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diff --git a/26905-8.txt b/26905-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e6999cc --- /dev/null +++ b/26905-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12009 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Northern Lights, by Gilbert Parker + +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: Northern Lights + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: October 12, 2008 [EBook #26905] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NORTHERN LIGHTS *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: BUT NOW HE HEARD A VOICE ABOVE HIM. IT WAS +HER VOICE See page 353 ] + + + + +NORTHERN LIGHTS + +BY +GILBERT PARKER + +ILLUSTRATED + +HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS +NEW YORK AND LONDON +MCMIX + + + + +Books by +GILBERT PARKER + +Northern Lights. Illustrated Post 8vo $1.50 +The Weavers. Illustrated Post 8vo 1.50 +The Right of Way. Illustrated Post 8vo 1.50 +A Ladder of Swords. Illustrated Post 8vo 1.50 + +Pierre and His People. +Mrs. Falchion. +The Trespasser. +The Translation of a Savage. +The Trail of the Sword. +When Valmond Came to Pontiac. +An Adventurer of the North. +The Seats of the Mighty. +The Pomp of the Lavilettes. +The Battle of the Strong. +The Lane that Had No Turning. +Donovan Pasha. +Old Quebec (In collaboration with C. G. Bryan). +Round the Compass in Australia. +A Lover's Diary. +Embers (Private Publication only). + +Copyright, 1909, by HARPER & BROTHERS. +All rights reserved. +Published September, 1909. + + + + +TO +ISHBEL, COUNTESS OF ABERDEEN +A TRUE FRIEND +OF THE GREAT DOMINION + + + + +NOTE + +The tales in this book belong to two different epochs in the life of the +Far West. The first five are reminiscent of "border days and deeds"--of +days before the great railway was built which changed a waste into a +fertile field of civilization. The remaining stories cover the period +passed since the Royal Northwest Mounted Police and the Pullman Car first +startled the early pioneer, and sent him into the land of the farther +North or drew him into the quiet circle of civic routine and humdrum +occupation. + +G. P. + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER PAGE +A Lodge in the Wilderness 1 +Once at Red Man's River 21 +The Stroke of the Hour 38 +Buckmaster's Boy 57 +To-Morrow 72 +Qu'appelle 94 +The Stake and the Plumb-Line 118 +When the Swallows Homeward Fly 160 +George's Wife 174 +Marcile 196 +A Man, a Famine, and a Heathen Boy 216 +The Healing Springs and the Pioneers 234 +The Little Widow of Jansen 253 +Watching The Rise of Orion 272 +The Error of the Day 295 +The Whisperer 314 +As Deep as the Sea 334 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + PAGE + +BUT NOW HE HEARD A VOICE ABOVE HIM. IT WAS +HER VOICE Frontispiece + +THE BIRD SHE HEARD IN THE NIGHT WAS +CALLING IN HIS EARS NOW 14 + +THE START ON THE NORTH TRAIL 36 + +SHE SWAYED AND FELL FAINTING AT THE +FEET OF BA'TISTE 56 + +LITTLE BY LITTLE THEY DREW TO THE EDGE +OF THE ROCK 70 + +"THEY SHOT ME AN' HURT ME" 74 + +"PAULINE," HE SAID, FEEBLY, AND +FAINTED IN HER ARMS 114 + +THE OLD MAN SHOOK HIS HEAD. THOUGH +NOT WITH UNDERSTANDING 166 + +GEORGE'S WIFE 184 + +THEN HAD HAPPENED THE REAL EVENT OF +HIS LIFE 198 + +THE FAITH HEALER 236 + +"AS PURTY A WOMAN, TOO--AS PURTY AND +AS STRAIGHT BEWHILES" 256 + +"IF YOU KILL ME, YOU WILL NEVER GET +AWAY FROM KOWATIN ALIVE" 312 + +FOR MINUTES THE STRUGGLE CONTINUED 332 + +"OH, ISN'T IT ALL WORTH LIVING?" +SHE SAID 342 + + + + +NORTHERN LIGHTS + + + + +A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS + + +"Hai-yai, so bright a day, so clear!" said Mitiahwe as she entered the big +lodge and laid upon a wide, low couch, covered with soft skins, the fur of +a grizzly which had fallen to her man's rifle. "_Hai-yai_, I wish it would +last forever--so sweet!" she added, smoothing the fur lingeringly and +showing her teeth in a smile. + +"There will come a great storm, Mitiahwe. See, the birds go south so +soon," responded a deep voice from a corner by the doorway. + +The young Indian wife turned quickly, and, in a defiant, fantastic +mood--or was it the inward cry against an impending fate, the tragic +future of those who will not see, because to see is to suffer?--she made +some quaint, odd motions of the body which belonged to a mysterious dance +of her tribe, and, with flashing eyes, challenged the comely old woman +seated on a pile of deer-skins. + +"It is morning, and the day will last forever," she said, nonchalantly, +but her eyes suddenly took on a far-away look, half apprehensive, half +wondering. The birds were indeed going south very soon, yet had there ever +been so exquisite an autumn as this, had her man ever had so wonderful a +trade, her man with the brown hair, blue eyes, and fair, strong face? + +"The birds go south, but the hunters and buffalo still go north," Mitiahwe +urged, searchingly, looking hard at her mother--Oanita, the Swift Wing. + +"My dream said that the winter will be dark and lonely, that the ice will +be thick, the snow deep, and that many hearts will be sick because of the +black days and the hunger that sickens the heart," answered Swift Wing. + +Mitiahwe looked into Swift Wing's dark eyes, and an anger came upon her. +"The hearts of cowards will freeze," she rejoined, "and to those that will +not see the sun the world will be dark," she added. Then suddenly she +remembered to whom she was speaking, and a flood of feeling ran through +her; for Swift Wing had cherished her like a fledgling in the nest till +her young white man came from "down East." Her heart had leaped up at +sight of him, and she had turned to him from all the young men of her +tribe, waiting in a kind of mist till he, at last, had spoken to her +mother, and then one evening, her shawl over her head, she had come along +to his lodge. + +A thousand times as the four years passed by she had thought how good it +was that she had become his wife--the young white man's wife, rather than +the wife of Breaking Rock, son of White Buffalo, the chief, who had four +hundred horses and a face that would have made winter and sour days for +her. Now and then Breaking Rock came and stood before the lodge, a +distance off, and stayed there hour after hour, and once or twice he came +when her man was with her; but nothing could be done, for earth and air +and space were common to them all, and there was no offence in Breaking +Rock gazing at the lodge where Mitiahwe lived. Yet it seemed as though +Breaking Rock was waiting--waiting and hoping. That was the impression +made upon all who saw him, and even old White Buffalo, the chief, shook +his head gloomily when he saw Breaking Rock, his son, staring at the big +lodge which was so full of happiness, and so full also of many luxuries +never before seen at a trading-post on the Koonee River. The father of +Mitiahwe had been chief, but because his three sons had been killed in +battle the chieftainship had come to White Buffalo, who was of the same +blood and family. There were those who said that Mitiahwe should have been +chieftainess; but neither she nor her mother would ever listen to this, +and so White Buffalo and the tribe loved Mitiahwe because of her modesty +and goodness. She was even more to White Buffalo than Breaking Rock, and +he had been glad that Dingan the white man--Long Hand he was called--had +taken Mitiahwe for his woman. Yet behind this gladness of White Buffalo, +and that of Swift Wing, and behind the silent watchfulness of Breaking +Rock, there was a thought which must ever come when a white man mates with +an Indian maid, without priest or preacher, or writing, or book, or bond. + +Yet four years had gone; and all the tribe, and all who came and went, +half-breeds, traders, and other tribes, remarked how happy was the white +man with his Indian wife. They never saw anything but light in the eyes of +Mitiahwe, nor did the old women of the tribe who scanned her face as she +came and went, and watched and waited too for what never came--not even +after four years. + +Mitiahwe had been so happy that she had not really missed what never came; +though the desire to have something in her arms which was part of them +both had flushed up in her veins at times, and made her restless till her +man had come home again. Then she had forgotten the unseen for the seen, +and was happy that they two were alone together--that was the joy of it +all, so much alone together; for Swift Wing did not live with them, and, +like Breaking Rock, she watched her daughter's life, standing afar off, +since it was the unwritten law of the tribe that the wife's mother must +not cross the path or enter the home of her daughter's husband. But at +last Dingan had broken through this custom, and insisted that Swift Wing +should be with her daughter when he was away from home, as now on this +wonderful autumn morning, when Mitiahwe had been singing to the Sun, to +which she prayed for her man and for everlasting days with him. + +She had spoken angrily but now, because her soul sharply resented the +challenge to her happiness which her mother had been making. It was her +own eyes that refused to see the cloud which the sage and bereaved woman +had seen and conveyed in images and figures of speech natural to the +Indian mind. + +"_Hai-yai_," she said now, with a strange, touching sigh breathing in the +words, "you are right, my mother, and a dream is a dream; also, if it be +dreamed three times, then is it to be followed, and it is true. You have +lived long, and your dreams are of the Sun and the Spirit." She shook a +little as she laid her hand on a buckskin coat of her man hanging by the +lodge door; then she steadied herself again, and gazed earnestly into her +mother's eyes. "Have all your dreams come true, my mother?" she asked, +with a hungering heart. + +"There was the dream that came out of the dark five times, when your +father went against the Crees, and was wounded, and crawled away into the +hills, and all our warriors fled--they were but a handful, and the Crees +like a young forest in number! I went with my dream, and found him after +many days, and it was after that you were born, my youngest and my last. +There was also"--her eyes almost closed, and the needle and thread she +held lay still in her lap--"when two of your brothers were killed in the +drive of the buffalo. Did I not see it all in my dream, and follow after +them to take them to my heart? And when your sister was carried off, was +it not my dream which saw the trail, so that we brought her back again to +die in peace, her eyes seeing the Lodge whither she was going, open to +her, and the Sun, the Father, giving her light and promise--for she had +wounded herself to die that the thief who stole her should leave her to +herself! Behold, my daughter, these dreams have I had, and others; and I +have lived long and have seen the bright day break into storm, and the +herds flee into the far hills where none could follow, and hunger come, +and--" + +"_Hai-yo_, see, the birds flying south," said the girl, with a gesture +toward the cloudless sky. "Never since I lived have they gone south so +soon." Again she shuddered slightly, then she spoke slowly: "I also have +dreamed, and I will follow my dream. I dreamed"--she knelt down beside her +mother and rested her hands in her mother's lap--"I dreamed that there was +a wall of hills dark and heavy and far away, and that whenever my eyes +looked at them they burned with tears; and yet I looked and looked, till +my heart was like lead in my breast; and I turned from them to the rivers +and the plains that I loved. But a voice kept calling to me, 'Come, come! +Beyond the hills is a happy land. The trail is hard, and your feet will +bleed, but beyond is the happy land.' And I would not go for the voice +that spoke, and at last there came an old man in my dream and spoke to me +kindly, and said, 'Come with me, and I will show thee the way over the +hills to the Lodge where thou shalt find what thou hast lost!' And I said +to him, 'I have lost nothing'; and I would not go. Twice I dreamed this +dream, and twice the old man came, and three times I dreamed it; and then +I spoke angrily to him, as but now I did to thee; and behold he changed +before my eyes, and I saw that he was now become--" She stopped short, and +buried her face in her hands for a moment, then recovered herself. +"Breaking Rock it was I saw before me, and I cried out and fled. Then I +waked with a cry, but my man was beside me, and his arm was round my neck; +and this dream, is it not a foolish dream, my mother?" + +The old woman sat silent, clasping the hands of her daughter firmly, and +looking out of the wide doorway toward the trees that fringed the river; +and presently, as she looked, her face changed and grew pinched all at +once, and Mitiahwe, looking at her, turned a startled face toward the +river also. + +"Breaking Rock!" she said, in