +"That's what we've got to see about right now. It's an important +matter, true enough. For a certain very good reason I couldn't make a +real investigation till you got up. You'll see why in a minute. Well, +we have a gun at least; you can see it behind the stove. It's an old +thing, but it will still shoot. And we've got at least one box of +shells for it--and not one of them must be wasted. They mean our meat +supply. I'm still wearing my pistol, and I've got two boxes of shells +for it in my pocket--it's a small caliber, and there's fifty in each +box. There are plenty of blankets and cooking utensils, magazines for +idle hours and, Heaven bless us, an old and battered phonograph on the +table. Don't scorn it--anything that has to be packed on a horse this +far mustn't be scorned. We can have music with our meals, if we like." +He stopped and smiled. + +"There's a cake of soap on the shelf," he went on, after the gorgeous +fact of the phonograph had time to sink home, "and another among the +supplies--but I'm afraid cold cream and toilet water are lacking. I +don't even know how you'll comb your hair." + +The girl smiled--really with happiness now--and fished in the +pockets of a great slicker coat she had worn the night of the disaster. +She produced a little white roll, and with the high glee opened it for +him to see. Wrapped in a miniature face towel was her comb, a small +brush, and a toothbrush! + +They laughed with delight over the find. "But no mirror?" the man said +solemnly. + +"No. I won't be able to see how I look for weeks--and that's +terrible. But where are your food supplies? I see those sacks hanging +from the ceiling--but they certainly haven't enough to keep us alive. +And there's nothing else that I can see." + +"We'd have a hard time, if we had to depend on the contents of those +sacks. Miss Tremont, can you cook?" + +"Cook? Good Heavens--I never have. But I can learn, I suppose." + +"You'd better learn. It will help pass away the time. I'll be busy +getting meat and keeping the fires high, among other things." + +"But what is there to cook?" + +He walked, with some triumph, to the bunk on which she had slept the +night before, and lifting it up, revealed a great box beneath. She +understood, now, why he had not been able to make a previous +investigation. They danced with joy at its contents,--bags of rice +and beans, dried apples, marmalade and canned goods, enough for some +weeks at least. Best of all, from Bill's point of view, there were a +few aged and ripened plugs of tobacco, for cutting up for his pipe. + +"The one thing we haven't got is meat," Bill told her, "except a little +jerky; but there's plenty of that in the woods if we can just find it. +And I don't intend to delay about that. If the snow gets much deeper, +we'd have to have snowshoes to hunt at all." + +"You mean--to go hunting to-day?" + +"As soon as we can stir up a meal. How would pancakes taste?" + +"Glorious! I'll cook breakfast myself." + +"Not breakfast--lunch," he corrected. "It's already about noon. But +it would be very nice if you'd do the cooking while I cut the night's +fuel. You know how--dilute a little canned milk, and a little baking +powder, stir in your flour--and it's wheat mixed with rye, and bully +flour for flapjacks--and fry 'em thick. Set water to boil and we'll +have coffee, too." + +They went to their respective tasks. And the pancakes and coffee, when +at last they were steaming on the little, crude board-table, were really +a very creditable effort. They were thick and rich as befits wilderness +flapjacks, but covered with syrup they slid easily down the throat. +Bill consumed three of them, full skillet size, and smacked his lips +over the coffee. Virginia managed two herself. + +He helped her wash the scanty dishes, then prepared for the hunt. "Do +you want to come?" he asked. "It's a cool, raw day. You'll be more +comfortable here." + +"Do you think I'd stay here?" she demanded. + +She didn't attempt to analyze her feelings. She only knew that this +cabin, lost in the winter forest, would be a bleak and unhappy place to +endure alone. The storm and the snow-swept marshes, with Bill beside +her, were infinitely preferable to the haunting fear and loneliness of +solitude. The change in her attitude toward him had been complete. + +Dressing warmly, they ventured out into the snowy wastes. The storm had +neither heightened nor decreased. The snow still sifted down steadily, +with a relentlessness that was someway dreadful to the spirit. The +drifts were about their knees by now; and the mere effort of walking was +a serious business. The winter silence lay deep over the wilderness. + +It was a curious thing not to hear the rustle of a branch, the crack of +a twig; only the muffled sound of their footsteps in the snow. Bill +walked in front, breaking trail. He carried the ancient rifle ready in +his hands. + +The truth was that Bill did not wish to overlook any possible chance for +game. Each hour traveling was more difficult, the snow encroached +higher, and soon he could not hunt at all without snowshoes. It was not +good for their spirits or their bodies to try to live without meat in +the long snowshoe-making process. This was no realm for vegetarians. +The readily assimilated animal flesh was essential to keep their tissues +strong. + +Fortune had not been particularly kind so far on this trip--at least +from Virginia's point of view--but he did earnestly hope that they +might run into game at once. Later the moose would go to their winter +feeding grounds, far down the heights. Every day they hunted, their +chance of procuring meat was less. + +He led her over the ridge to the marshy shores of Gray Lake,--a dismal +body of water over which the waterfowl circled endlessly and the loons +shrieked their maniacal cries. He noticed, with some apprehension, that +many sea birds had taken to the lake for refuge,--gulls and their +fellows. This fact meant to the woodsman that great storms were raging +at sea, and they themselves would soon feel the lash of them. They +waited in the shadow of the spruce. + +"Don't make any needless motions," he cautioned, "and don't speak aloud. +They've got eyes and ears like hawks." + +It was not easy to stand still, in the snow and the cold, waiting for +game to appear. Virginia was uncomfortable within half an hour, +shivering and tired. In an hour the cold had gripped her; her hands +were lifeless, her toes ached. Yet she stood motionless, uncomplaining. + +It was a long wait that they had beside the lake. The short, +snow-darkened afternoon had not much longer to last. Bill began to be +discouraged; he knew that for the girl's sake he must leave his watch. +He waited a few minutes more. + +Then the girl felt his hand on her arm. "Be still," he whispered. +"Here he comes." + +They were both staring in the same directions, but at first Virginia +could not see the game. Her eyes were not yet trained to these wintry +forests. It was a strange fact, however, that the announcement was like +a hot stimulant in her blood. The sense of cold and fatigue left her in +an instant. And soon she made out a black form on the far side of the +lake. + +"He's coming toward us," the man whispered. + +Although she had never seen such an animal before, at once she +recognized its kind. The spreading horns, the great frame, the long, +grotesque nose belonged only to the moose,--the greatest of American +wild animals. Her blood began to race through her veins. + +The animal was still out of range, but the distance between them rapidly +shortened. He was following the lake shore, tossing his horns in +arrogance. Once he paused and gazed a long time straight toward them, +legs braced and head lifted; but evidently reassured he ventured on. +Now he was within three hundred yards. + +"Why don't you shoot?" the girl whispered. + +"I'm afraid to trust this old gun at that range. I could get him with +my thirty-five. Now don't make a motion--or a sound." + +Now the creature was near enough so that she could receive some idea of +his size and power. She knew something of the quagmires such as lay on +the lake shore. She had passed some of them on the journey. But the +bull moose took them with an ease and a composure that was thrilling to +see. Where a strong horse would have floundered at the first step, he +stretched out his hind quarters, and, striking with his long, powerful +front legs, pulled through. Then she was aware that Bill was aiming. + +At the roar of the rifle she cried out in excitement. The old bull had +traversed the marches for the last time: he had fought the last fight +with his fellow bulls in the rutting season. He rocked down easily, and +Bill's racing fingers ejected the shell and threw another into the +barrel, ready to fire again if need be. But no second bullet was +required. The man's aim had been straight and true, and the bullet had +pierced his heart. + +The two of them danced and shouted in the snow. And Virginia did not +stop to think that the stress of the moment had swept her back a +thousand--thousand years, and that her joy was simply the rapture of +the cave woman, mad with blood lust, beside her mate. + + + +X + +The shoulder of a bull moose was never a load for a weak back. The +piece of meat weighed nearly one hundred pounds and was of awkward shape +to carry. Bill, secure in his strength, would never have attempted it +except for the fact that after one small ridge was climbed, the way was +downhill clear to the cabin. + +He skinned out the quarter with great care; then, stooping, worked it on +his back. Virginia took his gun and led the way back over their snow +trail. + +By resting often, they soon made the hilltop. From thence on they +dragged the meat in the immaculate snow. Twilight had fallen again when +they made the cabin. + +Already Virginia thought of it as home. She returned to it with a +thrill in her veins and a joy in her heart. She was tired out and cold; +this humble log hut meant shelter from the storm and warmth and food. +Bill hung the meat; then with his knife cut off thick steaks for their +supper. In a few moments their fire was cracking. + +Bill showed her how to broil the steak in its own fat, and he cooked hot +biscuits and macaroni to go with it. No meal of her life had ever given +her greater pleasure. They made their plans for the morrow; first to +construct a crude sled and then to bring in the remainder of the meat. +"If the wolves don't claim it to-night," Bill added, as he lighted his +pipe. + +"It's strange that I don't want to smoke myself," the girl told him. + +"You? Why should you?" + +"I smoke at home. I mean I did. It's getting to be the thing to do +among the girls I know. Someway, the thought of it doesn't seem +interesting any more." + +"Did you--really enjoy it then? If you did, I'll split my store with +you. You've got as much right to it as I." The man spoke rather +heavily. + +"I didn't think I did enjoy it. I did it--I suppose because it seemed +sporting. It never made me feel peaceful--only nervous. I don't +believe tobacco is a temperamental need with women as it is with some +men--otherwise it wouldn't have taken so many centuries to establish +the custom. It would only--seem silly, up here." + +He had an impression that she was speaking very softly. The quality of +absolute and omnipresent silence had passed from the wilderness. There +was a low stir, a faint murmur that at first was so far off and vague +that neither of them could name it. + +But slowly the sound grew. The tree tops, silent before with snow, gave +utterance; the thickets cracked, stirred, and moved as if some dread +spirit were coming to life within them. The candle flickered. A low +moan reached them from the chimney. Bill strode to the door and threw +it wide. + +He did not have to peer out into that unfathomable darkness to know the +enemy that was at his gates. It spoke in a sudden fury, and the snow +flurries swept past, like strange and wandering spirits, in the dim +candle light. No longer the flakes drifted easily and silently down. +They seemed to be coming from all directions, whirling, eddying, borne +swiftly through the night and hurled into drifts. And a dread voice +spoke across the snow. + +"The north wind," Bill said simply. + +Virginia's eyes grew wide. She sensed the awe and the dread in his +tones; even she, fresh from cities, knew that this foe was not to be +despised. She felt the sharp pinch of the cold as the heat escaped +through the open door. The temperature was falling steadily; already it +was far below freezing. Bill shut the door and walked back to her. + +"What does it mean?" she asked breathlessly. + +"Winter. The northern winter. I've seen it break too many times. +Perhaps we can drown out the sound of it--with music." + +He walked toward the battered instrument. Her heart was cold within +her, and she nodded eagerly. "Yes--a little ragtime. It will be +frightfully loud in the cabin, but it's better than the sound of the +storm." + +She didn't dream that this wilderness man would choose any other kind of +music than ragtime. She was but new to the North, otherwise she would +have made no such mistake. Superficiality was no part of these northern +men. They knew life in the raw, the travail of existence, the pinch of +cold and the fury of the storm; and the music that they felt in their +hearts was never the light-hearted dance music of the South. Music is +the articulation of the soul, and the souls of these men were darkened +and sad. It could not be otherwise, sons of the wilderness as they +were. + +The pack song, on the hilltop in the winter moon, was never a melody of +laughter. Rather it was the song of life itself, life in the raw, and +the sadness and pain and the hopeless war of existence find their echo +in the wailing notes. None of the wilderness voices were joyous. When +Bill had chosen his records he took those that answered his own mood and +expressed his own being. + +Not all of them were sad music, in the strictest sense. But they were +all intense, poignant and tremulous with the deepest longings of the +human soul. + +"I haven't any ragtime," the man explained humbly. "I could only bring +up a few records, and so I took just the ones I liked best. They're +simple things--I'm sorry I haven't any more." + +She looked at this man with growing wonder. Of course he would like the +simple things. No man of her acquaintance had ever possessed truer +standards: no sophistication or cultural growth such as she herself had +know could have given him a truer gentility. What was this thing that +men could learn in the woods and in the North that gave them such poise, +such standards, and brought out such qualities of manhood? Yet she knew +that the forests did not treat all men alike. Those of intrinsic virtue +were made better, their strength was supplemented by the strength of the +wilderness itself, but the weaklings perished quickly. This was not a +land for soft men, for the weak and the cowardly and the vicious. The +wild soon found them out, harried them by storms and broke their hearts +and their spirits, and kept from them its gracious secrets. Perhaps in +this latter thing lay the explanation. It seemed to her that Bill was +always straining, listening for the faintest, whispered voices of the +forest about him. He was always watching, always studying--his soul +and his heart open--and Nature poured forth upon him her incalculable +rewards. + +He put on a record, closed the doors of the instrument tight to muffle +the sound, and set the needle. She recognized the melody at once. It +was Drdla's "Souvenir"--and the first notes seemed to sweep her into +infinity. + +It was a beautiful, haunting thing, sweet as love, warm as a maiden's +heart, tender as motherhood; and all at once Virginia was aware of a +heart-stirring and incredible contrast. The melody did not drown out +the sound of the storm. It rose above it, infinitely sweet and +entreating, and all the time the wild strains of the storm outside made +a strange and dreadful background. Yet the two songs mingled with such +harmony as only old masters, devotees to music, can sometimes hear in +their inmost souls but never express in notes. + +She felt the tears start in her eyes. Her cheeks flamed. Her heart +raced and thrilled. For all the exquisite beauty of the song, a vague +dread and an incomprehensible fear seemed to come upon her. For all the +stir and impulse of the melody, a strange but exquisite sadness engulfed +her spirit. In that single instant the North drew aside its curtains of +mystery and showed her its secret altar. For a breath at least she knew +its soul,--its travail, its dreadful beauty, its infinite sadness, its +merciless strength. + +In her time Virginia had now and then known the fear of Death. Two +nights previous, as the waters had engulfed her, she had known it very +well. But never before had she known fear of life. That's what it +was--fear of _life_--life that could only cost and could not pay, that +could take and could not give, that could pain but could not heal. She +knew now the dreadful persecution of the elements, cold and storm and +the snow fields stretching ever from range to range. She knew the fear +of hunger, of struggle to break the spirit and rend the body, of +disaster that could not be turned aside, of cruel and immutable destiny. +She knew now why the waterfowl had circled all day so restlessly: they +too had known the age-old fear of the northern winter. They had sensed, +in secret ways, the swift approach of the storm. + +Winter was at hand. It would lock the streams and sweep the land with +snow, the sun would grow feeble in the sky, and the spirit of Cold would +descend with its age-old terrors. And the creepy fear, the haunting +terror known to all northern creatures, man or beast, crept into her +like a subtle poison. + +It was a moment of enchantment. The music rose high, fell in soaring +leaps, trembled in infinite appeal, and slowly died away. Outside the +storm increased in fury. The wind sobbed over the cabin roof, the trees +complained, the snow beat against the window pane. And still the spell +lingered. Her lustrous eyes gazed out through the darkened pane, but +her thoughts carried far beyond it. + +And it was well for her peace of mind that she did not glance at Bill. +The music had moved him too: besides the fear of the North he had been +torn by even a deeper emotion, and for the instant it was written all to +clearly upon his rugged features. He was watching the girl's face, his +eyes yearning and wistful as no human being had ever seen them. + +The soaring notes, with the dreadful accompaniment of the storm, had +brought home a truth to him that for days on the trail he had tried to +deny. "I love you, Virginia," cried the inaudible voice of his soul. +"Oh, Virginia--I love you, I love you." + + + +XI + +It was one of Bill Bronson's basic creeds to look his situations +squarely in the face. It was part of the training of the wilderness, +and up till now he had always abided by it. But for the past few days +he had found himself trying to look aside. He had tried to avoid and +deny a truth that ever grew clearer and more manifest,--his love for +Virginia. + +He had told himself he wouldn't give his love to her. He would hold +back, at least. He had reminded himself of the bridgeless gap that +separated them, that they were of different spheres and that it only +meant tragedy, stark and deep, for him to let himself go. He had fought +with himself, had tried to shut his eyes to her beauty and his heart to +her appeal. But there was no use of trying further. In the stress and +passion of the melody he had found out the truth. + +And this was no moment's passion,--the love that he had for her. Bill +was not given to fluency of emotion. He was a northern man, intense as +fire but slow to emotional response. He had known the great discipline +of the forest; he was not one to lose himself in infatuation or +sentimentality. He only knew that he loved her, and no event of life +could make him change. + +He had had dreams, this man; but they were never so concrete, so fond as +these dreams that swept him now. In the soft candlelight the girl's +beauty moved him and glorified him, the very fact of her presence +thrilled him to the depths, the wistfulness and appeal in her face +seemed to burn him like fire. This northern land was never the home of +weak or half-felt emotions. The fine shades and subtle gradations of +feelings were unknown to the northern people, but they had full +knowledge of the primordial passions. They could hate as the she-wolf +hates the foe that menaces her cubs, and they could love to the moment +of death. He knew that whatever fate life had in store for him it could +not change his attitude toward her. She would leave the North and go +back to her own people, and still he would be true. + +Even in the first instant he knew enough not to hope. They would have +their northern adventure together, and then she would leave him to his +snows and his trackless forests. She would go to her own land, a place +of mirth and joy and warmth, to leave him brooding and silent in his +waste places. He knew that all his days this same dream would be before +his eyes, this wistful-eyed, tender girl, this lovely flower of the +South. Nothing could change him. The years would come and go--spring +and summer flowering in the forest, dancing once and tripping on to a +softer, gentler land; fall would touch the shrubs with color, whisk off +the golden leaves of the quivering aspen, and speed way; and winter, +drear and cheerless, would shroud the land in snow--and find his love +unswerving. The forest folk would mate in fall, the caribou calves +would open their wondering eyes in spring, the moose would bathe and +wallow in the lakes in summer, and in winter the venerable grizzly would +seek his lair, and still his dreams, in his lonely cabin, would be +unchanged. His love would never lessen or increase. He had held none +of it back; no more could be given or taken away. He had given his all. + +But if he couldn't keep this knowledge from himself, at least he could +hold it from the girl. It would only bring her unhappiness. It would +destroy the feeling of comradeship for him that he had begun to observe +in her. It would put an insurmountable wall between them. Besides, he +didn't believe that she could understand. Perhaps it would only offend +her,--that this son of the forests should give her his love. She had +never dealt with men of his breed before, and she had no inkling of the +smoldering, devouring fires within the man. He would not invite her +pity and her distrust by letting her know. + +Strangest of all, he felt no bitterness or resentment. This development +was only a fitting part of the tragedy of his life: first his father's +murder, his dreams that had never come true, his lost boyhood, his exile +in the waste places, and now the lonely years that stretched before him +with nothing to atone or redeem. He knew that there could be no other +woman in his life. It was well enough for the men of cities to give and +take back their love; for them it was only wisdom and good sense, but +such a course was impossible to such sons of the forest as he. Life +gives but one dream to the forest folk, and they follow it till they +die. He knew that the yearning in his heart and the void in his life +could never be filled. + +Yet he didn't rail at fate. He had learned what fate could do to him, +and he had learned to take its blows with a strange fatalism and +composure. Besides, would he not have the joy of her presence for many +days to come? Their adventure had just begun: weeks would pass before +she could go home. In those days he could serve her, toil for her, +devote himself wholly to her happiness. He could see her face and know +her beauty, and it was all worth the price he paid. For life in the +North is life in its simplest phases; and the northern men have had a +chance to learn that strangest truth of all,--that he who counts the +cost of his hour of pleasure shall be crushed in the jaws of Destiny, +and that a day of joy may be worth, in the immutable balance of being, a +whole life of sorrow. + +Virginia had no suspicion of his thoughts. She was still enthralled by +the after-image of the music, and her own thoughts were soaring far +away. But soon the noise of the storm began to force itself into her +consciousness. It caused her to consider her own prospects for the +night. + +Vaguely she knew that this night was different from the others. The two +previous nights she had been ill and half-unconscious: her very +helplessness appealed to Bill's chivalry. To-night she stood on her own +feet. Matters were down to a normal basis again, and for the first time +she began to experience a certain embarrassment in her position. She +was suddenly face to face with the fact that the night stretched before +her,--and she in a snowswept cabin in the full power of a strange man. +She felt more than a little uneasy. + +Already she was tired and longed to go to sleep, but she was afraid to +speak her wish. As the silence of the cabin deepened, and the noise of +the storm grew louder--blustering at the roof, shaking the door, and +beating on the window pane--her uneasiness gave way to stark fear. + +But all at once she looked up to find Bill's eyes upon her, full of +sympathy and understanding. "You'll want to turn in now," he told her. +"You take the bunk again, of course--I'll sleep on the floor. I'm +comfortable there--I could sleep on rocks if need be." + +"Can't you get some fir boughs--to-morrow?" The girl spoke nervously. + +"They'd be in the way, but maybe I can arrange it. And now I've got to +fix your boidoir." + +He took one of the boxes that served as a chair and stood it up on the +floor, just in front of her bunk. Then, holding one of the blankets in +his arm and a few nails in his hand, he climbed upon the box. She +understood in an instant. He was curtaining off the entire end of the +cabin where Virginia slept. + +The girl's relief showed in her face. Her eyes lighted, her +apprehension was largely dispelled. She wasn't blind to his +thoughtfulness, his quick sympathy; and she felt deeply and speechlessly +grateful. And she was also vaguely touched with wonder. + +"You can go in there now," he told her. "But there's one thing--I +want to show you--before you turn in." + +"Yes?" + +"I want to show you this little pistol." He took a light arm of blue +steel from his belt,--the small-calibered and automatic weapon with +which he had gilled the grouse. "It's only a twenty-two," Bill went on, +"but it shoots a long cartridge, and it shoots ten of 'em, fast as you +pull the trigger. You could kill a caribou with it, if you hit him +right." + +"Yes?" And she wondered at this curious interlude in their moment of +parting. + +"You see this little catch behind the trigger guard?" The girl nodded. +"When you want to fire it, all you have to do is to push up the little +catch with your thumb and pull the trigger. To-morrow I'm going to +teach you how to shoot with it--I mean shoot straight enough to take +the head off a grouse at twenty feet. And so it will bring you luck, I +want you to sleep with it,--under your pillow." + +Understanding flashed through her, and a slow, grateful smile played at +her lips. "I don't want it, Bill," she told him. + +"You'd feel safer with it," the man urged. He slipped it under her +pillow. "And even before you learn to shoot it well--you could--if +you had to--shoot and kill a man." + +He smiled again and drew her curtain. + +* * * * * + +Bill was true to his promise to teach Virginia to shoot. The next day +he put up an empty can out from the door of the cabin and they had +target practice. + +First he showed her how to hold the weapon and to stand. "See the can +just over the sights and press back gradually," he urged. + +The first shot went wide of its mark. The second and third were no +better. But by watching her closely, Bill found out her mistake. + +"You flinch," he told her. "It's an old mistake among hunters--and +the only way you can avoid it is by deepest concentration. Skill in +hunting--as well as in everything else--depends upon throwing the +whole energy of your mind and body into that one little part of an +instant when you pull the trigger. It's all right to be excited before. +You're not human if, the game knocked over, you're not excited after. +But unless you can hold like iron for that fraction of a second, you +can't shoot and you never can shoot." + +"But I'm not excited now," she objected. + +"You haven't got full discipline of your nerves, just the same. +You're a little afraid of the sound and the explosion, and you flinch +back--just a little movement of your hand--when you pull the trigger. +If it is only an eighth of an inch here, it's quite a miss by the time +the bullet gets out there. Try again, but convince yourself first that +you won't flinch. You won't jerk or throw off your aim." + +She lowered the weapon and rested her nerves. Then she quietly lifted +the gun again. And the fourth bullet knocked the can spinning from the +log. + +The man shouted his approval, and her flushed face showed what a real +triumph it was to her. Few of her lifelong accomplishments she had +valued more. Yet it caused no self-wonder; she only knew that she +respected and prized the good opinion of this stalwart woodsman, and by +this one little act she had proved to him the cool, strong quality of +her nerves. + +And it was no little triumph. She had really learned the basic concept +of good shooting,--to throw the whole force of the nervous system into +the second firing. It was the same precept that makes toward all +achievement. The fact that she had grasped it so quickly was a guaranty +of her own metal. She felt something of that satisfaction that strong +men feel when they prove, for their own eyes alone, their self-worth. +It was the instinct that sends the self-indulgent business man, riding +to his work in a limousine, into the depths of the dreadful wilderness +to hunt, and that urges the tenderfoot to climb to the crest of the +highest peaks. + +It did not mean that she was a dead shot already. Months and years of +practice are necessary to obtain full mastery of pistol or rifle. She +had simply made a most creditable start. There would be plenty of +misses thereafter; in fact, the next six shots she missed the can four +times. She had to learn sight control, how to gauge distance and wind +and the speed of moving objects; but she was on the straight road to +success. + +While Virginia cooked lunch, Bill cut young spruce trees and made a +sled: and after the meal pushed out through the whirling snow to being +in the remainder of the moose meat. It was the work of the whole +afternoon to urge the sled up the ridge and then draw it home through +the drifts. The snow mantle had deepened alarmingly during the night, +and he came none too soon. It was only a matter of days, perhaps of +hours, before the snow would be impassable except with snowshoes. Until +at last the snowfall ceased and packed, traveling even with their aid +would be a heart-breaking business. + +Virginia was lonely and depressed all the time Bill was absent, and she +had a moment of self-amazement at the rapidity with which she brightened +up at his return. But it was a natural development: the snow-swept +wilds were dreary indeed for a lonely soul. He was a fellow human +being; that alone was relationship enough. + +"You can call me Virginia, if you want to," she told him. "Last names +are silly out here--Heaven knows we can't keep them up in these weeks +to come. I've called you Bill ever since the night we crossed the +river." + +Bill looked his gratitude, and she helped him prepare the meat. Some of +it he hung just outside the cabin door; one of the great hams suspended +in a spruce tree, fifty feet in front of the cabin. The skin was +fleshed and hung up behind the stove to dry. + +"It's going to furnish the web of our snowshoes," he explained. + +That night their talk took a philosophical trend, and in the candlelight +he told her some of his most secret views. She found that the North, +the untamed land that had been his home, had colored all his ideas, yet +she was amazed at his scientific knowledge of some subjects. + +Far from the influence of any church, she was surprised to find that he +was a religious man. In fact, she found that his religion went deeper +than her own. She belonged to one of the Protestant churches of +Christianity, attended church regularly, and the church had given her +fine ideals and moral precepts; but religion itself was not a reality to +her. It was not a deep urge, an inner and profound passion as it was +with him. She prayed in church, she had always prayed--half +automatically--at bedtime; but actual, entreating prayer to a literal +God had been outside her born of thought. In her sheltered life she had +never felt the need of a literal God. The spirit of All Being was not +close to her, as it was to him. + +Bill had found his religion in the wilderness, and it was real. He had +listened to the voices of the wind and the stir of the waters in the +fretful lake; he had caught dim messages, yet profound enough to flood +his heart with passion, in the rustling of the leaves, the utter silence +of the night, the unearthly beauty of the far ranges, stretching one +upon another. His was an austere God, infinitely just and wise, but His +great aims were far beyond the power of men's finite minds to grasp. +Most of all, his was a God of strength, of mighty passions and moods, +but aloof, watchful, secluded. + +In this night, and the nights that followed, she absorbed--a little at +a time--his most harboured ideas of life and nature. He did not speak +freely, but she drew him out with sympathetic interest. But for all he +knew life in the raw and the gloom of the spruce forest, his outlook had +not been darkened. For all his long acquaintance with a stark and +remorseless Nature, he remained an optimist. + +None of his views surprised her as much as this. He knew the snows and +the cold, this man; the persecution of the elements and the endless +struggle and pain of life, yet he held no rancor. "It's all part of the +game," he explained. "It's some sort of a test, a preparation--and +there's some sort of a scheme, too big for human beings to see, behind +it." + +He believed in a hereafter. He thought that the very hardship of life +made it necessary. Earthly existence could not be an end in itself, he +thought: rather the tumult and stress shaped and strengthened the soul +for some stress to come. "And some of us conquer and go on," he told +her earnestly. "And some of us fall--and stop." + +"But life isn't so hard," she answered. "I've never known hardship or +trial. I know many men and girls that don't know what it means." + +"So much to their loss. Virginia, those people will go out of life as +soft, as unprepared, as when they came in. They will be as helpless as +when they left their mother's wombs. They haven't been disciplined. +They haven't known pain and work and battle--and the strengthening +they entail. They don't live a natural life. Nature meant for all +creatures to struggle. Because of man's civilization they are having an +artificial existence, and they pay for it in the end. Nature's way is +one of hardship." + +This man did not know a gentle, kindly Nature. She was no friend of +his. He knew her as a siren, a murderess and a torturer, yet with great +secret aims that no man could name or discern. Even the kindly summer +moon lighted the way for hunting creatures to find and rend their prey. +The snow trapped the deer in the valleys where the wolf pack might find +easy killing; the cold killed the young grouse in the shrubbery; the +wind sang a song of death. He pointed out that all the wilderness +voices expressed the pain of living,--the sobbing utterance of the +coyotes, the song of the wolves in the winter snow, the wail of the +geese in their southern migrations. + +In these talks she was surprised to learn how full had been his reading. +All through her girlhood she had gone to private schools and had been +tutored by high-paid intellectual aristocrats, yet she found this man +better educated than herself. He had read philosophy and had browsed, +at least, among all the literature of the past; he knew history and a +certain measure of science, and most of all, the association of areas of +his brain were highly developed so that he could see into the motives +and hearts of things much more clearly than she. + +In the nights he told her Nature lore, the ways of the living-creatures +that he observed, and in the daytime he illustrated his points from +life. They would take little tramps together through the storm and +snow, going slowly because of the depth of the drifts, and under his +tutelage, the wild life began to reveal to her its most hidden secrets. +Sometimes she shot grouse with her pistol; once a great long-pinioned +goose, resting on the shore of frozen Gray Lake, fell to her aim. She +saw the animals in the marshes, the herds of caribou that are, above all +creatures, natives and habitants of the snow-swept mountains, the +little, lesser hunters such as marten and mink and otter. One night +they heard the wolf pack chanting as they ran along the ridge. + +Life was real up here. The superficialities with which she had dealt +before were revealed in their true light. Of all the past material +requisites, only three remained,--food and warmth and shelter. Others +that she did not think she needed--protection, and strength and +discipline--were shown as vitally necessary. Comradeship was needed, +too, the touch of a helping hand in a moment of fear or danger; and +love--the one thing she lacked now--was most necessary of all. It was +not enough just to give love. For years she had poured her adoration +upon Harold, lost it too, reciprocally; and this she might find strength +for the war of life, even a tremulous joy in meeting and surmounting +difficulties. + +The snow fell almost incessantly and the tree limbs could hold no more. +The drifts deepened in the still aisles between trunk and trunk. When +the clouds broke through and the stars were like great precious diamonds +in the sky, the cold would drop down like a curse and a scourge, and the +ice began to gather on Grizzly River. + +On such nights the Northern Lights flashed and gleamed and danced in the +sky and swept the forest world with mystery. + + + +XII + +Virginia found the days much happier than she had hoped. She took a +real interest in caring for their little cabin, cooking the meals, even +mending Bill's torn clothes. She had a natural fine sense of flavors, +and out of the simple materials that they had in store she prepared +meals that in Bill's opinion outclassed the finest efforts of a French +chef. He would exult over them boyishly, and she found an unlooked-for +joy in pleasing him. She had made delicious puddings out of rice and +canned milk and raisins, she knew just the identical number of minutes +it required to broil a moose porterhouse just to his taste, and she +could fry a grouse to surpass the most succulent fried chicken ever +served in a southern home. All these things pleased her and occupied +the barren hours. She learned to sew on buttons, wash her own clothes, +and keep the cabin clean and neat as a hospital ward. + +She liked the hours of sober talk in the evenings. Sometimes they would +play through the records, and so well had Bill made his selections that +she never tired of them. His preference tended toward melodies in the +minor, wailing things that to him vaguely reflected the voices of the +wild things and the plaintive utterances of the forest: she liked the +soul-stirring, emotional melodies. They worked up a rare comradeship +before the first week was done. She had never known a human being to +whom she opened her thoughts more freely. + +She had her lonesome hours, but not so many as she had expected. When +time hung heavy on her hands she would take out one of the old magazines +that Bill had brought up to read on the winter nights, and devour it +from cover to cover. She had abundant health. The experience seemed to +build her up, rather than injure her. Her muscles developed, she +breathed deep of the cold, mountain air, and she had more energy than +she could easily spend. + +She fought away the tendency to grow careless in dress or appearance. +She kept her few clothes clean and mended, she dressed her hair as +carefully as in her city house. Her skin was clear and soft, but she +didn't know how the wilderness life was affecting her beauty. What Bill +observed he did not tell her. Often the words were at his lips, but he +repressed them. In the first place he was afraid of speaking too +feelingly and giving away his heart's secret; in the second he had a +ridiculous fear that such a personal remark might tend to destroy the +fine balance of their relationship. She had no mirror, but soon she +became used to going without one. But one day, on one of their tramps, +she caught a perfect image of herself in a clear spring. + +She had stopped to drink, but for a few seconds she only regarded +herself with speechless delight. She had had her share of beauty +before; now perfect health had brought its marvelous and indescribable +charm. Her hair was burnished and shimmering with life, her skin clear +and transparent, her throat had filled out, and her eyes were bright and +clear as she had never seen them. She felt no further need of +cosmetics. Her lips were red, and Nature had brought a glow to her +cheeks that no human skill could