alarm, and got to her feet quickly. + +Breaking Rock stood for a moment looking toward the lodge, then came +slowly forward to them. Never in all the four years had he approached this +lodge of Mitiahwe, who, the daughter of a chief, should have married +himself, the son of a chief! Slowly, but with long, slouching stride, +Breaking Rock came nearer. The two women watched him without speaking. +Instinctively they knew that he brought news, that something had happened; +yet Mitiahwe felt at her belt for what no Indian girl would be without; +and this one was a gift from her man on the anniversary of the day she +first came to his lodge. + +Breaking Rock was at the door now, his beady eyes fixed on Mitiahwe's, his +figure jerked to its full height, which made him, even then, two inches +less than Long Hand. He spoke in a loud voice: + +"The last boat this year goes down the river to-morrow. Long Hand, your +man, is going to his people. He will not come back. He has had enough of +the Blackfoot woman. You will see him no more." He waved a hand to the +sky. "The birds are going south. A hard winter is coming quick. You will +be alone. Breaking Rock is rich. He has five hundred horses. Your man is +going to his own people. Let him go. He is no man. It is four years, and +still there are but two in your lodge. How!" + +He swung on his heel with a chuckle in his throat, for he thought he had +said a good thing, and that in truth he was worth twenty white men. His +quick ear caught a movement behind him, however, and he saw the girl +spring from the lodge-door, something flashing from her belt. But now the +mother's arms were round her, with cries of protest, and Breaking Rock, +with another laugh, slipped away softly toward the river. + +"That is good," he muttered. "She will kill him, perhaps, when she goes to +him. She will go, but he will not stay. I have heard." + +As he disappeared among the trees, Mitiahwe disengaged herself from her +mother's arms, went slowly back into the lodge, and sat down on the great +couch where for so many moons she had lain with her man beside her. + +Her mother watched her closely, though she moved about doing little +things. She was trying to think what she would have done if such a thing +had happened to her, if her man had been going to leave her. She assumed +that Dingan would leave Mitiahwe, for he would hear the voices of his +people calling far away, even as the red man who went East into the great +cities heard the prairies and the mountains and the rivers and his own +people calling, and came back, and put off the clothes of civilization, +and donned his buckskins again, and sat in the Medicine Man's tent, and +heard the spirits speak to him through the mist and smoke of the sacred +fire. When Swift Wing first gave her daughter to the white man she foresaw +the danger now at hand, but this was the tribute of the lower race to the +higher, and--who could tell? White men had left their Indian wives, but +had come back again, and forever renounced the life of their own nations, +and become great chiefs, teaching useful things to their adopted people, +bringing up their children as tribesmen--bringing up their children! There +it was, the thing which called them back, the bright-eyed children, with +the color of the brown prairie in their faces, and their brains so sharp +and strong. But here was no child to call Dingan back, only the eloquent, +brave, sweet face of Mitiahwe..... If he went! Would he go? Was he going? +And now that Mitiahwe had been told that he would go, what would she do? +In her belt was--but, no, that would be worse than all, and she would lose +Mitiahwe, her last child, as she had lost so many others. What would she +herself do if she were in Mitiahwe's place? Ah, she would make him stay +somehow--by truth or by falsehood; by the whispered story in the long +night; by her head upon his knee before the lodge-fire, and her eyes fixed +on his, luring him, as the dream lures the dreamer into the far trail, to +find the Sun's hunting-ground, where the plains are filled with the deer +and the buffalo and the wild horse; by the smell of the cooking-pot and +the favorite spiced drink in the morning; by the child that ran to him +with his bow and arrows and the cry of the hunter--but there was no child; +she had forgotten. She was always recalling her own happy early life with +her man, and the clean-faced papooses that crowded round his knee--one +wife and many children, and the old Harvester of the Years reaping them so +fast, till the children stood up as tall as their father and chief. That +was long ago, and she had had her share--twenty-five years of happiness; +but Mitiahwe had had only four. She looked at Mitiahwe, standing still for +a moment like one rapt, then suddenly she gave a little cry. Something had +come into her mind, some solution of the problem, and she ran and stooped +over the girl and put both hands on her head. + +"Mitiahwe, heart's blood of mine," she said, "the birds go south, but they +return. What matter if they go so soon, if they return soon. If the Sun +wills that the winter be dark, and he sends the Coldmaker to close the +rivers and drive the wild ones far from the arrow and the gun, yet he may +be sorry, and send a second summer--has it not been so, and the Coldmaker +has hurried away--away! The birds go south, but they will return, +Mitiahwe." + +"I heard a cry in the night while my man slept," Mitiahwe answered, +looking straight before her, "and it was like the cry of a bird--calling, +calling, calling." + +"But he did not hear--he was asleep beside Mitiahwe. If he did not wake, +surely it was good-luck. Thy breath upon his face kept him sleeping. +Surely it was good-luck to Mitiahwe that he did not hear." + +She was smiling a little now, for she had thought of a thing which would, +perhaps, keep the man here in this lodge in the wilderness; but the time +to speak of it was not yet. She must wait and see. + +Suddenly Mitiahwe got to her feet with a spring, and a light in her eyes. +"_Hai-yai!_" she said with plaintive smiling, ran to a corner of the +lodge, and from a leather bag drew forth a horseshoe and looked at it, +murmuring to herself. + +The old woman gazed at her wonderingly. "What is it, Mitiahwe?" she +asked. + +"It is good-luck. So my man has said. It is the way of his people. It is +put over the door, and if a dream come it is a good dream; and if a bad +thing come, it will not enter; and if the heart prays for a thing hid from +all the world, then it brings good-luck. _Hai-yai!_ I will put it over the +door, and then--" All at once her hand dropped to her side, as though some +terrible thought had come to her, and, sinking to the floor, she rocked +her body backward and forward for a time, sobbing. But presently she got +to her feet again, and, going to the door of the lodge, fastened the +horseshoe above it with a great needle and a string of buckskin. + +"O great Sun," she prayed, "have pity on me and save me. I cannot live +alone. I am only a Blackfoot wife; I am not blood of his blood. Give, O +great One, blood of his blood, bone of his bone, soul of his soul, that he +will say, 'This is mine, body of my body,' and he will hear the cry and +will stay. O great Sun, pity me!" + +The old woman's heart beat faster as she listened. The same thought was in +the mind of both. If there were but a child, bone of his bone, then +perhaps he would not go; or, if he went, then surely he would return when +he heard his papoose calling in the lodge in the wilderness. + +As Mitiahwe turned to her, a strange burning light in her eyes, Swift Wing +said: "It is good. The white man's Medicine for a white man's wife. But if +there were the red man's Medicine too--" + +"What is the red man's Medicine?" asked the young wife, as she smoothed +her hair, put a string of bright beads around her neck, and wound a red +sash round her waist. + +The old woman shook her head, a curious, half-mystic light in her eyes, +her body drawn up to its full height, as though waiting for something. "It +is an old Medicine. It is of winters ago as many as the hairs of the head. +I have forgotten almost, but it was a great Medicine when there were no +white men in the land. And so it was that to every woman's breast there +hung a papoose, and every woman had her man, and the red men were like +leaves in the forest--but it was a winter of winters ago, and the Medicine +Men have forgotten; and thou hast no child! When Long Hand comes, what +will Mitiahwe say to him?" + +Mitiahwe's eyes were determined, her face was set, she flushed deeply, +then the color fled. "What my mother would say, I will say. Shall the +white man's Medicine fail? If I wish it, then it will be so; and I will +say so." + +"But if the white man's Medicine fail?" Swift Wing made a gesture toward +the door where the horseshoe hung. "It is Medicine for a white man, will +it be Medicine for an Indian?" + +"Am I not a white man's wife?" + +"But if there were the Sun Medicine also, the Medicine of the days long +ago?" + +"Tell me. If you remember--_Kai!_ but you do remember--I see it in your +face. Tell me, and I will make that Medicine also, my mother." + +"To-morrow, if I remember it--I will think, and if I remember it, +to-morrow I will tell you, my heart's blood. Maybe my dream will come to +me and tell me. Then, even after all these years a papoose--" + +"But the boat will go at dawn to-morrow, and if he go also--" + +"Mitiahwe is young, her body is warm, her eyes are bright, the songs she +sings, her tongue--if these keep him not, and the Voice calls him still to +go, then still Mitiahwe shall whisper, and tell him--" + +"_Hai-yo_--hush," said the girl, and trembled a little, and put both hands +on her mother's mouth. + +For a moment she stood so, then with an exclamation suddenly turned and +ran through the doorway, and sped toward the river, and into the path +which would take her to the post, where her man traded with the Indians +and had made much money during the past six years, so that he could have +had a thousand horses and ten lodges like that she had just left. The +distance between the lodge and the post was no more than a mile, but +Mitiahwe made a détour, and approached it from behind, where she could not +be seen. Darkness was gathering now, and she could see the glimmer of the +light of lamps through the windows, and as the doors opened and shut. No +one had seen her approach, and she stole through a door which was open at +the rear of the warehousing room, and went quickly to another door leading +into the shop. There was a crack through which she could see, and she +could hear all that was said. As she came she had seen Indians gliding +through the woods with their purchases, and now the shop was clearing +fast, in response to the urging of Dingan and his partner, a Scotch +half-breed. It was evident that Dingan was at once abstracted and +excited. + +Presently only two visitors were left--a French half-breed called +Lablache, a swaggering, vicious fellow, and the captain of the steamer +_Ste. Anne_, which was to make its last trip south in the morning--even +now it would have to break its way through the young ice. + +Dingan's partner dropped a bar across the door of the shop, and the four +men gathered about the fire. For a time no one spoke. At last the captain +of the _Ste. Anne_ said: "It's a great chance, Dingan. You'll be in +civilization again, and in a rising town of white people--Groise'll be a +city in five years, and you can grow up and grow rich with the place. The +Company asked me to lay it all before you, and Lablache here will buy out +your share of the business, at whatever your partner and you prove it's +worth. You're young; you've got everything before you. You've made a name +out here for being the best trader west of the Great Lakes, and now's your +time. It's none of my affair, of course, but I like to carry through what +I'm set to do, and the Company said, 'You bring Dingan back with you. The +place is waiting for him, and it can't wait longer than the last boat +down.' You're ready to step in when he steps out, ain't you, Lablache?" + +Lablache shook back his long hair, and rolled about in his pride. "I give +him cash for his share to-night--some one is behin' me, _sacré_, yes! It +is worth so much, I pay and step in--I take the place over. I take half +the business here, and I work with Dingan's partner. I take your horses, +Dingan, I take your lodge, I take all in your lodge--_everyt'ing_." + +His eyes glistened, and a red spot came to each cheek as he leaned +forward. At his last word Dingan, who had been standing abstractedly +listening as it were, swung round on him with a muttered oath, and the +skin of his face appeared to tighten. Watching through the crack of the +door, Mitiahwe saw the look she knew well, though it had never been turned +on her, and her heart beat faster. It was a look that came into Dingan's +face whenever Breaking Rock crossed his path, or when one or two other +names were mentioned in his presence, for they were names of men who had +spoken of Mitiahwe lightly, and had attempted to be jocular about her. + +As Mitiahwe looked at him, now unknown to himself, she was conscious of +what that last word of Lablache's meant. _Everyt'ing_ meant herself. +Lablache--who had neither the good qualities of the white man nor the +Indian, but who had the brains of the one and the subtlety of the other, +and whose only virtue was that he was a successful trader, though he +looked like a mere woodsman, with rings in his ears, gayly decorated +buckskin coat and moccasins, and a furtive smile always on his lips! +_Everyt'ing!_ Her blood ran cold at the thought of dropping the +lodge-curtain upon this man and herself alone. For no other man than +Dingan had her blood run faster, and he had made her life blossom. She had +seen in many a half-breed's and in many an Indian's face the look which +was now in that of Lablache, and her fingers gripped softly the thing in +her belt that had flashed out on Breaking Rock such a short while ago. As +she looked, it seemed for a moment as though Dingan would open the door +and throw Lablache out, for in quick reflection his eyes ran from the man +to the wooden bar across the door. + +"You'll talk of the shop, and the shop only, Lablache," he said, grimly. +"I'm not huckstering my home, and I'd choose the buyer if I was selling. +My lodge ain't to be bought, nor _anything_ in it--not even the broom to +keep it clean of any half-breeds that'd enter it without leave." + +There was malice in the words, but there was greater malice in the tone, +and Lablache, who was bent on getting the business, swallowed his ugly +wrath, and determined that, if he got the business, he would get the lodge +also in due time; for Dingan, if he went, would not take the lodge--or the +woman--with him; and Dingan was not fool enough to stay when he could go +to Groise to a sure fortune. + +The captain of the _Ste. Anne_ again spoke. "There's another thing the +Company said, Dingan. You needn't go to Groise, not at once. You can take +a month and visit your folks down East, and lay in a stock of +home-feelings before you settle down at Groise for good. They was fair +when I put it to them that you'd mebbe want to do that. 'You tell Dingan,' +they said, 'that he can have the month glad and grateful, and a free +ticket on the railway back and forth. He can have it at once,' they +said." + +Watching, Mitiahwe could see her man's face brighten, and take on a look +of longing at this suggestion; and it seemed to her that the bird she +heard in the night was calling in his ears now. Her eyes went blind for a +moment. + +"The game is with you, Dingan. All the cards are in your hands; you'll +never get such another chance again; and you're only thirty," said the +captain. + +[Illustration: THE BIRD SHE HEARD IN THE NIGHT WAS CALLING IN HIS +EARS NOW] + +"I wish they'd ask me," said Dingan's partner, with a sigh, as he looked +at Lablache. "I want my chance bad, though we've done well here--good +gosh, yes, all through Dingan." + +"The winters, they go queeck in Groise," said Lablache. "It is life all +the time, trade all the time, plenty to do and see--and a _bon fortune_ to +make, bagosh!" + +"Your old home was in Nova Scotia, wasn't it, Dingan?" asked the captain, +in a low voice. "I kem from Connecticut, and I was East to my village las' +year. It was good, seein' all my old friends again; but I kem back +content, I kem back full of home-feelin's and content. You'll like the +trip, Dingan. It'll do you good." + +Dingan drew himself up with a start. "All right. I guess I'll do it. Let's +figure up again," he said to his partner, with a reckless air. + +With a smothered cry Mitiahwe turned and fled into the darkness, and back +to the lodge. The lodge was empty. She threw herself upon the great couch +in an agony of despair. + +A half-hour went by. Then she rose, and began to prepare supper. Her face +was aflame, her manner was determined, and once or twice her hand went to +her belt, as though to assure herself of something. + +Never had the lodge looked so bright and cheerful; never had she prepared +so appetizing a supper; never had the great couch seemed so soft and rich +with furs, so homelike and so inviting after a long day's work. Never had +Mitiahwe seemed so good to look at, so graceful and alert and +refined--suffering does its work even in the wild woods, with "wild +people." Never had the lodge such an air of welcome and peace and home as +to-night; and so Dingan thought as he drew aside the wide curtains of +deerskin and entered. + +Mitiahwe was bending over the fire, and appeared not to hear him. +"Mitiahwe," he said, gently. She was singing to herself, to an Indian air, +the words of a song Dingan had taught her: + + "Open the door: cold is the night, and my feet are heavy, + Heap up the fire, scatter upon it the cones and the scented + leaves; + Spread the soft robe on the couch for the chief that + returns, + Bring forth the cup of remembrance--" + +It was like a low recitative, and it had a plaintive cadence, as of a dove +that mourned. + +"Mitiahwe," he said, in a louder voice, but with a break in it, too; for +it all rushed upon him, all that she had been to him--all that had made +the great West glow with life, made the air sweeter, the grass greener, +the trees more companionable and human: who it was that had given the +waste places a voice. Yet--yet, there were his own people in the East, +there was another life waiting for him, there was the life of ambition and +wealth, and, and home--and children. + +His eyes were misty as she turned to him with a little cry of surprise, +how much natural and how much assumed--for she had heard him enter--it +would have been hard to say. She was a woman, and therefore the daughter +of pretence even when most real. He caught her by both arms as she shyly +but eagerly came to him. "Good girl, good little girl," he said. He looked +round him. "Well, I've never seen our lodge look nicer than it does +to-night; and the fire, and the pot on the fire, and the smell of the +pine-cones, and the cedar-boughs, and the skins, and--" + +"And everything," she said, with a queer little laugh, as she moved away +again to turn the steaks on the fire. + +Everything! He started at the word. It was so strange that she should use +it by accident, when but a little while ago he had been ready to choke the +wind out of a man's body for using it concerning herself. + +It stunned him for a moment, for the West, and the life apart from the +world of cities, had given him superstition, like that of the Indians, +whose life he had made his own. + +Herself!--to leave her here, who had been so much to him? As true as the +sun she worshipped, her eyes had never lingered on another man since she +came to his lodge; and, to her mind, she was as truly sacredly married to +him as though a thousand priests had spoken, or a thousand Medicine Men +had made their incantations. She was his woman and he was her man. As he +chatted to her, telling her of much that he had done that day, and +wondering how he could tell her of _all_ he had done, he kept looking +round the lodge, his eye resting on this or that; and everything had its +own personal history, had become part of their lodge-life, because it had +a use as between him and her, and not a conventional domestic place. Every +skin, every utensil, every pitcher and bowl and pot and curtain had been +with them at one time or another when it became of importance and renowned +in the story of their days and deeds. + +How could he break it to her--that he was going to visit his own people, +and that she must be alone with her mother all winter, to await his return +in the spring? His return? As he watched her sitting beside him, helping +him to his favorite dish, the close, companionable trust and gentleness of +her, her exquisite cleanness and grace in his eyes, he asked himself if, +after all, it was not true that he would return in the spring. The years +had passed without his seriously thinking of this inevitable day. He had +put it off and off, content to live each hour as it came and take no real +thought for the future; and yet, behind all was the warning fact that he +must go one day, and that Mitiahwe could not go with him. Her mother must +have known that when she let Mitiahwe come to him. Of course; and, after +all, she would find another mate, a better mate, one of her own people. + +But her hand was in his now, and it was small and very warm, and suddenly +he shook with anger at the thought of one like Breaking Rock taking her to +his wigwam; or Lablache--this roused him to an inward fury; and Mitiahwe +saw and guessed the struggle that was going on in him, and she leaned her +head against his shoulder, and once she raised his hand to her lips, and +said, "My chief!" + +Then his face cleared again, and she got him his pipe and filled it, and +held a coal to light it; and, as the smoke curled up, and he leaned back +contentedly for the moment, she went to the door, drew open the curtains, +and, stepping outside, raised her eyes to the horseshoe. Then she said +softly to the sky: "O Sun, great Father, have pity on me, for I love him, +and would keep him. And give me bone of his bone, and one to nurse at my +breast that is of him. O Sun, pity me this night, and be near me when I +speak to him, and hear what I say." + +"What are you doing out there, Mitiahwe?" Dingan cried; and when she +entered again he beckoned her to him. "What was it you were saying? Who +were you speaking to?" he asked. "I heard your voice." + +"I was thanking the Sun for his goodness to me. I was speaking for the +thing that is in my heart, that is life of my life," she added, vaguely. + +"Well, I have something to say to you, little girl," he said, with an +effort. + +She remained erect before him waiting for the blow--outwardly calm, +inwardly crying out in pain. "Do you think you could stand a little +parting?" he asked, reaching out and touching her shoulder. + +"I have been alone before--for five days," she answered, quietly. + +"But it must be longer this time." + +"How long?" she asked, with eyes fixed on his. "If it is more than a week, +I will go too." + +"It is longer than a month," he said. + +"Then I will go." + +"I am going to see my people," he faltered. + +"By the _Ste. Anne_?" + +He nodded. "It is the last chance this year; but I will come back--in the +spring." + +As he said it he saw her shrink, and his heart smote him. Four years such +as few men ever spent, and all the luck had been with him, and the West +had got into his bones! The quiet, starry nights, the wonderful days, the +hunt, the long journeys, the life free of care, and the warm lodge; and, +here, the great couch--ah, the cheek pressed to his, the lips that +whispered at his ear, the smooth arm round his neck. It all rushed upon +him now. His people! His people in the East, who had thwarted his youth, +vexed and cramped him, saw only evil in his widening desires, and threw +him over when he came out West--the scallywag, they called him, who had +never wronged a man--or a woman? Never--wronged--a--woman? The question +sprang to his lips now. Suddenly he saw it all in a new light. White or +brown or red, this heart and soul and body before him were all his, sacred +to him; he was in very truth her "chief." + +Untutored as she was, she read him, felt what was going on in him. She saw +the tears spring to his eyes. Then, coming close to him, she said, softly, +slowly: "I must go with you if you go, because you must be with me +when--Oh, _hai-yai_, my chief, shall we go from here? Here in this lodge +wilt thou be with thine own people--thine own, thou and I--_and thine to +come_." The great passion in her heart made the lie seem very truth. + +With a cry he got to his feet, and stood staring at her for a moment, +scarcely comprehending; then suddenly he clasped her in his arms. + +"Mitiahwe--Mitiahwe, oh, my little girl!" he cried. "You and me--and our +own--our own people!" Kissing her, he drew her down beside him on the +couch. "Tell me again--is it so at last?" he said, and she whispered in +his ear once more. + +In the middle of the night he said to her, "Some day, perhaps, we will go +East--some day, perhaps." + +"But now?" she asked, softly. + +"Not now--not if I know it," he answered. "I've got my heart nailed to the +door of this lodge." + +As he slept she got quietly out, and, going to the door of the lodge, +reached up a hand and touched the horseshoe. + +"Be good Medicine to me," she said. Then she prayed. "O Sun, pity me, that +it may be as I have said to him. Oh, pity me, great Father!" + +In the days to come Swift Wing said that it was her Medicine--when her +hand was burned to the wrist in the dark ritual she had performed with the +Medicine Man the night that Mitiahwe