equal. + +"Good Heavens, Bill!" she cried. "Why didn't you tell me that I was +getting prettier every day?" + +"I didn't know you wanted me to," he replied. "But you are. I've been +noticing it a long time." + +"You're a cold, impersonal person!" But at once her talk tripped on to +less dangerous subjects. + +Their cabin life was redeemed by their frequent excursions into the +wild. The study of Nature was constantly more absorbing to the girl. +Although the birds had all gone south--except such hardy fowl as the +ptarmigan, that seemed to spend most of their time buried in the +snow--there was still mammalian life in plenty in the forest. The +little furred creatures still plied, nervous and scurrying as ever, +their occupations; and the caribou still wandered now and then through +their valley as they moved from ridge to ridge. The moose, however, +had mostly pushed down to the lower levels. + +The grizzlies had gone into hibernation, and their tracks were no longer +to be seen in the snow; but the wolf pack still ran the ridges. And one +day they had a miniature adventure that concerned the gray band. + +They were climbing a ridge one wintry day, unappalled by the three feet +or more of snow, when the girl suddenly touched his arm. + +"First blood on caribou," she cried. + +His eyes lighted, and he followed her gaze. Lately they had been having +a friendly contest as to who would get the first glimpse of any living +creature that they encountered in their tramps, and Bill was pleased to +admit that he had been barely holding his own. The girl's eyes were +practically as quick as his and better at long distances, and always +there was high celebration when she saw the game first. But to-day they +were fated for more exciting business. + +The caribou were plunging as fast as they could through the snow. They +came, in caribou fashion, in a long file, each stepping into the tracks +of the other, and it was a good woodsman, coming along behind them, that +could tell whether there were two or ten in the band. An old bull with +sweeping horns led the file. + +When going is at all easy, the caribou can travel at an incredible pace. +Even their swinging trot can carry them from range to range in a single +day; but when they choose to run their fastest, they seem to have wings. +To-day, however, the soft snow impeded their speed. They seemed to be +running freely enough, in great bounds, but Bill could tell that they +were hard pressed. He would have liked to have taken one of the young +cows to add to his larder, but they were too far to risk a shot. Then +he seized the girl by the hand. + +"Plow fast as you can up hill," he urged. "I think we'll see some +action." + +For he had guessed the impulse behind the wild race. They plunged +through the snow as fast as they could, then sank almost out of sight in +the drifts. And in a moment Bill pointed to a gray, shadowy band that +came loping toward them out of the haze. + +It was the wolf pack, and they were deep in the hunt. They were great, +shaggy creatures, lean and savage, and Virginia felt glad that this +stalwart form was beside her. The wolves of the North, when the +starvation time is on, are not always to be trusted. They looked +ghostly and incredibly large through the flurries. + +They came within a hundred yards, then their keen senses whispered a +warning. Just for an instant they stood motionless in the snow, heads +raised and fierce eyes grazing. + +Bill raised his rifle. He took quick aim at the great leader, and the +report rang far through the silences. But the entire pack sprang away +as one. + +"I can't believe that I missed," Bill cried. He started to take aim +again. + +But no second shot was needed. Suddenly the pack leader leaped high in +the air and fell almost buried in the snow. His brethren halted, +seemingly about to attack the fallen, but Bill's shout frightened them +on. The great, gaunt creature would sing no more to the winter stars. + +He was a magnificent specimen of the black wolf, head as large as that +of a black bear, and a pelt already rich and heavy. "We'll add a few +more from time to time," Bill told her, "and then you can have a coat." + +In these excursions Virginia learned to use her pistol with remarkable +accuracy. Her strength increased: she could follow wherever Bill led. +Sometimes they climbed snowy mountains where the gales shrieked like +demons, sometimes they dipped into still, mysterious glens; they tracked +the little folk in the snow, and they called the moose from the thickets +beside the lake. + +They did not forget their graver business. Ever Virginia kept watch for +a track that was not an animal track, a blaze on a tree that was not +made by the teeth of a porcupine or grizzly, a charred cook rack over +the ashes of a fire. But as yet they had found no sign of human +wayfarers other than themselves. There were no cut trees, no blazed +trails, no sign of a habitation. Yet she didn't despair. She had begun +to have some knowledge of the great distances of the region: she knew +there were plenty of valleys yet unsearched. + +Bill never ceased to search for his mine. He looked for blazes too, for +a sign of an old camp or a pile of washings beside a stream. When he +found an open stream he would wash the gravel, and it seemed to him he +combed the entire region between the two little tributaries of Grizzly +River indicated on his map. But with the deepening snow search was ever +more difficult. Unlike Virginia, he was almost ready to give up. + +The spirit of autumn had never shown her face again: winter had come to +stay. Every day the snow deepened, the cold in the long nights was more +intense. Travel was no longer possible without snowshoes, but the hide +stretched in the cabin was almost dry and ready to cut into thongs for +the webs. The less turbulent stretches of Grizzly River were frozen +fast: the actual crossing of the stream was no longer a problem. Beyond +it, however, lay only wintry mountains, covered to a depth of five feet +or more with soft and impassable snow; and until the snow crusted, the +journey to Bradleyburg was as impossible as if they had been cast away +on another sphere. + +Even the rapids of the river had begun to freeze. Often the clouds +broke away at nightfall and let the cold come in,--stabbing, +incredible cold that meant death to any human being that was caught +without shelter in its grasp. The land locked tight: no more could Bill +hunt for his mine in the creek beds. The last of the moose went down to +their yarding grounds, and even the far-off glimpse of a caribou was a +rarity. The marmots had descended into their burros, the snowshoe +rabbit hopped, a lonely figure in the desolation, through the drifts. +Such of the other little people that remained--the weasel and the +ptarmigan--had turned to the hue of the snow itself. + +But now the snowshoe frames were done, wrought from tough spruce, and +the moose hide cut into thongs and stretched across to make the webs. +For a few days Bill and Virginia had been captives in the cabin, and +they held high revels in celebration of their completion. Now they +could go forth into the drifts again. + +It did not mean, however, that the time was ripe for them to take their +sled and mush into Bradleyburg. The snow was still too soft for long +jaunts. They had no tent or pack animals, and they simply would have to +wait for the most favorable circumstances to attempt the journey with +any safety whatever. In the soft snow they could only make, at the +most, ten miles a day; the sled was hard to drag; and the bitter cold of +the nights would claim them quickly. It was not merely an alternative +or a convenience with them to wait for the crust. It was simply +unavoidable. Worst of all, the early winter storms were not done; and a +severe blizzard on the trail would put a swift end to their journey. + +But once more Virginia could search the snow for traces of her lover. +And after the jubilant evening meal--held in celebration of the +completion of the snowshoes--the girl stood in the cabin doorway, +looking a long time into the snow-swept waste. + +It was a clear, icy night, and the Northern Lights were more vivid and +beautiful than she had ever seen them. Bill thought that she was +watching their display; if he had known the real subject of her +thoughts, he would not have come and stood in the doorway with her. He +would have left her to her dreams. + +The whole forest world was wan and ghostly in the mysterious light. The +trees looked strange and dark, perspective was destroyed, the far +mountain gleamed. The streamers seemed to come from all directions, met +with the effect of collision in the sky, and filled the great dome with +uncanny light. Sometimes the flood of radiance would spread and flutter +in waves, like a great, gorgeous canopy stirred by the wind, and +fragments and balls of fire would spatter the breadth of the heavens. +As always, in the face of the great phenomena of nature, Bill was deeply +awed. + +"We're not the only ones to see it," Virginia told him softly. +"Somewhere I think--I feel--that Harold is watching it too. +Somewhere over this snow." + +Bill did not answer, and the girl turned to him in tremulous appeal. + +"Won't you find him for me, Bill?" she cried. "You are so strong, so +capable--you can do anything, anything you try. Won't you find him +and bring him back to me?" + +The man looked down at her, and his face was ashen. Perhaps it was only +the effect of the Northern Lights that made his eyes seem so dark and +strange. + + + +XIII + +One clear, icy night a gale sprang up in the east, and Virginia and Bill +fell to sleep to the sound of its complaint. It swept like a mad thing +through the forest, shattering down the dead snags, shaking the snow +from the limbs of the spruce, roaring and soughing in the tree tops, and +blustering, like an arrogant foe, around the cabin walls. And when Bill +went forth for his morning's woodcutting he found that his snowshoes did +not break through the crust. + +The wind had blown and crusted the drifts during the night. But it did +not mean that he and his companion could start at once down the +settlements. The crust was treacherous and possibly only temporary. +The clouds had overspread again, and any moment the snowfall might +recommence. The fact remained, however, that it was the beginning of +the end. Probably in a few more weeks, perhaps days, it would be safe +to start their journey. Bill was desolated by the thought. + +The morning, however, could not be wasted. It permitted him to make a +dash over to a certain stream further down toward the Yuga River in +search of any sign of the lost mine. The stream itself was frozen to +blue steel, and the snow had covered it to the depth of several feet, +but there might be blazes on the trees or the remnants of a broken cabin +to indicate the location of the lost claim. He had searched this +particular stream once before, but it was one of the few remaining +places that he hadn't literally combed from the springs out of which it +flowed to its mouth. He started out immediately after breakfast. + +It was not to be, however, that Bill should make the search that day. +When about two miles from the cabin he saw, through a rift in the +distant trees, a distinct trail in the snow. + +It was too far to determine what it was. Likely it was only the track +of a wild animal,--a leaping caribou that cut deep into the drifts, or +perhaps a bear, tardy in hibernating. No one could blame him, he +thought, if he didn't go to investigate. It was a matter he would not +even have to mention to Virginia. He stood a moment in the drifts, torn +by an inner struggle. + +Bill was an extremely sensitive man and his senses were trained even to +the half-psychic, mysterious vibrations of the forest life, and he had a +distant premonition of disaster. All of his fondest hopes, his dreams, +all of the inner guardians of his own happiness told him to keep to his +search, to journey on his way and forget he had seen the tracks. Every +desire of Self spoke in warning to him. But Bill Bronson had a higher +law than self. Long ago, in front of the ramshackle hotel in +Bradleyburg, he had given a promise; and he had reaffirmed it in the +gleam of the Northern Lights not many nights before. There was no one +to hold him to his pledged word. There were none that need know; no one +to whom he must answer but his own soul. Yet even while he stood, +seemingly hesitating between the two courses, he already knew what he +must do. + +It was impossible for Bill to be false to himself. He could not disobey +the laws of his own being. He would be steadfast. He turned and went +over to investigate the tracks. + +He was not in the least surprised at their nature. Those that had +ordained his destiny had never written that he should know the good +fortune of finding them merely the tracks of animals. The trail was +distinctly that of snowshoes, and it led away toward the Yuga River. + +Bill glanced once, then turned back toward his cabin. He mushed the +distance quickly. Virginia met him with a look of surprise. + +"I'm planning a longer dash than I had in mind at first," he told her. +"It's important----" he hesitated, and a lie came to his lips. But it +was not such a falsehood as would be marked, in ineffaceable letters, +against him on the Book of Judgement. He spoke to save the girl any +false hopes. "It's about my mine," he said, "and I'll not likely be +back before to-morrow night. It might take even longer than that. +Would you be afraid to stay alone?" + +"There's nothing to be afraid of here," the girl replied. "But it will +be awfully lonesome without you. But if you think you've got a real +clew, I wouldn't ask you to stay." + +"It's a real clew." The man spoke softly, rather painfully. She +wondered why he did not show more jubilation or excitement. "You've got +your pistol and you can bolt the door. I've got plenty of wood cut. +There's kindling too--and you can light a fire in the morning. If you +put a big log on to-night you'll have glowing coals in the morning. It +will be cold getting up, and I wish I could be here to build your fire. +But I don't think I can." + +She gave him a smile and was startled sober in the middle of it. All at +once she saw that the man was pale. He had, then, found a clew of real +importance. "Go ahead, of course," she told him. "We'll fix some lunch +for you right away." + +He took a piece of dried moose meat, a can of beans and another of +marmalade, and these, with a number of dried biscuits, would comprise +his lunch. "Be careful of yourself," he told her at parting. "If I +don't get back to-morrow, don't worry. And pray for me." + +She told him she would, but she did not guess the context of the prayer +his own heart asked. His prayer was for failure, rather than success. + +Following his own tracks, he went directly back to the mysterious +snowshoe trail. He followed swiftly down it, anxious to know his fate +at the first possible instant. He saw that the trail was fresh, made +that morning; he had every reason to think that he could overtake the +man who had made it within a few hours. + +He was not camped on the Yuga,--whoever had come mushing through the +silences that morning. From the river to that point where he had found +the tracks was too great a distance for any musher to cover in the few +hours since dawn. There was nothing to believe but that the stranger's +camp lay within a few miles of his own. He decided, from his frequent +stops, that the man had been hunting; there was nothing to indicate +that he was following a trap line. The frequent tracks in the snow, +however, indicated an unusually good tracking country. He wondered if +strangers--Indians, most likely--had come to poach on his domain. + +He did not catch up with the traveler in the snow. The man had mushed +swiftly. But shortly after the noon hour his keen eyes saw a wisp of +smoke drifting through the trees, and his heart leaped in his breast. +He pushed on, emerging all at once upon a human habitation. + +It was a lean-to, rather than a cabin. Some logs had been used in its +construction, but mostly its walls were merely frames, thatched heavily +with spruce boughs. A fire smoldered in front. And his heart leaped +with indescribable relief when he saw that neither of the two men that +were squatted in the lean-to mouth was the stranger that had passed his +camp six years before. + +Bill had old acquaintance with the type of man that confronted him now. +One of them was Joe Robinson,--an Indian who had wintered in +Bradleyburg a few years before. Bill recognized him at once; he came of +a breed that outwardly, at least, changes little before the march of +time. There was nothing about him to indicate his age. He might be +thirty--perhaps ten years older. Bill felt fairly certain, however, +that he was not greatly older. In spite of legend to the contrary, a +forty-year old Indian is among the patriarchs, and pneumonia or some +other evil child of the northern winter, claims him quickly. + +Joe's blood, he remembered, was about three-fourths pure. His mother +had been a full-blooded squaw, his father a breed from the lake region +to the east. He was slovenly as were most of his kind; unclean; and the +most distinguished traits about him were not to his credit,--a certain +quality of craft and treachery in his lupine face. His yellow eyes were +too close together; his mouth was brutal. His companion, a half-breed +with a dangerous mixture of French, was a man unknown to Bill,--but +the latter did not desire a closer acquaintance. He was a boon +companion and a mate for Joe. + +Yet both of them possessed something of that strange aloofness and +dignity that is a quality of all their people. They showed no surprise +at Bill's appearance. In these mighty forests human beings were as rare +a sight as would be an aeroplane to African savages, yet they glanced at +him seemingly with little interest. It was true, however, that these +men knew of his residence in this immediate section of Clearwater. The +loss of his father's mine was a legend known all over that particular +part of the province; they knew that he sought it yearly, clear up to +the trapping season. When the snows were deep, they were well aware +that he ran trap lines down the Grizzly River. Human inhabitants of the +North are not so many but that they keep good track of one another's +business. + +But they had a better reason still for knowing that he was near. The +prevailing winds blew down toward them from Bill's camp, and sometimes, +through the unfathomable silence of the snowy forest, they had heard the +faint report of his loud-mouthed gun. + +It is doubtful that a white man--even a resident of the forest such as +Bill--could ever have heard as much. He was a woodsman, but he did +not inherit, straight from a thousand woodsman ancestors, perceptions +almost as keen as those of the animals themselves. As it was, he hadn't +had a chance to guess their presence. The wind always carried the sound +of their rifles away from him rather than toward him; besides, their +guns were of smaller caliber and had a less violent report. + +Last of all, they had been careful about shooting. For a certain very +good reason they had no desire for Bill to discover their presence. +There are certain laws, among the northern men, as to trapping rights. +Nothing can be learned in the provincial statute books concerning these +laws. Mostly they are unwritten; but their influence is felt clear +beyond the Arctic Circle. They state quite clearly that when a man lays +down a line of traps, for a certain distance on each side of him the +district is his, and no one shall poach on his preserves. And these +Indians had lately been partners in an undertaking to clear the whole +region of its furs. + +They had no idea but that Bill had discovered their trap lines and had +come to make trouble. For all that they sat so still and aloof, Joe's +mind had flashed to his rifle in the corner of the lean-to, six feet +away. He rather wished it was nearer. His friend Pete the Breed was +considerably reassured by the feel of his long, keen-bladed knife +against his thigh. Knives, after all, were very effective at close +work. The two of them could really afford to be insolent. + +And they were considerably amazed at Bill's first question. He had left +the snowshoe trail that evidently passed in front of the shelter and had +crossed the snow crust to the mouth of the lean-to. "Did one of you +make those tracks out there?" he asked. He felt certain that one of +them had. He only asked to make sure. + +There was a quality in Bill's voice that usually, even from such gentry +as this, won him a quick response. Joe's mind gave over the insolence +it had planned. But for all that Bill's inner triumph was doomed to be +short-lived. + +"No," Joe grunted. "Our partner made it. Follow it down--pretty soon +find another cabin." + + + +XIV + +Bill only had to turn to see the snowy roof of the cabin, two hundred +yards away down the glade. Ordinarily his sharp eyes would have +discerned it long before: perhaps the same inner spirit, encountered +before this eventful day, was trying to protect him still. He turned +without a word, and no man could have read the expression on his +wind-tanned face. He mushed slowly on to his journey's end. + +It was a new cabin, just erected, and smoke drifted faintly from its +chimney. Bill rapped on the door. + +"Come along in," some one answered gruffly. Bill removed his snowshoes, +and the door opened before his hand. + +He did not have to glance twice at the bearded face to know in whose +presence he stood. His inner senses told him all too plainly. Changed +as he was, there was no chance in heaven or earth for a mistake. This +was Harold Lounsbury, the same man who had passed his camp years before, +the same lost lover that Virginia had come to find. + +Even now, Bill thought, it was not too late to withdraw. He could +pretend that he had came to quarrel in regard to his trapping rights. +After one glance he knew that, from the standard of good sense, there +was a full reason for withdrawal. In the years he might even reconcile +his own conscience to the act. Harold leaned forward, but he didn't get +up to meet him. + +Bill scarcely noticed the man's furtive preparations for self-defense. +His rifle lay across his knees, and ostensibly he was in the act of +cleaning it, but in reality he was holding it ready for Bill's first +offensive move. He had known of Bill of old; in the circle in which he +moved--lost utterly to the sight of the men of Bradleyburg--there +were stories in plenty about this stalwart woodsman. For days--ever +since he had come here with his Indians and laid down his trap +line--he had dreaded just such a visit. The real reason for Bill's +coming did not even occur to him. + +Bill saw that the man was frightened. His lips were loose, his eyes +nervous and bright, his hands did not hold quite steady. But all these +observations were at once obliterated and forgotten in the face of a +greater, more profound discovery. In one scrutinizing glance the truth +swept him like a flood. Here was one that the wilderness had crushed in +its brutal grasp. As far as Bill's standards were concerned, it had +broken and destroyed him. + +This did not mean that his health was wasted. His body was strong and +trim: except for a suspicious network of red lines in his cheeks and a +yellow tinge to the whites of his eyes, he would have seemed in superb +physical condition. The evidence lay rather in the expression of his +face, and most of all in the surroundings in which he lived. + +He had been, to some extent at least, a man of refinement and culture +when he had passed through Bill's camp so long ago. He had been +clean-shaven except for a small mustache; courteous, rather patronizing +but still friendly. Now he was like a surly beast. His eyes were +narrow and greedy,--weasel eyes that at once Bill mistrusted and +disliked. A scowl was at his lips, no more were they in a firm, +straight line. The light and glory of upright manhood, if indeed he had +ever possessed it, had gone from him now. He was a friend and a +companion of Joe and Pete: in a measure at least he was of their own +kind. + +When the white man chooses to descend, even the savages of the forest +cannot keep pace with him. Bill knew now why Harold had never written +home. The wilderness had seized him body and soul, but not in the +embrace of love with which it held Bill. Obviously he had taken the +line of least resistance to perdition. He had forgotten the world of +men; in reality he was no longer of it. Bill read the truth--a +familiar truth in the North--in his crafty, stealthy, yet savage face. + +He was utterly unkempt and slovenly. His coarse beard covered his lips, +his matted hair was dull with dirt, his skin was scarcely less dark than +that of the Indians themselves. The nails on his hands were foul; the +floor of the house was cluttered with rubbish and filth. It was a +worthy place, this new-built cabin! Even the desolate wastes outside +were not comparable with this. + +Yet leering through his degeneracy, his identity could not be mistaken. +Here was the man Virginia had pierced the North to seek. + +Harold removed his pipe. "What do you want?" he asked. + +For a moment Bill did not answer. His thoughts were wandering afar. He +remembered, when Harold had passed his camp, there had been something +vaguely familiar, a haunting resemblance to a face seen long before. +The same familiarity recurred to him now. But he pushed it away and +bent his mind to the subject in hand. "You're Lounsbury, of course," he +said. + +"Sure." This man had not forgotten his name, in the years that he was +lost to men. "I ask you again--what do you want?" + +"You've been living on the Yuga. You came up here to trap in my +territory." + +The man's hands stirred, ever so little, and the rifle moved on his +knees. "You don't own this whole country." Then he seemed to +take courage from Bill's impassive face. He remembered his stanch +allies--Pete and Joe. "And what if I did?" + +"You knew I trapped here. You brought up Joe Robinson and a breed with +you. You meant to clean up this winter--all the furs in the country." + +Harold's face drew in a scowl. "And what are you goin' to do about it?" + +"The queer thing is----" and Bill spoke quietly, slowly, "I'm not going +to do anything about it--now." + +Harold's crafty eyes searched his face. He wondered if Bill was +afraid--some way it didn't fit into the stories that he had heard of him +that this woodsman should be afraid. But he might as well go on that +supposition as any other. "Maybe it's a good thing," he said. And for +an instant, something of his lost suavity of speech came back to him. +"Then to what--do I owe the honor of this visit?" + +Bill sighed and straightened. The struggle within himself had, an +instant before, waged more furiously than ever. Why should he not leave +this man to his filthy cabin and his degeneracy and never let Virginia +know of their meeting? He wondered if such had been his secret plan, +concealed in the further recesses of his mind, when he had told her +to-day's expedition concerned his mine,--so that he could withdraw if +he wished. In this course most likely lay the girl's ultimate +happiness, certainly his own. He could steal back; no one would ever +know the truth. The man had sunk beneath her; even he, Bill, was more +worthy of her than this degenerate son of cities and culture. + +Yet who was he to dare to take into his own hands the question of +Virginia's destiny? He had promised to bring her lost lover back to +her; the fact that he was no longer the man she had known could be only +a subterfuge to quiet his own conscience. Besides, the last sentence +that the man had spoken had been singularly portentous. For the instant +he had fallen into his own native speech, and the fact offered +tremendous possibilities. Could it be that the old days were not +entirely forgotten, that some of the virtues that Virginia had loved in +him still dwelt in his degenerate hulk, ready to be wakened again? He +had heard of men being redeemed. And all at once he knew his course. + +So intent was he upon his thoughts that he scarcely heard the sound of +steps in the snow outside the cabin door, then the noise of some one on +the threshold in the act of removing snowshoes. + +The task that confronted him now was that, no more and no less, to which +he had consecrated his life,--to bring happiness to the girl he loved. +There was work to do with this man. But even yet he might be redeemed; +with Bill's aid his manhood might return to him. His own love for the +girl tore at his heart, the image of his life stretched lonely and drear +before him, yet he could not turn aside. + +"I didn't come to see you about trapping. I came--about Virginia +Tremont." + +His eyes were on Harold's face, and he saw the man start. He had not +forgotten the name. Just for an instant his face was stark pale and +devoid of expression. "Virginia!" he cried. "My God, what do you know +about her?" + +But he didn't wait the answer. All at once he looked, with an annoyance +and anxiety that at first Bill could not understand, toward the door of +the cabin. The door knob slightly turned. + +Bill wheeled, with a sense of vast and impending drama. Harold swore, a +single brutal oath, then laughed nervously. An Indian squaw--for all +her filth an untidiness a fair representative of her breed--pushed +through the door and came stolidly inside. She walked to the back of +the cabin and began upon some household task. + +Bill's face was stern as the gray cliffs of the Selkirks when he turned +again to Harold. "Is that your woman?" he asked simply. + +Harold did not reply. He had not wished this man, emissary from his old +acquaintances of his native city, to know about Sindy. He retained that +much pride, at least. But the answer to Bill's question was too +self-evident for him to attempt denial. He nodded, shrugging his +shoulders. + +Bill waited an instant; and his voice when he spoke again was singularly +low and flat. "Did you marry her?" + +Harold shrugged again. "One doesn't marry squaws," he replied. + +Once more the silence was poignant in the wretched cabin. "I came to +find Harold Lounsbury, a gentleman," Bill went on in the same strange, +flat voice, "and I find--a squaw man." + +* * * * * + +Bill realized at once that this new development did not in the least +affect his own duty. His job had been to find Harold and return him to +Virginia's arms. It was not for him to settle the girl's destiny. For +all he had spent his days in the great solitudes of nature he knew +enough of life to know that women do not give their love to angels. +Rather they love their men as much for their weaknesses as for their +virtues. This smirch in Harold's life was a question for the two of +them to settle between them. + +It did, however, complicate the work of regeneration. Bill had known +squaw men before, and few of them had ever regenerated. Usually they +were men that could not stand the test of existence by their own toil: +either from failure or weakness they took this sordid line of least +resistance. From thence on they did not struggle down the trap line in +the bitter winter days. They laid comfortably in their cabins and their +squaws tended to such small matters. It was true that the squaws wore +out quickly; sometimes they needed beating, and at about forty they +withered and died, or else the blizzard caught them unprotected in the +forest,--and then it became necessary to select another. This was an +annoyance, but not a tragedy. One was usually as faithful and as +industrious as another. + +It was perfectly evident that Sindy had been at work setting out traps. +Bill stared at the woman and for the moment he did not see the little +sparks growing to flame in Harold's eyes. + +"What did you say?" he asked, menacing. He had caught a word that has +come to be an epithet in the North. + +But by taking it up Harold made a severe strategical error. Bill had +never hesitated, by the light of an ancient idiom, to call a spade a +spade. Also he always had good reasons before he took back his words. +"I said," he repeated clearly, "that I'd found--a squaw man." + +Harold's muscles set but immediately relaxed again. He shrugged once. +"And is it anybody's business but my own?" he asked. + +"It hadn't ought to be, but it is," was the answer. "It's my business, +and somebody else's too." he turned to the woman. "Listen, Sindy, and +give me a polite answer. You're Joe Robinson's sister, aren't you?" + +The Indian looked up, nodded, then went back to her work. + +"Then you left Buckshot Dan--to come here and live with this white +man?" + +Harold turned to her with a snarl. "Don't answer him, Sindy. It's none +of his business." Then his smoldering eyes met Bill's. "Now we've +talked enough. You can go." + +"Wait!" Something in the grave face and set features silenced the squaw +man. "But it's true--we have talked just about enough. I've got one +question. Lounsbury--do you think, by any chance--you've got any +manhood left? Do you think you're rotten clear through?" + +Harold leaped then, savage as a wolf, and his rifle swung in his arms. +Instantly Bill's form, impassive before, seemed simply to waken with +life. There was no rage in his face, only determination; but his arm +drove out fast as a serpent's head. Seemingly with one motion he +wrenched the gun from the man's hand and sent him spinning against the +wall. + +Before even his body crashed against the logs, Bill had whirled to face +the squaw. He knew these savage women. It would be wholly in character +for her whip a gleaming knife from her dress and spring to her man's +aid. But she looked up as if with indifference, and once more went back +to her work. + +Bill was considerably heartened. At least he didn't have to deal with +the savage love that sometimes the Indian women bore the whites. Sindy +was evidently wholly indifferent to Harold's fate. The match obviously +had not been a great success. + +For an instant Harold lay still, crumpled on the floor; then his +bleeding hands fumbled at his belt. Once more Bill sprang and snatched +him to his feet. The holster, however, was empty. + +"No more of that," Bill cautioned. The man's eyes smoldered with +resentment, but for the moment he was cowed. "Before you start anything +more, hear what I've got to offer you." His voice lowered, and the +words came rather painfully. "It's your one chance, Lounsbury--to +come back. Virginia Tremont has come into the North, looking for you. +She's at my camp. She wants to take you back with her." + +Lounsbury's breath caught with a strange, sobbing sound. "Virginia--up +here?" he cried. "Does she know about--this----" He indicated the +cabin interior, and all it meant, with one sweep of his arm. + +"Of course not. How could she? Whether you tell her or not is a matter +for you and she to decide. She's come to find you--and bring you +back." + +"My God! To the States?" + +"Of course." + +For the instant the black wrath had left his face, and his thought swung +backward to his own youth,--to the days he had known Virginia in a +far-off city. He was more than a little awed at this manifestation of +her love. He supposed that she had forgotten him long since and had +never dreamed that she would search for him here. + +Once more the expression of his face changed, and Bill couldn't have +explained the wave of revulsion that surged through him. He only knew a +blind desire to tear with his strong fingers those leering lips before +him. Harold was lost in insidious speculations. He remembered the +girl's beauty, the grace and litheness of her form, the holy miracle of +her kisses. Opposite him sat his squaw,--swarthy, unclean, shapeless, +comely as squaws go but as far from Virginia as night was from day. +Perhaps it wasn't too late yet---- + +But at that instant he heard the East Wind on the roof, and he recalled +that the old problem of existence faced him still. He had solved it up +here. His cabin was warm, he was full-fed; the squaw grubbed his living +for him out of the frozen forests. He did not want to be forced to face +the competition of civilized existence again. He was dirty, care-free; +his furs supplied food and clothes for him and certain rags for her, and +filled his cupboard with strong drink. He remembered that the girl had +had no money, and that he had come first to the North to find gold. If +he had succeeded, if his poke were heavy with the yellow metal, he could +go back to his city and take up his old life anew, but he couldn't begin +at the bottom. With wealth at his command he might even find a more +desirable woman than Virginia: perhaps the years had changed her even as +himself. There was no need of dreaming further about the matter. Only +one course, considering the circumstances, lay before him. + +"You're very kind," he said at last. "But I won't go. Tell her you +didn't find me." + +Bill straightened and sighed. "Make no mistake about that, Lounsbury," +he answered. "You're going with me--" and then he spoke softly, a pause +between each word--"if I have to drag you there through the snow. I +was told to bring you back, and I'm going to do it." + +"You are, eh?" Harold scowled and tried to find courage to attack this +man again. Yet his muscles hung limp, and he couldn't even raise his +eyes to meet those that looked so steadfastly at him now. + +"Sindy can go home to Buckshot Dan. He'll take her back--you stole +her from him. And you, Lounsbury, rotten as you are, are coming with +me. God knows I hope she'll drive you from her door; but I'm going to +bring you, just the same." + +Harold's eyes glowed, and for the moment his brain was too busy with +other considerations openly to resent the words. Then his face grew +cunning. It was all plain enough: Bill loved Virginia himself. Through +some code of ethics that was almost incredible to Harold, he was willing +to sacrifice his own happiness for hers. And the way to pay for the +rough treatment he had just had, treatment that he couldn't, at present +at least, avenge in kind, was to win the girl away from him. The thing +was already done. She loved him enough to search even the frozen realms +of the North for him: simply by a little tenderness, a little care, he +could command her to love to the full again. The fact that Bill wanted +her made her infinitely more desirable to him. + +"You won't tell her--about Sindy?" + +"Not as long as you're decent. That's for you to settle for +yourself--whether she finds out about her." + +Harold believed him. While he himself would have used the smirch as a +weapon against his rival, he knew that Bill meant what he said. "I'll +go," he announced. "If she's at the Gray Lake cabin, we've got plenty +of time to make it before dark." + + + +XV + +Harold Lounsbury found to his surprise that they were not to start at +once. It soon became evident that Bill had certain other matters on his +mind. + +"Build a fire and put on some water to heat--fill up every pan you +have," he instructed Sindy. He himself began to cram their little stove +with wood. Harold watched with ill-concealed anxiety. + +"What's that for?" he asked at last. + +Bill straightened up and faced him. "You didn't think I was going to +take you looking like you do, do you--into Virginia's presence? The +first thing on the program is--a bath." + +Harold flushed: the red glow was evident even through the sooty +accumulation on his face. "It seems to me you're going a little outside +your authority as Miss Tremont's representative. I don't know that I +need to have any hillbilly tell me when I need a bath." + +"Yes?" Bill's eyes twinkled--for the first time during their talk. +"Hillbilly is right--in contrast to a cultured gentleman of cities. +But let me correct you. You may not know it, but I do. And you need +one now." He turned once more to Sindy. "And see what you can do about +this gentleman's clothes, too; if he's got any clean underwear or any +other togs, load 'em out." + +"Anything else?" Harold asked sarcastically. + +"Several things. Have you got any kind of a razor?" + +"No. I don't want one either." + +"Better look around and find one. If you don't, I'll be obliged to +shave you with my jackknife--and it will be inclined to pull. It's +sharp enough for skinning grizzlies but not for that growth of yours. +And I'll try to trim your hair up for you a little, too. When you +bathe, bathe all over--don't spare your face or your hair. Water may +seem strange at first, but you'll get used to it. And I'll go over and +sit with Joe Robinson and his friend until you are ready. The +surroundings are more appetizing. If you can polish yourself well in an +hour, we'll make it through to-night." + +Harold's heart burned, but he acquiesced. Then Bill turned and left him +to his ablutions. + +Less than an hour later Harold came mushing up the lean-to where Bill +waited. And the hour had wrought a profound and amazing change in the +man's appearance. He had conscientiously gone to work to cleanse +himself, and he had succeeded. His hair, dull before, was a glossy +dark-brown now; he had shaved off the matted growth about his lips, +leaving only a small, neat mustache; his hair was trimmed and carefully +parted. The man's skin had also resumed its natural shade. + +For the first time Bill realized that Harold was really a rather +handsome man. His features were much more regular than Bill's own. The +lips were fine,--just a little too fine, in fact, giving an intangible +but unmistakable hint of cruelty. The only thing that had not changed +was his