fought for her man; but Mitiahwe said +it was her Medicine, the horseshoe, which brought one of Dingan's own +people to the lodge--a little girl with Mitiahwe's eyes and form and her +father's face. Truth has many mysteries, and the faith of the woman was +great; and so it was that, to the long end, Mitiahwe kept her man. But +truly she was altogether a woman, and had good-fortune. + + + + +ONCE AT RED MAN'S RIVER + + +"It's got to be settled to-night, Nance, This game is up here, up forever. +The redcoat police from Ottawa are coming, and they'll soon be roostin' in +this post, the Injuns are goin', the buffaloes are most gone, and the fur +trade's dead in these parts. D'ye see?" + +The woman did not answer the big, broad-shouldered man bending over her, +but remained looking into the fire with wide, abstracted eyes, and a face +somewhat set. + +"You and your brother Bantry's got to go. This store ain't worth a cent +now. The Hudson's Bay Company'll come along with the redcoats, and they'll +set up a nice little Sunday-school business here for what they call +'agricultural settlers.' There'll be a railway, and the Yankees'll send up +their marshals to work with the redcoats on the border, and--" + +"And the days of smuggling will be over," put in the girl, in a low voice. +"No more bull-whackers and mule-skinners 'whooping-it up'; no more +Blackfeet and Piegans drinking alcohol and water, and cutting one +anothers' throats. A nice, quiet time coming on the border Abe, eh?" + +The man looked at her queerly. She was not prone to sarcasm, she had not +been given to sentimentalism in the past; she had taken the border-life as +it was, had looked it straight between the eyes. She had lived up to it, +or down to it, without any fuss, as good as any man in any phase of the +life, and the only white woman in this whole West country. It was not in +the words, but in the tone, that Abe Hawley found something unusual and +defamatory. + +"Why, gol darn it, Nance, what's got into you? You bin a man out West, as +good a pioneer as ever was on the border. But now you don't sound friendly +to what's been the game out here, and to all of us that've been risking +our lives to get a livin'." + +"What did I say?" asked the girl, unmoved. + +"It ain't what you said, it's the sound o' your voice." + +"You don't know my voice, Abe. It ain't always the same. You ain't always +about; you don't always hear it." + +He caught her arm suddenly. "No, but I want to hear it always. I want to +be always where you are, Nance. That's what's got to be settled +to-day--to-night." + +"Oh, it's got to be settled to-night!" said the girl, meditatively, +kicking nervously at a log on the fire. "It takes two to settle a thing +like that, and there's only one says it's got to be settled. Maybe it +takes more than two--or three--to settle a thing like that." Now she +laughed mirthlessly. + +The man started, and his face flushed with anger; then he put a hand on +himself, drew a step back, and watched her. + +"_One_ can settle a thing, if there's a dozen in it. You see, Nance, you +and Bantry've got to close out. He's fixing it up to-night over at +Dingan's Drive, and you can't go it alone when you quit this place. Now, +it's this way: you can go West with Bantry, or you can go North with me. +Away North there's buffalo and deer, and game a-plenty, up along the +Saskatchewan, and farther up on the Peace River. It's going to be all +right up there for half a lifetime, and we can have it in our own way yet. +There'll be no smuggling, but there'll be trading, and land to get; and, +mebbe, there'd be no need of smuggling, for we can make it, I know +how--good white whiskey--and we'll still have this free life for our own. +I can't make up my mind to settle down to a clean collar and going to +church on Sundays, and all that. And the West's in your bones, too. You +look like the West--" + +The girl's face brightened with pleasure, and she gazed at him steadily. + +"You got its beauty and its freshness, and you got its heat and cold--" + +She saw the tobacco-juice stain at the corners of his mouth, she became +conscious of the slight odor of spirits in the air, and the light in her +face lowered in intensity. + +"You got the ways of the deer in your walk, the song o' the birds in your +voice; and you're going North with me, Nance, for I bin talkin' to you +stiddy four years. It's a long time to wait on the chance, for there's +always _women_ to be got, same as others have done--men like Dingan with +Injun girls, and men like Tobey with half-breeds. But I ain't bin lookin' +that way. I bin lookin' only toward you." He laughed eagerly, and lifted a +tin cup of whiskey standing on a table near. "I'm lookin' toward you now, +Nance. Your health and mine together. It's got to be settled now. You got +to go to the 'Cific Coast with Bantry, or North with me." + +The girl jerked a shoulder and frowned a little. He seemed so sure of +himself. + +"Or South with Nick Pringle, or East with someone else," she said, +quizzically. "There's always four quarters to the compass, even when Abe +Hawley thinks he owns the world and has a mortgage on eternity. I'm not +going West with Bantry, but there's three other points that's open." + +With an oath the man caught her by the shoulders, and swung her round to +face him. He was swelling with anger. "You--Nick Pringle, that trading +cheat, that gambler! After four years, I--" + +"Let go my shoulders," she said, quietly. "I'm not your property. Go and +get some Piegan girl to bully. Keep your hands off. I'm not a bronco for +you to bit and bridle. You've got no rights. You--" Suddenly she relented, +seeing the look in his face, and realizing that, after all, it was a +tribute to herself that she could keep him for four years and rouse him to +such fury. "But yes, Abe," she added, "you have some rights. We've been +good friends all these years, and you've been all right out here. You said +some nice things about me just now, and I liked it, even if it was as if +you'd learned it out of a book. I've got no po'try in me; I'm plain +homespun. I'm a sapling, I'm not any prairie-flower, but I like when I +like, and I like a lot when I like. I'm a bit of hickory, I'm not a +prairie-flower--" + +"Who said you was a prairie-flower? Did I? Who's talking about +prairie-flowers--" + +He stopped suddenly, turned round at the sound of a footstep behind him, +and saw, standing in a doorway leading to another room, a man who was +digging his knuckles into his eyes and stifling a yawn. He was a +refined-looking stripling of not more than twenty-four, not tall, but +well-made, and with an air of breeding, intensified rather than hidden by +his rough clothes. + +"Je-rick-ety! How long have I slept?" he said, blinking at the two beside +the fire. "How long?" he added, with a flutter of anxiety in his tone. + +"I said I'd wake you," said the girl, coming forward. "You needn't have +worried." + +"I don't worry," answered the young man. "I dreamed myself awake, I +suppose. I got dreaming of redcoats and U. S. marshals, and an ambush in +the Barfleur Coulée, and--" He saw a secret, warning gesture from the +girl, and laughed, then turned to Abe and looked him in the face. "Oh, I +know him! Abe Hawley's all O.K.--I've seen him over at Dingan's Drive. +Honor among rogues. We're all in it. How goes it--all right?" he added, +carelessly, to Hawley, and took a step forward, as though to shake hands. +Seeing the forbidding look by which he was met, however, he turned to the +girl again, as Hawley muttered something they could not hear. + +"What time is it?" he asked. + +"It's nine o'clock," answered the girl, her eyes watching his every +movement, her face alive. + +"Then the moon's up almost?" + +"It'll be up in an hour." + +"Jerickety! Then I've got to get ready." He turned to the other room again +and entered. + +"College pup!" said Hawley, under his breath, savagely. "Why didn't you +tell me he was here?" + +"Was it any of your business, Abe?" she rejoined, quietly. + +"Hiding him away here--" + +"Hiding? Who's been hiding him? He's doing what you've done. He's +smuggling--the last lot for the traders over by Dingan's Drive. He'll get +it there by morning. He has as much right here as you. What's got into +you, Abe?" + +"What does he know about the business? Why, he's a college man from the +East. I've heard o' him. Ain't got no more sense for this life than a +dicky-bird. White-faced college pup! What's he doing out here? If you're a +friend o' his, you'd better look after him. He's green." + +"He's going East again," she said, "and if I don't go West with Bantry, or +South over to Montana with Nick Pringle, _or North_--" + +"Nance!" His eyes burned, his lips quivered. + +She looked at him and wondered at the power she had over this bully of the +border, who had his own way with most people, and was one of the most +daring fighters, hunters, and smugglers in the country. He was cool, hard, +and well in hand in his daily life, and yet, where she was concerned, +"went all to pieces," as some one else had said about himself to her. + +She was not without the wiles and tact of her sex. "You go now, and come +back, Abe," she said, in a soft voice. "Come back in an hour. Come back +then, and I'll tell you which way I'm going from here." + +He was all right again. "It's with you, Nance," he said, eagerly. "I bin +waiting four years." + +As he closed the door behind him the "college pup" entered the room again. +"Oh, Abe's gone!" he said, excitedly. "I hoped you'd get rid of the old +rip-roarer. I wanted to be alone with you for a while. I don't really need +to start yet. With the full moon I can do it before daylight." Then, with +quick warmth, "Ah, Nancy, Nancy, you're a flower--the flower of all the +prairies," he added, catching her hand and laughing into her eyes. + +She flushed, and for a moment seemed almost bewildered. His boldness, +joined to an air of insinuation and understanding, had influenced her +greatly from the first moment they had met, two months ago, as he was +going South on his smuggling enterprise. The easy way in which he had +talked to her, the extraordinary sense he seemed to have of what was going +on in her mind, the confidential meaning in voice and tone and words had, +somehow, opened up a side of her nature hitherto unexplored. She had +talked with him freely then, for it was only when he left her that he said +what he instinctively knew she would remember till they met again. His +quick comments, his indirect but acute questions, his exciting and +alluring reminiscences of the East, his subtle yet seemingly frank +compliments, had only stimulated a new capacity in her, evoked comparisons +of this delicate-looking, fine-faced gentleman with the men of the West by +whom she was surrounded. But later he appeared to stumble into expressions +of admiration for her, as though he was carried off his feet and had been +stunned by her charm. He had done it all like a master. He had not said +that she was beautiful--she knew she was not--but that she was wonderful +and fascinating, and with "something about her" he had never seen in all +his life: like her own prairies, thrilling, inspiring, and adorable. His +first look at her had seemed full of amazement. She had noticed that, and +thought it meant only that he was surprised to find a white girl out here +among smugglers, hunters, squaw-men, and Indians. But he said that the +first look at her had made him feel things, feel life and women different +from ever before; and he had never seen any one like her, nor a face with +so much in it. It was all very brilliantly done. + +"You make me want to live," he had said, and she, with no knowledge of the +nuances of language, had taken it literally, and had asked him if it had +been his wish to die; and he had responded to her mistaken interpretation +of his meaning, saying that he had had such sorrow he had not wanted to +live. As he said it his face looked, in truth, overcome by some deep, +inward care; so that there came a sort of feeling she had never had so far +for any man--that he ought to have some one to look after him. This was +the first real stirring of the maternal and protective spirit in her +toward men, though it had shown itself amply enough regarding animals and +birds. He had said he had not wanted to live, and yet he had come out West +in order to try and live, to cure the trouble that had started in his +lungs. The Eastern doctors had told him that the rough, out-door life +would cure him, or nothing would, and he had vanished from the college +walls and the pleasant purlieus of learning and fashion into the wilds. He +had not lied directly to her when he said that he had had deep trouble; +but he had given the impression that he was suffering from wrongs which +had broken his spirit and ruined his health. Wrongs there certainly had +been in his life, by whomever committed. + +Two months ago he had left this girl with her