eyes. They were as smoldering and wolfish as ever. + +By Bill's instructions he had loaded his back with blankets, his pistol +was at his belt, and he carried a thirty-five rifle in the hollow of his +arm. + +"I'm ready," he said gruffly. + +"I'm glad to hear it." Bill glanced at his watch. "It's late, but by +mushing fast we can make it in by dark. I told Virginia that I'd likely +need an extra day at least--she'll think I've worked fast. She'd know +it--if she had seen how you looked an hour ago. I was counting on +finding you somewhere along the Yuga." + +"We moved up--a few weeks ago." + +"There's one other thing, before we start. I want you to tell these +understrappers of yours to take that squaw and clear out of Clearwater. +Tell 'em to take her back where she belongs--to Buckshot Dan. He'll +take her in, all right. I've been working in Miss Tremont's interests +until now--now I'm working in my own. This happens to be my trapping +country. If I come back in a few weeks and find them still here there's +apt to be some considerable shedding of a bad mixture of bad blood. In +other words--skin out while you yet can." + +The half-breeds, understanding perfectly, looked to Harold for +confirmation. The latter had already learned several lessons of +importance this day, and he didn't really care to learn any more. His +answer was swift. + +"Go, as he says," Harold directed. + +Their dark faces grew sullen. The idea was evidently not to their +favor. Then one asked a question in the Indian vernacular. + +Bill was alert at once. Here was a situation that he couldn't handle. +Harold glanced once at his face, saw by his expression that he was +baffled, and answered in the same language. From the tone of his voice +Bill would have said that he uttered a promise. + +Once more the Indian questioned, and Harold hesitated an instant, as if +seeking an answer. It seemed to the other white man that his eye fell +to the rifle that Bill carried. Then he spoke again, gesturing. The +gesture that he made was four fingers, as if in an instinctive motion, +held before the Indian's eyes. Then he announced that he was ready to +go. + +The afternoon was almost done when they started out. The distant trees +were already dim; phantoms were gathered in the spaces between the +trunks. The two mushed swiftly through the snow. + +Bill had enough memory of that glance to his rifle to prefer to walk +behind, keeping a close eye on Harold. Yet he could see no reason on +earth why the man should make any attempt upon his life. The trip was +to Harold's own advantage. + +He had plenty of time to think in the long walk to his cabin. Only the +snowy forest lay about him: the only sound was the crunch of their shoes +in the snow, and there was nothing to distract him. Now that it was +evident that Harold had no designs upon his life, he walked with bowed +head, a dark luster in his eyes. + +He had fulfilled his contract and found the missing man. Even now he +was showing him the way to Virginia. He wondered if he had been a fool +to have sacrificed his own happiness for an unworthy rival. The world +grew dreary and dark about him. + +He had tried to hide his own tragedy by a mask of brusqueness, even a +grim humor when he had given his orders to Harold. But he hadn't +deceived himself. His heart had been leading within him. Now he even +felt the beginnings of bitterness, but he crushed them down with all the +power of his will. He mustn't let himself grow bitter, at least,--black +and hating and jealous. Rather he must follow his star, believe yet +in its beauty and its fidelity, and never look at it through glasses +darkly. He must take what fate had given him and be content,--a few +wonderful weeks that could never come again. He had had his fling of +happiness; the day was at an end. + +It was true. As if by a grim symbolism, darkness fell over Clearwater. +The form in front of him grew dim, ghostly, yet well he knew its +reality. The distant trunks blurred, faded, and were obliterated; the +trees, swept and hidden by the snow, were like silent ghosts that faded; +the whole vista was like a scene in a strange and tragic dream. + +The silence seemed to press him down like a malignant weight. The +mysterious and eerie sorrow of the northern night went home to him as +never before. + +He knew all too well the outcome of this day's work. There would be a +few little moments of gratitude from Virginia; perhaps in the joy of the +reunion she would even forget to give him this. He would try to smile +at her, to wish her happiness; he would fight to make his voice sound +like his own. She would take Harold to her heart the same as ever. He +had not the least hope of any other consummation. Now that Harold was +shaved and clean he was a handsome youth, and all the full sweep of her +old love would go to him in an instant. In fact, her love had already +gone to him--across thousands of miles of weary wasteland--and +through that love she had come clear up to these terrible wilds to find +him. + +His speech, his bearing seemed already changed. He was remembering that +he was a gentleman, one of Virginia's own kind. He already looked the +part. Perhaps he was already on the way toward true regeneration. +It was better that he should be, for Virginia's happiness. Her +happiness--this had been the motive and the theme of Bill's work clear +through: it was his one consolation now. In a few days the snow crust +would be firm enough to trust, and hand in hand they would go down toward +Bradleyburg. He would see the joy in their faces, the old luster of +which he himself had dreamed in Virginia's eyes. But it would not flow +out to him. The holy miracle would not raise him from the dead. He +would serve her to the last, and when at length they saw the roofs and +tottering chimneys of Bradleyburg she would go out of his work and out +of his life, never to return. In their native city Harold Lounsbury +would take his old place. He's have his uncle's fortune to aid him in +is struggle for success. The test of existence was not so hard down +there; he might be wholly able to hold Virginia's respect and love, and +make her happy. Such was Bill's last prayer. + +They were nearing the cabin now. They saw the candlelight, like a pale +ghost, in the window. Virginia was still up, reading, perhaps, before +the fire. She didn't guess what happiness Bill was bringing her across +the snow. + +Bill could fancy her, bright eyes intent, face a little thoughtful, +perhaps, but tender as the eyes of angels. He could see her hair +burnished in the candlelight, the soft, gracious beauty of her face. +Her lips, too,--he couldn't forget those lips of hers. A shudder of +cold passed over his frame. + +He strode forward and put his hand on Harold's arm. "Wait," he +commanded. "There's one thing more." + +Harold paused, and the darkness was not so dense but that this face was +vaguely revealed, sullen and questioning. + +"There's one thing more," Bill repeated again. "I've brought you here. +I've given you your chance--for redemption. God knows if I had my +choice I'd have killed you first. She's not going to know about the +squaw, unless you tell her. These matters are all for you to decide, I +won't interfere." + +He paused, and Harold waited. And his eager ears caught the faint throb +of feeling in the low, almost muttered notes. + +"But don't forget I'm there," he went on. "I work for her--until she +goes out of my charge and I'm her guide, her protector, the guardian of +her happiness. That's all I care about--her happiness. I don't know +whether or not I did wrong to bring a squaw man to her--but if you're +man enough to hold her love and make her happy, it doesn't matter. But +I give--one warning." + +His voice changed. It took on a quality of infinite and immutable +prophecy In the darkness and the silence, the voice might have come +from some higher realm, speaking the irrevocable will of the forest +gods. + +"She'll be more or less in your power at times, up here. I won't be +with you every minute. But if you take one jot of advantage of that +fact--either in word or deed--I'll break you and smash you and kill +you in my hands!" + +He waited an instant for the words to go home. Harold shivered as if +with cold. And because in his mind already lay the vision of their +meeting, he uttered one more sentence of instructions. He was a strong +man, this son of the forest--and no man dared deny the trait--but he +could not steel himself to see that first kiss. The sight of the girl, +fluttering and enraptured in Harold's arms, the soft loveliness of her +lips on his, was more than he could bear. + +"Go on in," he said. "She's waiting for you." + +And she was. She had waited six years, dreaming all the while of his +return. Harold went in, and left his savior to the doubtful mercy of +the winter forest, the darkness that had crept into his heart, and the +hush that might have been the utter silence of death itself had it not +been for the image of a faint, enraptured cry, the utterance of dreams +come true, within the cabin door. + + + +XVI + +When Virginia heard the tramp of feet on her threshold she didn't dream +but that Bill had returned a day earlier than he had planned. Her heart +gave a queer little flutter of relief. The cabin had been lonely +to-night, the silence had oppressed her; most of all she had dreaded the +long night without the comforting reassurance of his presence. She +wouldn't have admitted, even to herself, that her comfort was so +dependent upon this man. And she sprang up, joyously as a bird +springing from a bough, to welcome him. + +The next instant she stopped, appalled. The door did not open, the +steps did not cross her threshold. Instead, knuckles rapped feebly on +the door. + +Even in a city, it is a rather discomforting experience for a girl, +alone in a home at night, to answer a tap on the door. Here in this +awful silence and solitude she was simply and wholly terrified. She +hadn't dreamed that there was a stranger within many miles of the cabin. +For an instant she didn't know what to do. The knock sounded again. + +But Virginia had acquired a certain measure of self-discipline in these +weary weeks, and her mind at once flashed to her pistol. Fortunately +she had not taken it from her belt, and she had full confidence in her +ability to shoot it quickly and well. Besides, she remembered that her +door was securely bolted. + +"Who's there?" she asked. "Is it you, Bill?" + +"It's not Bill," the answer came. "But he's here." + +The first thought that came to her was that Bill had been injured, hurt +in some adventure in the snow, and men had brought him back to the +cabin. Something that was like a sickness surged through her frame. +But an instant more she knew that, had he been injured, there would have +been no wayfarers to find him and bring him in. There was only one +remaining possibility: that this man was one whom Bill had gone out to +find and who had returned with him. + +The thought was so startling, so fraught with tremendous possibilities +that for a moment she seemed to lose all power of speech or action. + +"Who is it?" she asked again, steadily as she could. + +And the answer came strange and stirring through the heavy door. "It's +I--Harold Lounsbury. Bill told me to come." + +Virginia was oppressed and baffled as if in a mysterious dream. For the +moment she stood still, trying to quiet her leaping heart and her +fluttering nerves. Yet she knew she had to make answer. She knew that +she must find out whether this voice spoke true--whether or not it was +her lost lover, returned to her at last. + +Yet there could be no mistake. The voice was the same that she +remembered of old. It was as if it had spoken out of the dead years. +Her hands clasped at her breast, then she walked to the threshold and +opened the door. + +Harold Lounsbury stepped through, blinking in the candlelight. +Instinctively the girl flung back, giving him full right of way and +staring as if he were a ghost. He turned to her, half apologetic. +"Bill told me to come," he said. + +The man stood with arms limp at his side, and a great surge of mingled +emotions swept the girl as in a flood. She was pale as a ghost, and her +hands trembled when she stretched them out. "Harold," she murmured +unsteadily. She tried to smile. "Is it really you, Harold?" + +"It's I," he answered. "We've come together--at last." + +The words seemed to rally her scattered faculties. The dreamlike +quality of the scene at once dissolved. Utter and bewildering surprise +is never an emotion that can long endure; its very quality makes for +brevity. Already some leveling, cool sense within her had begun to +accept the fact of his presence. + +Instinctively her eyes swept his face and form. All doubt was past: +this man was unquestionably Harold. Yet she was secretly and vaguely +shocked. Her first impression was one of change: that the years had +some way altered him,--other than the natural changes that no living +creature may escape. + +In reality his face had aged but little. He had worn just such a +mustache when he went away. Perhaps his eyes were changed: for the +moment she thought that they were, and the change repelled her and +estranged her. His mouth was not quite right, either; his form, though +powerful, had lost some of its youthful trimness. + +It seemed to her, for one fleeting instant, that there was a brutality +in his expression that she had never seen before. But at once the +reaction came. Of course these northern forests had changed him. He +had fought with the cold and the snow, with all the primeval forces of +nature: he had simply hardened and matured. It was true that the calm +strength of Bill's face was not to be seen in his. Nevertheless he was +clean, stalwart, and his embarrassment was a credit to him rather than a +discredit. + +This thought was the beginning of the reaction that in a moment grasped +her and held her. The truth suddenly flamed clear and bright: that +Harold Lounsbury had returned to her arms. Her search was over. She +had won. He stood before her, alive and well. He had come back to her. +Her effort had been crowned with success. + +He was her old lover, in the flesh. Of course she would experience some +shock on first meeting him, see some changes; but they were nothing that +should keep her from him. He seized her hands in both of his. +"Virginia," he cried. "My God, I can't believe it's you!" + +She remained singularly cool in the ardor of this cry. "Why didn't you +write?" she asked. "Why didn't you come home?" + +The questions, instead of embarrassing him further, put Harold at his +ease. He was on safe grounds now. He had prepared for just these +queries, on the long walk to the cabin. + +"I did write," he cried. "Why didn't you answer?" + +The words came glib to his lips. She stared at him in amazement. "You +did--you say you wrote to me?" she asked him, deeply moved. + +"Wrote? I wrote a dozen times. And I never received a word--except +from Jules Nathan." + + +"But Jules Nathan--Jules Nathan is dead!" + +"He is?" But Harold's surprise was feigned. This was one piece of news +that had trickled through the wastes to him,--of the death of Jules +Nathan, a man known to them both. It was safe to have heard from +him. The contents of the letter could never be verified. "He told +me--after I'd written many times, and never got an answer--that you +were engaged to be married--to a Chicago man. I thought you'd forgotten +me. I thought you'd been untrue." + +Virginia held hard on her faculties and balanced his words. She had +known Chicago men during the six years that she had moved in the most +exalted social circles of her own city. The story held water, even if +she had been inclined to doubt it. She knew it was always easy for an +engagement rumor to start and be carried far, when a prominent girl was +involved. "I didn't get your letters," she told him. "Are you sure you +addressed them right----" + +"I thought so----" + +"And you didn't get mine----" + +"No--not after the first few days. I changed my address--but I told +you of the change in a letter. I never heard from you after that." + +"Then it's all been a misunderstanding--a cruel mistake. And you +thought I had forgotten----" + +"I thought you'd married some one else. I couldn't believe it when Bill +came to my cabin to-day and told me you were here--I've been trapping +over toward the Yuga. And now--we're together at last." + +But curiously these last words cost her her self-possession. Instantly +she was ill at ease. The reestablishment of their old relation could +only come gradually: although she had not anticipated it, the six years +of separation had wrought their changes. She felt that she needed time +to become adjusted to him--just as a man who has been blind needs time +to become adjusted to his vision. And at once their proximity, in this +lonely cabin, was oddly embarrassing. + +"Where's Bill?" she asked. She turned to the door and called. "Bill, +where are you?" + +His voice seemed quite his own when he answered from the stillness of +the night. "I'll be in in a moment--I was just getting a load of +wood." + +It wasn't true. He had been standing dumb and inert in the darkness, +his thoughts wandering afar. But he began hastily to fill his arms with +fuel. Virginia turned back to her new-found lover. + +She was a little frightened by the expression on his face. His eyes +were glowing, the color had risen in his cheeks, he was curiously eager +and breathless. "Before he comes," he urged. "We've been apart so +long----" + +His hands reached out and seized hers. He drew her toward him. She +didn't resist: she felt a deep self-annoyance that she didn't crave his +kiss. She fought away her unwonted fear; perhaps when his lips met hers +everything would be the same again, and her long-awaited happiness would +be complete. He crushed her to him, and his kiss was greedy. + +Yet it was cold upon her lips. She struggled from his arms, and he +looked at her in startled amazement. In fact, she was amazed at +herself. When she had time to think it over, alone in her bed at night, +she decided that her desperate struggle had been merely an attempt to +free herself from his arms before Bill came in and saw them. She only +knew that she didn't want this comrade of hers, this stalwart forester, +to see her in Harold's embrace. But in the second of the act she had +known a blind fear, almost a repulsion, and an overwhelming desire to +escape. + +She turned with a radiant smile to welcome the tall form that strode in, +looking neither to the right nor left, arms heaped with wood. She +found, much to her surprise, that she felt more at ease after Bill came +in. She asked him how he had happened to get trace of the missing man; +he answered in an even, almost expressionless tone that someway puzzled +her. Then she launched desperately into that old life-saver in moments +of embarrassment,--a discussion of the fates and fortunes of mutual +acquaintances. + +"But I'm tired, Harold," she told him in an hour. "The surprise of +seeing you has been--well, too much for me. I believe I'll go to my +room. It's behind that curtain." + +Harold rose eagerly as if something was due him in the moment of +parting; Bill got up in respect to her. But her glance was impartial. +A moment later she was gone. + +The first night Bill and Harold made bunks on the floor of the cabin, +but health and propriety decreed that such an arrangement could only be +temporary. They could not put their trust in an immediate deliverance. +They might be imprisoned for weeks to come. And Bill solved the problem +with a single suggestion. + +They would build a small cabin for the two men to sleep in. Many times +he had erected such a structure by his own efforts; the two of them +could push it up in a few hours' work. + +Harold had no fondness for toil of this kind, but he couldn't see how he +could well avoid it. His indifference to his own fate was quite past by +now. The single moment before Bill had entered the cabin door had +thoroughly wakened his keenest interests and desires; already, he +thought, he had entirely re-established his relations with Virginia. He +was as anxious to make good now as she was to have him. Already he +thought himself once more a man and a gentleman of the great outside +world. His vanity was heightened; the girl's beauty had increased, if +anything, since his departure; and he was more than ready to go through +the adventure to its end. And he didn't dare run the risk of +displeasing Virginia so soon after their meeting. + +He knew how she stood on the matter. He had ventured to make one +protest,--and one had been quite enough. "I'm really not much good at +cabin building," he had said. "But I don't see why Bill shouldn't go +work at it. I suppose you hired him for all camp work." + +For an instant Virginia had stared at him in utter wonder, and then a +swift look of grave displeasure had come into her face. "You forget, +Harold, that it was Bill that brought you back. The thirty days he was +hired for were gone long ago." But she had softened at once. "It's +your duty to help him, and I'll help him too, if I can." + +They had cut short logs, cleaned away the snow, and with the strength of +their shoulders lifted the logs one upon another. With his ax Bill +cunningly cut the saddles, carving them down so that the rainfall would +drain down the corners rather than lie in the cavities and thus rot the +timbers. Planks were cut for the roof, and tree boughs laid down for +the floor. + +The floor space was only seven feet long by eight wide--just enough +for two bunks--and the walls were about as high as a sleeping-car +berth. The work was done at the day's end. + +In the next few days Bill mostly left the two together, trying to find +his consolation in the wild life of the forest world outside the cabin. +Harold had taken advantage of his absence and had made good progress: +Virginia's period of readjustment was almost complete. She was prepared +to make the joys of the future atone for the sorrows of the past. + +Harold was still good-looking, she thought; his speech, though breaking +careless at times, was attractive and charming; and most of all his +love-making was more arduous than ever. In the city life that they +planned he would fit in well; his uncle would help him to get on his +feet. Fortunately for their peace of mind, they did not know the real +truth,--that Kenly Lounsbury himself was at that moment struggling +with financial problems that were about to overwhelm him. She told +herself, again and again, that her life would be all that she had +dreamed, that her fondest hopes had come true. A few weeks more of the +snow and the waste places,--and then they could start life anew. + +Yet there was something vaguely sinister, something amiss in the fact +that she found herself repeating the thought so many times. It was +almost as if she were trying to reassure herself, to drown out some +whispering inner voice of doubt and fear. She couldn't get away from a +haunting feeling that, in an indescribable way, her relations with +Harold had changed. + +His ardent speeches didn't seem to waken sufficient response in her own +breast. She lacked the ecstasy, the wonder that she had known when, as +a girl, she had first become engaged to Harold. They embarrassed her +rather than thrilled her; they didn't seem quite real. Perhaps she had +simply grown older. That was it: some of her girlish romance had died a +natural death. She would give his man her love, would take his in +return, and they would have the usual, normal happiness of marriage. +All would come out well, once they got away from the silence and the +snows. + +Perhaps his large and extravagant speeches were merely out of place in +the stark reality of the wilderness; they could thrill her as ever when +she returned to her native city. Likely he could dance, after a little +practice, as well as ever; fill his niche in society and give her all +the happiness that woman has a right to expect upon this imperfect +earth. There was certainly nothing to be distressed over now. They had +been brought together as if by a miracle; any haunting doubt and fear, +too subtle and intangible to put into words or even concrete thought, +would quickly pass away. + +She did not, however, go frequently into his arms. Someway, an +embarrassment, a sense of inappropriateness and unrest always assailed +her when he tried to claim the caresses that he felt were his due. And +at first she could not find a plausible explanation for her reserve. +Perhaps these tendernesses were also out of place in the grim reality of +the North; more likely, she decided, it was a subtle sense, the guardian +angel of her own integrity, warning her that too intimate relations with +that man must be avoided, isolated and exiled as they were. "Not now, +Harold," she would tell him. "Not until we're established again--at +home." + +Finally his habits and his actions did not quite meet with her approval. +The first of these was only a little thing,--a failure to keep shaved. +Shaving in these surroundings, without a mirror, with a battered old +razor that had lain long in the cabin and had to be sharpened on a +whetstone, where every drop of hot water used had to be laboriously +heated on the stove, was an annoying chore at best: besides, there was +no one to see him except Virginia and the guide. The stubble matted and +grew on his lips and jowls. Bill, in contrast, shaved with greatest +care every evening. A more important point was that his avoidance of +his proper share of Bill's daily toil. He neither hewed wood nor drew +water, nor made any apologies for the omission. Rather he gave the idea +that Bill's services were due him by rights. + +There was a little explosion, one afternoon, when he ventured to advise +her in regard to her relations with Bill. The forester himself was +cutting wood outside the cabin: they heard the mighty ring of his ax +against the tough spruce. Virginia was at work preparing their simple +evening meal; Harold was stretched on her own cot, the curtain drawn +back, his arms under his head, his unshaven face curiously dark and +unprepossessing. + +"You must begin to keep on your own ground--with Bill, Virginia," he +began in the silence. + +Virginia turned to him, a wave of hot resentment flowing clear to her +finger tips. If he had seen her flushed, intent face he would have +backed ground quickly. Unfortunately he was gazing quietly out the +window. + +"What do you mean?" she asked. + +Wholly aware of her own displeasure, wondering at it and anxious to hide +it, she was able to control her voice. Its tone gave no key to her +thoughts. Harold answered her, still unwarned: + +"I mean--keep him at his distance. He's a different sort from you and +I. I don't mean he isn't all right, as far as his kind goes--but he +hasn't had the advantages." Harold spoke tolerantly, patronizingly. +"Those fellows are apt to take advantage of any familiarity. They're +all right if you keep 'em in their place--but they're mighty likely to +break lose from it any minute. I'm sorry you ever let him call you +Virginia." + +Virginia's eyes blazed. If it is one of the precepts of good breeding +ever to let anger control the spirit, Virginia had made a breach indeed. +Her little hands clenched, and she had a fierce and insane desire to +beat those babbling lips with her fists. Then she struggled to regain +her composure. + +"Listen, Harold," she began at last coldly. "I don't care to hear any +more such talk as that." + +The man looked up then. He saw the righteous indignation in her face. +He felt the rising tide of his own anger. "I'm only trying to warn +you----" he began weakly. + +"And I don't need or want any such warnings. I don't care what you +think of Bill--for that matter, you can be sure that Bill doesn't care +at all either--but I'll ask you to keep your thoughts to yourself. +Oh, if you only knew--how good, how strong, how true he has been--how +tender he has been to me----" + +Harold was torn with jealous rage, and in his fury and malice he made +the worst mistake of all. "I hope he hasn't been _too_ tender----" he +suggested viciously. + +But at once he was on his feet, begging her pardon. He knew that he had +made a dangerous and regrettable mistake. She forgave him--forgiveness +was as much a part of her as her graciousness or her loyalty--but she +didn't immediately forget. And Harold sat long hours with smoldering +eyes and clenched hands, a climbing fire and fury in his brain, while +the malice and resentment and jealousy that he held toward Bill grew to +hatred, bitter and black. + + + +XVII + +The addition of Harold to their number did not influence, for long, +Virginia's old relations with Bill. They were comrades as ever; they +talked and chatted around the little stove in the hushed nights; they +played their favorite melodies on the battered phonograph, and they took +the same joyous, exciting expeditions into the wild. These latter +diversions were looked upon with no favor by Harold, but he couldn't see +how he could reasonably interfere. Nor did he care, at first, to +accompany them. He had no love for the snow-swept wastes. + +The crust on the snow was steadily strengthening; most the days were +clear and excessively cold. The journey could be undertaken soon. Only +a few more days of the adventure remained. + +Their excursions at first were a matter of pleasure only, but by one +unexpected stroke from the sinister powers of the wild they were +suddenly made necessary. Her first knowledge of the blow came when Bill +entered her cabin to build the morning fire. + +She had not yet risen. It had always been her practice to wait till the +room was snug and warm before she dressed. She was asleep when Bill +came in, and aroused by his footsteps, she was aware of the fleeting +memory of unhappy dreams. She couldn't have told just what they +were. It seemed to her that some unseen danger had been menacing her +security,--that evil and dangerous forces were conspiring and making +war against her. Hidden foes were in ambush, ready to pounce forth. + +The danger seemed different and beyond that which she had faced every +day: snow and cold and the other inanimate forces of the wild. And she +was vastly relieved to hear Bill's voice calling her from sleep. + +But the next instant her fears returned--not the ghastly fear of evil +dreams but of actual and real disaster. It wasn't Bill's usual custom +to waken her. He wanted her to spend as many as possible of the +monotonous hours in sleep. There was a subdued quality in his voice, +too, that once or twice she had heard before. She drew aside the +curtain, far enough to see his face. There was no paleness, however, +nor no fear, for all that his eyes were sober. + +"You'd better get up as soon as you can, Virginia," he said. "We've got +to take a real hunt to-day." + +"Hunt? After meat?" + +"Yes. We're face to face with a new problem. The pack came by last +night--the wolf pack. As usual, when men are near, they didn't make a +sound. I didn't hear them at all. And they got away with the big moose +ham, hanging on the spruce. Stripped the bone clean." + +"Then we're out of meat?" + +"All except the little piece outside the door. We've been going through +it pretty fast." + +Bill spoke true. Their meat consumption had practically doubled since +Harold had come. For all his lack of physical exercise, the latter was +an unusually heavy eater. + +"But we won't be able to find any now. The moose are gone----" + +"We're not very likely to, that's certain; but it won't be a tragedy if +we don't. It would only be an annoyance. It's true that we've got to +have more supplies to start down--I don't believe we could make it +through with what we have, considering the loss of this ham--but if +it's necessary I can mush over to me Twenty-three Mile cabin and get the +supplies I left over there. Harold tells me he hasn't a thing in his +old place. However, I can do it, if we don't happen to pick up some +meat to-day." + +"We might track down the wolves, and get one of those----" + +"Wolf meat hasn't a flavor you'd care for, I'm afraid. The Indians have +been known to eat it, but they can but away beaver and tough old grizzly +bear. Those things are starvation meats only. But if you care to, we +can dash out and see if we can pick up a young caribou or a left-over +moose. It's pleasant out to-day, anyway. It's rather warm--I believe +there's going to be a change of weather." + +"Good or bad?" the girl asked. + +"Haven't had any government bulletins on that point, this morning. +Probably bad. The weather in the North, Virginia, goes along the way it +is a while, and then it gets worse." + +She dressed, and at breakfast their exultation over their trip grew +painful to Harold's ears. He announced his intention of going along. + +Curiously, even Virginia did not receive this announcement with +particular enthusiasm. It was not that her regard for Bill was any kin +to that she held for Harold. Rather, it was a fear that Harold's +presence might blunt the edge of the fine companionship she enjoyed with +the woodsman. It would throw a personal element into an otherwise +care-free and adventurous day. But she smiled at him, rather fondly. + +"Just as you like, Harold." + +They put on their snowshoes, their warmest wraps, and started gayly +forth. Bill took rather a new course to-day. He bent his steps toward +a stream that he called Creek Despair,--named for the fact that he had +once held high hopes of finding his lost mine along its waters, only to +meet an utter and hopeless failure. From the map he had judged that the +lost claim lay somewhere along its course, but he had washed it from its +mother springs clear to its mouth, finding scarcely the faintest traces +in the pan. Because he had made such a tireless search in this +particular section in previous years he had completely avoided it in the +present adventure. Even on his pleasure trips with Virginia he had +never forgotten his search: thus he had led her into more favorable +regions where he might reasonably keep his eyes over for clews. Now +that he had given up finding the claim--for this season, at least, and +perhaps forever--one way was as good as another. And he remembered +that an old caribou trail lay just beyond the stream on the steep +hillside. + +Bill led the way, mushing quietly an swiftly, and Virginia sped after +him. The cold had brought a high color to her cheeks and a luster to +her eyes; her nerves and muscles tingled with life. She was in +wonderful spirits. Never she took a hundred paces without experiencing +some sort of a little, heart-gladdening adventure. + +Every manifestation of the forest life about her filled her with +delight. The beauty of the winter woods, the absorbing record that the +wild creatures had left in the snow, the long sweep of range and valley +that she could glimpse from a still hilltop, all had their joy for her. +With Bill she found something to delight her, something to make her +laugh and quicken her blood, in every hundred yards of their course. +Sometimes when the snow record was obscure, Bill stopped and explained, +usually with a graphic story and unconscious humor that made the woods +tingle and ring with her joyous, rippling laughter. More than often, +however, she was able to piece our the mystery by herself. + +Bill had a long and highly fanciful conversation with a little, +black-tailed ermine that tried to run under his feet; he imitated--to +Virginia's delight, the spectacle of a large and stiff cow moose pulling +herself through the mud; he repeated for her the demented cries of the +loons that they had sometimes heard from the still waters of Gray Lake. +But he didn't forget that the main purpose of their expedition was to +hunt. When at last they reached the caribou range he commanded silence. + +Harold, silent in the others' gayety, immediately evinced a decided +inclination to talk. He had not particularly enjoyed the excursion so +far. In the first place he had no love either for the winter forest or +the creatures that inhabited it; he would have been much more +comfortable and at ease beside the cabin stove. He couldn't much with +comfort at Bill's regular pace: he was rather out of breath and +irritated after the first two hundred rods. Most of all, he was +savagely conscious of the fact that Virginia was not giving him a +rightful share of her attention. For the time being she seemed to have +forgotten his presence. He was resentful, wishing disaster upon the +hunt, eager to turn back. + +"The rule is silence, from now on," Virginia answered his first remark. +"Bill says we're in a game country." + +The answer didn't satisfy him. But his heart suddenly leaped when Bill +glanced back in warning and pointed to an entrancing wilderness picture, +a hundred yards in front. + +In a little glade and framed by the forest stood a large bull caribou, +flashing and incredibly vivid against the snow. There is no animal in +all North American fauna, even the bull elk, that presents a more +splendid figure than that huge member of the deer family, Osburn's +caribou. His mane is snow white, his back and sides a glossy brown, +his eye flashes, and his antlers--in the season that he carries +them--stream back like young trees. The bull did not stir out of his +tracks, yet he gave the impression of infinite movement and pulsing, +quivering vitality. He shook and threw his head, he lifted his fore +foot nervously, and framed by the winter forest he was a sight never to +forget. Incidentally he made a first-class target,--one that seemed +impossible to miss. + +"I'll take him," Harold shouted. "Let me take him." + +In a flash Harold realized that here was his opportunity: in one stroke, +one easy shot, he could turn the day's ignominy into triumph. He could +focus Virginia's admiration upon himself. But the impulse had even +deeper significances. It was not the way of sportsmen, wandering in +file on mountain trails, to clamor for the first shot at game. Whatever +is said is usually in solicitation to a companion to shoot; and Virginia +felt oddly embarrassed. Harold's gun leaped to his shoulder. + +But in the fields of sport there is always a penalty for extreme +eagerness. There is a retributive justice for those that attempt to +grasp opportunities. Harold was afraid that Bill might raise and shoot, +thus rubbing him of his triumph, and he pressed back against the trigger +just a fifth of a second too soon. The target looked too big to miss, +but his bullet flung up the snow behind the animal. + +The caribou's powerful limbs pushed out a mighty leap. Frenzied, Harold +shot again; but his nerve was broken and his self-control blown to the +four winds. The animal had gained the shelter of the thickets by now, +and Harold's third and fourth shots went wild. Then he lowered his +weapon with a curse. + +It is part of the creed of a certain type of hunter to never admit a +clean miss. "My sights are off," Harold shouted. "They didn't shoot +within three feet of where I aimed. Damn such a gun--but I think I +wounded him the third shot. You'll find him dead if you follow him long +enough." + +Bill answered nothing, but went to see. In the firing he hadn't even +raised his own gun to his shoulder. There is a certain code among +hunters in regard to shooting another's game: an unwritten law that, +except in a case of life and death, one hunter does not interfere with +another's shooting. It was through no desire to embarrass Harold that +he didn't assist him in putting down his trophy. He was simply giving +the man full play. Bill stared at the caribou tracks in the snow, +followed them a hundred feet, and then came mushing back. + +"You didn't seem to have put one in," he reported simply. + +"I didn't, eh?" Harold answered angrily. "How could you tell, so soon? +I suppose you're woodsman enough to know that a wounded animal doesn't +always show blood. I'd be ready to bet that if we followed him far +enough we'd find him dead." + +"We'd have to follow him till he died naturally of old age," was the +good-humored reply. "We can't always hit, Lounsbury. He began to trot +when he got into the trees--a perfectly normal gait. I think we'd +better look for something else." + +"Then I want you to carry my gun awhile, and let me take yours. The +sights are off a mile. It's all ready, and here's a handful of extra +shells. You ought to be willing to do that, at least." + +Harold had forgotten that this man was not his personal guide, subject +to his every wish. He held out gun and shells; and, smiling, Bill +received them, giving his own weapon in exchange. They mushed on down +the trail. + +But Harold's miss had not been his greater sin. To miss is human; no +true sportsman holds it against his fellow. The omission that followed, +however, was by all the codes of the hunting trails unpardonable. He +supposed that he had refilled his rifle magazine with shells before he +put it in Bill's hands. In his confusion and anger, he had forgotten to +do so; and the only load that the gun contained was that in the barrel, +thrown in automatically when the last empty shell was ejected. + + + +XVIII + +Several seasons before there had been a fatality on the hillside above +Creek Despair. An ancient spruce tree, one that had watched the forest +drama for uncounted years, whose tall head lifted above all the +surrounding forest and who had known the silence and the snow of a +hundred winters, had languished, withered and died from sheer old age. +For some seasons it had stood in its place, silent and grim and majestic +in death. On the day that the three hunters emerged on their snowshoes +in search