mind full of memories of +what he had said to her, and there was something in the sound of the +slight cough following his farewell words which had haunted her ever +since. Her tremendous health and energy, the fire of life burning so +brightly in her, reached out toward this man living on so narrow a margin +of force, with no reserve for any extra strain, with just enough for each +day's use and no more. Four hours before he had come again with his team +of four mules and an Indian youth, having covered forty miles since his +last stage. She was at the door, and saw him coming while he was yet a +long distance off. Some instinct had told her to watch that afternoon, for +she knew of his intended return and of his dangerous enterprise. The +Indians had trailed south and east, the traders had disappeared with them, +her brother Bantry had gone up and over to Dingan's Drive, and, save for a +few loiterers and last hangers-on, she was alone with what must soon be a +deserted post; its walls, its great enclosed yard, and its gun-platforms +(for it had been fortified) left for law and order to enter upon, in the +persons of the red-coated watchmen of the law. + +Out of the South, from over the border, bringing the last great smuggled +load of whiskey which was to be handed over at Dingan's Drive, and then +floated on Red Man's River to settlements up North, came the "college +pup," Kelly Lambton, worn out, dazed with fatigue, but smiling too, for a +woman's face was ever a tonic to his blood since he was big enough to move +in life for himself. It needed courage--or recklessness--to run the border +now; for, as Abe Hawley had said, the American marshals were on the +pounce, the red-coated mounted police were coming west from Ottawa, and +word had winged its way along the prairie that these redcoats were only a +few score miles away, and might be at Fort Stay-Awhile at any moment. The +trail to Dingan's Drive lay past it. Through Barfleur Coulée, athwart a +great, open stretch of country, along a wooded belt, and then, suddenly, +over a ridge, Dingan's Drive and Red Man's River would be reached. + +The Government had a mind to make an example, if necessary, by killing +some smugglers in conflict, and the United States marshals had been goaded +by vanity and anger at one or two escapes "to have something for their +money," as they said. That, in their language, meant, "to let the red +run," and Kelly Lambton had none too much blood to lose. + +He looked very pale and beaten as he held Nance Machell's hands now, and +called her a prairie-flower, as he had done when he left her two months +before. On his arrival, but now he had said little, for he saw that she +was glad to see him, and he was dead for sleep, after thirty-six hours of +ceaseless travel and watching and danger. Now, with the most perilous part +of his journey still before him, and worn physically as he was, his blood +was running faster as he looked into the girl's face, and something in her +abundant force and bounding life drew him to her. Such vitality in a man +like Abe Hawley would have angered him almost, as it did a little time +ago, when Abe was there; but possessed by the girl, it roused in him a +hunger to draw from the well of her perfect health, from the unused vigor +of her being, something for himself. The touch of her hands warmed him. In +the fulness of her life, in the strong eloquence of face and form, he +forgot she was not beautiful. The lightness passed from his words, and his +face became eager. + +"Flower, yes, the flower of the life of the West--that's what I mean," he +said. "You are like an army marching. When I look at you, my blood runs +faster. I want to march too. When I hold your hand I feel that life's +worth living--I want to do things." + +She drew her hand away rather awkwardly. She had not now that command of +herself which had ever been easy with the men of the West, except, +perhaps, with Abe Hawley when-- + +But with an attempt, only half-meant, to turn the topic, she said: "You +must be starting if you want to get through to-night. If the redcoats +catch you this side of Barfleur Coulée, or in the Coulée itself, you'll +stand no chance. I heard they was only thirty miles north this afternoon. +Maybe they'll come straight on here to-night, instead of camping. If they +have news of your coming, they might. You can't tell." + +"You're right." He caught her hand again. "I've got to be going now. But +Nance--Nance--Nancy, I want to stay here, here with you; or to take you +with me." + +She drew back. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Take me with +you--me--where?" + +"East--away down East." + +Her brain throbbed, her pulses beat so hard. She scarcely knew what to +say, did not know what she said. "Why do you do this kind of thing? Why do +you smuggle?" she asked. "You wasn't brought up to this." + +"To get this load of stuff through is life and death to me," he answered. +"I've made six thousand dollars out here. That's enough to start me again +in the East, where I lost everything. But I've got to have six hundred +dollars clear for the travel--railways and things; and I'm having this +last run to get it. Then I've finished with the West, I guess. My health's +better; the lung is closed up, I've only got a little cough now and again, +and I'm off East. I don't want to go alone." He suddenly caught her in his +arms. "I want you--you, to go with me, Nancy--Nance!" + +Her brain swam. To leave the West behind, to go East to a new life full of +pleasant things, as this man's wife! Her great heart rose, and suddenly +the mother in her as well as the woman in her was captured by his wooing. +She had never known what it was to be wooed like this. + +She was about to answer when there came a sharp knock at the door leading +from the back yard, and Lambton's Indian lad entered. "The soldier--he +come--many. I go over the ridge, I see. They come quick here," he said. + +Nance gave a startled cry, and Lambton turned to the other room for his +pistols, overcoat, and cap, when there was the sound of horses' hoofs, the +door suddenly opened, and an officer stepped inside. + +"You're wanted for smuggling, Lambton," he said, brusquely. "Don't stir!" +In his hand was a revolver. + +"Oh, bosh! Prove it," answered the young man, pale and startled, but cool +in speech and action. + +"We'll prove it all right. The stuff is hereabouts." + +The girl said something to the officer in the Chinook language. She saw he +did not understand. Then she spoke quickly to Lambton in the same tongue. + +"Keep him here a bit," she said. "His men haven't come yet. Your outfit is +well hid. I'll see if I can get away with it before they find it. They'll +follow, and bring you with them, that's sure. So if I have luck and get +through, we'll meet at Dingan's Drive." + +Lambton's face brightened. He quickly gave her a few directions in +Chinook, and told her what to do at Dingan's if she got there first. Then +she was gone. + +The officer did not understand what Nance had said, but he realized that, +whatever she intended to do, she had an advantage over him. With an +unnecessary courage he had ridden on alone to make his capture, and, as it +proved, without prudence. He had got his man, but he had not got the +smuggled whiskey and alcohol he had come to seize. There was no time to be +lost. The girl had gone before he realized it. What had she said to the +prisoner? He was foolish enough to ask Lambton, and Lambton replied +coolly: "She said she'd get you some supper, but she guessed it would have +to be cold--What's your name? Are you a colonel, or a captain, or only a +principal private?" + +"I am Captain MacFee, Lambton. And you'll now bring me where your outfit +is. March!" + +The pistol was still in his hand, and he had a determined look in his eye. +Lambton saw it. He was aware of how much power lay in the threatening face +before him, and how eager that power was to make itself felt, and provide +"Examples"; but he took his chances. + +"I'll march all right," he answered; "but I'll march to where you tell me. +You can't have it both ways. You can take me, because you've found me, and +you can take my outfit, too, when you've found it; but I'm not doing your +work, not if I know it." + +There was a blaze of anger in the eyes of the officer, and it looked for +an instant as though something of the lawlessness of the border was going +to mark the first step of the Law in the Wilderness, but he bethought +himself in time, and said, quietly, yet in a voice which Lambton knew he +must heed: + +"Put on your things--quick." + +When this was accomplished, and MacFee had secured the smuggler's pistols, +he said again, "March, Lambton!" + +Lambton marched through the moonlit night toward the troop of men who had +come to set up the flag of order in the plains and hills, and as he went +his keen ear heard his own mules galloping away down toward the Barfleur +Coulée. His heart thumped in his breast. This girl, this prairie-flower, +was doing this for him, was risking her life, was breaking the law for +him. If she got through, and handed over the whiskey to those who were +waiting for it, and it got bundled into the boats going North before the +redcoats reached Dingan's Drive, it would be as fine a performance as the +West had ever seen; and he would be six hundred dollars to the good. He +listened to the mules galloping, till the sounds had died into the +distance, but he saw now that his captor had heard too, and that the +pursuit would be desperate. + +A half-hour later it began, with MacFee at the head and a dozen troopers +pounding behind, weary, hungry, bad-tempered, ready to exact payment for +their hardships and discouragement. + +They had not gone a dozen miles when a shouting horseman rode furiously on +them from behind. They turned with carbines cocked, but it was Abe Hawley +who cursed them, flung his fingers in their faces, and rode on harder and +harder. Abe had got the news from one of Nancy's half-breeds, and, with +the devil raging in his heart, had entered on the chase. His spirit was up +against them all: against the Law represented by the troopers camped at +Fort Stay-Awhile, against the troopers and their captain speeding after +Nancy Machell--his Nance, who was risking her life and freedom for the +hated, pale-faced smuggler riding between the troopers; and his spirit was +up against Nance herself. + +Nance had said to him, "Come back in an hour," and he had come back to +find her gone. She had broken her word. She had deceived him. She had +thrown the four years of his waiting to the winds, and a savage lust was +in his heart, which would not be appeased till he had done some evil thing +to some one. + +The girl and the Indian lad were pounding through the night with ears +strained to listen for hoof-beats coming after, with eyes searching +forward into the trail for swollen creeks and direful obstructions. +Through Barfleur Coulée it was a terrible march, for there was no road, +and again and again they were nearly overturned, while wolves hovered in +their path, ready to reap a midnight harvest. But once in the open again, +with the full moonlight on their trail, the girl's spirits rose. If she +could do this thing for the man who had looked into her eyes as no one had +ever done, what a finish to her days in the West! For they were finished, +finished forever, and she was going--she was going East; not West with +Bantry, nor South with Nick Pringle, nor North with Abe Hawley--ah, Abe +Hawley! He had been a good friend, he had a great heart, he was the best +man of all the Western men she had known; but another man had come from +the East, a man who had roused something in her never felt before, a man +who had said she was wonderful; and he needed some one to take good care +of him, to make him love life again. Abe would have been all right if +Lambton had never come, and she had meant to marry Abe in the end; but it +was different now, and Abe must get over it. Yet she had told Abe to come +back in an hour. He was sure to do it; and, when he had done it, and found +her gone on this errand, what would he do? She knew what he would do. He +would hurt someone. He would follow, too. But at Dingan's Drive, if she +reached it before the troopers and before Abe, and did the thing she had +set out to do; and because no whiskey could be found, Lambton must go +free; and they all stood there together, what would be the end? Abe would +be terrible; but she was going East, not North, and, when the time came +she would face it and put things right somehow. + +The night seemed endless to her fixed and anxious eyes and mind, yet dawn +came, and there had fallen no sound of hoof-beats on her ear. The ridge +above Dingan's Drive was reached and covered, but yet there was no sign of +her pursuers. At Red Man's River she delivered her load of contraband to +the traders waiting for it, and saw it loaded into the boats and disappear +beyond the wooded bend above Dingan's. + +Then she collapsed into the arms of her brother Bantry, and was carried, +fainting, into Dingan's Lodge. + +A half-hour later MacFee and his troopers and Lambton came. MacFee grimly +searched the post and the shore, but he saw by the looks of all that he +had been foiled. He had no proof of anything, and Lambton must go free. + +"You've fooled us," he said to Nance, sourly, yet with a kind of +admiration, too. "Through you, they got away with it. But I wouldn't try +it again, if I were you." + +"Once is enough," answered the girl, laconically, as Lambton, set free, +caught both her hands in his and whispered in her ear. + +MacFee turned to the others. "You'd better drop this kind of thing," he +said. "I mean business." They saw the troopers by the horses, and nodded. + +"Well, we was about quit of it anyhow," said Bantry. "We've had all we +want out here." + +A loud laugh went up, and it was still ringing when there burst into the +group, out of the trail, Abe Hawley, on foot. + +He looked round the group savagely till his eyes rested on Nance and +Lambton. "I'm last in," he said, in a hoarse voice. "My horse broke its +leg cutting across to get here before her--" He waved a hand toward Nance. +"It's best stickin' to old trails, not tryin' new ones." His eyes were +full of hate as he looked at Lambton. "I'm keeping to old trails. I'm for +goin' North, far up, where these two-dollar-a-day and hash-and-clothes +people ain't come yet." He made a contemptuous gesture toward MacFee and +his troopers. "I'm goin' North--" He took a step forward and fixed his +bloodshot eyes on Nance. "I say I'm goin' North. You comin' with me, +Nance?" He took off his cap to her. + +He was haggard, his buckskins were torn, his hair was dishevelled, and he +limped a little; but he was a massive and striking figure, and MacFee +watched him closely, for there was that in his eyes which meant trouble. +"You said, 'Come back in an hour,' Nance, and I come back, as I said I +would," he went on. "You didn't stand to your word. I've come to git it. +I'm goin' North, Nance, and I bin waitin' for four years for you to go +with me. Are you comin'?" + +His voice was quiet, but it had a choking kind of sound, and it struck +strangely in the ears of all. MacFee came nearer. + +"Are you comin' with me, Nance, dear?" + +She reached a hand toward Lambton, and he took it, but she did not speak. +Something in Abe's eyes overwhelmed her--something she had never seen +before, and it seemed to stifle speech in her. Lambton spoke instead. + +"She's going East with me," he said. "That's settled." + +MacFee started. Then he caught Abe's arm. "Wait!" he said, peremptorily. +"Wait one minute." + +There was something in his voice which held Abe back for the instant. + +[Illustration: THE START ON THE NORTH TRAIL] + +"You say she is going East with you," MacFee said sharply to Lambton. +"What for?" He fastened Lambton with his eyes, and Lambton quailed. "Have +you told her you've got a wife--down East? I've got your history, Lambton. +Have you told her that you've got a wife you married when you were at +college--and as good a girl as ever lived?" + +It had come with terrible suddenness even to Lambton, and he was too dazed +to make any reply. With a cry of shame and anger, Nancy started back. +Growling with rage and hate, Abe Hawley sprang toward Lambton, but the +master of the troopers stepped between. + +No one could tell who moved first, or who first made the suggestion, for +the minds of all were the same, and the general purpose was instantaneous; +but in the fraction of a minute Lambton, under menace, was on his hands +and knees crawling to the riverside. Watchful, but not interfering, the +master of the troopers saw him set adrift in a canoe without a paddle, +while he was pelted with mud from the shore. + + * * * * * + +The next morning at sunrise Abe Hawley and the girl he had waited for so +long started on the North trail together, MacFee, master of the troopers +and justice of the peace, handing over the marriage lines. + + + + +THE STROKE OF THE HOUR + + +"They won't come to-night--sure." + +The girl looked again toward the west, where, here and there, bare poles, +or branches of trees, or slips of underbrush, marked a road made across +the plains through the snow. The sun was going down golden red, folding up +the sky a wide, soft curtain of pink and mauve and deep purple merging +into the fathomless blue, where already the stars were beginning to +quiver. The house stood on the edge of a little forest, which had boldly +asserted itself in the wide flatness. At this point in the west the +prairie merged into an undulating territory, where hill and wood rolled +away from the banks of the Saskatchewan, making another England in beauty. +The forest was a sort of advance-post of that land of beauty. + +Yet there was beauty, too, on this prairie, though there was nothing to +the east but snow and the forest so far as eye could see. Nobility and +peace and power brooded over the white world. + +As the girl looked, it seemed as though the bosom of the land rose and +fell. She had felt this vibrating life beat beneath the frozen surface. +Now, as she gazed, she smiled sadly to herself, with drooping eyelids +looking out from beneath strong brows. + +"I know you--I know you," she said, aloud. "You've got to take your toll. +And when you're lying asleep like that, or pretending to, you reach +up--and kill. And yet you can be kind--ah, but you can be kind and +beautiful! But you must have your toll one way or t'other." She sighed and +paused; then, after a moment, looking along the trail--"I don't expect +they'll come to-night, and mebbe not to-morrow, if--if they stay for +_that_." + +Her eyes closed, she shivered a little. Her lips drew tight, and her face +seemed suddenly to get thinner. "But dad wouldn't--no, he couldn't, not +considerin'--" Again she shut her eyes in pain. + +Her face was now turned from the western road by which she had expected +her travellers, and toward the east, where already the snow was taking on +a faint bluish tint, a reflection of the sky deepening toward night in +that half-circle of the horizon. Distant and a little bleak and cheerless +the half-circle was looking now. + +"No one--not for two weeks," she said, in comment on the eastern trail, +which was so little frequented in winter, and this year had been less +travelled than ever. "It would be nice to have a neighbor," she added, as +she faced the west and the sinking sun again. "I get so lonely--just +minutes I get lonely. But it's them minutes that seem to count more than +all the rest when they come. I expect that's it--we don't live in months +and years, but just in minutes. It doesn't take long for an earthquake to +do its work--it's seconds then.... P'r'aps dad won't even come to-morrow," +she added, as she laid her hand on the latch. "It never seemed so long +before, not even when he's been away a week." She laughed bitterly. "Even +bad company's better than no company at all. Sure. And Mickey has been +here always when dad's been away past times. Mickey was a fool, but he was +company; and mebbe he'd have been better company if he'd been more of a +scamp and less a fool. I dunno, but I really think he would. Bad company +doesn't put you off so." + +There was a scratching at the inside of the door. "My, if I didn't forget +Shako," she said, "and he dying for a run!" + +She opened the door quickly, and out jumped a Russian dog of almost full +breed, with big, soft eyes like those of his mistress, and with the air of +the north in every motion--like his mistress also. + +"Come, Shako, a run--a run!" + +An instant after she was flying off on a path toward the woods, her short +skirts flying and showing limbs as graceful and shapely as those of any +woman of that world of social grace which she had never seen; for she was +a prairie girl through and through, born on the plains and fed on its +scanty fare--scanty as to variety, at least. Backward and forward they +ran, the girl shouting like a child of ten--she was twenty-three--her eyes +flashing, her fine white teeth showing, her hands thrown up in sheer +excess of animal life, her hair blowing about her face--brown, strong +hair, wavy and plentiful. + +Fine creature as she was, her finest features were her eyes and her hands. +The eyes might have been found in the most savage places; the hands, +however, only could have come through breeding. She had got them honestly; +for her mother was descended from an old family of the French province. +That was why she had the name of Loisette--and had a touch of distinction. +It was the strain of the patrician in the full blood of the peasant; but +it gave her something which made her what she was--what she had been since +a child, noticeable and besought, sometimes beloved. It was too strong a +nature to compel love often, but it never failed to compel admiration. Not +greatly a creature of words, she had become moody of late; and even now, +alive with light and feeling and animal life, she suddenly stopped her +romp and run, and called the dog to her. + +"Heel, Shako!" she said, and made for the door of the little house, which +looked so snug and homelike. She paused before she came to the door, to +watch the smoke curling up from the chimney straight as a column, for +there was not a breath of air stirring. The sun was almost gone, and the +strong bluish light was settling on everything, giving even the green +spruce-trees a curious burnished tone. + +_Swish! Thud!_ She faced the woods quickly. It was only a sound that she +had heard how many hundreds of times! It was the snow slipping from some +broad branch of the fir-trees to the ground. Yet she started now. +Something was on her mind, agitating her senses, affecting her +self-control. + +"I'll be jumping out of my boots when the fire snaps, or the frost cracks +the ice, next," she said, aloud, contemptuously. "I dunno what's the +matter with me. I feel as if some one was hiding somewhere ready to pop +out on me. I haven't never felt like that before." + +She had formed the habit of talking to herself, for it had seemed at +first, as she was left alone when her father went trapping or upon +journeys for the Government, that by-and-by she would start at the sound +of her own voice if she didn't think aloud. So she was given to soliloquy, +defying the old belief that people who talked to themselves were going +mad. She laughed at that. She said that birds sang to themselves and +didn't go mad, and crickets chirruped, and frogs croaked, and owls hooted, +and she would talk and not go crazy either. So she talked to herself and +to Shako when she was alone. + +How quiet it was inside when her light supper was eaten--bread and beans +and pea-soup; she had got this from her French mother. Now she sat, her +elbows on her knees, her chin on her hands, looking into the fire. Shako +was at her feet upon the great musk-ox rug, which her father had got on +one of his hunting trips in the Athabasca country years ago. It belonged +as she belonged. It breathed of the life of the north-land, for the +timbers of the hut were hewn cedar; the rough chimney, the seats, and the +shelves on which a few books made a fair show beside the bright tins and +the scanty crockery, were of pine; and the horned heads of deer and wapiti +made pegs for coats and caps, and rests for guns and rifles. It was a +place of comfort; it had an air of well-to-do thrift, even as the girl's +dress, though plain, was made of good, sound stuff, gray, with a touch of +dark red to match the auburn of her hair. + +A book lay open in her lap, but she had scarcely tried to read it. She had +put it down after a few moments fixed upon it. It had sent her thoughts +off into a world where her life had played a part too big for books, too +deep for the plummet of any save those who had lived through the storm of +life's trials; and life when it is bitter to the young is bitter with an +agony the old never know. At last she spoke to herself. + +"She knows now! Now she knows what it is, how it feels--your heart like +red-hot coals, and something in your head that's like a turnscrew, and you +want to die and can't, for you've got to live and suffer!" + +Again she was quiet, and only the dog's heavy breathing, the snap of the +fire, or the crack of a timber in the deadly frost broke the silence. +Inside it was warm and bright and homelike; outside it was twenty degrees +below zero, and like some vast tomb where life itself was congealed, and +only the white stars, low, twinkling, and quizzical, lived--a life of +sharp corrosion, not of fire. + +Suddenly she raised her head and listened. The dog did the same. None but +those whose lives are lived in lonely places can be so acute, so sensitive +to sound. It was a feeling delicate and intense, the whole nature getting +the vibration. You could have heard nothing, had you been there; none but +one who was of the wide spaces could have done so. But the dog and the +woman felt, and both strained toward the window. Again they heard, and +started to their feet. It was far, far away, and still you could not have +heard; but now they heard clearly--a cry in the night, a cry of pain and +despair. The girl ran to the window and pulled aside the bearskin curtain +which had completely shut out the light. Then she stirred the fire, threw +a log upon it, snuffed the candles, hastily put on her moccasins, fur +coat, wool cap, and gloves, and went to the door quickly, the dog at her +heels. Opening it, she stepped out into the night. + +"_Qui va là?