of meat for their depleted larder, the wind pressed gently +against it. Because its trunk was rotted away it swayed and fell +heavily. + +There was nothing particularly memorable in this. All trees die; all of +them fall at last. Its particular significance lay in the fact that as +it shattered down, sliding a distance on the steep hillside, it scraped +the snow from the mouth of a winter lair of a scarcely less venerable +forest inhabitant,--a savage, long-clawed, gray-furred grizzly bear. + +The creature had gone into hibernation weeks before: he was deep in the +cold-trance--that mysterious coma of which the wisest naturalists have +no real knowledge--when the tree fell. He hadn't in the least counted +on being disturbed until the leaves budded out in spring. He had filled +his belly well, crawled into a long, narrow cavern in the rock, the snow +had sifted down and sealed him in, his bodily heat had warmed to a +sufficient degree the little alcove in the cavern that he occupied, his +blood temperature had dropped down and his breathing had almost ceased, +and he had lain in a deep, strange stupor, oblivious to the passage of +time. And he felt the rage known to all sleepy men on being awakened. + +The grizzly is a particularly crafty, intelligent animal--on the +intellectual plane of the dog and elephant--and he had chosen his +winter lair with special purpose in mind of a long and uninterrupted +sleep. The cavern mouth was so well concealed that even the sharp eyes +of the wild creatures, passing up and down the creek hardly a hundred +feet away, never guessed its existence. The cavern maw had been large +once, for all to see, but an avalanche had passed over it. Tons of +snow, picking up a great cargo of rocks and dirt that no stream dredge +in the world could lift, had roared and bellowed down the slope, +narrowly missing the trunk of the great spruce, changing the contour of +the creek bed and concealing its landmarks, and only a square yard of +the original entrance was left. This opening was concealed by a little +cluster of young spruce that had sprung up in the fallen earth. Yes, +old Ephraim had had every reason to believe that no one would find him +or break his sleep, and he was all the more angry at the interruption. + +The falling tree had made a frightful crash just over his head, and even +the deep coma in which the grizzly lay was abruptly dissolved. He +sprang up, ready to fight. A little gleam of sunlight ventured through +the spruce thicket, down into the mouth of the cavern, and lay like a +patch of gold on the cavern floor. It served to waken some slight +degree of interest in the snowy world without. It might be well to look +around a moment, at least, before he lay down to sleep again. At least +he had to scrape more snow over the cabin mouth. And in the meantime he +might be lucky enough to find the dearest delight in his life,--a +good, smashing, well-matched fight to cool the growing anger in his +great veins. + +Ephraim was an old bear, used to every hunting wile, and his disposition +hadn't improved with years. He was the undisputed master of the forest, +and he couldn't think of any particular enemy that he would not +encounter with a roar of joy. As often, in the case of the old, his +teeth were rotting away; and the pain was a darting, stabbing devil in +his gums. His little, fierce eyes burned and smoldered with wrath, he +grunted deep in his throat, and he pushed out savagely through the +cavern maw. It was only a step farther through the spruce thicket into +the sunlight. And at the first glance he knew that his wish was coming +true. + +Three figures, two abreast and one behind, came mushing through the +little pass where the creek flowed. He knew them well enough. There +were plenty of grizzly traditions concerned with them. He recognized +them in an instant as his hereditary foes,--the one breed that had not +yet learned to give him right-of-way on the trail. They were tall, +fearful forms, and something in their eyes sent a shudder of cold clear +to his heart, yet he was not in the humor to give ground. His nerves +were jumpy and unstrung from the fall of the tree, his jaw wracked him; +a turn of the hair might decide whether he would merely stand and let +them pass, or whether he would launch into that terrible, death-dealing +charge that most grizzly hunters, sooner or later, come to know. His +mental processes did not go far enough to disassociate these enemies +with the stabbing foe in his gums. For the same reason he blamed them +for disruption of his sleep. His ears laid back, and he uttered a deep +growl. + +There was no more magnificent creature in all of the breadth of the +forest than this, the grizzly of the Selkirks. He was old and savage +and wise; but for all his years, in the highest pinnacle of his +strength. No man need to glance twice at him to know his glory. No +tenderfoot could look at him and again wonder why, in the talk round the +camp fire, the tried woodsmen always spoke of the grizzly with respect. + +It was true that in the far corners of the earth there were creatures +that could master him. The elephant could crush the life from his +mighty body with the power of his knees; Kobaoba the rhino, most surly +of all game, could have pierced his heart with his horn; perhaps +even the Cape buffalo--that savage explosive old gentleman of the +African marshes, most famous for his deadly propensity to charge on +sight--could have given him a fair battle. But woe to the lion that +should be obliged to face that terrible strength! Even the tiger, +sinuous and terrible--armed with fangs like cruel knives and dreadful, +raking, rending claws--could not have faced him in a fair fight. + +But these were folk of the tropics, and his superiority was unquestioned +among the northern animals. Even the bull moose had no wish to engage +in a stand-up-and-take, close-range, death fight with a grizzly. The +bull caribou left his trail at the sound of his heavy body in the +thicket; the wolf pack, most deadly of fighting organizations, were glad +to avoid him in the snow. His first cousins, the Alaskan bears, were +more mighty than he, but they were less agile and, probably, less +cunning. Such lesser creatures as wished to continue to enjoy the +winter sunlight stepped softly when they journeyed past his lair. + +He was a peculiar gray in color,--like brown hair that has silvered in +many winters. His huge head was lowered between his high, rocking +shoulders, his forelegs were simply great, knotty, cast-iron bunches of +fiber and tendons; his long claws--worn down by digging in the rocks +for marmots--were like great, curved fingers. As he stepped, his +forefeet swung out, giving to his carriage an arrogance and a swagger +that would have been amusing if it hadn't been terrible. His wicked +teeth gleamed white in foam, and the hair stood stiff at his shoulders. + +There is no forest crisis that presents such a test to human nerves as +the charge of a grizzly. There is no forest voice more fraught with +ferocity and savagery of the beasts of prey than his low, deep, +reverberating growl. Human beings have not yet reached such perfection +of self-mastery that they can hear such a sound, leaping suddenly like a +thing of substance through the bush, and disregard it. It was to be +that these three foes, journeying toward him along Creek Despair, did +not disregard it now. For all the depth of the snow, he pushed through +the spruce thicket into the sunlight. + +Thus the three hunters met him--in all his strength and glory--not +fifty feet distant at the base of the hill. He seemed to be poised to +charge. + +Bill's keen eyes saw the bear first. All at once its huge outline +against the snow leaped to his vision. At the same instant the bear +growled, a sound that halted halted Virginia and Harold in their tracks. +For an instant all four figures stood in indescribable tableau: the bear +poised, the three staring, the snowy wastes silent and changeless and +unreal. + +It was the last sight in the world that Bill had expected. He had +supposed that the grizzlies were all in hibernation now; he hadn't +conceived of the possibilities whereby the great creature had been +called from his sleep. And he knew in one glance the full peril of the +situation. + +Often in his forest travels Bill had met grizzlies, and nearly always he +had passed them by. Usually the latter were glad to make their escape; +and Bill would hasten their departure with shouts of glee. Yet this man +knew the grizzly, his power and his wrath, and most of all he knew his +utter unreliability. It is not the grizzly way to stand impassive when +he is at bay, and neither does he like to flee up hill. If the animal +did think his escape was cut off--a delusion to which the bear family +seem particularly subject--he would charge them with a fury and might +that had no equal in the North American animal world. And a grizzly +charge is a difficult thing to stop in a distance of fifty feet. + +The presence of Virginia in their party had its influence in Bill's +decision. In times past he had been willing enough to take a small +measure of risk to his own life, but the life of every grizzly in the +North could not pay for one jot of risk to hers. Lastly he realized at +the first sight of those glowing, angry eyes, the ears back, and the +stiff hairs on the shoulder that the grizzly was in a fighting mood. + +For all the complexity of his thought, his decision did not take an +instant. There was no waiting to offer the sporting opportunity to +Harold. Virginia was not aware of a lapse in time between the instant +that Bill caught sight of the bear and that in which his gun came +leaping to his shoulder. He had full confidence in the hard-hitting +vicious bullet in Harold's thirty-five, and most of all he relied on the +four reserve shots that he supposed lay in the rifle magazine. The +grizzly dies hard: he felt that all four of them would be needed to +arrest the charge that would likely follow his first shot. + +He didn't wait for those great muscles to get into action. The animal +was standing broadside to him, his head turned and red eyes watching; if +Bill had his own gun, he would have aimed straight for the space between +the eyes. This is never a sportsman's shot; but for an absolute +marksman, in a moment of crisis, it is the surest shot of all. But he +did not know Harold's gun well enough to trust such a shot. Indeed, he +aimed for the great shoulder, the region of the lungs and heart. The +gun cracked in the silence. + +The bullet went straight home, ripping through the lungs, tearing the +great arteries about the heart, shivering even a portion of the heart +itself. And yet the grizzly sprang like a demon through the deep snow, +straight towards him. + +It is no easy thing to face a grizzly's charge. The teeth gleam in red +foam, the eyes flash, the great shoulders rock. For all the deep snow +that he bounded through, the beast approached at an unbelievable pace. +He bawled as he came--awful, reverberating sounds that froze the blood +in the veins. If the course had been open, likely he would have been +upon him before Bill could send home another shot. There could only be +one result to such a meeting as this. One blow would strike the life +from Bill's body as the lightning strikes it from a tree. But the snow +impeded the bear, and it seemed to Virginia's horrified eyes that Bill +would have time to empty the magazine. She saw his fingers race as he +worked the lever action of the gun: she saw his eyes lower again to the +sights. The bear seemed almost upon him. And she screamed when she +heard the impotent click of the hammer against the breech. Bill had +fires the single shot that was in the gun. + +Before ever he heard the sound Harold remembered. In one wave of horror +he recalled that he had forgotten to refill the magazine with shells. +Yet leaping fast--red and deadly and terrible upon the heels of his +remorse--there came an emotion that seared him like a wall of fire. +He saw Bill's fate. By no circumstance of which he could conceive could +the man escape. A shudder passed over his frame, but it was not of +revulsion. Rather it was an emotion known well to the beasts of prey, +though to human beings it comes but rarely. Here was his enemy, the man +he hated above all living creatures, and the blood lust surged through +him like a madness. In one wave of ecstasy he felt that he was about to +see the gratification of his hatred. + +In the hands of a brave and loyal man, the rifle Harold carried might +yet have been Bill's salvation. It was a large-caliber, close-range gun +of stupendous striking power. Yet Harold didn't lift it to his +shoulder. Part of it was willful omission, mostly it was the paralysis +of terror. Yet he would have need enough for the gun if the bear turned +on him. He saw that Bill's had was groping, hopeless though the effort +was, for one of the shells that Harold had given him and which he +carried in his pocket. + +But there was no time to find it, to open his gun and insert it, and to +fire before the ravening enemy would be upon him. He made the effort +simply because it was his creed: to struggle as long as his life blood +pulsed in his veins. He knew there was no chance to run or dodge. The +bear could go at thrice his own pace in the deep snow. His last hope +had been that Harold would come to his aid: that the man would stop the +bear's charge with Bill's own heavy rifle; but now he knew that Harold's +enmity of cowardice had betrayed him. + +But at that instant aid came from an unexpected quarter. Virginia was +not one to stand helpless or to turn and flee. She remembered the +pistol at her belt, and she drew it in a flash of blue steel. True and +straight she aimed toward the glowing eyes of the grizzly. + +At the angle that they struck, her bullets did not penetrate the brain, +but they did give Bill an instant's reprieve. The bear struck at the +wounds they made, then halted, bawling, in the snow. His roving eye +caught sight of Virginia's form. With a roar he bounded toward her. + +The next instant was one of drama, of incredible stress and movement. +For all his mortal wounds, the short distance between the bear and the +girl seemed to recede with tragic swiftness. The animal's cries rang +through the silent forest: near and far the wild creatures paused in +their occupations to listen. Virginia also stood her ground. There was +no use to flee; she merely stood straight, her eyes gazing along her +pistol barrel, firing shot after shot into the animal's head. Because +it was an automatic, she was able to send home the loads in rapid +succession. + +But they were little, futile things, with never the shocking power to +stop that blasting charge. Her safety still lay in that in which she +had always trusted, the same that had been her fort and her stronghold +in all their past adventures. Bill saw the grizzly change in direction; +his response was instinctive and instantaneous. He came leaping through +the snow as if a great hand had hurled him, all of his muscles +contracting in response to the swift, immutable command of his will. +For all the burden of his snowshoes and the depths of the drifts, his +leap was almost as fast as the grizzly's own. He had but one +realization: that the girl's tender flesh must never know those rending +claws and fangs. He leaped to intercept the rending charge with his own +body. + +But his hand had found the shell by now, dropped it into the gun, and as +a last instinctive effort, pulled back the lever that slid the cartridge +into the barrel. There was no time to raise the gun to his shoulder. +He pointed it instinctively toward the gray throat. And the end of the +barrel was against the bear's flesh as he pressed the trigger. + +No human eye could follow the lightning events of the next fraction of a +second. All that occurred was over and done in the duration of one +heart-beat,--before the shudder and explosion in the air from the +rifle's report had passed away. One instant, and the three figures +seemed all together; Bill crouched with rifle held pointed in his arms, +Virginia behind him, the grizzly full upon them both. The next, and +Harold stood alone in the snow and the silence,--awed, terrified, and +estranged as if in a dream. + +Except for the three forms that lay still, half-buried and concealed in +the drifts, it was as if the adventure never occurred. The spruce trees +stood straight and aloof as ever. The silence stretched unbroken; its +immensity had swallowed and smothered the last echo of the rifle report +and the grizzly's roar. There was no movement, seemingly no life,--only +the drifts and the winter forest and the futile sun, shining down +between the snow-laden trees. + +Yet he knew vaguely what had occurred. The bullet had gone true. It +had pierced the animal's neck, breaking the vertebrae of the spinal +column, and life had gone out of him as a flame goes out in the wind. +But it had come too late to destroy the full force of the charge. Bill +had been struck with some portion of the bear's body as he fell and had +been hurled like a lifeless doll into the drifts. Virginia, too, had +received some echo of that shock, probably from Bill's body as he +shattered down. Now all three lay half-hidden in the snow. Which of +them lived and which were dead Harold dared not guess. + +But he had no time to go forward and investigate before Bill had sprung +to his feet. He had received only a glancing blow; the drifts into +which he had fallen were soft as pillows. In reality he had never even +lost consciousness. Still subject to the one thought that guided and +shaped his actions throughout the adventure, he crawled over to +Virginia's side. + +No living man had ever seen his face as white as it was now. His eyes +were wide with the image of horror; he didn't know what wounds the dying +bear might have inflicted on the girl. There was no rend in her white +flesh, however; and his eye kindled and his face blazed when he saw that +she yet lived. + +He didn't waste even a small part of his energies by futile pleadings +for her to waken. He seized her shoulders and shook her gently. + +Instantly her eyes opened. Her full consciousness returned to her with +a rush. She was not scratched, not even shocked by the fall, and she +reached up for Bill's hands. And instantly, with a laugh on her lips, +she sprang to her feet. + +"You killed him?" she asked. + +It was the first breath she had wasted, and no man might hold it against +her. She had only to look at the huge gray form in the drifts to know +her answer. Bill, because he was a woodsman first, last, and always, +slipped additional shells into Harold's rifle; then walked over to the +bear. He gazed down at its filming eyes. + +"Bear's all dead," he answered cheerfully. And Virginia's heart raced +and thrilled, and a delicious exaltation swept through her, when she +glanced down at this woodsman's hands. Big and strong and brown, there +was not a tremor in their fingers. + +The both of them whirled in real and superlative astonishment. Some one +was speaking to them. Some one was asking them if they were both all +right. It was a strange voice,--one that they scarcely remembered +ever hearing before. + +But they saw at once that the speaker was Harold. He had come with them +to-day, quite true. Both of them had almost forgotten his existence. + + + +XIX + +In the weeks they had been together, Bill had always been careful never +to try to show Harold in a bad light. It was simply an expression of +the inherent decency of the man: he knew that Virginia loved him, that +she had plighted her troth to him, and as long as that love endured and +the engagement stood, he would never try to shatter her ideals in regard +to him. He knew it meant only heartbreak for her to love and wed a man +she couldn't respect. He knew enough of human nature to realize that +love often lives when respect is dead, and no possible good could come +of showing up the unworthiness that he beheld in Harold. He had never +tried to embarrass him or smirch his name. For all his indignation now, +his voice was wholly cheerful and friendly when he answered. + +"We're quite all right, thanks," he said. "The only casualty was the +bear. A little snow on our clothes, but it will brush off. And by the +way----" + +He paused, and for all his even tones, Harold had a sickening and +ghastly fear of the sober query in Bill's eyes. "Why did you give me an +unloaded gun and tell me it was full?" he went on. "Except for a good +deal of luck there'd been a smile on the face of the grizzly--but no +Bill!" + +He thought it only just that, in spite of Virginia's presence, Harold +explain this grave omission. He felt that Virginia was entitled to an +explanation too, and Harold knew, from her earnest eyes, that she was +waiting his answer. He might have been arrogant and insulting to Bill, +but he cared enough for Virginia's respect to wish to justify himself. +He studied their faces; it was plain that they did not accuse him, even +in their most secret thoughts, of evil intent in handing Bill an almost +empty gun. But by the stern code of the North sins of carelessness are +no less damning than intentional ones and Harold knew that he had a +great deal to answer for. + +"And by the way," Bill went on, as he waited for his reply, "I don't +remember hearing my gun off during the fray. You might explain that, +too." + +"I didn't shoot because I couldn't," Harold replied earnestly. "At +first you were between me and the bear--and then Virginia was. It +all happened so quickly that there was nothing I could do. I can't +imagine why I forgot to reload the rifle. A man can't always +remember--everything. I thought I had. Thank God that it didn't turn +out any worse than it did." + +Bill nodded; the girl's face showed unspeakable relief. She was glad +that this lover of hers had logical and acceptable reasons for his +omissions. The incident was past, the issue dead. They gathered about +the gray grizzled form in the snow. + +"Does this--help our food problem any?" Virginia asked. + +"Except in an emergency--no. Virginia, you ought to try to cut that +foreleg muscle." He lifted one of the front feet of the bear in his +hands. "You'd see what it would be like to try to bite it. He's an +old, tough brute--worse eating than a wolf. Strong as mink and hard +as rock. If we were starving, we'd cut off one of those hams in a +minute; but we can wait a while at least. If we don't pick up some more +game during the day, I'll hike over to my Twenty-three Mile cabin and +get the supplies I've left over there. There's a smoked caribou ham, +among other things. I'll bring back a backload, anyway." Then his +voice changed, and he looked earnestly into Virginia's eyes. "But you +won't want to hunt any more to-day. I forgot--what a shock this +experience would be to you." + +She smiled, and the paleness about her lips was almost gone. "I'm +getting used to shocks. I feel a little shaky--but it doesn't amount +to anything. I want to climb up and look at the caribou trail, at +least." + +"Sure enough--if you feel you can stand it. It's only a hundred yards +or so up the hill. I'd like to take old Bruin's hide, but I don't see +how we could handle it. I believe we'd better leave him with all his +clothes on, in the snow. And Heaven knows I'd like to find out what the +old boy was doing out--at a time when all the other bears are +hibernating." + +They continued on up the creek until the grade of the hill was less, +then clambered slowly up. Fifty yards up the slope they encountered the +old caribou trail, but none of these wilderness creatures had been along +in recent days. They followed it a short distance, however, back in the +direction they had come and above the scene of their battle with the +bear. + +"No profit here," Bill said at last. "We might as well go down to the +creek bed and find better walking." + +They turned, and in an instant more came back to their own tracks. And +suddenly Bill stopped and stared at them in dumb amazement. + +He looked so astonished, so inexpressibly baffled, that for a moment his +two companions were stricken silent. Virginia's heart leaped in her +throat. Yet the tracks contained no message for her. + +"What's the matter?" Harold asked. "What do you see?" + +Bill caught himself and looked up. "Nothing very important--but +mighty astonishing at that. We've just walked in a two-hundred-yard +circle, up the creek to where we climbed the hill, back along the hill +in this direction, and then down. And we haven't crossed that grizzly's +tracks anywhere." + +"Well, what of it?" + +"Man, this snow has been here for weeks, with very little change. Do +you mean to tell me that a lively, hungry bear is going to stay that +long in one place unless he's asleep? Virginia, as sure as you live +we--or somethin'--wakened that bear out of hibernation. And his den +is somewhere in that two-hundred-yard circle." + +"There's probably a cave in the rock," Harold suggested. "And I'm more +interested in the cabin and dinner than I am in it." + +"Nevertheless, I've never looked into a den of hibernation, and I've +always wanted to know what they're like. It will only take a minute. +Come on--it will be worth seeing." + +But Harold had very special and particular reasons why such a course +appealed to him not at all. "Yes--and maybe find a couple of other +bears in there, in the dark and no chance to fight. I'm not interested, +anyway. Go and look, if you like." + +"I will, if you don't mind. Do you want to come too, Virginia? There's +no danger--really there isn't. If this had been an old she-bear we +might have found some cubs, but these old males travel around by +themselves." + +"I certainly wouldn't stay away," the girl replied. And her interest +was real: the study of the forest life about her had been an ever +increasing delight. She felt that she would greatly like to peer into +one of those dark, mysterious dens where that most mysterious American +animal, the grizzly, lies in deep coma through the long, winter months. + +"It will only take a minute. We haven't got to back-track him more than +a hundred yards at most. We'll be back in a minute, Harold. And if you +don't mind--I'll take my own gun." + +They exchanged rifles, and Virginia and Bill started back toward the +fallen grizzly. But the exploration of the winter lair had not been the +only thing Bill had in view. He also had certain words to say to +Virginia,--words that he could scarcely longer repress, and which he +couldn't have spoken with ease in Harold's presence. But now that they +were alone, the sentences wouldn't shape on his lips. + +He mushed a while in silence. "I suppose I haven't got to tell you, +Virginia," he said at last. "That you--your own courage--saved my +life." + +She looked up to him with lustrous eyes. The man thrilled to the last +little nerve. In her comradeship for him their luster was almost like +that of which he had dreamed so often. "I know it's true," she answered +frankly. "And I'm glad that--that it was mine, and not somebody +else's." She too seemed to be having difficulty in shaping her +thoughts. "I've never been happier about any other thing. To +pay--just a little bit of debt. But in paying it, I incurred another--so +the obligation is just as big as ever. You know--you saved my life, +too." + +He nodded. This was no time for deception, for pretty lies. + +"I saw you throw yourself in front of me," she went on. "I can +never forget it. I'll see that picture, over and over again, till I +die--how you plunged through the snow and got in front. So since we +each did for the other--the only thing we could do--there's nothing +more to be said about it. Isn't that so, Bill?" + +The man agreed, but his lips trembled as they never did during the +charge of the grizzly. + +"I've learned a lesson up here--that words aren't much good and don't +seem to get anywhere." The girl spoke softly. "Only deeds count. +After they're done, there is nothing much--that one can say." + +So they did not speak of the matter again. They came to the bear's body +and back-tracked him through the snow. They pushed through the young +spruce from whose limbs the grizzly had knocked the snow. They they +came out upon the cavern mouth. + +Instantly Bill understood how the fall of the tree had knocked away the +snow from the maw. "There's been a landslide here too, or a snowslide," +he said. "You see--only the top of the cave mouth is left open. The +dirt's piled around the bottom." + +He crawled up over the pile of rocks and dirt and, stooping, stepped +within the cavern. The girl was immediately behind him. Back five feet +from the opening the interior was dark as night: the cavern walls, gray +at the mouth, slowly paled and faded and were obliterated in the gloom. +But there was no stir of life in the darkness, no sign of any other +habitant. But the walls themselves, where the light from without +revealed them, held Bill's fascinated gaze. + +The girl stood behind him, silent, wondering what was in his mind. +"This cave--I've never seen a cave just like this. Virginia----" + +The man stepped forward and scratched a match on the stone. It flared; +the shadows raced away. Then Bill's breath caught in a half-sob. + +Instantly he smothered the match. The darkness dropped around them like +a curtain. But in that instant of light Bill beheld a scene that tore +at his heart. Against the cavern wall, lost in the irremediable +darkness, he had seen a strange, white shape--a ghostly thing that lay +still and caught the match's gleam--a grim relic of dead years. + +He turned to the girl, and his voice was almost steady when he spoke. +"You'd better go out, Virginia--into the light," he advised. + +"Why? Is it--_danger?_" + +"Not danger." His voice in the silence thrilled her and moved her. +"Only wickedness. But it isn't anything you'd like to see." + +The single match-flare had revealed him the truth. For one little +fraction of an instant he had thought that the white form, so grim +and silent against the stone, revealed some forest tragedy of years +ago,--a human prey dragged to a wild beast's lair. But the shape of the +cavern, the character of its walls, and a thousand other clews told the +story plainly. The thing he had seen was a naked skeleton, flesh and +garments having dropped away in the years; and the grizzly had simply +made his lair in the old shaft of his father's mine. Bill had found his +father's sepulcher at last! + +* * * * * + +For a moment he stood dreaming in the gloom. He understood, now, why +his previous search had never revealed the mine. He had supposed that +his father had operated along some stream, washing the gold from its +gravel: it had never occurred to him that he had dug a shaft. In all +probability, considering the richness of their content, they had +burrowed into the hill and had found an old bed of the stream, had +carried the gravel to the water's edge in buckets, and washed it out. +He had never looked for tunnels and shafts: if he had done so, it was +doubtful if he could have found the hidden cavern. The snowslide of +some years before had covered up all outward signs of their work, struck +down the trees they had blazed, and covered the ashes of their own camp +fires. The girl's voice in the darkness called him from his musings. + +"I believe I understand," she said. "You've found your mine--and your +father's body." + +"Yes. Just a skeleton." + +"I'm not afraid. Do you want me to stay?" + +"I'd love to have you, if you will. Some way--it takes away a lot of +my bitterness--to have you here." + +It was true. It seemed wholly fitting that she should be with him as he +explored the cavern. It was almost as if the tragedy of his father's +death concerned her, too. + +"I can hold matches," she told him. She came up close, and for a moment +her hand, groping, closed on his,--a soft, dear pressure that spoke +more than any words. When it was released he lighted another match. + +They stood together, looking down at the skeleton. But she wasn't quite +prepared for what she saw. A little cry of horror rang strangely in the +dark shaft. + +This had been no natural death. Undoubtedly the elder Bronson had been +struck down from behind, as he worked, and he lay just as he fell. +There was one wound in the skull, round and ghastly, and in a moment +they saw the weapon that made it. A rusted pick, such as miners use, +lay beside the body. + +"I won't try to do much to-day," the man told her, "except to see up one +of my cornerposts and erect a claim notice. My father's notice has of +course rotted away in the years and the monument that probably stood out +there beyond the creek bed was covered in snowslide. You see, a claim +is made by putting up four stone monuments--one at each corner of the +area claimed. We'll be starting down in a day or two, and I'll register +the claim. Then I'll come back--and give these poor bones decent +burial." + +From there he walked back to the end of the shaft, scratching another +match. It was wholly evident that the mine was only scratched. He held +the light close, studying the rear wall of the cave. It was simply a +gravel bed, verifying his guess that here lay an old bed of the creek. +In the first handful of stone he scraped out he found a half-ounce +nugget. + +"It's rich?" she asked. + +"Beyond what I ever dreamed. But there's nothing more we can do now. +I've made my find at least--but it doesn't seem to make me--as happy +as it ought to. Of course that man--there against the wall--would +naturally keep a man from being very happy. Of, if I could only find +and kill the devil who did it!" + +His voice in the gloom was charged with immeasurable feeling. She had +never seen this side of him before. Here was primeval emotion, the +desired for vengeance, filial obligation, hate that knew no mercy and +could never be forgotten. She understood, now, the savage feuds that +sometimes spring up among the mountain people, unable to forget a blow +or an injury. She had the first inkling of how deeply his father's +murder had influenced him. + +But his face was calm when they emerged into the light. They walked +over to the creek, and beneath its overhanging banks there were the snow +had not swept, he found enough rocks for his monument. He gathered them, +carried them in armfuls to a place fifty yards beyond the creek and down +it, level with such a turn in the hillside above, beyond which the old +creek bed obviously could not lie; then heaped them into a moment. Then +he drew an old letter from his coat pocket, and searching farther, found +a stub of a pencil. Virginia looked over his shoulders as he wrote. + +One hundred yards up the stream Harold watched them, dumbfounded as to +what they were doing. He saw Bill finish the writing, then place the +larger on the monument, fastening it down with a large stone. Then he +came mushing toward them. + +So intent were they upon their work that they didn't notice him until he +was almost up to them. But both of them would have paused in wonder if +they had observed the curious mixture of emotions upon his lips. His +lips hung loose, his eyes protruded, and something that might have been +greed, or might have been jealousy or some other unguessed emotion drew +and harshened his features. + +"You've found a mine?" he asked. + +Virginia looked up, joyful at Bill's good fortune. "We've found his +father's mine--the old shaft where the bear was been sleeping. But +there's a dreadful side of it too." + +"Show me where it is. I want to see it. Take me into it, +Virginia--right away----" + +Bill had a distinct sensation of revulsion at the thought of this man +going into his father's sepulcher, and he didn't know why. It was an +instinct too deeply buried for him to trace. But he tried to force it +down. There was no reason why Virginia's fiance shouldn't view his mine. +Already, Virginia was pointing out the way. + +"You can claim half to it," he was whispering into her ear. "You were +the one with him when he found it." + +"I can--but I won't," she replied coldly. "He asked me to go with +him. The thought's unworthy of you, Harold." + +But he was in no mood to be humbled by her disapproval. Curiously, he +was intensely excited. He mushed away toward the cavern mouth. + +Two minutes later he stood in the darkness of the funnel, fumbling for a +match. "Gold, gold, gold," he whispered. "Heaps and heaps of it--what +I've always hunted. And Bill had to find it. That devil had to walk +right into it." + +He was sickened by the thought that except for his own cowardice he +would have accompanied them into the den. At least he should have done +that much, he told himself, to atone for his conduct during the bear's +charge. Then he would have been in a position to claim half the +mine--and get it too. Dark thoughts, curiously engrossing and lustful, +thronged his mind. + +He found a match at least and it flared in the darkness. And the white +skeleton lay just at his feet. + +He drew back, startled, but instantly recognized his poise. He knelt +with unexplicable intentness. He too saw the ghastly wound and its grim +connection with the rusted pick. And he bent, slowly, like a man who is +trying to control an unwonted eagerness, lifted the pick in his arms. + +His fingers seemed to curl around it, like those of a miser around his +gold. Some way, his grasp seemed caressing. Oh, it was easy to handle +and lift! How naturally it swung in his arms! What a deadly blow the +cruel point could inflict! Just one little tap had been needed. +Bronson had rocked and fallen, no longer to hold his share in the mine's +gold. If there were an enemy before him now, one tap, and one alone was +all that would be needed. + +He could picture the scene of some twenty years before; the flickering +candles, the gray walls covered with dancing shadows, the yellow +gold,--beautiful in the light. He could see Bronson working,--always the +plodder, always the fool! Behind him Rutheford, his partner, the pick +in his arms and his brave intent in his brain. Then one swift +stroke---- + +Harold did not know that at the thought his muscles made involuntary +response. He swung the pick down, imagining the blow, with a ferocity +and viciousness that would have been terrible to see. + +In the darkness his face was drawn and savage, and ugly fires glowed and +smoldered and flamed in his eyes. + + + +XX + +Bill made plans for an early start to his Twenty-three Mile cabin. The +hike would have been easy enough, considering the firm snow that covered +the underbrush, but the hours of daylight were few and swift. And he +had no desire to try to find his way in that trackless country in the +darkness. + +"I'll leave before dawn--as soon as it gets gray," he told Virginia as +he bade her good night. "I'll come back the next day, with a backload +of supplies. And with the little we have left, we will have enough to +go on. We can start for Bradleyburg the day after that." + +Virginia took no pleasure in bidding him good-by. She had already +learned that this winter forest was a bleak and fearful place when her +woodsman was away. Curiously, she could find little consolation in the +thought that she and Harold could have a full day together, alone. And +before the night was half over, it seemed to her, she heard his stealing +feet on the cabin floor outside her curtain. + +He seemed to be moving quietly, almost stealthily. She heard the stove +door open, and the subdued crack of a match scratched gently. A warm +glow flooded her being when she understood. + +For all the arduous day's toil that waited him, Bill hadn't forgotten to +build her fire. The cabin would still be warm for her to dress. She +didn't know that her eyes were shining in the gloom. She drew aside the +curtain. + +"I'm awake, Bill. I want to tell you good-by again," she said. + +"I don't see what makes me so clumsy," Bill returned impatiently. "I +thought I could get this fire going without waking you up. But I'm glad +enough to have another good-by." + +"And you'll be--awfully careful?" Her voice did not hold quite +steadily. "So many--many things can happen in those awful +woods--when you are alone. I never realized before how they're always +waiting, always holding a sword over your head, ready to cut you down. +I'm afraid to have you go----" + +He laughed gently, but the deathless delight he felt at her words +rippled through the laugh like flowing water. "There's nothing to be +afraid of, Virginia. You'll see me back to-morrow night. I've wandered +these woods by myself a thousand times----" + +"And the thousandth and first time you might fall into their trap! But +why can't we take some of that grizzly meat----" + +"Virginia, you'd break your pretty teeth on it. Of course we could in a +pinch--but this is no march, to-day. Good-by." + +"Good-by." Her voice sank almost to a whisper, and her tones were sober +and earnest. "I'll pray for you, Bill--the kind of prayers you told +me about--entreating prayer to a God that can hear--and understand--and +help. A real God, not just an Idea such as I used to believe in. Here's +my hand, Bill." + +He groped for it as a plant gropes for sunlight, as the blind grope to +find their way. He found it at last: it was swallowed in his own palm, +and the heart of the man raced and thrilled and burned. She couldn't +see what he did with it in the darkness. It seemed to her she felt a +warmth, a throbbing, a pressure that was someway significant and +portentous above any experience of her life. Yet she didn't know that +he had dropped to his knees outside the curtain and pressed the hand to +his lips. The door closed slowly behind him. + +The last stars were fading, slipping away like ghosts into the further +recesses of the sky, as he pushed away from the cabin door. He didn't +need the full light of morning to find his way the first few miles. He +need only head toward the peak of a familiar mountain, now a shadow +against the paling sky. + +The night was not so cold as it had a right to be. He had expected a +temperature far below zero: in reality it seemed not far below freezing. +Some weather change impended, and at first he felt vaguely uneasy. But +he mushed on, the long miles gliding slowly, steadily beneath him. Only +once he missed his course, but by back-tracking one hundred yards he +found it again. + +Morning came out, the trees emerged from the gloom, the shadows faded. +He kept his direction by the landmarks learned while following his trap +lines. The day was surprisingly warm. His heavy woolens began to +oppress him. + +As always the wilderness was silent and vaguely sinister, but after a +few hours it suddenly occurred to him that the air was preternaturally +still. A few minutes later, when he struck a match to light his pipe, +this impression was vividly confirmed. As is the habit with all +woodsmen he watched the match-smoke to detect the direction of the wind. +The blue strands, with hardly a waver or tremor, streamed straight up. +He was somewhat reassured, however, when he remembered that he had not +yet emerged from a great valley between low ranges that ordinarily +prevented free passage of the winds. + +He mushed on, his snowshoes crunching on the white crust. The powers of +the wilderness gave him good speed--almost to the noon hour. Then +they began to show him what they could do. + +He was suddenly aware that the fine edge of the wilderness silence had +been dulled. There was a faint stir at his ear drums, to dim to name or +identify or even to accept as a reality. He stopped, listening +intently. + +The stir grew to a faint and distant murmur, the murmur to a long swish +like a million rustling garments. A tree fell, with a crash, far away. +Then the wind smote him. + +In itself it was nothing to fear. It was not a hurricane, not even a +particularly violent storm, but only a brisk gale that struck him from +the side and more or less impeded his progress. Trees that were +tottering and ready to fall went down with reverberating reports; the +snowdust whirled through the forest, changing the contour of the drifts, +and filling up the tracks of the wild creatures. But for Bill the wind +held a real menace. It was from the southeast, and warm as a girl's +hand against his face. + +No man of the Northwest Provinces is unacquainted with this wind. It is +prayed for in the spring because its breath melts the drifts swiftly, +but it is hated to death by the traveler caught far from his cabin on +snowshoes. The wind was the far-famed Chinook, the southeast gale that +softens the snow as a child's breath melts the frost on a window pane. + +It did not occur to Bill to turn back. Already he was nearly halfway to +his destination. The food supplies had to be secured, sooner or later; +and when the Chinook comes no man knows when it will go away. He mushed +on through the softening snow. + +Within an hour the crust was noticeably softer. One hour thereafter and +the snow was soft and yielding as when it had first fallen in early +winter. Mushing was no longer a pleasant pursuit. Henceforth it was +simply toil, rigorous and exhausting. The snowshoe sank deep, the snow +itself clung to the webs and frame until it was almost impossible to +lift. + +A musher in the soft wet snow can only go at a certain pace. There is +no way to hurry the operation and get speedily over the difficulties. +Any attempt to quicken the pace results only in a fall. The shoe cannot +be pushed ahead as when the snow is well-packed or crusted. It has to +be deliberately lifted, putting the leg tendons to an unnatural strain. + +It was too far to turn back. As many miles of weary snow stretched +behind him as before him. At Twenty-three Mile cabin he could pass a +night as comfortable as at home: there were food and blankets in plenty, +and the well-built hut contained a stove. Once there, he could wait for +a hard freeze that would be certain to harden the half-thawed snow and +make it fit for travel. His only course was to push on step by step. + +The truth suddenly dawned upon him that he was face to face with one of +the most uncomfortable situations of all his years in the forest. He +didn't believe he would be able to make the cabin before the fall of +night; if indeed he were able to complete the weary miles, it would only +be by dint of the most cruel and exhausting labor. He carried no +blankets, and although with the aid of his camp ax he could keep some +sort of a fire, a night out in the snow and the cold was not an +experience to think of lightly. + +Bill knew very well just what capabilities for effort the human body +holds. It has certain definite limits. After a few hours of such labor +as this the body is tired,--tired clear through and aching in its +muscles. Despondency takes the place of hope, the step is somewhat +faltering, hunger assails and is forgotten, even the solace of tobacco +is denied because the hand is too tired to grope for and fill the pipe. +Thereafter comes a deeper stage of fatigue, one in which every separate +step requires a distinct and tragic effort of will. The perceptions are +blunted, the uncertainty of footfall is more pronounced, the stark +reality of the winter woods partakes of a dreamlike quality. Then comes +utter and complete exhaustion. + +In its first stages there can still be a few dragging or staggering +steps, a last effort of a brave and commanding will. Perhaps there is +even a distance of creeping. But then the march is done! There is no +comeback, no rallying. The absolute limit has been reached. But +fortunately, lying still in the snow, the wanderer no longer cares. He +wonders why he did not yield to this tranquil comfort long since. + +Bill began to realize that he was approaching his own limit. The weary +miles crept by, but with a tragic languor that was like a nightmare. +But time flew; only a little space of daylight remained. + +Bill's leg muscles were aching and burning now, and he had to force +himself on by sheer power of his will. He would count twenty-five +painful steps, then halt. The wind had taken a more westerly course by +now, and the snow was no longer melting. The air was more crisp: +probably one night would serve to recrust the snow. But the fact became +ever more evident that the darkness would overtake him before he could +reach the cabin. + +But now, curiously, he dreaded the thought of pausing and making a fire. +Partly he feared--with the age-old fear that lay buried deep in every +cell--the long, bitter night without shelter, food or blankets; but +even the labor of fire-building appalled his spirit. I would be a +mighty task, fatigued as he was: first to clear away the snow, cut down +trees, hew them into lengths and split them--all with a light camp ax +that only dealt a sparrow blow--then to kneel and stoop and nurse the +fire. + +His woodsman's senses predicted a bitter night, in spite of the warmth +of the day. It would harden the snow again, but it would also wage war +against his life. All night long he would have to fight off sleep so +that he could mend the fire and cut fuel. It mustn't be a feeble, +flickering fire. The cold could get in then. All night long the flame +must not be allowed to flag. In his fatigue it would be so easy to dose +off,--just for a moment, and the fire would burn out. In that case +the fire of his spirit would burn out too,--just as certain, just as +soon. + +Late afternoon: already the shadows lay strange and heavy in the distant +tree aisles. And all at once he paused, thrilled, in his tracks. + +A little way to the east, on the bank of a small creek, his father and +his traitorous partner had once had a mining claim,--a mine they had +tried unsuccessfully to operate before Bronson had made his big strike. +They had built a small cabin, and for nearly thirty years it had stood +moldering and forgotten. Twice in his life Bill had seen it,--once as +a boy, when his father had taken him there on some joyous, holiday +excursion, and once in his travels Bill had beheld it at a distance. +Its stove had rotted away years since; it contained neither food nor +blankets nor furniture, yet it was a shelter against the night and the +cold. And even now it was within half a mile of where he stood. + +Exultant and thankful, Bill turned in his tracks and mushed over toward +it. + + + +XXI + +There was plenty of heart-breaking work to do when Bill finally reached +the little cabin. The snow had banked up to the depth of several feet +around it and had blown and packed against the door. He took off one of +his snowshoes to use as a shovel and stolidly began the work of removing +the barricade. There was no opening the door against the pressure of +the snow. Besides, the bolt was solidly rusted. + +But after a few weary strokes it occurred to him that the easiest way +would be to cut some sort of an opening in the top of the door, just +large enough for his body to crawl through. As the cabin was abandoned +there would be no possible disadvantage to such an opening: and since +the fire had to be built outside the cabin, against the backlogs, the +door would have to be left open anyway, to admit the heat. With a few +strokes of his sharp little camp ax he cut away the planks, leaving a +black hole in the door. He lighted a match and peered in. + +The interior was unchanged since his previous visit, years before. The +cabin had no floor, not the least vestige of furniture, and rodents had +littered the ground with leaves. + +He turned to his toil of making a fire. First he cut down a spruce--a +heart-breaking task with his little ax--then laboriously hacked it +into lengths. These he bore to the cabin, staggering with the load. He +split the logs, cutting some of them into firewood for kindling. Then +he made a pile of shavings. + +He tested the wind and found it blowing straight west and away from the +cabin. He felt oddly tired and dull, much too tired to strain and +listen for some whispered message of an inner voice that seemed to be +trying hard to get his attention, a few little, vague misgivings that +haunted him. His comfort depended, he told himself, on the heat of the +fire beating in through the little opening of the cabin door, so he +placed the backlog just as close as he dared in front. Then he laid +down split pieces for frame of his fire and erected his heap of +kindling. + +He entered through the opening and stood on the ground below to light +the fire. He didn't desire to crawl through the flames to enter the +cabin. Reaching as far as he could, he was just able to insert the +candle. The wind caught it, the kindling flames. Then he stood +shivering, waiting for the room to warm. + +He had a sweeping flood of thoughts as he watched the leaping flame. +Its cheerful crackle, its bright color in the gloom was almost too good +to be true. In these dark forests he had learned to be wary and on +guard at too great fortune. Quite often it was only a prank of perverse +forest gods, before they smote him with some black disaster. It seemed +to him that there was a wild laughter, a Satanic mocking in the joyous +crackle that was vaguely but fearfully ominous. The promise in the +rainbow, the siren's song to the mariners, the little dancing light in +the marsh--promising warmth and safety but only luring the weary +traveler to this death--had this same quality: the cheer, the hope, +the beauty only to be blasted by misfortune. + +The warmth flooded in, and he looked about for something to sit on. He +wished he had brought in one of the spruce logs he had cut. But it was +too late to procure one now. The flames leaped at the opening of the +cabin: he would be obliged to crawl laboriously through them to get into +the open. Tired out, he lay down in the dry dirt, putting his arm under +his head. He would soon go to sleep. + +But his ragged, exhausted nerves would not find rest in sleep at once. +His thoughts were troubling and unpleasant. The pale firelight filled +the cabin, dancing against the walls. The glare reflected wanly on the +ground where he lay. + +All at once he was aware that his eyes were fastened upon an old cigar +box on a shelf against the wall. He seemed to have a remembered +interest in it,--as if long ago he had examined its contents with +boyish speculations. But he couldn't remember what it contained. +Likely enough it was empty. + +The hours were long, and the wind wailed and crept like a housebreaker +about the cabin; and at last--rather more to pass the time than for +any other reason--he climbed to his feet and stepped to the shelf on +which the box lay. + +As he reached to seize it, he had a distinct premonition of misfortune. +It was as if some subtle consciousness within him, knowing and +remembering every detail of his past and its infinite and exact +relations with his present, was warning him that to open the box was to +receive knowledge that would be hateful to him. Yet he would not be +cowed by such a visionary danger. He was tired out, his nerves were +torn, and he was prey to his own dark imaginings. Likely enough the box +was empty. + +It was not, however. It contained a single photograph. + +His eye leaped over it. He remembered now; he had looked at it during +his former visit to the cabin, years before. It was a typical +old-fashioned photograph--two men standing in stiff and awkward poses +in an old-fashioned picture gallery--printed in the time-worn way. No +modern photographer, however, could have caught a better likeness or +made a more distinct picture. It had obviously been one of his father's +possessions and had been left in the cabin. + +One of the men was his own father. He had seen his photograph often +enough to recognize it; besides, he remembered the man in the flesh. +And he stared at the other face--a rather handsome, thin-lipped, +sardonic-eyed face--as if he were looking at a ghost. + +"Great God," he cried. "It's Harold Lounsbury!" + +But instantly he knew it could not be Harold Lounsbury. The picture was +fully twenty-five years old and the face was that of a mature man, +probably aged thirty. Harold Lounsbury himself was only thirty. And +now, looking closer, he saw that the features were not quite the same. +There was more breeding, more sensitiveness in Harold's face. And there +was also, dim and haunting, some slight resemblance to Kenly Lounsbury, +whom he had brought up into Clearwater and who had gone back with +Vosper. + +Yet already his inner consciousness was screaming in his ear the +identity of this man. Already he knew. It was no other than Rutheford, +the man who later, in the cavern darkness, had struck his father down. + +His deductions followed with deadly and remorseless certainty. He knew +now why Harold Lounsbury had come into Clearwater. Virginia had told +Bill that her lover seemed to have some definite place in view for his +prospecting: he had simply come to search for the same lost mine that +Bill had discovered the previous day. He knew now why Kenly Lounsbury +had been willing to finance Virginia's trip into the North,--not in +hopes of finding his lost nephew, but to find the mine of which he also +had some knowledge and thus repair the broken remnants of his fortune. +In the same sweep of realization he knew why Harold Lounsbury's face had +always haunted him and filled him with hazy, uncertain memories. He had +never seen Harold before; but he had seen this photograph in his own +boyhood, and Harold's face had so resembled the one in the picture that +it had haunted and disturbed him. + +Only too well he knew the truth. Harold Lounsbury was Rutheford's +son,--the son of his father's murderer. Kenly Lounsbury was Rutheford's +brother. Both had come to Clearwater to repair their broken fortunes +from the mine of which they both had knowledge. Whether it was guilty +knowledge or not no man could tell. + +Such directions as Rutheford had given his son had been unavailing +because of the snowslide that had changed the contour of the little +valley where the mine lay. He understood now Harold's disappointment +and emotion when Bill had discovered the mine. Likely his own name was +Harold Rutheford, or else Rutheford's true name had been Lounsbury. +Bill stood shivering all over with rage and hate. + +Now he knew the road of vengeance! He had only to trace Harold +Lounsbury back to his city--there to find his father's murderer. His +eyes were glittering and terrible to see at the potentialities of that +finding. Yet in an instant he knew that death had likely already +claimed the elder Rutheford. Otherwise he himself would have come +back, long since, to recover the mine. He would be financing the +expedition, rather than his brother Kenly. + +But by that stern old law, the law that goes down to the roots of the +earth and whose justice lies in mystic balances beyond the sight of men, +has it not been written that the sins of the father shall be visited +upon the son? It wasn't too late yet to command some measure of +payment. In Virginia's own city lived the Lounsburys,--a proud and +wealthy family, moving in the most haughty circles, patronizing the +humble, flattered and honored and exalted. But oh, he could break them +down! He could stamp their name with shame. He could not pay eye for +eye and tooth for tooth, because Rutheford was likely already dead. He +could not pay for his father's murder by striking down his murderer. +But he could make Harold pay for his own wrongs. He could make him +atone for the bitter moments of his youth and manhood, that irremediable +loss of his boyhood. If Rutheford had left a widow he could make her +pay for his own mother's sufferings. + +As he stood in that bleak and lonely cabin, lost in the desolate wastes +of snow, he was simply the clansman--the feudist--the primitive +avenger. Virginia too should know the crime, and the haunting sight of +those pitiful bones in the dark cavern would rise before her eyes +whenever she sought Harold's arms. He would show her the picture; she +could see the murderer's face in her own lover's. She could never yield +to him then---- + +Virginia! Soft above the wail and complaint of the wind, he spoke her +name. His star, his universe, the gracious, beautiful girl whose +happiness had been his one aim! And could he change that aim now? + +The wind wept, the snow was swept before it in great, unearthly clouds +of white, the fire crackled and leaped at the opening in the cabin door. +The northern winter night closed down, ever deeper, ever darker, ever +more fraught with those mighty passions of the human soul. But he +responded no more to the wild music of the wind. The wilderness +passions no longer found an echo in his own heart. He had suddenly +remembered Virginia. + +His face was like clay in the dancing light. His eyes were sunken and +were dark as night. He knew now where his course would lie. All at +once he knew by a knowledge true as life that this dark cabin, in the +dark forest, must keep its secrets. + +He could not wreak vengeance upon the man Virginia loved. He could not +take payment from her. The same law that had governed him before was +still the immutable voice of his being, the basic and irrevocable law of +his life. He could not blast her happiness with such a revelation as +this. His boyhood dream of vengeance would go the way of all his other +dreams,--like the smoke of a camp fire lost in the unmeasured spaces +of the forest. The shadow that the dark woods had cast upon his spirit +seemed to grow and deepen. + +But he must act now, while his strength was upon him. To look again +into Harold's face might cost him his own resolve. To think of Virginia +in his arms, her lips against his, the wicked blood of the man pulsing +so close that she could thrill at it and hear it, might set him on fire +again. He must destroy the evidence. The night might bring his own +death--he had a vague presentiment of disaster--and this photograph +must never be found beside his body. She knew his father's story; her +quick mind would leap to the truth at once. Besides, the destruction of +the photograph--so that he could never look at it again--might +lessen his own bitterness and give him a little peace. He crumpled it +in his hand, and turning, gave it to the flames at the cabin mouth. + +And from the savage powers of Nature there came a strange and incredible +response. The wind shrieked, then seemed to ship about in the sky, +completely changing direction. And all at once the smoke from the fire +began to pour in upon him, choking his lungs and filling his eyes with +tears. + + + +XXII + +For a full moment Bill gave little attention to the deepening clouds of +pungent, biting wood smoke that the wind whipped in through the hole he +had cut in the door. Likely it was just a momentary gust, a shifting in +the air currents, and the wind would soon resume its normal direction. +Besides, the discovery that he had just made seemed to hold and occupy +all the territory of his thought: he was scarcely aware of the burning +pain that the acrid, resinous green-wood smoke brought to his eyes. +This was the most bitter moment of his life, and he was lost and remote +in his dark broodings. The smoke didn't matter. + +He began really to wonder about it when the room grew so smoky that +it no longer received the firelight. The hole in the door was like +a flue: the smoke--that deadly green-wood smoke known of old to the +woodsman--streamed through in great clouds. He had shut his eyes at +first; now he found it impossible to keep them open. The pungent +smoke crept into his lungs and throat, burning like fire. He knew +that it could no longer be disregarded. + +It had been part of his wilderness training to respond like lightning in +a crisis. Many times on the forest trails life itself had depended upon +an instantaneous decision, then immediate effort to carry the decision +out. The fawn that does not leap like a serpent's head at the first +crack of a twig as the wolf steals toward him in the thicket never lives +to grow antlers. The power to act, to summon and focus the full might +of the muscles in the wink of an eye, then to hurl them into a breach +had been Bill's salvation many times. But to-night the power seemed +gone. For long seconds his muscles hung inert. He didn't know what to +do. + +The capacity for mighty and instantaneous effort seemed gone from his +body. His mind was slow too,--blunted. He could make no decisions. +He only seemed bewildered and impotent. + +The truth was that Bill had been near the point of utter exhaustion from +his day's toil in the snow and his labor of building the fire. The +vital nervous fluids no longer sprang forth to his muscles at the +command of his brain: they came tardily, if at all. The fountain of his +nervous energy had simply run down as the battery runs down in a motor, +and it could only be recharged by a rest. But there was a deeper reason +behind this strange apathy. The last blow--the sight of the +photograph of his father's murderer and its new connection with his +life--had for the time being at least crushed the fighting spirit within +the man. The fight for life no longer seemed worth while. In his +bitterness he had lost the power to care. + +The smoke deepened in the cabin. It seemed to be affecting his power to +stand erect. He tried to think of some way to save himself; his mind +was slow and dull. + +He knew that he couldn't get out of the cabin. There was only a little +hole in the door; to crawl through it, inch by inch as he had entered, +would subject him to the full fury of the flames. Oh, they would sear +and destroy him quickly if he tried to creep through them! All night +they had been mocking him with their cheerful crackle; they had only +been waiting for this chance to torture him. He had to spring high to +enter the little hole at all; there was no way to dodge the flames +outside. But he might knock the logs apart and put the fire out. + +There was only a distance of two paces between him and the door, but he +seemed to have difficulty in making these. He reeled against the wall. +But when he tried to thrust his arms through to reach the burning logs, +the cruel tongues stabbed at his hands. + +But in spite of the pain, he reached again. The skin blistered on his +hands, and for a long, horrible instant he groped impotently. The flame +was raging by now, two or three pitch-laden spruce chunks blazing +fiercely at once, and it seemed wholly likely that the cabin itself +would catch fire. But he couldn't reach the logs. + +He remembered his gloves then and fumbled for them in his pocket. The +smoke could only be endured a few seconds more. He caught hold the edge +of the opening and tried to spring up. But the flames beat into his +face and drove him down again. + +For a moment he stood reeling, trying to think, trying to remember some +resource, some avenue of escape. There was no furniture to stand on. +If he could cover his face he might be able to leap part way through the +opening and knock the burning logs apart. He tried to open his smarting +eyes, but the lids were wracked with pain and would not at once respond. +He made it at last, but the dense smoke was impervious to his vision. +The firelight gave it a ghastly pallor. + +His ax! With his ax he could chop the door away. His hand fumbled at +his belt. But he remembered now; he lad left his ax outside the cabin, +its blade thrust into the spruce log that had supplied his fuel. + +Suddenly he saw himself face to face with seemingly certain death. It +was curious that he did not feel more fear, greater revulsion. It was +almost as if it didn't matter. While the steady sinking of the burning +logs lessened, in some degree, the danger of the cabin igniting--a few +inches of snow against the door remaining unmelted--the smoke clouds +were swiftly and surely strangling him. Already his consciousness was +departing. He leaped for the opening again and fell sprawling on the +dirt floor. He started to spring up---- + +But he suddenly grew inert, breathing deeply. There was still air close +to the ground. Strange he hadn't thought of it before,--just to lie +still, face close to the dirt. It pained him to breathe; his eyes +throbbed and burned, but at least it was life. He pressed his face to +the cool earth. + +Yet unconsciousness was sweeping him again. He would feel himself +drifting, then with all the faltering power of his will he would +struggle back. But perhaps this sweet oblivion was only sleep. His +nerves were crying for rest. Once more he floated, and the hours of +night crept by. + +When Bill wakened again, the last pale glimmer of the lighted smoke was +gone. He was bewildered at first, confusing reality with his dreams, +but soon the full memory of the night's events swept back to him. His +faculties had rallied now, his thought was clearer. The few hours that +he had rested had been his salvation. + +Yet it was still night. He raised his hands before his eyes but could +not see even their outline. And the cabin was still full of smoke. But +it seemed somewhat less dense now, less pungent. But the smarting in +his eyes was more intense. + +The fire had evidently burned down and out. He struggled to open his +eyes, then gazed around the walls in search of the opening in the door. +But he could not see the reflection of an ember. He fought his way to +his feet. + +His fumbling hands encountered the log walls; he then groped about till +he found the plank door. His gloved hands smarted, but their sense of +touch did no seem blunted. He had never known a darker night! Now that +he found the hole in the door, it was curious that he could not see one +star gleaming through. But perhaps clouds had overspread. + +A measure of heat against his face told him that coals were still +glowing under the ashes, yet he might be able to creep through. It was +worth a trial: the smoke in the cabin was still almost unbearable. His +muscles were more at his command now; with a great lurch he sprang up +and thrust head and shoulders through the opening. + +The hot ashes punished his face, and his hand encountered hot coals as +he thrust them through. Yet with a mighty effort he pushed on until his +wrists touched the icy snow. He knew that he was safe. + +He stood erect, scarcely believing in his deliverance. And the snow had +crusted during the night; it would almost hold him up without snowshoes. +As soon as the light came, he could mush on toward his Twenty-three Mile +cabin. It would be a cold and exhausting march, but he could make it. +The night was bitter now, assailing him like a scourge the moment he +left the warm cabin; and the temperature would continue to fall until +after dawn. The wind still blew the snow dust--a stinging lash from +the north and west--and it had brought the cold from the Bering Sea. + +It was curious that a cloudy night could be so cold. Yet when he opened +his eyes he could not see the gleam of a star. The red coals of the +fire, too, were smothered and obscured in ashes. He stepped toward +them, intending to rake them up for such heat as they could yield. +Presently he halted, gazing with fascinated horror at the ground. + +He was suddenly struck with a ghastly and terrible possibility. He could +not give it credence, yet the thought seemed to seize and chill him like +a great cold. But he would know the truth in a moment. It was always +his creed: not to spare himself the truth. Surely it would simply be an +interesting story--this of his great fear--when he returned with his +backload of supplies to Virginia. Something to talk about, in the +painful and embarrassed moments that remained before Virginia and her +lover went out of his sight forever. + +His hand groped for a match. In his eagerness it broke off at his +fingers as he tried to strike it. But soon he found another. + +He heard it crack in the silence, but evidently it was a dud! The +darkness before his eyes remained unbroken. + +Filled with a sick fear, he removed his glove and passed his hand over +the upheld match. There was no longer a possibility for doubt. The +tiny flame smarted his flesh. + +"Blind!" he cried. "Out here in the snow and the forest--blind!" + +It was true. The pungent wood smoke had done a cruel work. Until time +should heal the wounds of the tortured lenses, Bill was blind. + + + +XXIII + +Standing motionless in the dreadful gloom of blindness, insensible to +the growing cold, Bill made himself look his situation in the face. His +mind was no longer blunt and dull. It was cool, analytic; he balanced +one thing against another; he judged the per cent. of his chance. At +present it did not occur to him to give up. It is never the way of the +sons of the wilderness to yield without a fight. They know life in all +its travail and pain, but also they know the Cold and Darkness and Fear +that is death. No matter how long the odds are, the wilderness creature +fights to his last breath. Bill had always fought; his life had been a +great war of which birth was the reveille and death would be retreat. + +He was wholly self-contained, his mind under perfect discipline. He +would figure it all out and seek the best way through. Long, weary +miles of trackless forest stretched between him and safety. There was +no food in this cabin, no blankets; and the fire was out. His +Twenty-three Mile cabin was only slightly less distant than the one he +had left. And through those endless drifts and interminable forests the +blind, unaided, could not find their way. + +He could conceive of no circumstances whereby Virginia and Harold would +come to look for him short of another day and night. They did not +expect him back until the end of the present day; they could not +possible start forth to seek him until another daylight. And this man +knew what the forest and the cold would do to him in twenty-four hours. +Already the cold was getting to him. + +For all that he had no food, he knew that if he could keep warm he could +survive until help came. Yet men cannot fast in these winter woods as +they can in the South. The simple matter of inner fuel is a desperate +and an essential thing. But he had no blankets, and without a fire he +would die, speedily and surely. He didn't deceive himself on this +point. He knew the northern winter only too well. A few hours of +suffering, then a slow warmth that stole through the veins and was the +herald of departure. He had been warmed through in the cabin, but that +warmth would soon pass away. He wondered if he could rebuild the fire. + +He was suddenly shaken with terror at the thought that already he did +not know in what direction the fire and the cabin lay. He had become +turned around when he strode out to light the match. Instantly he began +to search for the cabin door. He went down on his hands in the snow, +groping, then moved in a slow, careful circle. Just one little second's +bewilderment, one variation from the circle, and he might lose the cabin +altogether. That meant _death!_ It could mean no other thing. + +But in a moment the smoke blew into his face, and he advanced into the +ashes. The next moment, by circling again, he found the cabin door. He +leaned against it, breathing hard. + +"It won't do, Bill," he told himself. "Hold steady--for one minute +more." + +A spruce log, the last segment of the tree he had cut, lay somewhere a +few feet from his door. But he remembered it had fallen into a thicket +of evergreen: could he find it now? The log would not burn until it was +cut up with his ax: the ax would be hard to find in the pressing +darkness. Even if he found it, even if he could cut kindling with his +knife, he couldn't maintain a blaze. Building and mending a fire with +green timber is a cruel task even with vision; and he knew as well as he +knew the fact of his own life that it would be wholly impossible to the +blind. + +Then what was left? Only a deeper, colder darkness than this he knew +now. Death was left--nothing else. In an hour, perhaps in a +half-hour, possibly not until the night had gone and come again with its +wind and its chill, the end would be the same. There was no light to +guide him home, no landmarks that he could see. + +Then his thought seized upon an idea so fantastic, seemingly so +impossible of achievement, that at first he could not give it credence. +His mind had flashed to those unfortunates that had sometimes lost their +way in the dark chambers of an underground cavern and thence to that +method by which they guarded against this danger. These men carried +strings, unwinding them as they entered the cavern and following them +out. He had not carried a string-end here, but he had made a trail! +His snowshoe tracks probably were not yet obliterated under the +wind-blown snow. Could he feel his way along them back to the cabin? + +The miles were many and long, but he wouldn't have to creep on hands and +knees all the way. Perhaps he could walk, stooped, touching the +depressions in the snow at every step. In his own soul he did not +believe that he had one chance in a hundred of making it through to +safety. Crawling, creeping, groping from track to track would wear him +out quickly. But was there any other course for him? If he didn't try +that, would he have any alternative other than to lie still and die? He +wasn't sure that he could even find the tracks in the snow, but if he +were able to encircle the cabin at a radius of fifty feet he could not +miss them. He groped about at the side of the cabin for his snowshoes. + +He found them in a minute, then walked straight as he could fifty feet +out from the door. Once more he went on hands and feet, groping in the +icy snow. He started to make a great circle. + +Fifteen feet farther he felt a break in the even surface. The snow had +been so soft and his shoes had sunk so deep that the powdered flakes the +wind had strewn during the night had only half filled his tracks. He +started to follow them down. + +He walked stooped, groping with one hand, and after an endless time his +fingers dipped into dry, warm ashes. + +Only for a fraction of a second did he fail to understand. And in the +darkness and the silence the man's breath caught in what was almost a +sob. He realized that he had followed the tracks in the wrong +direction, and had traced them straight to the cabin door that he had +just left. + +It was only a matter of a hundred feet, but it was tragedy here. Once +more he started on the out-trail. + +He soon found that he could not walk in his present stooped position. +Human flesh is not build to stand such a strain as that. Before he had +gone half a mile sharp pains began to attack him, viciously, in the back +and thighs. For all his magnificent strength--largely returned to him +in his hours of rest--he could not progress in this position more than +half a mile farther. + +He took another course. He would walk ahead five paces, then drop down +and grope again for the tracks. Sometimes he found them at once, often +he had to go on his hands and feet and start to circle. Then, finding +the trail, he would mush on for five steps more. + +Oh, the way was cruel! He could not see to avoid the stinging lash of +the spruce needles, the cruel blows of the branches. Already the +attempt began to partake of a quality of nightmare,--a blind and +stumbling advance over infinite difficulties through the infinity of +time. It was like some torment of an evil Hereafter,--eternal, +remorseless, wholly without hope. Many times he sprawled at full +length, and always it was harder to force himself to his feet. + +Five steps on, halting and groping, then five steps more: thus the lone +figure journeyed through the winter forest. The seconds dragged into +the minutes, the minutes into hours. The cold deepened; likely it was +the bitter hour just after dawn. The hand with which he groped for the +tracks had lost all power of feeling. + +He could not judge distance or time. Already it seemed to him that he +had been upon the journey endless hours. Because of the faint grayness +before his eyes he judged it was broad daylight: perhaps already the day +was giving over to darkness. He didn't know how far he had come. The +only thought he had left was always to count his terrible five steps, +and count five more. + +Nothing else mattered. He had for the moment at least lost sight of all +other things. His thought was not so clear now; it seemed to him that +the forest was no longer silent. There were confused murmurings in his +ear, a curious confusion and perplexity in his brain. It was hard to +remember who he was and where he was going. Just to count his steps, +stoop, grope and find the snowshoe trail, then journey on again. + +He tried to increase the number of steps between his gropings--first +six, then seven. Above seven, however, the trail was so hard to find +that time was lost rather than gained. Yes, he thought it was still +daylight. Sometimes he seemed to feel the sunlight on his face. He was +not cold now, and even the pain was gone from his hips and thighs. + +He was mistaken in this, however. The pain still sent its fearful +messages to his brain, but in his growing stupor he was no longer aware +of them. Even his hand didn't hurt him now. He wondered if it were +frozen; yet it was still sensitive to the depressions in the drifts. It +could still grope through the snow and find the tracks. + +"I can't go on!" his voice suddenly spoke aloud. "I can't go--any +more." + +The words seemed to come from an inner man, without volition on his +part. He was a little amazed to hear them. Yet the time had not yet +come to stop and rest. The tracks still led him on. + +Always, it seemed to him, he had to grope longer to find the +indentations in the snow. The simple reason was that the motor centers +of his brain had begun to be impaired by cold and exhaustion, and he +could no longer walk in a straight line. He found out, however, that +the trail usually lay to the right rather than to his left. He was +taking a shorter step with his left than with his right--the same +tendency that often makes a tried woodsman walk in a great circle--and +he thus bore constantly to the left. Soon it became necessary to drop +his formula down to six, then to the original five. + +On and on, through the long hours. But the fight was almost done. +Exhaustion and hunger, but cold most of all, were swiftly breaking him +down. He advanced with staggering steps. + +The indentations were more shallow now. The point where he had begun to +break through the snow crust, because of the softening snow, was passed +long ago: only because he was in a valley sheltered from the wind were +the tracks manifest at all. + +The time came at last when he could no longer get upon his feet. And +now, like a Tithonus who could not die, he crawled along the snowshoe +trail on is hands and knees. "I can't go on," he told himself. "I'm +through!" Yet always his muscles made one movement more. + +Suddenly he missed the trail. His hand groped in vain over the white +crust. He crept on a few more feet, then as ever, began to circle. +Soon his hand found an indentation in the snow crust, and he started to +creep forward again. + +But slowly the conviction grew upon him that he was crawling in a small +circle,--the very circle he had just made. Some way, he had missed +the snowshoe trail. He did not remember how on his journey out he had +once been obliged to backtrack a hundred yards and start on at a new +angle. He had merely come to that point from which he had turned