_ Who is it? Where?" she called, and strained toward the west. +She thought it might be her father or Mickey the hired man, or both. + +The answer came from the east, out of the homeless, neighborless, empty +east--a cry, louder now. There were only stars, and the night was dark, +though not deep dark. She sped along the prairie road as fast as she +could, once or twice stopping to call aloud. In answer to her calls the +voice sounded nearer and nearer. Now suddenly she left the trail and bore +away northward. At last the voice was very near. Presently a figure +appeared ahead, staggering toward her. + +"_Qui va là?_ Who is it?" she asked. + +"Ba'tiste Caron," was the reply in English, in a faint voice. She was +beside him in an instant. + +"What has happened? Why are you off the trail?" she said, and supported +him. + +"My Injun stoled my dogs and run off," he replied. "I run after. Then, +when I am to come to the trail"--he paused to find the English word, and +could not--"_encore_ to this trail I no can. So. Ah, _bon Dieu_, it has so +awful!" He swayed and would have fallen, but she caught him, bore him up. +She was so strong, and he was as slight as a girl, though tall. + +"When was that?" she asked. + +"Two nights ago," he answered, and swayed. + +"Wait," she said, and pulled a flask from her pocket. "Drink +this--quick!" + +He raised it to his lips, but her hand was still on it, and she only let +him take a little. Then she drew it away, though she had almost to use +force, he was so eager for it. Now she took a biscuit from her pocket. + +"Eat; then some more brandy, after," she urged. "Come on; it's not far. +See, there's the light," she added, cheerily, raising her head toward the +hut. + +"I saw it just when I have fall down--it safe me. I sit down to die--like +that! But it safe me, that light--so. Ah, _bon Dieu_, it was so far, and I +want eat so!" + +Already he had swallowed the biscuit. + +"When did you eat last?" she asked, as she urged him on. + +"Two nights--except for one leetla piece of bread--I fin' it in my pocket. +_Grâce!_ I have travel so far. _Jésu_, I think it ees ten thousan' miles, +I go. But I mus' go on, I mus' go--_certainement_." + +The light came nearer and nearer. His footsteps quickened, though he +staggered now and then, and went like a horse that has run its race, but +is driven upon its course again, going heavily with mouth open and head +thrown forward and down. + +"But I mus' to get there, an' you--you will to help me, eh?" + +Again he swayed, but her strong arm held him up. As they ran on, in a kind +of dog-trot, her hand firm upon his arm--he seemed not to notice it--she +became conscious, though it was half dark, of what sort of man she had +saved. He was about her own age, perhaps a year or two older, with little, +if any, hair upon his face, save a slight mustache. His eyes, deep sunken +as they were, she made out were black, and the face, though drawn and +famished, had a handsome look. Presently she gave him another sip of +brandy, and he quickened his steps, speaking to himself the while. + +"I haf to do it--if I lif. It is to go, go, go, till I get." + +Now they came to the hut where the firelight flickered on the window-pane; +the door was flung open, and, as he stumbled on the threshold, she helped +him into the warm room. She almost pushed him over to the fire. + +Divested of his outer coat, muffler, cap, and leggings, he sat on a bench +before the fire, his eyes wandering from the girl to the flames, and his +hands clasping and unclasping between his knees. His eyes dilating with +hunger, he watched her preparations for his supper; and when at last--and +she had been but a moment--it was placed before him, his head swam, and he +turned faint with the stress of his longing. He would have swallowed a +basin of pea-soup at a draught, but she stopped him, holding the basin +till she thought he might venture again. Then came cold beans, and some +meat which she toasted at the fire and laid upon his plate. They had not +spoken since first entering the house, when tears had shone in his eyes, +and he had said: + +"You have safe--ah, you have safe me, and so I will do it yet by help _bon +Dieu_--yes." + +The meal was done at last, and he sat with a great dish of tea beside him, +and his pipe alight. + +"What time, if please?" he asked. "I t'ink nine hour, but no sure." + +"It is near nine," she said. She hastily tidied up the table after his +meal, and then came and sat in her chair over against the wall of the rude +fireplace. + +"Nine--dat is good. The moon rise at 'leven; den I go. I go on," he said, +"if you show me de queeck way." + +"You go on--how can you go on?" she asked, almost sharply. + +"Will you not to show me?" he asked. + +"Show you what?" she asked, abruptly. + +"The queeck way to Askatoon," he said, as though surprised that she should +ask. "They say me if I get here you will tell me queeck way to Askatoon. +Time, he go so fas', an' I have loose a day an' a night, an' I mus' get +Askatoon if I lif--I mus' get dere in time. It is all safe to de stroke of +de hour, _mais_, after, it is--_bon Dieu_!--it is hell then. Who shall +forgif me--no!" + +"The stroke of the hour--the stroke of the hour!" It beat into her brain. +Were they both thinking of the same thing now? + +"You will show me queeck way. I mus' be Askatoon in two days, or it is all +over," he almost moaned. "Is no man here--I forget dat name, my head go +round like a wheel; but I know dis place, an' de good God, He help me fin' +my way to where I call out, _bien sûr_. Dat man's name I have forget." + +"My father's name is John Alroyd," she answered, absently, for there were +hammering at her brain the words, "_The stroke of the hour._" + +"Ah, now I get--yes. An' your name, it is Loisette Alroy--ah, I have it in +my mind now--Loisette. I not forget dat name, I not forget you--no." + +"Why do you want to go the 'quick' way to Askatoon?" she asked. + +He puffed a moment at his pipe before he answered her. Presently he said, +holding out his pipe, "You not like smoke, mebbe?" + +She shook her head in negation, making an impatient gesture. + +"I forget ask you," he said. "Dat journee make me forget. When Injun Jo, +he leave me with the dogs, an' I wake up all alone, an' not know my +way--not like Jo, I think I die, it is so bad, so _terrible_ in my head. +Not'ing but snow, not'ing. But dere is de sun; it shine. It say to me, +'Wake up, Ba'tiste; it will be all right bime-bye.' But all time I t'ink I +go mad, for I mus' get Askatoon before--_dat_." + +She started. Had she not used the same word in thinking of Askatoon. +"_That_," she had said. + +"Why do you want to go the 'quick' way to Askatoon?" she asked again, her +face pale, her foot beating the floor impatiently. + +"To save him before _dat_!" he answered, as though she knew of what he was +speaking and thinking. + +"What is _that_?" she asked. She knew now, surely, but she must ask it +nevertheless. + +"Dat hanging--of Haman," he answered. He nodded to himself. Then he took +to gazing into the fire. His lips moved as though talking to himself, and +the hand that held the pipe lay forgotten on his knee. + +"What have you to do with Haman?" she asked, slowly, her eyes burning. + +"I want safe him--I mus' give him free." He tapped his breast. "It is here +to mak' him free." He still tapped his breast. + +For a moment she stood frozen still, her face thin and drawn and white; +then suddenly the blood rushed back into her face, and a red storm raged +in her eyes. + +She thought of the sister, younger than herself, whom Rube Haman had +married and driven to her grave within a year--the sweet Lucy, with the +name of her father's mother. Lucy had been all English in face and tongue, +a flower of the west, driven to darkness by this horse-dealing brute, who, +before he was arrested and tried for murder, was about to marry Kate +Wimper. Kate Wimper had stolen him from Lucy before Lucy's first and only +child was born, the child that could not survive the warm mother-life +withdrawn, and so had gone down the valley whither the broken-hearted +mother had fled. It was Kate Wimper, who, before that, had waylaid the one +man for whom she herself had ever cared, and drawn him from her side by +such attractions as she herself would keep for an honest wife, if such she +ever chanced to be. An honest wife she would have been had Kate Wimper not +crossed the straight path of her life. The man she had loved was gone to +his end also, reckless and hopeless, after he had thrown away his chance +of a lifetime with Loisette Alroyd. There had been left behind this girl, +to whom tragedy had come too young, who drank humiliation with a heart as +proud as ever straightly set its course through crooked ways. + +It had hurt her, twisted her nature a little, given a fountain of +bitterness to her soul, which welled up and flooded her life sometimes. It +had given her face no sourness, but it put a shadow into her eyes. + +She had been glad when Haman was condemned for murder, for she believed he +had committed it, and ten times hanging could not compensate for that dear +life gone from their sight--Lucy, the pride of her father's heart. She was +glad when Haman was condemned, because of the woman who had stolen him +from Lucy, because of that other man, her lover, gone out of her own life. +The new hardness in her rejoiced that now the woman, if she had any heart +at all, must have it bowed down by this supreme humiliation and wrung by +the ugly tragedy of the hempen rope. + +And now this man before her, this man with a boy's face, with the dark, +luminous eyes, whom she had saved from the frozen plains, he had that in +his breast which would free Haman, so he had said. A fury had its birth in +her at that moment. Something seemed to seize her brain and master it, +something so big that it held all her faculties in perfect control, and +she felt herself in an atmosphere where all life moved round her +mechanically, she herself the only sentient thing, so much greater than +all she saw, or all that she realized by her subconscious self. Everything +in the world seemed small. How calm it was even with the fury within! + +"Tell me," she said, quietly--"tell me how you are able to save Haman?" + +"He not kill Wakely. It is my brudder Fadette dat kill and get away. Haman +he is drunk, and everyt'ing seem to say Haman he did it, an' every one +know Haman is not friend to Wakely. So the juree say he must be hanging. +But my brudder he go to die with hawful bad cold queeck, an' he send for +the priest an' for me, an' tell all. I go to Governor with the priest, an' +Governor gif me dat writing here." He tapped his breast, then took out a +wallet and showed the paper to her. "It is life of dat Haman, _voici_! And +so I safe him for my brudder. Dat was a bad boy, Fadette. He was bad all +time since he was a baby, an' I t'ink him pretty lucky to die on his bed, +an' get absolve, and go to purgatore. If he not have luck like dat he go +to hell, an' stay there." + +He sighed, and put the wallet back in his breast carefully, his eyes half +shut with weariness, his handsome face drawn and thin, his limbs lax with +fatigue. + +"If I get Askatoon before de time for _dat_, I be happy in my heart, for +dat brudder off mine he get out of purgatore bime-bye, I t'ink." + +His eyes were almost shut, but he drew himself together with a great +effort, and added desperately: "No sleep. If I sleep it is all smash. Man +say me I can get Askatoon by dat time from here, if I go queeck way across +lak'--it is all froze now, dat lak'--an' down dat Foxtail Hills. Is it so, +ma'm'selle?" + +"By the 'quick' way if you can make it in time," she said; "but it is no +way for the stranger to go. There are always bad spots on the ice--it is +not safe. You could not find your way." + +"I mus' get dere in time," he said, desperately. + +"You can't do it--alone," she said. "Do you want to risk all and lose?" + +He frowned in self-suppression. "Long way, I no can get dere in time?" he +asked. + +She thought a moment. "No; it can't be done by the long way. But there is +another way--a third trail, the trail the Gover'ment men made a year ago +when they came to survey. It is a good trail. It is blazed in the woods +and staked on the plains. You