back. +He could not find the trail because he was at its end. + +He could not remember that it was his own trail. How he came here, his +purpose and his destination, were all lost and forgotten in the +intricate mazes of the past. He had but one purpose, one theme,--to +keep to his trail an journey on. He would make a bigger circle. He +started to creep forward in the snow. + +But as he waited, on hands and knees in the drifts, the Spirit of Mercy +came down to him and gave him one moment of lucid thought. All at once +full consciousness returned to him in a sweep as of a tide, and he +remembered all that had occurred. He saw all things in their exact +relations. And now he knew his course. + +No longer would he struggle on, slave to the remorseless instinct of +self-preservation. Was there any glory, any happiness at his journey's +end that would pay him for the agony of one more forward step? He had +waged a mighty battle; but now--in a flash--he realized that the +spoil for which he had fought was not worth one moment of his hours of +pain. He remembered Virginia, Harold, the mind and its revelation: he +recalled that his mission had been merely an expedition after provisions +so that the two could go out of his life. Was there any reason why he +should fight for life, only to find death? + +There was nothing in the distant cabin worth having now. He was +suddenly crushed with bitterness at the thought that he had made this +mighty effort for a goal not worth attaining. If he struggled on, even +to success, the only thing that waited him was a moment of farewell with +Virginia and the vision of her slipping away from him, into her lover's +arms. When she departed only the forest and the darkness would be left, +and he had these here. + +It would be different if he felt Virginia still needed him. If he could +win her any happiness by fighting on, the struggle would still be worth +while. But she had Harold to show her the way through the winter woods. +It was true that they would have to rely on the fallen grizzly for meat: +an uncomfortable experience, but nothing to compare with any further +movement through the cruel drifts. Harold would come back and claim the +mine; perhaps he would even erect his own notice before his departure, +and the Rutheford family would know the full fruits of their crime of +long ago. But it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered now was +rest and sleep. + +Slowly he sank down in the snow. + + + +XXIV + +When the Chinook wind, moving northwest at a faster pace than the +waterfowl move south, struck the home cabin, Virginia's first thought +was for Bill. She heard it come, faint at first, then blustering, just +as Bill had heard it; she saw it rock down a few dead trees, and she +listened to its raging complaints at the window. + +"I'll show you my might," it seemed to say. "You have dared my silent +places, come into my fastness, but now I will have revenge. I'll pay +you--in secret ways that you don't know." + +It so happened that Harold's first thought was also of Bill. It was a +curious fact that his heart seemed to leap as if the wind had smitten +it. He knew what the Chinook could do to a snow crust. He estimated +that Bill was about halfway between the two cabins, and he didn't know +about the little, deserted cabin where Bill could find refuge during the +night. His eyes gleamed with high anticipations. + +Harold's thought was curiously intertwined with the remembrance of the +dark cavern he had entered yesterday, the gravel laden with gold. If +indeed all things went as it seemed likely that they would go, Bill +would never carry the word of his find down to the recorder's office. +It was something to think of, something to dream about. Yellow +gold,--and no further trouble in seeking it. Such a development would +also save the labor of further planning. It was a friend of his, this +wind at the window. + +"Won't this Chinook melt the snow crust?" Virginia asked him. + +He started. He hadn't realized that this newfound sweetheart of his +knew the ways of Chinook winds and snow crusts. "Oh, no," he responded. +"Why should it? Wind makes crusts, not softens them." + +Virginia was satisfied for the moment. Then her mind went back to +certain things Bill had told her on one of their little expeditions. +Strangely, she took Bill's word rather than Harold's. + +"But this is a warm wind, Harold," she objected. "If the crust is +melted Bill can't possibly get through to his Twenty-three Mile cabin +to-night. What will he do?" + +"He'll make it through. The crust won't melt that fast, if it melts at +all. He may have a long, hard tramp, though. Don't worry, Virginia, +he'll be coming in to-morrow night--with his back loaded with food." + +"I only wish I hadn't let him go." The girl's tone was heavy and dull. + +"But we have to have supplies----" + +"We could have gone out on that grizzly meat. It was so foolish to risk +his life, and I had a presentiment too." + +He was glad that she had had a presentiment. It tended to verify his +fondest dreams. But he laughed at her, and falling into one of his most +brilliant moods, tried to entertain her. Her interest was hard to hold +to-day. Her mind kept dwelling on Bill, mushing on through the +softening snow, and her eyes kept seeking the window. + +She cooked lunch and burned every dish. Then, no longer able to deny +her own fears, she ventured out in the snow to test its crust. She put +on her snowshoes, starting a little way down Bill's trail. She was +white-faced and sick of heart when she returned. + +"Harold, I'm worried," she cried. "I tried to walk in this snow--and +you can talk about Bill making it through all you want, but I won't +believe you. A hundred steps has tired me out." + +He was beginning to be a little angry with her fears. And he made the +mistake of answering rather impatiently. + +"Well, what can you do about it? he's gone, hasn't he, and we can't +call him back." + +"I suppose not. But if I--we--were out there in that soft snow, and +he was here, he'd find something to do about it! He'd come racing out +there to us--bringing food an blankets----" + +"Oh, he'd be a hero!" Harold scorned. "Listen, Virginia--there's +nothing in the world to fear. The Chinook sprang up at nine----" + +"Oh, it was much later than that." + +"I looked at my watch," the man lied. "He was only well started then; +he's woodsman enough to turn around and come back if there's danger. +You may see him before dark." + +"I pray that I will! And if--if--anything has happened to him----" + +All at once the tears leaped to her eyes. She couldn't restrain them +any more than the earth can constrain the rain. She turned into her own +curtained-off portion of the cabin so that Harold could not see. + +The afternoon that followed was endlessly long, and lonely. Her heart +sank at the every complaint of the wind, and she dreaded the fall of the +shadows. Three times she thrilled with inexpressible joy at a sound on +the threshold, but always it was just the wind, mocking her distress. + +She saw the sinister, northern night growing between the spruce trees, +and she dreaded it as never before. She cooked a meager supper--the +supplies were almost gone--but she had no heart to sit up and talk +with Harold. At last she went behind her curtain, hoping to forget her +fears in sleep. + +All through the hours of early night she slept only at intervals: +dozing, coming to herself in starts and jerks, and dreaming miserably. +The hours passed, and still Bill did not return. + +Her imagination was only too vivid. In her thoughts she could see this +stalwart woodsman of hers camping somewhere in the snowdrifts, +blanketless, staying awake through the bitter night to mend the fire, +and perhaps in trouble. She knew something of the northern cold that +was assailing him, hovering, waiting for the single instant when his +fire should go down or when he should drop off to sleep. Oh, it was +patient, remorseless. He was likely hungry, too, and despairing. + +She wakened before dawn; and the icy, winter stars were peering through +the cabin window. Surely Bill had returned by now: yet it would hardly +be like him to come in and not let her know of his safe return. He had +always seemed so well to understand her fears, he was always so +thoughtful. There was no use trying to go back to sleep until she knew +for certain. She slipped from her bed onto the floor of the icy cabin. + +She missed the cozy warmth of the fire; but, shivering, she slipped +quickly into her clothes. Then she lighted a candle and put on her +snowshoes. She mushed across the little space of snow to the men's +cabin. + +The east was just beginning to pale: the stars seemed lucid as ever in +the sky. There was a labyrinth of them, uncounted millions that gleamed +and twinkled in every little rift between the spruce trees. Even the +stars of lesser magnitude that through the smoke of her native city had +never revealed themselves were out in full array to-night. And the icy +air stabbed like knives the instant she left the cabin door. It was the +coldest hour she had ever known. + +She knocked on Harold's door, then waited for a reply. But the cabin +was ominously silent. Her fears increased: she knew that if Bill were +present he would have wakened at her slightest sound. He would have +seemed to know instinctively that she was there. She knocked again, +louder. + +"Who's there?" a sleepy voice answered. Virginia felt a world of +impatience at the dull, drowsy tones. Harold had been able to sleep! +He wasn't worrying over Bill's safety. + +"It's I--Virginia. I'm up and dressed. Did Bill come back?" + +"Bill? No--and what in God's earth are you up this early for? Forget +about Bill and go back to bed." + +"Listen, Harold," she pleaded. "Don't tell me to go back to bed. I +feel--I know something's happened to him. He couldn't have gone on +clear to the cabin in that awful snow; he either started back or camped. +In either case, he's in trouble--freezing or exhausted. And--and--I +want you to go out and look for him." + +Harold was fully awake now, and he had some difficulty in controlling +his voice. In the first place he had no desire to rescue Bill. In the +second, he was angry and bitterly jealous at her concern for him. "You +do, eh--you'd like to send me out on a bitter night like this on a +fool's errand such as that. Where is there a cabin along the way--you'd +only kill me without helping him." + +"Nonsense, Harold. You could take that big caribou robe and some food, +and if you had to camp out it wouldn't kill you. Please get up and go, +Harold." Her tone now was one of pleading. "Oh, I want you to----" + +"Go back to bed!" But Harold remembered, soon, that he wasn't talking +to his squaw, and his voice lost its impatient note. "Don't worry about +Bill any more. He'll come in all right. I'm not going out on any +wild-goose chase like that--on a day such as to-day will be. You'll +see I'm right when you think about it." + +"Think!" she replied in scorn. "If it were Bill he wouldn't stop to +think. He'd just act. You won't go, then?" + +"Don't be foolish, Virginia." + +Angry words rose in her throat, but she suppressed them. A daring idea +had suddenly filled her with wonder. It came full-grown: that she +herself should start forth into the snow deserts to find Bill herself. + +Virginia had not been trained to self-reliance. Except for her northern +adventure, she had never been obliged to face difficulties, to care for +and protect herself, to work with her hands and do everyday tasks. To +build a fire, to repair a leaking tap, to take responsibility for +anything above such schoolday projects as amateur plays an social +gatherings would have seemed tasks impossible of achievement. At first +it had never occurred to her that she might herself be of aid to Bill. +The old processes of her mind still ran true to form; she had gone to +ask a man to carry out her wish. At first she had felt wholly helpless +at his refusal. But why should she not go herself? + +If indeed Bill had reached the Twenty-three Mile cabin, he would be +mushing home by now; she would meet him somewhere on his snowshoe trail. +No harm would be done. It might even be a pleasant adventure to mush +with him in the snow. The snow itself was perfect for travel; and she +had learned that her strong young body was capable of long distances in +a day. And if he were in trouble she could help him. + +It might mean building a fire in the snow and possibly camping out +through the day and night to come. It would be a dreadful and dangerous +experience, yet she saw no reason why she couldn't endure it. Bill had +showed her how to make the best of such a bad situation as this. He +had taught her how to build a fire in the snow; her round, slender +arms--made muscular in her weeks in the North--could cut fuel to keep +it burning. Besides, she would carry the caribou robe--one of the cot +coverings that Bill had stored in his cabin and which, though light as +down, was practically impervious to cold. Besides, there was no one +else to go. + +She went swiftly to her cabin, put on her warmest clothing, and, as Bill +had showed her, rolled a compact pack for her back. She took a little +package of food--nourishing chocolate and dried meat--the whisky +flask that had been her salvation the night of the river experience, and +a stub of candle for fire-building, tying them firmly in the caribou +robe. The entire package weight only about ten pounds. She fastened it +on her shoulders, hung a camp ax at her belt; and as she waited for the +dawn, ate a hearty but cold breakfast. Then, with never a backward +look, she started away, down the dim, wind-blown, snowshoe trail. + + + +XXV + +Now that the fight was done, Bill lay quite calm and peaceful in the +drifts. The pain of the cold and the wrack of exhausted muscles were +quite gone. + +He was face to face with the flaming truth, and he knew his fate. The +North, defied so long, had conquered him a last. It had been waiting +for him, lurking, watching its chance; and with its cruel agents, the +bitter cold and the unending snow, it had crushed and beaten him down. +He felt no resentment. He was glad that the trial was over. He knew a +deep, infinite peace. + +Sleep was encroaching upon him now. He felt himself drifting, and the +tide would never bring him back. He stirred a little, putting his hands +in his armpits, his face resting on his elbow. The wind swept by, +sobbing: there in the shadow of death he caught its tones and its +messages as never before. He was being swept into space. ... + +On the trail that he had made on the out-journey, and which he had tried +to vainly to follow back, Virginia came mushing toward him. Never +before had her muscles responded so obediently to her will; she sped at +a pace that she had never traveled before. It was as if some power +above herself was bearing her along, swiftly, easily, with never a +wasted motion. She tilted the nose of her snowshoes just the right +angle, no more or less, and all her muscles seemed to work in perfect +unison. + +The bitter cold of the early morning hours only made her blood flow +faster and gave her added energy. She scarcely felt the pack on her +back. The snowshoe trail, however, was so faint as to be almost +invisible. + +Because the snow had been firm in this part of Bill's journey, his track +was not so deep and the drifting snow had almost completely filled it. +In a few places the track was entirely obscured; always there were +merely dim indentations. If she had started an hour later she could not +have followed the trail at all. For all the day was clear, the wind +still whirled flurries of dry snow across her path. + +But she didn't permit herself to despair. If need be, she told herself, +she would follow him clear to the Twenty-three Mile cabin. The tracks +were ever more dim, but surely they would be deeper again where Bill had +encountered the soft snow. + +It became increasingly probable, however, that the tracks would +completely fade away before that time. Soon the difficulty of finding +the imprints in the snow began to slacken her gait. To lose them +completely meant failure: she could not find her way in these snowy +stretches unguided. As morning reached its full, the white wastes +seemed to stretch unbroken. + +Was the wind-blown snow going to defeat her purpose, after all? A great +weight of fear and disappointment began to assail her. The truth of the +matter was she had come to an exposed slope, and the trail had faded out +under the snow dust. + +At first there seemed nothing to do but turn back. It might be +possible, however, to cross the ridge in front: the valley beyond was +more sheltered by the wind and she might pick up the trail again. At +least she could follow her own tracks back, if she failed. She sped +swiftly on. + +She had guessed right. Standing on the ridge top she could see, far off +through one of the treeless glades that are found so often in the spruce +forest, the long path of a snowshoe trail. Instinctively she followed +it with her eyes. + +Clear where the trail entered the spruce thicket, her keen eyes made out +a curious, black shadow against the snow. For a single second she eyed +it calmly, wondering what manner of wild creature it might be. Its +outline grew more distinct under her intense gaze, and she cried out. +It was only a little sound, half a gasp and half a sob, but it expressed +the depths of terror and distress never known to her before. + +It seemed to her that she could not move at first. She could only stand +and gaze. The heart in her breast turned to ice, her blood seemed to go +still in her veins. She recognized this figure now. It was Bill, lying +still in the frozen drifts. + +For endless hours, it seemed to her, she stood impotent with horror. In +reality, the time was not an appreciable fraction of a breath. Then, +sobbing, she mushed frantically down toward him. She fairly raced,--with +never a misstep. For all the ghastly sickness that swept over her, +she held her body in perfect discipline. She had no doubt but that this +man was dead. Likely he had lain there for hours, and really only a +very short time of such cold as this was needed to take life. Already, +she thought, the life had gone from his dark, gentle eyes; the brave +heart was still; the brave heart was still; the mighty muscles lifeless +clay. + +No moment of her life had ever been fraught with such overwhelming +bitterness as this. She had never known such fear, even in the grip of +the wild waters or during the grizzly's charge. This was something that +went deeper than mere life: it touched realms of her spirit undreamed +of, and the blow seemed more cruel and more dreadful than any that +the world could deal direct to her. If she had paused for one second +of self-analysis, heaven knows what light might have burst upon her +spirit--what deep and wondrous realizations of her attitude toward Bill +might have come to her; but she did not pause. She only knew that she +must reach his side. Her only thought was that Bill was dead, gone +from her life as a flame goes from an extinguished candle. + +She knelt beside him, and with no knowledge of effort turned him over +and lifted his head and shoulders into her arms. His eyes were closed, +his face expressionless, his arms dropped limply to his side. At first +she dared not dream but that the cold had already taken away his life. +The dread Spirit of the North had lain in ambush for him a long time, +but it had conquered him at last. + +They made an unearthly picture,--these two so silent in the drifts. +Endless about them lay the snow; the winter forest was deep in its +eternal silence, the little spruce trees stood patient and inert and +queer, under their heavy loads of snow. Never a voice in all the +wastes, never a tear of pity or a stretching hand of mercy,--only +the cold, only the silence, only the dread solitude of a land +untamed,--the unconquerable wild. Yet her sorrow, her ineffable +despair left no room for resentment against this dreadful land. It +was only a lost fight in an eternal war; only a little incident in +the vast and inscrutable schemes of a remorseless Nature. + +She knew life now, this girl of cities. She knew that in her past life +she had never really lived: she had only moved in a gentle dream that an +artificial civilization had made possible. The gayeties, the culture, +the luxuries and the fashions that had seemed so real and so essential +before were revealed in their true light, only as dreams that would +pass: deep in them she had never heard the crash of armor in the +battlefields without her bower. But she knew now. She saw life as it +was, stark and cruel, remorseless, pitiless to the weak, treacherous to +the strong, ever waging war against all creatures that dwelt upon the +earth. + +Yet so easily could it have been redeemed! If this man were standing +strong beside her, life would be nothing to fear, nothing to appall her +spirit. All the ancient persecutions of the elements, all the pitfalls +of life and the exigencies of fortune could never bow their heads. +Instead they would know high adventure and the exhilaration of battle; +even if at the day's end they should go down into death, it would be +with unbroken spirits and brave hearts. + +But she couldn't stand alone! She needed the touch of his hand, his +shoulder against hers, the communion of his spirit and his strength. +Life was an appalling thing to face alone! There was no joy now in the +punishing cold and the wastes of forest; only sadness and fear and +despair. Sitting in the snow, his head and shoulders in her arms, she +knew a fear and a loneliness undreamed of before, a loss that could +never be atoned for or redeemed. + +She too knew the lesson that Bill had learned in his hour of +bitterness,--that one moment of heaven may atone for a whole life of +struggle and sorrow. One clasp of arms, one whispered message, one +mighty impulse of the soul in which eternity is seized and the stars +are gathered might glorify the whole bitter struggle of existence. +One little kiss might pay for it all. Yet for all that Harold still +lived and waited for her in the cabin, she felt that this one little +instant of resurrection was irrevocably lost. + +It seemed so strange to her that he should be lying here, impotent +in her arms. Always he had been so strong, he had stood so +straight,--always coming to her aid in a second of need, always +strengthening her with his smile and his eyes. She could hardly believe +that this was he,--never to cheer her again in their hard tramps, to +lend her his mighty strength in a moment of crisis, to laugh with her at +some little tragedy. She sobbed softly, and her tears lay on his face. +"Bill, oh, Bill, won't you wake up and speak to me?" she cried. She +pleaded softly, but he didn't seem to hear. + +"Come back to me, Bill--I need you," she told him. He had always been +so quick to come when she needed him before now. "Are you _dead?_-- Oh, +you couldn't be _dead!_ It's so cold--and I'm afraid. Oh, please +open your eyes----" + +She kissed him over and over--on the lips, on his closed eyes. She +pressed his head against her soft breast, as if her fluttering heart +would give some of its life to him. + +_Dead?_ Was that it? All at once she set to work to win back her +self-control. It might not yet be too late to help. She gripped +herself, dispelling at once all hysteria, all her vagrant thoughts. +He would have been hard at work long since. His face was still +warm--perhaps life had not yet passed. + +She put her head to his breast. His heart was beating--slowly, but +steadily and strong. + + + +XXVI + +Bill had not been lying long inert in the snow. Otherwise Virginia +would not have heard his heart thumping so steadily in his breast. In +fact, she was almost on the top of the ridge when he had given up. He +had just drifted off to sleep when she reached his side. + +And now he thought he was in the midst of some wonderful, glorious +dream. Death was being merciful, after all: in the moment of its +descent it was giving him the image of his fondest dream. It seemed to +him that soft, warm arms were about him, that his head was pillowed +against a tenderness, a holiness passing understanding. He didn't want +the dream to end. It would in a moment, the darkness would drop over +him; but even for the breath that it endured it almost atoned for the +full travail of his life. + +There were kisses, too. They came so softly, so warm, just as he had +dreamed. "Virginia," he whispered. "Is it you, Virginia--come to +me----?" + +Then, so clearly that he could no longer retain the delusion of dream, +he heard his answer. "Yes--and I've come to save you." + +It was true. Her arms were about him; he was nestled against her +breast. Yet the kisses must have been only a dream that was worth death +to gain. She was at work on him now. He felt her swift motions; now +she was putting a flask to his lips. A burning liquid poured into his +throat. + +There ensued a moment of indescribable peace, and then the flask was put +to his lips again. The inner forces of his body, fighting still for his +life even after he had given up, seized quickly upon the warming liquor, +forced it into his blood, and drove away the frost that was beginning to +congeal his life fluids. Already he felt a new stir in his veins. He +struggled to speak. + +"No yet," the girl whispered. "Don't make any effort yet." + +She gave him more of the liquor. He felt strength returning to his +muscles. He tried to open his eyes. The sharp pain was a swift +reminder of his blindness. "I'm blind----" he told her. + +"No matter, I'll save you." Even his blindness would not put a barrier +between them. One glance at the inflamed lids, however, told her that +in all probability it was just a temporary blindness from some great +irritation, soon to be dispelled. "Can you eat?" she asked. + +The man nodded. + +"It's better to, if you can. The whisky is only a stimulant, and it +won't keep you alive." She thrust a fragment of sweet chocolate into +his mouth, permitting it to melt. "You'd better get to your feet as +soon as you can--and try to get the flood flowing right again. We're +only a few miles from the cabin--if you'll just fight we can make it +in." + +He shook his head. "I can't--I can't go any farther. I can't see the +way." + +"But I'll lead you." By her intuition she guessed his despair; and she +comforted him, his head against her breast. "Don't you know I'll lead +you?" she cried, a world of pleading in her tone. "Oh, Bill--you +can't give up. You must try. If you die, I'll die too--here beside +you. Oh, Bill--don't you know I need you?" + +The words stirred and wakened him more than all her first aid. She +needed him; she was pleading to him to get up and go on. Could he +refuse that appeal? Could any wish of hers, as long as he lived and was +able to strive for her, go ungranted? The blood mounted through his +veins, awakened. A mysterious strength flowed back into his thews. + +There could be no further question of giving up. He struggled with +himself, and his voice was almost his own when he spoke. "Give me more +food--and more whisky," he commanded. "Take some yourself too--you'll +have to help me a lot going home. And give me your hands." + +He struggled to his feet. He reeled, nearly fell; but her arms held him +up. She gave him more chocolate and a swallow of the burning liquid. + +"It's a race against time," she told him. "If I can get you into the +cabin before the reaction comes, I can save you. Try with every muscle +you've got, Bill--for me!" + +She need make no other appeal. She took his hand, and they started +mushing over the drifts. + +* * * * * + +The moose that stands at bay against the wolf pack, the ferocious little +ermine in the grasp of the climbing marten never made a harder, more +valiant fight than these two waged on the way to the cabin. There was +no mercy for them in the biting cold. Bill was frightfully worn and +spent from his experience of the day and the previous night, and +Virginia had lent her own young strength to him. Often he reeled and +faltered, and at such times her arm in his kept him up. The miles +seemed innumerable and long. + +A might that has its seat higher and beyond the mere energy-giving +chemistry of their bodies came to their aid. Virginia had never dreamed +that she possessed such power of endurance and unfaltering muscles: a +spirit born of an unconquerable will rose within her and bore her on. +She was aware of no physical pain; the magnificent exertion of her +muscles was almost unconscious. Just as women fight for the lives of +their babes she fought for him, as if it were the deepest instinct of +her being. The thought of giving up was intolerable, and such spirit is +the soul of victory! + +They won at last. Without the stimulant and the nutritious food defeat +would have been certain. But all these factors would have been +unavailing except for the fighting spirit that her appeal to him had +awakened and which she had found, full-grown, in her own soul. + +They mused up to the cabin, and Harold stared at them like a lifeless +thing as Bill reeled through the doorway. Virginia led him to her own +cot, then drew the blankets over him. And she was not so exhausted but +that she could continue the fight for his recovery. + +"Build up the fire, and do it quickly," she ordered Harold. Her tone +was terse, commanding, and curiously he leaped to obey her. She removed +Bill's snow-covered garments, and as Harold went out to procure more +fuel she put water on the stove to heat. Then, procuring snow, she +began to rub Bill's right hand, the hand that had been frozen in his +effort to grope for the trail. Quick and hard work was needed to save +it. + +Harold came to her aid, but she put him to other work. She wanted to do +this task herself. Then she aroused the woodsman from his half-sleep to +give him coffee, cup after cup of it that used up the last of their +meager supply. + +It is one of the peculiar faculties of the human body to recover quickly +from the effects of severe cold. Even coupled with exhaustion his +hardships had wrought no lasting organic injury, and the magnificent +recuperative powers of Bill's tough body came quickly to his aid. About +midnight he wakened from a long sleep, wholly clear-headed and free from +pain. Wet bandages were over his eyes. + +He groped and in a moment found Virginia's hands. But an instant he +held them only; it was enough to know that she was near. He realized +that he was out of danger now: such tenderness as she had given him must +be forgotten. She was still sitting beside his bed, wrapped in a +blanket. + +He started to get up so that she could have her own cot; but she wakened +at his motions. Gently she pushed him down. + +"But I'm all right now," he told her. "I'm sleepy--and sore--but +I'm strong as ever. Let me go to my bed, and get some sleep." + +"No. I'm not sleepy yet." + +But the dull tones of her voice--even thought Bill could not see the +white fatigue in her face--belied her words. Bill laughed, the same +gay laugh that had cheered her so many times, and swung his feet to the +floor. "It's my turn to be nurse--now," he told her. "Get in quick." + +"But I've had Harold bring some blankets here and spread them on the +floor," she objected. "I can go to sleep there, when--I'm--tired." + +"And I can go to sleep there right now." + +With his strong arms he half-lifted her and laid her in his warm place. +She yielded to his strength, sleepily and gratefully, and he drew the +blankets about her shoulders. The touch of his hand was in some way +wonderful,--so strong, so comforting. Then, reeling only a little, he +groped his way to the bed she had made upon the floor. + +"Good night," he called, when he had pulled his blankets up. Guided by +a hope that flooded his heart with tremulous anticipations, he held out +his hand in the darkness toward her. + +As if by a miracle, her own hand came stealing into his. No man could +tell by what unity of longing they had acted: but neither seemed +surprised to find the other's, waiting in the darkness. It was simply +the Mystery that all men see and no man understands. + +He held the little hand in his for just a breath, as a man might hold a +holy thing that a prophet had blessed. Then he let it go. + +"Good night, Bill," she told him sleepily. + +In the hours of refreshing slumber that lasted full into the next +morning there was but one curious circumstance. In the full light of +morning it seemed to him that he heard the faint prick of a rifle, far +away. The truth was that for all his heavy sleep, some of his guardian +senses were awake to receive impressions, and the sound was a reality. +It was curiously woven into the fabric of his dreams. + +There were four shots, one swiftly upon another. Four,--and the +figure four had a puzzling, yet sinister significance to his mind. He +didn't know what it was: he had a confused sense of some sort of an +inner warning, an impression of impending danger and treachery. Who was +it that had held up four fingers somewhere in his experience, and what +manner of signal had it been? But Bill didn't fully waken. His dreams +ran on, confused and troubled. + + + +XXVII + +The same rifle shots that brought bad dreams to Bill had a much more +lucid meaning for Joe Robinson and Pete the Breed, the two Indians that +were occupying Harold's cabin. The wind bore toward them from Harold's +new abode, the rifle was of heavy caliber, and the sound came clear and +unmistakable through the stillness. They looked from one to the other. + +"Four shots," Pete said at last. "Lounsbury's signal." + +Pete stood very still, as if in thought. "Didn't come heap too quick," +he observed. "One day more you and me been gone down to Yuga--after +supplies." + +"Yes--but we can't go now." Joe's face grew crafty. The wolfish +character of his eyes was for the moment all the more pronounced. There +was a hint of excitement in his swarthy, unclean face. + +"That means--big doin's," he pronounced gravely. "We go." + +Pete agreed, and they made swift preparations for their departure. Some +of these preparations would have been an amazement to the white woodsmen +of the region,--for instance, the slow cleaning and oiling of their +weapons. The red race--at least such representatives of it as lived +in Clearwater--was not greatly given to cleanliness in any form. It +was noticeable that Joe looked well to see if his pistol was loaded, and +Pete slapped once at the long, cruel blade that he wore in his belt. +Then they put on their snowshoes and mushed away. + +There was no nervous waiting at the appointed meeting place,--a spring +a half-mile from Bill's cabin. Harold Lounsbury was already there. The +look on his face confirmed Joe's predictions very nicely. There would, +it seemed, be big doings, and very soon. + +A stranger to this land might have thought that Harold was drunk. +Unfamiliar little fires glittered and glowed in his eyes, his features +were drawn, his word of greeting was heavy and strained. His hands, +however, were quite steady as he rolled his cigarette. + +For all that the North had failed to teach him so many of its lessons +Harold knew how to deal with Indians. It was never wise to appear too +eager; and he had learned that a certain nonchalance, an indifference, +gave prestige to his schemes. The truth was, however, that Harold was +seared by inner and raging fires. He had just spent the most black and +bitter night of his life. The hatred that had been smoldering a long +time in his breast had at last burst into a searing flame. + +There was one quality, at least, that he shared with the breeds; hatred +was an old lesson soon learned and never forgotten. He had hated Bill +from the first moment, not only for what he was and what he stood +for--so opposite to Harold in everything--but also for that first +mortifying meeting in his own cabin. He felt no gratitude to him for +rescuing him from his degenerate life. The fact that Bill's agency, and +Bill's alone, had brought Virginia to his arms was no softening factor +in his malice. Every day since, it seemed to him, he had further cause +for hatred, till now it stung and burned him like strong drink, like +live hot steam in his brain. In his inner soul he knew that Bill had +endured tests in which he had failed, and he hated him the worse for it. +He had sensed Bill's contempt for him, and the absolute fairness with +which the woodsman had always treated him brought no remorse. Bill had +found the mine for which he sought, to which, by the degenerate code by +which he lived, he felt he had an ancestral right. + +Ever since he had gone down into that darkened treasure house he had +known in his own soul, late or soon, his future course. The gold alone +was worth the crime he planned. And as a crowning touch came the events +of the day and night just passed. + +He had had no desire for Bill to return to the cabin alive. It would +have been a simple way out of his difficulties for the woodsman to fall +and die in the snow wastes of Clearwater. For him to lie so still and +impotent in the drifts would compensate for many things, and in such a +case he would never have opportunity to record the finding of his mine. +The only imperfection, in this event, was that it deprived Harold of his +personal vengeance, and magnanimously he was willing to forgo that. It +wouldn't be his pleasure to see the final agony, the last shudder of the +frame,--but yet at least he might see much remnants as would be left +when the snow had melted in spring. + +Every event of the day had pointed to a successful trip, from Harold's +point of view. He had known that Bill couldn't make it through to his +Twenty-three Mile cabin after the Chinook wind had softened the snow. +The bitter night that followed would have likely claimed quickly any one +that tried to sleep, without blankets, unsheltered in the snow fields. +And when Virginia had gone out to save him and had brought back the +blind and reeling man, his first impulse had been to leap upon him, in +his helplessness, and drive his hunting knife through his heart! + +It wouldn't, however, had been a wise course to pursue. He didn't want +to lose Virginia. He flattered himself that he had been cunning and +self-mastered. He had watched Virginia's tender services to the +woodsman, and once he had seen a luster in her eyes that had seemed to +shatter his reason. And he knew that the time had come to strike. + +He felt no remorse. The North had stripped him of all the masks with +which civilization had disguised him, and he was simply his father's +son. + +This was a land of savage and primitive passions, and he felt no +self-amazement that he should be planning a murderous and an inhuman +crime. He had learned certain lessons of cruelty from the wilderness; +the savage breeds with whom he had mingled had had their influence too. +Bill, born and living in a land of beasts, had kept the glory of +manhood; Harold, coming from a land of men, had fallen to the beasts' +own level. And even the savage wolf does not slay the pack-brother that +frees him from a trap! Besides, his father's wicked blood was prompting +his every step. + +He threw the cigarette away and glanced critically at the rifles of his +two confederates. The breeds waited patiently for him to speak. +"Where's Sindy?" he asked at last. + +They began to wonder if he had called them here just to ask about Sindy, +and for an instant they were sullenly unresponsive. But the heavy lines +on their master's face soon reassured them. "Over Buckshot Dan's--just +where you said," Joe replied. + +"Of course Buckshot took her back?" The Indians nodded. "Well, I'm +going to let him keep her. I've got a white squaw now--and soon I'm +going out with her--to the Outside. But there's things to do first. +Bill has found the mine." + +The others nodded gravely. They expected some such development. + +"And Bill is as blind as a mole--got caught in a cabin full of +green-wood smoke. He'll be able to see again in a day or two. So I +sent for you right away." + +The breeds nodded again, a trifle less phlegmatically. Perhaps Pete's +eyes had begun to gleam,--such a gleam as the ptarmigan sees in the +eyes of the little weasel, leaping through the snow. + +"The mine's worth millions--more money than you can dream of. Each of +you get a sixth--one third divided between you. You'll never get more +money for one night's work. More than you can spend, if you live a +hundred winters. But you agree first to these terms--or you won't +know where the mine is." + +"Me--I want a fourth," Joe answered sullenly. + +"All right. Turn around and go home. I don't want you." + +It was a bluff, but it worked. Joe came to terms at once. Treacherous +himself and expecting treachery, Harold wisely decided that he wouldn't +divulge the location of the mine, however, until all needed work was +done. + +"As soon as we've finished what I've planned, we'll tear down his claim +notices and put up our own, then go down to the recorder and record the +claim," Harold went on. "Then it's ours. No one will ever guess. No +one'll make any trouble." + +Joe's mind seemed to leap ahead of the story, and he made a very +pertinent question. "The white squaw. Maybe she'll tell?" + +Harold glared at him. The man inferred that he couldn't master his own +woman. "Didn't you hear me say she was _my_ squaw? I'll tend to her. +Besides--the way I've got it planned, she won't know--at least she +won't understand. Now listen, you two, and don't make any mistake. +I've got to go back to the cabin now--try to be there before they wake +up. They're both tired out from a hard experience yesterday--and, as +I told you, Bill's as blind as a gopher. + +"Both of you are to come to the cabin, just about dark. You'll tell me +you have been over Bald Peak way and are hitting back toward the Yuga +village. Bring along a quart of booze--firewater--and maybe two +quarts would be better. We'll have supper, and you'd better bring along +something in your pocket for yourselves. It will put the girl in a +better mood. And now--you see what you've got to do?" + +Neither of them answered. They could guess--but they didn't conceive +of the real brilliancy of the plan. + +"If you can't, you're dummies. It's just this"--and Harold's face +drew into an unlovely snarl--"sometime in the early evening give Bill +what's coming to him." + +"Do him off----?" Joe asked stolidly. + +"Stamp him out like I stamp this snow!" He paused, and the two breeds +leaned toward him, waiting for the next word. They were not phlegmatic +now. They were imbued with Harold's own passion, and their dark, savage +faces told the story. Their features were beginning to draw, even as +his; their eyes were lurid slits above the high cheek bones. + +"Make it look like a fight," Harold went on. "Insult him--better +still, get in a quarrel among yourselves. He'll tell you to shut up, +and one of you flame up at him. Then strike the life out of him before +he knows what he's about. He's blind and he can't fight. Then go back +to my cabin and hide out." + +"No food in cabin," Joe objected. "Get some from you?" + +For a moment Harold was baffled. This was a singularly unfortunate +circumstance. But he soon saw the way out. "So you've used up the +supplies, eh? Got any booze----?" + +"Still two bottles firewater----" + +"Good. The trouble is that there's no food at Bill's cabin, +either--not enough to last a day. Bring what you have for your supper +to-night, or as much of it as you need--and after you're through with +Bill go back to your cabin and get what you have left----" + +"There won't be none left----" + +"Are you so low as that? Then listen. Do you know where Bill's +Twenty-three Mile cabin is?" + +Pete nodded. Joe made no response. + +"Then you can find it, Pete. I haven't any idea where it is myself. +It's only a day's march, and he's got it packed with grub. You hide out +there, and the little food we have left in the cabin'll be enough to +take us down there too--the woman and I--we'll follow your snowshoes +tracks. Then we'll make it through to the Yuga from there. And if we +have to, we can go over to a grizzly carcass I know of and cut off a few +pounds of meat--but we won't have to. We'll join you at the +Twenty-three Mile cabin to-morrow night." + +Pete the breed looked doubtful. "Bear over--east?" he asked. + +"Somewhere over there," Harold replied. + +"Don't guess any bear meat left. Heard coyotes--hundred of +'em--over east. Pack of wolves came through too--sang song over there." + +Harold could agree with him. If indeed the wolves and the coyotes had +gathered--starving gray skulkers of the forest--the great skeleton +would have been stripped clean by now. However, it didn't complicate +his own problem. The Indians could get down to the Twenty-three Mile +cabin with the morsel of food they had left--he and Virginia could +follow their trail with the fragment of supplies remaining in Bill's +cabin. + +"You can go from there to the Yuga and hide out," Harold went on. "I'll +go down to the recorder's office with the woman. Don't worry about her, +I'll tell 'em that you were two Indians from the East Selkirks, give 'em +a couple of false names and send 'em on a goose chase. It's simple as +day and doesn't need any nerve. And if you've got it through your +heads, I'm going back to the cabin." + +They had it through their heads. The plan, as Harold said, was +exceedingly simple. They digested it slowly, then nodded. But Pete had +one more question--one that was wholly characteristic of his weasel +soul. + +"What do you want us to use?" he asked. "This?" He indicated the thin +blade at his thigh. "Maybe use rifle?" + +Harold's eyes looked drowsy when he answered. Something like a lust, a +desire swept over him; this question of Pete's moved him in dark and +evil ways. "Oh, I don't know," he replied. "It doesn't much +matter----" He spoke in a strained, thick voice that was vaguely +exciting to the two breeds. For a few seconds he seemed to stand +listening, rather than in thought, and he continued his reply as if he +were scarcely aware of his own words. It was as if a voice from the +past was speaking through his lips. The words came with no conscious +effort; rather were they the dread outpourings of an inherent fester in +his soul. His father's blood was in the full ascendancy at last. + +"There's an old pick on the table--Bill had it prospecting." he said. + + + +XXVIII + +Bill's eyes were considerably better when he wakened--full in the +daylight. The warm wet cloths had taken part of the inflammation out of +them, and when he strained to open the lids, he was aware of a little, +dim gleam of light. He couldn't make out objects, however, and except +for a fleeting shadow he could not discern the hand that he swept before +his face. Several days and perhaps weeks would pass before the full +strength of his sight returned. + +His greatest hope at present was that he could grope his way about the +cabin and build a fire for Virginia. Whether she wished to get up or +not to-day, the growing chill in the room must be removed. He got up, +fumbled on the floor for such of his outer garments as Virginia had +removed, and after a world of difficulty managed to get them on. He was +amazingly refreshed by the night's sleep and Virginia's nursing. His +eyes throbbed, of course; his muscles were lame and painful, his head +ached and his arms and legs seemed to be dismembered, yet he knew that +complete recovery was only a matter of hours. + +Building the fire, however, was a grievous task. He felt it incumbent +upon him to move with utmost caution so that Virginia would not waken. +By groping about the walls he encountered the stove. It was pleasantly +warm to his hands, and when he opened the door he found that hot coals +were still glowing in the ashes. Then he fumbled about the floor for +such fuel as Harold had provided. + +He found a piece at last, and soon a cheery crackle told him that it had +ignited. He grinned with delight at the thought that he, almost stone +blind, had been able to build a fire in a room with a sleeping girl and +not waken her. But his joy was a trifle premature. At that instant he +tripped over a piece of firewood and his hands crashed against the logs. + +"Oh, blast my clumsiness!" he whispered; then stood still as death to +see what had befallen. Virginia stirred behind her curtain. + +"Is that you, Harold?" she asked. + +She was wide awake, and further deception was unavailing. "No. It's +Bill." + +"Well, what are you doing, up? Did Harold--do you mean to say you +built the fire yourself?" + +"That's me, lady----" + +"Then you must have your sight again----" The girl snatched aside the +curtain and peered into his face. + +"No such luck. Coals were still glowing; all I had to do was put in a +piece of firewood. But I'm all well otherwise, as far as I can tell. +How about you?" + +The girl stretched up her arms. "A little stiff--Bill, I've certainly +gained recuperative powers since I came up here. But, Heavens, I've had +bad dreams. And now--I want you to tell me just how this blindness of +yours--is going to affect our getting out." + +It was a serious question, one to which Bill had already given much +thought. "I don't see how it can affect us a great deal," he answered +at last. "I realize you don't know one step of the way down to +Bradleyburg, and I can't see the way; but Harold knows it perfectly. Of +course if we had plenty of food the sensible thing to do would be to +wait--till I get back my sight. But you know--we haven't scarcely +any food at all. The last of the meat is gone, except one little piece +of jerky. We've got a cup or two of flour and one or two cans. Of +course there isn't enough to get down to the settlements on." + +"Then we'll have to use the grizzly--after all?" + +"Of course. Thank God we had him to fall back on. But even with him, I +don't think we ought to wait till I get back my sight. We might have +other delays, and perhaps another softening of the crust. It will be +pretty annoying--traveling on grizzly flesh--and pretty awkward to +have a blind man in the party, but--I'll be some good, anyway. Maybe +I can cut fuel." + +The girl was deeply touched. It was so characteristic of this man that +even in his blindness he wished to make the difficulties of the journey +just as light as possible for her. + +"I won't let you do a thing," she told him. "Harold and I can do the +work of camp." + +"There won't be much to do, unfortunately; our camping will have to be +exceedingly simple. We'll take the sled full of blankets and grizzly +meat and what other little things we need. I don't see why you can't +ride on it, too--most of the way; the going is largely downhill and +the crust is perfect. We can skim along. At night we'll have to sleep +out--and not get much sleep, either--but by going hard, even on +snowshoes, we can make it through in three days--sleeping out just two +nights. Harold and I can build raging fires--he starting them and +helping me with the the fuel cutting. Oh, I know, Virginia, I won't be +much good on this trip--and those two nights will be pretty terrible. +We'll have to take turns in watching the fire. But with blankets around +our shoulders, acting as reflectors for the heat, we can get some rest." + +"But you are sure Harold knows the way? I couldn't even get as far as +the river, and you are blind----" + +"Harold knows the way as well as I do. I can mush all right, by hanging +on the gee-pole. It will be comparatively easy going; the brush is +covered with snow. The only thing that remains is to have Harold go +over and get a supply of the grizzly meat. Or, better still, since +he'll have to take the sled, we can pick it up on the way out. It's +frozen hard and won't take harm, and it's only a half mile out of our +way." + +As if the invocation of his name were a magic summons, Harold opened the +door and entered. He carried Bill's loud-mouthed rifle in the hollow of +his arm. + +"You've been hunting?" Virginia cried. She was pleased that this +sweetheart of hers should have risen so early in an attempt to secure +fresh meat for their depleted larder. It was wholly the manly thing to +do. + +"Of course. I figured we needed meat. I carried Bill's rifle because I +don't trust the sights of mine. They were a yard off that day I shot at +the caribou." + +"Did you see any game?" + +Harold's eyes met hers an narrowed, ever so slightly. But his answer +was apt. "I saw a caribou--about two miles away. There didn't seem a +chance in the world to hit it, but considering our scarcity of meat, I +took that chance. Of course, I didn't hit within ten feet of him; +Bill's gun isn't built for such long ranges. I shot--four times." + +Bill did not reply. He was thinking about those same four shots. It +was incomprehensible that they should have made such an impression upon +him. + +"And for all that Bill hasn't got his sight back yet, we're going to +start down to-morrow," Virginia went on in a gay voice. She glanced +once at Bill, but she did not see the world of despair that came into +his face at the delight with which she spoke. "You and I will take +turns pulling the sled; Bill will hang on to the gee-pole. And Bill +says you know the way. We're going to dash right through--camp out +only two nights." + +"I know the way all right," Harold answered. "What about food?" + +"It's only a half-mile out of the way to Bill's mine. There we're going +to load the sled with grizzly meat." + +It was in Harold's mind that their journey would be far different--down +to the Twenty-three Mile cabin and to the Yuga rather than over Grizzly +River. But for certain very good reasons he kept this knowledge to +himself. His lips opened to tell them that the wolves and coyotes +had already devoured the carcass of the bear; but he caught himself in +time. It would be somewhat hard to explain how he had learned that +fact, in the first place; and in the second, there was a real danger to +his plot if this revelation were made. Likely they would suggest that, +to conserve what little food they had, they start at once. The time had +not yet come to unfold this knowledge. + +He nodded. The day passed like those preceding,--simple meals, a few +hours of talk around the fire, such fuel cutting as was necessary to +keep the cabin snug and to provide a supply for the night. This was +their last day in Clearwater,--and Virginia could hardly accept the +truth. + +How untrue had been her gayety! In all the white lies of her past, all +the little pretenses that are as much a part of life in civilization as +buildings and streets, she had never been as false to herself as now. +She had never had to act a part more cruel,--that she could feel joy +at the prospect of her departure. + +She could deceive herself no longer. The events of the previous day had +opened her eyes--in a small measure at least--and her thoughts +groped in vain for a single anticipation, a single prospect that could +lighten the overpowering weight of her sadness. And the one hope that +came to her was that strange sister of despair,--that back in her old +life, in her own city, full forgetfulness might come to her. + +Wasn't it true that she would say good-by to the bitter cold and the +snow wastes? Was there no joy in this? Yet these same solitudes had +brought her happiness that, though now to be blasted, had been a +revelation and a wonder that no words could name or no triumphs of the +future could equal. The end of her adventure,--and she felt it might +as well be the end of her life. Three little days of bitter hardship, +Bill tramping at her side,--and then a long, dark road leading nowhere +except to barren old age and death. + +Never again would she know the winter forest, the silence and the +mystery, and the wolf pack chanting with infinite sadness from the hill. +The North Wind, a reality now, would be a forgotten myth: she would +forget that she had seen the woodland caribou, quivering with +irrepressible vigor against the snowfields. The thrill, the +exhilaration of battle, the heat of red blood in her veins would be +strangers soon: the whole adventure would seem like some happy, +impossible dream. Never to hear a friendly voice wishing her good +morning, never a returning step on the threshold, the touch of a strong +hand in a moment of fear! She was aghast and crushed at the realization +that this man was going out of her life forever. She would leave him to +his forests,--their shadows hiding him forever from her gaze. + +She found it hard to believe that she could fit into her old niche. +Some way, this northern adventure had changed the very fiber of her +soul. She could find no joy at the thought of the old gayeties she had +once loved, the beauty and the warmth. Was it not true that Harold +would go out beside her, the lover of her girlhood? His uncle would +start him in business; her course with him would be smooth. But her +hands were cold and her heart sick at the thought. + +As the hours passed, the realization of her impending departure seemed +to grow, like a horror, in her thoughts. She still made her pathetic +effort to be gay. It would not do for these men to know the truth, so +she laughed often and her words were joyous. She fought back the tears +that burned in her eyelids. She could only play the game; there was no +way out. + +She could conceive of no circumstances whereby her fate would be +altered. She knew now, as well as she knew the fact of her own life, +that she had been trapped and snared and cheated by a sardonic destiny. +For the moment she wished she had never fought her way back to the cabin +with Bill after yesterday's adventure, but that side by side in the +drifts, they had yielded to the Shadow and the cold. + +Through the dragging hours of afternoon, Harold seemed restless and +uneasy. He smoked impatiently and was nervous and abstracted in the +hours of talk. But the afternoon died at last. Once more the shadows +lengthened over the snow; the dusk grew; the first, bright stars thrust +through the gray canopy above them. Virginia went to the work of +cooking supper,--the last supper in this little, unforgettable cabin +in the snow. + +Both Bill and Virginia started with amazement at the sound of tapping +knuckles on the door. Harold's eyes were gleaming. + + + +XXIX + +Harold saw fit to answer the door himself. He threw it wide open; +Virginia's startled glance could just make out two swarthy faces, +singularly dark and unprepossessing, in the candlelight. She +experienced a swift flood of fear that she couldn't understand: then +forced it away as an absurdity. + +"We--we mushin' over to Yuga--been over Bald Peak way," Joe said +stumblingly. "Didn't know no one was here. Want a bunk here to-night." + +"You've got your own blankets?" + +"Yes. We got blankets." + +"On your way home, eh? Well, I'll have to ask this lady." + +Harold seemed strangely nervous as he turned to Virginia. He wondered +if this courteous reference to her was a mistake; could it be that she +would object to their staying? It would make, at best, an awkward +situation. However, he knew this girl and he felt sure. He half-closed +the door. + +"A couple of Indians, going home toward the settlement on the Yuga," he +explained quickly. "They've come from over toward Bald Peak and were +counting on putting up here to-night. That's the woods custom, you +know--to stay at anybody's cabin. They didn't know we were here and +want to stay, anyway. Do you think we can put 'em up?" + +"Good Heavens, we can't send them on, on a night like this. It is +awkward, though--about food----" + +"They've likely got their own food." + +"Of course they can stay. Bill can sleep on the floor in here--you +can take the two of them with you into the little cabin. It will be +pretty tight work, but we can't do anything else. Bring them in." + +Harold turned again to the door, and in a moment the Indians strode, +blinking, into the candlelight. The brighter light did not reveal them +at greater advantage. Virginia shot them a swift glance and was +instinctively repelled: but at once she ascribed the evil savagery of +their faces to racial traits. She went back to her work. + +Bill, sitting against the cabin wall, tried to make sense out of a +confused jumble of thoughts and impressions and memories that flooded in +one wave to his mind. His few hours of blindness had seemingly +sharpened his other senses: and there was a quality of the half-breed's +voice that was distinctly familiar. He had assumed at once that the two +breeds were Joe and Pete whom he had encountered when he first found +Harold. Why, then, had the latter made no sign of recognition? Why +should he repeat a manifest lie,--that they had been over toward Bald +Peak and were traveling toward the Yuga, and that they thought the cabin +was unoccupied? He remembered that he had given these particular +Indians definite orders to stay away from the district. Outwardly he +was cool and at ease, his face impassive and grave; in his inner self he +was deeply perturbed and suspicious. + +Of course, there was a possibility that he was mistaken in the voice. +He resolved to know the truth. + +"It's Joe and Pete, isn't it?" he asked abruptly in the silence. + +There was no reply at first. Virginia did not glance around in time to +see the lightning signal of warning from Harold to the Indians; yet she +had an inner sense of drama and suspense. + +She had never heard quite this tone in Bill's voice before. It was +hard, uncompromising, some way menacing. "I say," he repeated slowly, +"are you Pete and Joe, or aren't you?" + +"Pete--Joe?" Joe answered at last, in a bewildered tune. Harold +himself could not have given a better simulation of amazement. "Don't +know 'em. I'm Wolfpaw Black--he's Jimmy--Jimmy DuBois." + +The names were convincing,--typical breed names, the latter with a +touch of French. But Harold's admiration for the resourcefulness of his +confederate really was not justified. Joe hadn't originated the two +names. He had spoken the first two that had come to his mind,--the +names of a pair of worthy breeds from a distant encampment. + +Except for a little lingering uneasiness, Bill was satisfied. It would +be easy to mistake the voice. He had heard it only a few times in his +life. Virginia went on with her supper preparations, and at last the +three of them drew chairs around their crude little table. The two +breeds took their lunch from their packs and munched it, sitting beside +the stove. + +The night had fallen now, impenetrably dark, and the Northern Lights +were flashing like aerial searchlights in the sky. The five of them +were singularly quiet, deep in their own thoughts. Bill heard his watch +ticking loudly in his pocket. + +All at once Joe grunted in the stillness, and all except Bill whirled to +look at him. He went to his pack and fumbled among the blankets. Then, +a greedy light in his eyes, he put two dark bottles upon the table. + +Bill, unseeing, did not understand. His finer senses, however, told him +that the air was suddenly electric, charged with suspense. Virginia was +frankly alarmed. + +In her past life she had had intimate acquaintance with strong drink. +While it was true that she had never partaken of it beyond an occasional +cocktail before dinner, it was common enough in the circle in which she +had moved. She was used to seeing the men of her acquaintance drink +whisky-and-sodas, and many of her intimate girl friends drank enough to +harden their eyes and injure their complexions. She herself had always +regarded it tolerantly, thinking that much of the hue and cry that had +been raised about it was sheer sentimentality and absurdity. She didn't +know that evil genii dwelt in the dark waters that could change men into +brutes: such mild exhilaration as she had received from an unusually +potent cocktail had only seemed harmless and amusing. + +But she was not tolerant now. She was suddenly deeply afraid. She +looked at Bill, forgetting for the moment that in his blindness he could +not see what was occurring and that in his helplessness she could not +depend upon him in a crisis. She turned to Harold, hoping that he would +refuse this offering at a word. And her fear increased when she saw the +craving on his face. + +Harold had gone a long time without strong drink. The sight of the dark +bottles woke his old passion for it in a flash. His blood leaped, a +strange and dreadful eagerness transcended him. Virginia was horrified +at the sudden, insane light in his eyes, the drawing of his features. + +"Have a drink?" Joe invited. + +Bill started then, but he made no response. Harold moved toward the +table. + +"You're a real life-saver, Wolfpaw," he replied genially. "It's a cold +night, and I don't care if I do. Virginia, pass down the cups." + +Of course there were not enough cups to go around. There were three of +tin, however, counting one that Bill made from an empty can. "You'll +drink?" Joe asked Bill. + +The woodsman's face was grave. "Wolfpaw, it's against the law of this +province to give or receive liquor from Indians," he replied gravely. +"I won't drink to-night." + +Pete turned with a scowl. His thought had already flashed to the white +blade at his belt. "You're damn particular----" he began. + +But Joe shook his head, restraining him. The hour to strike had not yet +come. They must enjoy their liquor first and engender fresh courage +from its fire. He saw fit, however, to glance about the room and locate +the weapon of which Harold had spoken,--the deadly miner's pick that +leaned against the wall back of the stove. + +Curiously, Virginia's thought had flung to the weapons, too. She had +taken off her pistol when she had been nursing Bill and hadn't put it +on since. Quietly, so as not to attract attention, she glanced about +to locate it. It was hanging on a nail at the opposite end of the +table,--and Joe stood just beside it. She had no desire to waken his +suspicions of her fear. She knew she must put up a bold front, at +least. Nevertheless her fingers longed for the comforting feel of its +butt. She resolved to watch for a chance to procure it. + +"Have a drink?" Joe asked Virginia. + +She didn't like the tone of his voice. He was speaking with entire +familiarity, and again she expected interference from Harold. Her +fiance, however, was fingering the bottle. She saw Bill straighten, +ever so little, and beheld the first signs of rising anger in the set of +his lips. But she didn't know the full fierceness of his inward +struggle,--an almost resistless desire to spring at once and smite +those impertinent tones from the breed's lips. But he knew that he must +take care--for Virginia's sake--and avoid a fight as long as it was +humanly possible to do so. + +"No," the girl responded coldly. + +"Then there's enough cups after all," Harold observed. "I was going to +take the pitcher, if either Virginia or this conscientious teetotaler +cared for a shot." He chuckled unpleasantly. "I thought I could get +more that way." + +They poured themselves mighty drinks,--staggering portions that more +than half-emptied the first of the quarts. Then they threw back their +heads and drained the cups. + +The liquor was cheap and new, such as reaches the Indian encampments +after passing through many hands. It burned like fire in their throats, +and almost at once it began to distill its poison into their veins. + +Harold and Pete immediately resumed their chairs; Joe still stood at the +table end. He, too, had seen the little pistol of blue steel hanging on +the nail. At first the three men were sullen and silent, enjoying the +first warmth of the liquor. Then the barriers of self-restraint began +to break down. + +Harold began to grow talkative, launching forth on an amusing anecdote. +But there was no laughter at the end of it. The Indians were never +given to mirth in their debauches; both Bill and Virginia were far +indeed from a receptive humor. + +"What's the matter with this crowd--can't you see a joke?" Harold +demanded. "Say, Bill, over there--you who wouldn't take a gentleman's +drink--what you sitting there like an old marmot for on a rock pile? +Why don't you join in the festivities?" + +For all the rudeness of Harold's speech, Bill answered quietly. "Not +feeling very festive to-night. And if I were you--I'd go easy on too +much of that. You're out of practice, you know." + +"Yes--thanks to you. At least, before I came here I lived where I +could get a drink when I wanted it, not in a Sunday-school." + +Virginia suddenly leaned forward. "Where did you live before you came +here, Harold?" she asked. + +There was a sudden, unmistakable contempt in her voice. + + + +XXX + +Harold caught the note of scorn in Virginia's voice, and he had an +instant of sobriety. He looked at her with eager eyes. The poison in +his veins had enhanced her beauty to him; his eyes leapt quickly over her +slender form. It would pay to be careful, he thought. He didn't want +to lose her now. But in an instant his reckless mood returned. + +"Where I lived? What do you care, as long as I'm here? I suppose Bill +has already told you, the dirty----" + +"Don't say it," Virginia cautioned quickly. "I wouldn't answer for the +consequences." + +But for all her brave words, terror swept her. She remembered that Bill +was helpless and blind. "Bill has told me nothing. It wouldn't be like +him to tell me things--that might make me unhappy." + +"Sing another little song about him, why don't you?" Harold scorned. +"I haven't heard you talk anything else for a month. But what do I +care?" He tried to steady himself, to control his erring tongue. "But, +Virginia--that's all right, if he's one of your friends. He's good +enough according to his lights--but you can't expect much from some +one who's never been outside these tall woods! No wonder he couldn't +see a joke, or take a drink with a gentleman. He hasn't the chances, +the environment--that's it, environment--that you and I have had. +And speaking of drinks----" + +He went to the table again and poured his cup half full. Then with +unsteady hand he poured an equal portion for the two Indians. They took +their cups with burning eyes, and Harold raised his own drink aloft. + +"A little toast--and everybody stand up," he cried. "We're going to +drink to Virginia! To my future wife, gentleman--the lady who's +promised me her hand! Look at her there, you breeds--the most +beautiful woman that ever came to the North! Drink her down!" + +The burning poison poured into their throats. Virginia glanced again at +her pistol, but Joe still stood, half-covering it with his arm. Her +face was no longer merely anxious. All color had swept from it; her +eyes were wide and pleading. But there was no one to give aid to-night. +Bill sat, helpless and blind, against the wall. + +She had not dared to resent aloud the bandying of her name, the insult +of their searching eyes upon her beauty. It seemed to her that she +heard a half-muttered exclamation from Bill, but his face belied it. +And in reality the man's thoughts were as busy as never before. + +He opened his eyes, struggling for vision. But he could not make out +the forms of the men at all, except when they crossed in front of the +candles. The candles themselves were mere points of yellow between his +lids. One of the candles was sitting just beside him, on a shelf; the +other was on the table. He tried to locate the position of all four of +his fellow-occupants of the cabin,--Virginia at one end of the table, +Joe at the other, Pete opposite him on the other side of the stove, +Harold standing in the middle of the room, babbling in his drunkenness. + +But the first exhilaration of the drink was dying now, giving way to a +more dangerous mood. Even Harold was less talkative: the tones of his +voice had harshened. The two Indians, when they spoke at all, were +surly and threatening. + +The moments passed. For a breath the cabin was still. Only too well +Bill knew that matters were approaching the explosive stage. A single +word might invoke murderous passions that would turn the cabin into +shambles. The men drank the third time, emptying the first quart and +beginning upon the second. + +"You're a pretty little witch," Harold addressed Virginia. "You're hard +to kiss, but your kisses are worth having. What you think about that, +Joe? Aren't I tellin' you the truth?" + +Joe! Bill's first impression had been right, after all. His face made +no sign, but he shifted in his chair. For all the ease and almost +inertness with which he sat, his muscles were wholly ready for such +command as his mind might give them,--to spring instantly to their +full power for a fight to the death. Virginia heard the name too, and +her fears increased. + +"Joe?" she repeated. "You know him, then?" + +"Of course I know Joe. He's an old friend. He's one that Bill told +never to show his face in this part of Clearwater again--but you don't +see anything happening to him, do you?" + +He waited, hoping Bill would make response. But the latter was holding +hard, waiting for the moment of crisis, hoping yet that it might be +avoided. There was time enough when Virginia was safe and his sight had +returned him to answer such speeches as this. + +"You see he hasn't anything to say," Harold gloated. "I asked you a +question, Joe--about Virginia. Didn't I tell the truth?" + +The girl flinched, then caught herself with a half-sob. She resolved to +make one more appeal. "Oh Harold--please--please be careful what +you say," she pleaded. "You're drunk now--but don't forget you were a +gentleman--once. Don't drink any more. Don't let these Indians drink +any more, either." + +"A gentleman once, eh? So you don't think I'm one any more. But Bill, +there--he's one, ain't he? It seems to me you've been getting kind of +bossy around here, lately--and the women of we northern men don't +behave that way." + +"I'm not your woman, thank God--and I ask you to be careful." + +"And I repeat that warning." Bill spoke gravely, quietly from his +chair. "You're acting like a rotter, Harold, and you know it. Shut up +the bottle and try to hold yourself--and then remember what you've +been saying. Remember that I'm still here--and if I'm not able to +avenge an insult now, the time is coming when I will. And I've got one +weapon _now_ that I won't hesitate to use. I mean--an answer to a +question of a while ago. If you want to keep her love, be careful." + +The Indians turned to him, the murder-madness darkening their faces. +Pete's hand began to steal toward his hip. He had no ancestral +precedent for the use of a miner's pick for such work as faced him now. +And he held high regard for the thin, cruel blade. + +"Do you think I care?" Harold answered. "Tell her if you want to--all +about Sindy and everything else. Do you think I'm ashamed of it? I've +heard all I want to from you too--and I'll say and drink what I +please." + +Bill had no answer at first. He had thought that this threat might +bring Harold to time; he had supposed that the man valued Virginia's +love as much as he, in a similar position, would have valued it. Harold +turned to the girl. "So you're _not_ my woman, eh?" + +"No, no, no! I never will be!" The girl's eyes were blazing, and she +had forgotten her fear in her magnificent wrath. "I suppose--you were +a squaw man. These Indians are your own friends." + +Harold smiled cruelly. "Yes, a squaw man. And these are my friends. +Don't you suppose I've known--for the last week--you were just +fooling me along, all the time fondling Bill? Sindy at least was +faithful--and her form wouldn't take anything from yours." + +Pete, watching Joe, was somewhat amazed at the curious start the man +made. His searching gaze had leaped over the girl's form; his dark, +smoldering eyes suddenly blazed red. There was no other word than red. +They were like two coals of fire. + +There ensued a moment of strange and menacing silence. Pete chuckled, +already receptive to Joe's thought. Harold turned to stare at him. + +Joe put his pipe to his lips, then fumbled at his pocket. He seemed to +search in vain. "Will you give me a match, please, lady?" he asked. + +The tone was strange, thick and strained, yet Virginia's heart thrilled +with hope. The request was a welcome interlude in a quarrel that was +already rapidly approaching the fighting stage. Perhaps if these men +started to smoke, their blood would cool; she had known of old that +tobacco was a wonderful bromide to overstretched nerves. He turned +quickly to the shelf above Bill's head and procured half a dozen matches +from the box. + +As her back was turned she heard Pete laugh again,--one evil syllable +that filled her with instinctive horror. Her wide eyes turned to him; +he was watching her intently. Then she stepped back to give Joe the +matches. + +Instinctively her eyes turned to the wall for a reassuring sight of her +pistol. It was gone from its place. + +For an instant she stared in horrified amazement. The matches dropped +idly from her hand. A sob caught in her throat, a sob of hopeless and +utter terror, but she fought a brave little fight to suppress it. She +knew she must appear to be brave; at least she must do this much. She +looked at Joe; his evil, leering face told her only too plainly that his +eager hand had seized and secreted her pistol. Pete's face was drawn +too; Harold only looked bewildered. + +He was her last hope, but in one instant's scrutiny she saw that this +had vanished, too. Some terrible thought had sobered and engrossed him. +Now he was eyeing her like a witless thing, his features drawn, his eyes +burning. The moment was charged with ineffable suspense. + +"What is it, Virginia?" Bill asked. + +"One of these men--" she answered brokenly--"has taken my pistol. I +want him to give it back----" + +The circle laughed then,--a harsh and sinister sound that filled her +with inexpressible horror. For a moment she stood motionless in the +center of that leering circle, her eyes wide, her face white as +death,--a slight figure, trying to hard to stand straight, crushed and +defenseless, only her eyes pleading in last appeal. Instinctively her +lips whispered a prayer. + +Joe spoke then, a single sentence in the vernacular for Harold's ears. +With one gesture he indicated Harold, himself, and Pete in turn, then +pointed to the girl. His face was hideous with eagerness. + +Harold started at the words, but at first made no answer. He had lost +her anyway; there was no need of further restraint. The silence, the +stress, most of all the burning liquor flung a wild and devastating +flame through his veins, a dreadful madness seized his brain. There was +no saving grace, no impulse of manhood, no memory of virtue to hold him +back. + +His degeneracy was complete. He could not go lower. His father's +wicked blood pulsed in his veins; the final brutality that the North +bestows upon those it conquers was upon him. He answered with a curse. + +"Why not?" he said. "The slut's thrown me over. When I'm through you +can do what you want. And crack the skull of that mole with the pick +and throw him out in the snow." + +The two Indians lurched forward at his words. Bill left his chair in a +mighty leap. + + + +XXXI + +When Bill sprang forward to intercept the attack upon the girl he came +with amazing accuracy and power. There was nothing of blindness or +misdirection about that leap. It was as if his sight had already +returned to him. The real truth was that by means of his acute ear he +had located the exact position of every actor in the impending drama. + +What was more important, he knew the location of both candles. For all +his almost total blindness, he could discern through his watering eyes +the faint, yellow gleam of each. The one that burned beside him, on the +little shelf, he brushed off with one sweep of his hand as he leaped. +He knocked the second from the table; it fell, flickered, filled the +room an instant with dancing light, and then went out. The utter +darkness dropped down. + +The act had been so swift and unexpected that neither Joe, standing +nearest to the girl, or Harold across the room could draw their pistols +and fire. Seemingly in a flash the darkness was upon them. No more was +Bill the blind and helpless mole, to strike down with one careless blow. +He was face to face with his enemies in his own dark lair. He had +turned the tables; the advantage of vision on which they had presumed +had been in an instant removed. They could see no more than he could +now. Besides, in the hours since his rescue, he had already learned to +find his way around the cabin. + +And this was no half-darkness--that which descended as the candles +were struck down. It was the infinite, smothering gloom of an +underground cave in which no shadow could live, nor the sharpest outline +remain visible. Harold cursed in the blackness; as if in a continuation +of the leap he had made to upset the candles, Bill seized Virginia in +his strong arms. He thrust her to the floor and into the angle between +her bunk and the wall, the point that he instinctively realized would be +easiest to defend and safest from stray bullets. Then, widening his +arms, almost to the width of the little space between the table and the +wall, he lunged forward again. + +Virginia's pistol was in Joe's hand by now, and he shot in Bill's +direction. Two spurts of yellow fire broke for an instant the utter +gloom. But there was no time for a third shot. He was the nearest of +the three attackers, and Bill's outstretched arms seized him. The +woodsman's muscles gave a mighty wrench. + +His grasp was about Joe's chest at first, but with a great lurch he +slung the man's body out far enough so that he could loop his sinewy +arms about the man's knees. Joe was shifted in his arms as workmen are +sometimes snatched up by a mighty belt in a machine shop; he seemed +simply to snap in the remorseless grasp. Bill himself had no sensation +of his enemy's weight. He had him about the knees by now, Joe's body +thrust out almost straight from centrifugal force, and with a terrific +wrench of his mighty shoulders Bill hurled him against the wall. + +It was well for his enemies that none of them were in the road of that +human missile. They would have taken no further part in the ensuing +battle. Joe's body crushed against the logs with a sound that was +strange and horrible in the utter darkness; the pistol spun from his +hand and rattled down'; then he fell with a crash to the floor. There +was no further movement from him thereafter. His neck had been broken +like a match. The odds were but two to one. + +Harold had taken out his own revolver now and was shooting blindly in +the darkness. Ducking low, Bill leaped for him. In that leap there was +none of the gentle mercy with which he had dealt with him first, so long +ago in Harold's cabin. But a quick movement by Harold saved him from +the full force of the leap; in a moment they were grappling in each +other's arms. + +Bill wrenched him back and forth, and in an instant would have crushed +the life out of him if it hadn't been for the interference of Pete. The +latter breed leaped on his back, and Bill had to neglect Harold an +instant to stretch up his arms and hurl Pete to the floor. Harold still +clung to him, trying to seize his throat, but Bill wrenched him down. +He flung his own body down on top of him, then seized him by the throat +with the deadly intention of hammering his head on the floor; but before +he could accomplish his purpose Pete was upon him again. + +It was the end of the preliminaries. In that second the fight began in +earnest. They were both powerful men, the breed and Harold; and Bill +was like a wild beast--quick as a cougar, resistless as a grizzly--a +fighting fury that in the darkness was terrible as death. Mighty +muscles, stinging blows, striking fists and grasping arms; the rage and +glory of battle was upon him as never before. + +It was the death fight--in the darkness--and that meant it was a +savage, nightmare thing that called forth those most deep and terrible +instincts that in the first days of the earth were stored and implanted +in the germ plasm. These were no longer men of the twentieth century. +They were simply beasts, fighting to the death in a cave. It was a +familiar thing to be warring thus in the darkness: Neither Harold nor +Pete missed the light now. They were carried back to no less furious +battles, fought in dark caverns under the sea; murder flamed in their +hearts and fire ran riot in their blood. + +They were no longer conscious of time; already it was as if they had +struggled thus through the long roll of the centuries. It was hard to +remember what had been the cause of the fight. It didn't matter now, +anyway; the only issue left was the life of their adversary. To kill, +to tear their enemies' hearts from their warm breasts and their arteries +from their throats,--this was all that any of the three could remember +now. It was true that Bill kept his adversaries away from Virginia's +corner as well as he could, but he did it by instinct rather than by +conscious planning. He had not hated Harold in these months past, but +had only regarded him with contempt; but hate came to him fast enough in +those first moments of battle. + +Once, reeling across the cabin, they encountered soft flesh that tried +to escape from beneath their feet; at first Bill thought it was Joe, +returned to consciousness. But in an instant he knew the truth. "Go +back to your corner. Virginia," he commanded. + +For some reason that he could not guess, she had seen fit to crawl forth +from her shelter; whether or not she returned to it he couldn't tell. +There was no chance to warn her again. His foes were upon him. + +This was not a silent fight, at first. So that they would not attack +each other, Harold and Pete cried out often, to reveal their location +and to signal a combined attack against Bill. In the instants that he +was free from Bill's arms and he knew that his confederate was out of +range, Harold fired blindly with his pistol. Their bodies crashed +against the wall, broke the furniture into kindling at their feet; they +snarled their hatred and their curses. + +Bill fought like a giant, a might of battle upon him never known before. +He would hurl away one, then whirl to face the other; his fists would +lash out, his mighty shoulders would wrench. More than once their +combined attack hurled him to the floor, but always he was able to +regain his feet. Once he seized Harold's wrist, and twisting it back +forced him to drop the pistol. But Pete's interference prevented him +from breaking his arm. + +Steadily Harold and Pete were learning to work together. They were used +to the darkness now; Pete obeyed the white man's shouts. Two against one +was never a fair fight, and they knew that by concerted action they +could break him down. + +One lucky blow sent Pete spinning to the floor, and Bill's strong arms +hurled Harold after him. Just for a fraction of an instant he stood +braced and alone in the center of the cabin. For the instant a silence, +deep and appalling past all words, fell over the room. But Harold's +voice quickly shattered it. + +"Up and at him Pete!" he cried, hoarse with fury. They both sprang upon +him again. + +Both were fortunate in securing good holds, and as they came from +opposite sides, Bill found it impossible to hurl them off. Both of his +foes recognized their great chance; if they could retain their hold only +for a moment they could break him and beat him down. Harold also knew +that this was the moment of crisis. All three contestants seemed to +sweep to the fray with added fury. Bill was drawing on his reserve +strength--the battle could only last a few minutes longer. + +They fought in silence now. They did not waste precious breath on +shouts or curses. There were no pistol shots, no warnings; only the +sound of troubled breathing against the shock of their bodies as they +reeled against the walls. Bill was fighting with all his might to keep +his feet. + +But the tower that was his body fell at last. All three staggered, +reeled, then crashed to the floor. Pete had managed to wiggle from +underneath and, his hold yet unbroken, struggled at Bill's left side; +Harold was on top. But for all that he lay prone, Bill was not conquered +yet. With his flailing arms he knocked aside the vicious blows that +Harold aimed at his face; he tore Pete's grasp from his throat. He +fought with a final, incredible might. And now he was breaking their +holds to climb once more upon his feet. + +Then--above the sound of their writhing bodies--Virginia heard Pete +exclaim. It was a savage, a murderous sound, and anew degree of terror +swept through her. But she didn't cry out. She had her own plans. + +"Hold him--just one instant!" Pete cried. The breed had remembered +his knife. It was curious that he hadn't thought of it before. + +He took it rather carefully from his holster. The two men were +threshing on the floor by now, Harold in a desperate effort to keep his +enemy down, and there was plenty of time. Pete's hand fumbled in his +pocket. In his cunning and his savagery he realized that the supreme +opportunity for victory was at hand; but he must take infinite pains. + +He didn't want to run the risk of slaying his own confederate. His hand +found a match; he raised his knife high. The match cracked, then flamed +in the darkness. + +But it was not to be that that murderous blow should go home. He had +forgotten Bill's lone ally,--the girl that had seemed so crushed and +helpless a few minutes before. She had not remained in the safe corner +where Bill had thrust her, and she had had good reasons. The price that +she paid was high, but it didn't matter now. She had crawled out to +find her pistol that Joe's hand had let fall, and just before Pete had +lighted his match her hand had encountered it on the floor. + +It seemed to leap in her hand as the match flamed. It described a blue +arc; then rested, utterly motionless, for a fraction of an instant. For +that same little time all her nervous forces rallied to her aid; her +eyes were remorseless and true over the sights. + +The pistol shot rang in the silence. The knife dropped from Pete's +hand. She had shot with amazing accuracy, straight for the little +hollow in his back that his raised arm had made. He turned with a look +of ghastly surprise. + +Then he went on his face, creeping like a legless thing toward the door. +With a mighty effort Bill rolled Harold beneath him. + +The battle was short thereafter. Harold had never been a match for +Bill, unaided. The latter's hard fists lashed into his face, blow after +blow with grim reports in the silence. Harold's resistance ceased; his +body quivered and lay still. Remembering Virginia Bill leaped to his +feet. + +But Harold was not quite unconscious. But one impulse was left,--to +escape; and dumbly he crawled to the door. Pete had managed to open it; +but he crawled past Pete's body, strangely huddled and still, just +beyond the threshold. Then he paused in the snow for a last, savage +expression of his hate. + +But it was just words. No weapon remained in his hands. "I'll get you +yet, you devil!" he screamed, almost incoherently. "I'll lay in wait +and kill you--you can't get away! The wolves have got your grizzly +meat--you can't go without food." + +His voice was shrill and terrible in the silence of the winter night. +Even in the stress and inward tumult that was the reaction of the +battle, Bill could not help but hear. He didn't doubt that the words +were true: he realized in an instant what the loss of the grizzly +flesh would mean. But his only wish was that he had killed the +man when he had him helpless in his hands. + +He remembered Joe then, and listened for any sound from him. He heard +none, and like a man in a dream he felt his way to the lifeless form +beside the wall. He seized the shoulders of the breed's coat, dragged +him like a sack of straw, and as easily hurled his body through the +doorway into the drifts. Two bodies lay there now. But only the +coyotes, seekers of the dead, had interest in them. + +He turned, then stood swaying slightly, in the doorway. No wind stirred +over the desolate wastes without. The cabin was ominously silent. He +could hear his own troubled breathing; but where there was no stir, no +murmur from the corner where he had left Virginia. A ghastly terror, +unknown in the whole stress of the battle, swept over him. + +"Virginia," he called. "Where are you?" + +From the dark, far end of the cabin he heard the answer,--a voice low +and tremulous such as sometimes heard from the lips of a sick child. +"Here I am, Bill," she replied. "I'm hit with a stray shot--and I +believe--they've killed me." + + + +XXXII + +Was this their destiny,--utter and hopeless defeat in the moment of +victory? Was this the way of justice that, after all they had endured, +they should yet go down to death? They had fought a mighty fight, they +had waged a cruel war against cold and hardship, they had known the full +terror and punishment of the snow wastes in their dreadful adventure of +the past two days; and had it all come to nothing, after all? Was life +no more than this,--a cruel master that tortured his slaves only to +give them death? These thoughts brought their full bitterness in the +instant that Bill groped his way to Virginia's side. + +His hands told him she was lying huddled against the wall, a slight, +pathetic figure that broke the heart within the man. "Here I am," she +said again, her voice not racked with pain but only soft and tender. He +knelt beside her, then groped for a match. But whether the injury was +small or great he felt that the issue would be the same. + +But before he struck the match he remembered his foe without; he would +be quick to fire through the window if a light showed him his target. +Even now he might be crouched in the snow, his rifle in his arms, +waiting for just this chance. Bill snatched a blanket from the cot, +shielded them with it, and lighted the match behind it. "He can't see +the light through this," he told her. "If he does--I guess it doesn't +much matter." + +He groped for the fallen candle, lighted it, and held it close. +"You'll have to look and see yourself, Virginia," he told her. "You +remember--of course----" + +Yes, she remembered his blindness. She looked down at the little stain +of red on her left shoulder. "I can't tell," she told him. "It went in +right here--give me your hand." + +She took his warm hand and rested it against the wound. Someway, it +comforted her. "Close to the top of the shoulder, then," he commented. +Then he groped till his sensitive fingers told him he had found the +egress of the bullet--on her arm just down from her shoulder. "But +there's nothing I can do--it's not a wound I can dress. It's cleaner +now than anything we've got to clean it with. The only thing is to lie +still--so it won't bleed." + +"Do you think I'll die?" she asked him quietly. There was no +fear--only sorrow--in her tones. "Tell me frankly, Bill." + +"I don't think the wound is serious in itself--if we could get you +down to a doctor," he told her. "It isn't bleeding much now, because +you are lying still, but it has been bleeding pretty freely. It's just +a flesh wound, really. But you see----" + +Her mind leaped at once to his thought. "You mean--it's the same, +either way?" she questioned. + +"It doesn't make much difference." The man spoke quietly, just as she +might have expected him to speak in such a moment as this. "Oh, +Virginia--we've fought so hard--it's bitter to lose now. You see, +don't you--you couldn't walk with that wound--you don't know the +way, so I could walk and pull you on the sled--and Harold is gone. He +won't show us the way or help us now. We haven't any food here--the +grizzly has been eaten by wolves. One of us blind and one of us +wounded--you see--what chance we've got against the North. If we had +the grizzly flesh, we could stay here till my sight returned--and still, +perhaps, get you out in time to save you from the injury. If you knew +the way to the settlements, I might haul you on the sled--you guiding +me--and take a chance of running into some meat on the way down. But +none of those things are true." + +"Then what"--the girl spoke breathlessly--"does it mean?" + +"It means death--that's all it means." There was no sentimentality, +no tremor in his voice now. He was looking his fate in the face; he +knew he could not spare the girl by keeping the truth from her. "Death +as sure as we're here--from hunger and your wound--if Harold or the +cold doesn't get us first. We've been cheated, Virginia. We've played +with a crooked dealer. I don't care on my own account----" + +"Then don't care on mine, either." All at once her hand went up and +caressed his face. "Hold me, Bill, won't you?" she asked. "Hold me in +your arms." + +She asked it simply, like a little child. He shifted his position, then +lifted her so that her breast was against his, his arms around her, her +soft hair against his shoulder. The candle, dropped from his hand, was +extinguished. The cold deepened outside the cabin. The white, icy moon +rode in the sky. + +The man's arms tightened around her. He lowered his lips close to hers. +There in the shadow of death her breast pressed to his, the locks of +iron that held his heart's secret were shattered, the veil of his temple +was rent. "Virginia," he asked his voice throbbing, "do you want me to +tell you something--the truest thing in all my life? I thought I +could keep it from you, but I can't. I can't keep it any more----" + +Her arm went up and encircled his neck, and she drew his head down to +hers. "Yes, Bill," she told him, "I want you to tell me. I think I +know what it is." + +"I love you. That's it; it never was and it never can be anything +else." The words, long pent-up, poured from his lips in a flood. +"Virginia, I love you, love you, love you--my little girl, my little, +little girl----" + +She drew his head down and down until her own lips halted the flow of +his words. "And I love you, Bill," she told him. "No one but you." + +All the sweetness and tenderness of her glorious and newly wakened love +was in the kiss that she gave him. Yet the man could not believe. The +human soul, condemned to darkness, can never believe at first when the +light breaks through. His heart seemed to halt in his breast in this +instant of infinite suspense. + +"You do?" he whispered at last, in inexpressible wonder. "Did you say +that you loved _me_--you so beautiful, so glorious--Don't tell me +that in pity----" + +"I love you, Bill," she told him earnestly, then laughed softly at his +disbelief. She kissed him again and again, softly as moonlight falls +upon meadows. The man's heart leaped and flooded, but no more words +would come to his lips. He could only sit with his strong arms ever +holding her closer to his breast, kissing the lips that responded so +tenderly and lingeringly, swept with a rapture undreamed of before. +Ever her soft, warm arm held his lips to hers, as if she could not let +him go. + +The seconds, thrilled with a wonder ineffable, passed into minutes. +Virginia had no sensation of pain from her wound. The fear of death +oppressed her no more. She knew that she had come to her appointed +place at last, a haven and shelter no less than that to which the white +ship comes in from the tempestuous sea. This was her fate,--happiness +and peace at last in her woodsman's arms. + +* * * * * + +They were no different from other lovers such as cling and kiss in the +glory of a summer moon, in gardens far away. Their vows were the same, +the mystery and the wonder no less. The savage realm into which they +were cast could not oppress them now. They forgot the drifts unending, +the winter forests stretching interminably from range to range about +them, the pitiless cold, ever waiting just without the cabin door. Even +impending death itself, in the glory of this night, could cast no shadow +upon their spirit. + +In the moment of their victory the North had defeated them, but in the +instant of defeat they had found infinite and eternal victory. No blow +that life could deal, no weapon that this North should wield against +them, could crush them now. They were borne high above the reach of +these. They had discovered the great Secret, the eternal Talisman +against which no curse can blast or no disaster break the spirit. + +They had their secret, whispered exultations, like all lovers the length +and breadth of the world. Virginia told him that in her own heart she +had loved him almost from the first day but how she had not realized it, +in all its completeness, until now. Bill told her of the wakening of +his own love, and how he had confessed it to himself the night they had +played "Souvenir" in the complaint of the wind. + +He tried to explain to her his doubts and fears,--how he had looked at +her as a being from another world. "I could imagine my loving you, from +the first," he told her, "but never you giving your love to me." + +"And who is more worthy of it--of anybody's love--than you?" she +replied, utilizing a sweetheart's way, much more effective than words, +to stop his lips. Then she told him of his bravery, his tenderness and +steadfastness; how there was no feeling of descent in giving her love to +him. She told him that in fact his education was as good as hers if not +superior, that his natural breeding and gentleness were the equal of +that of any man that moved in her own circle. She could find protection +and shelter in his strong arms, and in these months in the North she had +learned that this was the most important thing of all. He could provide +for her, too, with the wealth of his mine,--a point not to be +forgotten. Her standards were true and sensible, she was down to the +simple, primitive basis of things, and she did not forget that provision +for his wife was man's first responsibility and the first duty of love. + +Only once did Bill leave her,--to cover the crack of the door and +build up the fire. When he returned, her warm little flood of kisses +was as if he had been absent for weary hours. + +But her thoughts had been busy, even in this moment. All at once she +drew his ear close to her lips. + +"Bill, will you listen to me a minute?" she asked. + +"Listen! I'll listen to every word----" + +"Some way--I've taken fresh heart since we--since we found out we +loved each other. It seems to me that this love wasn't given to us, +only to have us die in a few days--from this awful wound and you from +hunger. We're only three days' journey--and there must be some way +out." + +"God knows I wish you could find one. But I can't see--and you don't +know the way--and we have no food." + +"But listen--this wound isn't very bad. I know I can't walk--it +will start bleeding if I do--but if I can get any attention at all +soon, I know it won't be serious. Bill, have you found out--you can +trust me, in a pinch?" + +Remembering that instant when the match had flared and her pistol had +shot so remorselessly and so true, he didn't hesitate over his answer. +"Sweetheart, I'd trust you to the last second." + +"Then trust me now. Listen to every word I say and do what I tell you. +I think I know the way--at least a fighting chance--to life and +safety." + + + +XXXIII + +Whispering eagerly, Virginia told Bill the plan that would give them +their fighting chance. His mind, working clear and true, absorbed every +detail. "It depends first," she said, "whether or not you can crawl +through the little window of the cabin." + +Bill remembered his experience in the smoke-filled hut and he kissed +her, smiling. "I've got into smaller places than that, in my time," he +told her. "I can take the little window right out. I put it in +myself." + +They were not so awed by their dilemma that they couldn't have gay +words. "You got into my heart, too, Bill--a great dealer smaller place +than the window," she whispered. "The next thing--are Harold's +snowshoes in this room?" + +"So it depends on Harold, does it? I believe his snowshoes are here. +Harold left rather hurriedly--and I don't think he took them." + +"What everything depends on--is getting out. Getting out quickly. +The longer we stay here, without food, the more certain death is. I +know I can't walk and you can't see. We have no food--except enough +for one meal, perhaps--but we've got to take a chance on that. Bill, +Harold is waiting, right now--probably in the little cabin where he +sleeps--for a chance to get those shoes. He's helpless without them. +When he gets them, he can go to the Yuga--enlist more of his breed +friends--and wait in ambush for us, just as he said. He's hoping +we've forgotten about them. I am sure he didn't take the shoes. They +were behind the stove last night." + +To make sure, Bill groped his way across the cabin and found not only +Harold's shoes, but his own and Virginia's, bringing them all back to +her side. + +"What's now, Little Corporal?" he asked. + +"As soon as it gets light enough for him to see, I want you to go out +the cabin door. Turn at once into the brush at your right, so he can't +shoot you with the rifle. Then come around to the side of the cabin and +re-enter through the window. You can feel your way, and I can guide you +by my voice, but you mustn't go more than a few feet or you'll get +bewildered. The moment he thinks you are gone, he'll come--not only +to get his snowshoes but to gloat over me. I know him now! I can't +understand why I didn't know him before. And then--we've got to take +him by surprise." + +"And then----?" + +Quickly, with few words, she told him the rest of her plot. It was +wholly simple, and at least it held a fighting chance. He was not blind +to the deadly three-day battle that they would have to wage against +starvation and cold, in case this immediate part of their plot was a +success. But the slightest chance when death was the only alternative +was worth the trial. + +Very carefully and softly Bill went to work to loosen the window so that +he could take it out. It was secured by nails, but with such tools as +he had in the cabin, he soon had it free. Then he lifted out the +window, putting it back loosely so that he could remove it in a second's +time. There was no wisdom in leaving it open until morning. The bitter +cold without was waiting for just that chance. + +He secured certain thongs of rawhide--left over from the moose skin +that he had used for snowshoe webs--and put them in his coat pocket. +Then he made a little bed for the girl, on the floor and against the +wall, exactly in front and opposite the doorway. It was noticeable, +too, that he restored her pistol to her hand. + +"I don't think you'll need it," he told her, "but I want you to have it +anyway--in case of an emergency." + +There was nothing to do thereafter but to build up the fire and wait for +dawn. + +In reality, Virginia had guessed the situation just right. In the +adjoining cabin, scarcely one hundred yards away, Harold waited and +watched his chance to recover his snowshoes. He was wise enough to care +to wait for daylight. He wanted no further meeting with Bill in the +darkness. But in the light he would have every advantage; he could see +to shoot and his blind foe could not return his fire. + +After all, he had only to be patient. Vengeance would be swift and +sure. When the morning broke he would come into his own again, with +never a chance for failure. One little glance along his rifle sights, +one quarter-ounce of pressure on the trigger,--and then he could +journey down to the Yuga and his squaw in happiness and safety. It +would be a hard march, but once there he could get supplies and return +to jump Bill's claim. Everything would turn out right for him after +all. + +The fact that his confederates were slain mattered not one way or +another. Pete had gone out with a bullet through his lungs; Virginia +had dealt him that. Joe's neck had been broken when Bill had hurled him +against the cabin wall. But in a way, these things were an advantage. +There was sufficient food in the cabin for one meal for the three of +them, and that meant it was three meals for one. A day's rations, +carefully spent, would carry him the two day's march to the Yuga. +Besides, the breeds would not be present to claim their third of the +mine. He wondered why he hadn't handled the whole matter himself, in +the first place. He would have been fully capable, he thought. As to +Virginia,--he hadn't decided about Virginia yet. He didn't know of +her wound, or his security would have seemed all the more complete. +Virginia might yet listen to reason and accompany him down to the Yuga. +He had only to wait till dawn. + +But Harold's thought was not entirely clear. The fury in his brain and +the madness in his blood distorted it,--just a little. Otherwise he +might have conceived of some error in his plans. He would have been a +little more careful, a little less sure. His insane and devastating +longing for vengeance, as well as his late drunkenness, cost him the +fine but essential edge of his self-mastery. + +Slowly the stars faded, the first ghostly light came stealing from the +east. The blood began to leap once more in his veins. Already it was +almost light enough to shoot. Then his straining eyes saw Bill emerge +from the cabin. + +Every nerve in his body seemed to jerk and thrill with renewed +excitement. Yet there wasn't a chance to shoot. The light was dim; the +shadows of the spruce trees hid the woodsman's figure swiftly. He was +gone; the cabin was left unoccupied except for Virginia. And for all +that she had shot so straight to save Bill's life, there was nothing to +fear from her. Her fury was passed by now; he thought he knew her well +enough to know that she wouldn't shoot him in cold blood. And perhaps +some of her love for him yet lingered. + +He did not try to guess the mission on which Bill had gone. If his +thought had been more clear and his fury less, he would have paused and +wondered about it; perhaps he would have been somewhat suspicious. Bill +was blind; except to procure fuel there was no conceivable reason for an +excursion into the snow. But Harold only shivered with hatred and rage, +drunk with the realization that his chance had come. + +He would go quickly to the cabin, procure his snowshoes, and be ready to +meet Bill with loaded rifle when he returned. There was no chance for +failure. He plunged and fought his way, floundering in the deep snow, +toward Bill's cabin. + +He found to his great delight that the door was open,--nothing to do +but walk through. At first he was a little amazed at the sight of +Virginia lying so still against the opposite wall; it occurred to him +for the first time that perhaps she had been wounded in the fight. If +so, it made his work all the safer. Yet she opened her eyes and gazed +at him as he neared the threshold. He could see her but dimly; mostly +the cabin was still dusky with shadows. + +"I'm coming for my snowshoes, Virginia," he told her. "Then I'm going +to go away." He tried to draw his battered, bloody lips into a smile. + +"Come in and get them," she replied. Her voice was low and lifeless. +Harold stepped through the door. And then she uttered a curious cry. + +"Now!" she called sharply. There was no time for Harold to dart back, +even to be alarmed. A mighty force descended upon his body. + +Even in that first instant Harold knew only too well what had occurred. +Instead of lying in wait himself he had been lured into ambush. Bill +had re-entered the window and had stood waiting in the shadow, just +beside the open door. Virginia had given him the signal when to leap +down. + +He leaped with crushing force,--as the grizzly leaps, or the cougar +pounces from a tree. There was nothing of human limitations about that +attack. Harold tried to struggle, but his attempt was futile as that of +a sparrow in the jaws of the little ermine. Only too well he knew the +strength of these pitiless arms that clasped him now. He had learned it +the night before, and his lust for vengeance gave way to ghastly and +blood-curdling terror. What would these two avengers do to him; what +justice would they wreak on him, now that they had him in their power? +The resistless shoulders hurled him to the floor. Virginia left her bed +and came creeping to be of such aid as was needed. + +She wholly disregarded her own injury. Her own countrymen, in wars +agone, had fought all day with wounds much worse. She crept with her +pistol ready in her hands. + +Bill's strong fingers were at Harold's throat by now; the man's +resistance was swiftly crushed out of him. With his knee Bill held down +one of Harold's arms; with his free arm he struck blow after blow into +his face. Then as unconsciousness descended upon him, Harold felt his +wrists being drawn back and tied. + +He struggled for consciousness. Opening his eyes, he saw their sardonic +faces. The worst terror of his life descended upon him. + +"My god, what are you going to do to me?" he asked. + +"Why, Harold, you are going to be our little truck horse," Virginia +replied gayly, as she handed Bill more thongs. "You are going to pull +the sled and show the way down into Bradleyburg." + + + +XXXIV + +When the dawn came full and bright over Clearwater, Bill and his party +were ready to start. When Harold had been thoroughly cowed and his full +instructions were given him, the thongs had been put about his ankles +and removed from his wrists, and he was permitted to do the packing. +That procedure was exceedingly simple; all available blankets were piled +on the sled and made into a bed for Virginia, and the ax, candles, and +such cooking utensils as were needed were packed in front. And then +they had a short but decisive interview with Harold. + +"I won't go--I'll die first," he cried to Virginia. "Besides, you +don't dare to use force on me; you don't know the way and Bill can't +see. You know if you kill me you'll die yourself." + +"Fair enough," Virginia replied sweetly. "But take this little word of +advice. Bill and I were all reconciled to dying when we thought of +you--and we don't mind it now if we're sure you are going along. Don't +get any false ideas about that point, Harold. We're not going to spare +you on any chance of saving ourselves. We are going to give you a +little more foot room, and fix up your hands a little, and then you are +going to pull the sled. When we camp at night you're going to cut the +wood. Don't think for a minute I'm going to be afraid to shoot if you +disobey one order--if you take one step against us. You are at our +mercy; we are not at yours. And Bill will tell you I can shoot +straight. Perhaps you learned that fact last night." + +Yes, Harold had learned. He had learned it very well. + +"If I think you're trying to cheat us--to lead us out of the way +toward your breed friends--you're going to have a chance to learn it +better," she went on, never a quaver in her voice. "I won't wait to +make sure--I'll shoot you through the neck as easy and as quick as I'd +shoot a grouse. I haven't forgotten what you did last night; I'm just +eager for a chance to pay you for it." Her voice grew more sober. +"This is a warning--the only one and the last one that you will get. +I'm going to watch you every minute and tie you up at night. And the +fact that we can't go on without you won't have a jot of influence if +you take a step against us. We may die ourselves, but you know that +you'll also die." + +This was not the sheltered, incapable girl of society that addressed him +now. These words were those of the woodswoman; the eyes that gazed into +his were unwavering and hard. He knew that she was speaking true. The +courage for retaliation oozed out of him as mud oozes into a river. + +They lengthened the thong that tied his ankles together, giving him room +for a full walking step but not enough to leap or run. They put on his +hands a pair of awkward mittens that had been stiffened by mud and +water, and lashed them to his wrists. Then they slipped the thong of +the sled across his shoulders and under his arms like loops of a kyack. +They were ready to go. + +The forest was laden with the early-morning silence; the trees stood +draped in snow. It was cold, too,--the frost gathered quickly on the +mufflers that they wore about their lips. All too well they knew what +lay before them. Without food to keep their bodies nourished and warm, +they could scarcely hope to make the town; their one chance was that +somewhere on the trail they would encounter game. How long a chance it +was, this late in winter, they knew all too surely. But for all this +knowledge Bill and Virginia were cheerful. + +"I haven't much hope," Bill told her when she was tucked into the bed on +the sled. "But it's the only chance we have." + +She smiled at him. "At least, Bill, we'll have done everything we +could. Good-by, little cabin--where I found happiness. Sometime +perhaps we'll come back to you!" + +The man bent and kissed her, and she gave the word for Harold to start. + +Slowly they headed toward the river. The crust was perfect; Harold +could hardly feel the weight of the sled. Bill mushed behind, guided by +the gee-pole. The white-draped trees they had known so well spoke no +word of farewell. + +Could they win through? Were they to know the hardship of the journey, +starvation and bitter cold, only to find death in some still, enchanted +glen of the forest that stretched in front? Was fate still jesting with +them, whispering hope only to shatter them with defeat? Were they to +know hunger and exhaustion, pain and travail, until finally their bodies +dropped down and yielded to the cold? They could not keep up long +without the inner fuel of food. + +Their chance of finding game seemed hopelessly small, even at first. +Before they reached the frozen river it seemed beyond the possibilities +of miracle. Even the tracks of the little people--such ferocious +hunters as marten and ermine--were gone from the snow. There were no +tracks of caribou or moose; the grouse had seemingly buried in the +drifts. The only creatures that had not hidden away from the winter +cold were the wolves and the coyotes, furtive people that could not be +coaxed into the range of Virginia's pistol. For all her outward +optimism her heart grew heavy with despair. + +They crossed the river, coming out where the old moose trail had gone +down the ford. Here they had seen the last of Kenly Lounsbury and +Vosper, almost forgotten now. Virginia told Harold to stop an instant +as she recalled those vents of months before. + +"So much has happened since then," she said, "If only they had +left----" + +Her words died away in the middle of the sentence, and for a moment she +sat gazing with wide and startled eyes. For all that sight was just +beginning to return to him, Bill was strangely and unexplainably +startled, too, probably sensing the suspense indicated in the girl's +tones. Harold turned, staring. + +He could not see what Virginia saw, at first. She pointed, unable to +speak. In a little thicket of young spruce there was a curiously shaped +heap of snow, capped by a done of snow that extended under the +sheltering branches of a young tree. Instantly Harold understood. Some +long bundle had been left there before the snow came; when it had been +thrown down its end had caught in the branches of a young tree where +only a small amount of snow could reach it. "See what it is," Virginia +ordered. + +The man drew the sled nearer and with desperate energy began to knock +away the snow. His first discovery was a linen tent,--one that would +have been familiar indeed to Bill. But digging further he found a heavy +bundle, tied with a rope and rattling curiously in his arms. + +At Virginia's directions he laid it in the snow and pulled the sled up +where she could open it. Bill stood beside her, not daring to guess the +truth. + +"Oh, my darling!" she cried at last, drawing his head down to hers. She +couldn't say more. She could only laugh and sob, alternately, as might +one whose dearest prayers had been granted. + +The bundle was full of food,--dried meat and canned goods and a small +sack of flour. They were some of the supplies that to save himself the +work of caring for, the faithless Vosper had discarded when, with Kenly, +he had turned back from the river. + +* * * * * + +At the end of three bitter days, Bill Bronson stood once more on the +hill that looked down upon the old mining camp. The twilight was +growing in the glen beneath; already it had cast shadows in Virginia's +eyes. She sat beside him on the sled. + +It had been cruel hardship, the three days' journey, but they had made +it without mishap. At night they had built great fires at the mouth of +their tent, but they had not escaped the curse of the cold. The days +had been arduous and long. But they had conquered; even now they were +emerging from the dark fringe of the spruce. + +Virginia was on the rapid road toward recovery from her wound. It had +not been severe; while she was lying still on the sled it had had every +chance to heal. A few stitches by the doctor in Bradleyburg, a thorough +cleansing and bandaging, and a few more days in bed would avert all +serious consequences. Bill's sight had grown steadily better as the +days had passed; already the Spirits of Mercy had permitted him, at +close range, to behold Virginia's face. + +A half-mile back, just before they approached the first fringe of the +spruce forest, they had met a trapper just starting out on his line; and +he had gladly consented to take Harold the rest of the way into town. +It is one of the duties of citizenship in the North, where the +population is so scant and the officers so few, to take an active part +in law enforcement,--and this trapper was glad of the opportunity to +assist them in the care of the prisoner. He was to be lodged in prison +at the little mining camp to face a charge of attempted murder,--a +crime that in the northwest provinces is never regarded lightly. + +"And you weren't drowned!" the trapper marveled, when he had got his +breath. "We've been mournin' you for dead--for months." + +"Drowned--not a bit of it," Virginia answered gayly. "And don't mourn +any more." + +The trapper said he wouldn't and hastened off with his prisoner, +delighted indeed to be the first to pass the good word of their +deliverance through Bradleyburg. Bill was well known and liked through +all that portion of the North, and his supposed death had been a real +blow to the townspeople. + +Bill felt wholly able to follow the broad snowshoe track the half-mile +farther into town. The footsteps of the men had grown faint and died +away,--and Virginia and he were left together on the hill. + +They had nothing to say at first. They simply watched the slow +encroachment of the twilight. Lights sprang up one and one over the +town. Bill bent, and the girl raised her lips to his. + +"We might as well go on," he said. "You're cold--and tired." + +"Yes. I can't believe--I'm saying good-by to the spruce." + +"And you're not, Virginia!" The man's voice was vibrant and joyful. +"We'll have to come back often, to oversee the running of the +mine--half of every year at least--and we can stay at the old cabin +just the same. The woods are beautiful in summer." + +"They're beautiful now." + +And they were. She told the truth. For all their savagery, their +fearful strength, their beauty could not be denied. + +They saw the church spire, tall and ghostly in the twilight, and Bill's +strong arms pressed the girl close. She understood and smiled happily. +"Of course, Bill," she told him. "There is no need to wait. In a few +days I'll be strong enough to stand beside you--at the altar." + +So it was decided. They would be married in the quaint, old town of +Bradleyburg, in the shadow of the spruce. + +They would return, these two. The North had claimed them--but had not +mastered them--and they would come back to see again the caribou +feeding in the forest, the whirling snows, and the spruce trees lifting +their tall heads to the winter stars. They would know the old +exultation, the joy of conflict; but no blustering storm or wilderness +voice could appall them now. In the security and harbor of their love, +no wind was keen enough to chill them, no darkness appall their spirits. + +The Northern Lights were beginning their mysterious display in the +twilight sky. Far away a coyote howled disconsolately,--a cry that +was the voice of the North itself. And the two kissed once more and +pushed on down to Bradleyburg. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Snowshoe Trail, by Edison Marshall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SNOWSHOE TRAIL *** + +***** This file should be named 24695.txt or 24695.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/9/24695/ + +Produced by Ben Collver. HTML version by Al Haines. + +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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