cannot miss. But--but there is so little +time." She looked at the clock on the wall. "You cannot leave here much +before sunrise, and--" + +"I will leef when de moon rise, at eleven," he interjected. + +"You have had no sleep for two nights, and no food. You can't last it +out," she said, calmly. + +The deliberate look on his face deepened to stubbornness. + +"It is my vow to my brudder--he is in purgatore. An' I mus' do it," he +rejoined, with an emphasis there was no mistaking. "You can show me dat +way?" + +She went to a drawer and took out a piece of paper. Then, with a point of +blackened stick, as he watched her and listened, she swiftly drew his +route for him. + +"Yes, I get it in my head," he said. "I go dat way, but I wish--I wish it +was dat queeck way. I have no fear, not'ing. I go w'en dat moon rise--I +go, _bien sûr._" + +"You must sleep, then, while I get some food for you." She pointed to a +couch in a corner. "I will wake you when the moon rises." + +For the first time he seemed to realize her, for a moment to leave the +thing which consumed him, and put his mind upon her. + +"You not happy--you not like me here?" he asked, simply; then added, +quickly, "I am not bad man like me brudder--no." + +Her eyes rested on him for a moment as though realizing him, while some +thought was working in her mind behind. + +"No, you are not a bad man," she said. "Men and women are equal on the +plains. You have no fear--I have no fear." + +He glanced at the rifles on the walls, then back at her. "My mudder, she +was good woman. I am glad she did not lif to know what Fadette do." His +eyes drank her in for a minute, then he said: "I go sleep now, t'ank +you--till moontime." + +In a moment his deep breathing filled the room, the only sound save for +the fire within and the frost outside. + +Time went on. The night deepened. + + * * * * * + +Loisette sat beside the fire, but her body was half-turned from it toward +the man on the sofa. She was not agitated outwardly, but within there was +that fire which burns up life and hope and all the things that come +between us and great issues. It had burned up everything in her except one +thought, one powerful motive. She had been deeply wronged, and justice had +been about to give "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth." But the +man lying there had come to sweep away the scaffolding of justice--he had +come for that. + +Perhaps he might arrive at Askatoon before the stroke of the hour, but +still he would be too late, for in her pocket now was the Governor's +reprieve. The man had slept soundly. His wallet was still in his breast; +but the reprieve was with her. + +If he left without discovering his loss, and got well on his way, and +discovered it then, it would be too late. If he returned--she only saw one +step before her, she would wait for that, and deal with it when it came. +She was thinking of Lucy, of her own lover ruined and gone. She was calm +in her madness. + +At the first light of the moon she roused him. She had put food into his +fur-coat pocket, and after he had drunk a bowl of hot pea-soup, while she +told him his course again, she opened the door, and he passed out into the +night. He started forward without a word, but came back again and caught +her hand. + +"_Pardon_," he said; "I go forget everyt'ing except _dat_. But I t'ink +what you do for me, it is better than all my life. _Bien sûr_, I will come +again, when I get my mind to myself. Ah, but you are beautibul," he said, +"an' you not happy. Well, I come again--yes, _à Dieu._" + +He was gone into the night, with the moon silvering the sky, and the +steely frost eating into the sentient life of this northern world. Inside +the house, with the bearskin blind dropped at the window again, and the +fire blazing high, Loisette sat with the Governor's reprieve in her hand. +Looking at it, she wondered why it had been given to Ba'tiste Caron and +not to a police-officer. Ah yes, it was plain--Ba'tiste was a woodsman and +plainsman, and could go far more safely than a constable, and faster. +Ba'tiste had reason for going fast, and he would travel night and day--he +was travelling night and day indeed. And now Ba'tiste might get there, but +the reprieve would not. He would not be able to stop the hanging of +Haman--the hanging of Rube Haman. + +A change came over her. Her eyes blazed, her breast heaved now. She had +been so quiet, so cold and still. But life seemed moving in her once +again. The woman, Kate Wimper, who had helped to send two people to their +graves, would now drink the dregs of shame, if she was capable of +shame--would be robbed of her happiness, if so be she loved Rube Haman. + +She stood up, as though to put the paper in the fire, but paused suddenly +at one thought--_Rube Haman was innocent of murder._ + +Even so, he was not innocent of Lucy's misery and death, or the death of +the little one who only opened its eyes to the light for an instant, and +then went into the dark again. But truly she was justified! When Haman was +gone things would go on just the same--and she had been so bitter, her +heart had been pierced as with a knife these past three years. Again she +held out her hand to the fire, but suddenly she gave a little cry and put +her hand to her head. There was Ba'tiste! + +What was Ba'tiste to her? Nothing--nothing at all. She had saved his +life--even if she wronged Ba'tiste, her debt would be paid. No, she would +not think of Ba'tiste. Yet she did not put the paper in the fire, but in +the pocket of her dress. Then she went to her room, leaving the door open. +The bed was opposite the fire, and, as she lay there--she did not take off +her clothes, she knew not why--she could see the flames. She closed her +eyes but could not sleep, and more than once when she opened them she +thought she saw Ba'tiste sitting there as he had sat hours before. Why did +Ba'tiste haunt her so? What was it he had said in his broken English as he +went away?--that he would come back; that she was "beautibul." + +All at once as she lay still, her head throbbing, her feet and hands icy +cold, she sat up listening. + +"Ah--again!" she cried. She sprang from her bed, rushed to the door, and +strained her eyes into the silver night. She called into the icy void, +"_Qui va là?_ Who goes?" + +She leaned forward, her hand at her ear, but no sound came in reply. Once +more she called, but nothing answered. The night was all light and frost +and silence. + +She had only heard, in her own brain, the iteration of Ba'tiste's calling. +Would he reach Askatoon in time? she wondered, as she shut the door. Why +had she not gone with him and attempted the shorter way--the quick way, he +had called it? All at once the truth came back upon her, stirring her now. +It would do no good for Ba'tiste to arrive in time. He might plead to them +all and tell the truth about the reprieve, but it would not avail--Rube +Haman would hang. That did not matter--even though he was innocent; but +Ba'tiste's brother would be so long in purgatory. And even that would not +matter; but she would hurt Ba'tiste--Ba'tiste--Ba'tiste! And Ba'tiste he +would know that she--and he had called her "beautibul"--that she had-- + +With a cry she suddenly clothed herself for travel. She put some food and +drink in a leather bag and slung them over her shoulder. Then she dropped +on a knee and wrote a note to her father, tears falling from her eyes. She +heaped wood on the fire and moved toward the door. All at once she turned +to the crucifix on the wall which had belonged to her mother, and, though +she had followed her father's Protestant religion, she kissed the feet of +the sacred figure. + +"Oh, Christ, have mercy on me, and bring me safe to my journey's end--in +time," she said, breathlessly; then she went softly to the door, leaving +the dog behind. + +It opened, closed, and the night swallowed her. Like a ghost she sped the +quick way to Askatoon. She was six hours behind Ba'tiste, and, going hard +all the time, it was doubtful if she could get there before the fatal +hour. + +On the trail Ba'tiste had taken there were two huts where he could rest, +and he had carried his blanket slung on his shoulder. The way she went +gave no shelter save the trees and caves which had been used to _câche_ +buffalo meat and hides in old days. But beyond this there was danger in +travelling by night, for the springs beneath the ice of the three lakes +she must cross made it weak and rotten even in the fiercest weather, and +what would no doubt have been death to Ba'tiste would be peril at least to +her. Why had she not gone with him? + +"He had in his face what was in Lucy's," she said to herself, as she sped +on. "She was fine like him, ready to break her heart for those she cared +for. My, if she had seen him first instead of--" + +She stopped short, for the ice gave way to her foot, and she only sprang +back in time to save herself. But she trotted on, mile after mile, the +dog-trot of the Indian, head bent forward, toeing in, breathing steadily +but sharply. + +The morning came, noon, then a fall of snow and a keen wind, and despair +in her heart; but she had passed the danger-spots, and now, if the storm +did not overwhelm her, she might get to Askatoon in time. In the midst of +the storm she came to one of the caves of which she had known. Here was +wood for a fire, and here she ate, and in weariness unspeakable fell +asleep. When she waked it was near sundown, the storm had ceased, and, as +on the night before, the sky was stained with color and drowned in +splendor. + +"I will do it--I will do it, Ba'tiste!" she called, and laughed aloud into +the sunset. She had battled with herself all the way, and she had +conquered. Right was right, and Rube Haman must not be hung for what he +did not do. Her heart hardened whenever she thought of the woman, but +softened again when she thought of Ba'tiste, who had to suffer for the +deed of a brother in "purgatore." Once again the night and its silence and +loneliness followed her, the only living thing near the trail till long +after midnight. After that, as she knew, there were houses here and there +where she might have rested, but she pushed on unceasing. + +At daybreak she fell in with a settler going to Askatoon with his dogs. +Seeing how exhausted she was, he made her ride a few miles upon his +sledge; then she sped on ahead again till she came to the borders of +Askatoon. + +People were already in the streets, and all were tending one way. She +stopped and asked the time. It was within a quarter of an hour of the time +when Haman was to pay another's penalty. She spurred herself on, and came +to the jail blind with fatigue. As she neared the jail she saw her father +and Mickey. In amazement her father hailed her, but she would not stop. +She was admitted to the prison on explaining that she had a reprieve. +Entering a room filled with excited people, she heard a cry. + +It came from Ba'tiste. He had arrived but ten minutes before, and, in the +Sheriff's presence, had discovered his loss. He had appealed in vain. + +But now, as he saw the girl, he gave a shout of joy which pierced the +hearts of all. + +"Ah, you haf it! Say you haf it, or it is no use--he mus' hang. +Spik--spik! Ah, my brudder--it is to do him right! Ah, Loisette--_bon +Dieu, merci!_" + +For answer she placed the reprieve in the hands of the Sheriff. Then she +swayed and fell fainting at the feet of Ba'tiste. + +She had come at the stroke of the hour. + +When she left for her home again the Sheriff kissed her. + +And that was not the only time he kissed her. He did it again six months +later, at the beginning of the harvest, when she and Ba'tiste Caron +started off on the long trail of life together. None but Ba'tiste knew the +truth about the loss of the reprieve, and to him she was "beautibul" just +the same, and greatly to be desired. + +[Illustration: SHE SWAYED AND FELL FAINTING AT THE FEET OF BA'TISTE] + + + + +BUCKMASTER'S BOY + + +"I bin waitin' for him, an' I'll git him ef it takes all winter. I'll get +him--plumb." + +The speaker smoothed the barrel of his rifle with mittened hand, which +had, however, a trigger-finger free. With black eyebrows twitching over +sunken gray eyes, he looked doggedly down the frosty valley from the ledge +of high rock where he sat. The face was rough and weather-beaten, with the +deep tan got in the open life of a land of much sun and little cloud, and +he had a beard which, untrimmed and growing wild, made him look ten years +older than he was. + +"I bin waitin' a durn while," the mountain-man added, and got to his feet +slowly, drawing himself out to six and a half feet of burly manhood. The +shoulders were, however, a little stooped, and the head was thrust forward +with an eager, watchful look--a habit become a physical characteristic. + +Presently he caught sight of a hawk sailing southward along the peaks of +the white icebound mountains above, on which the sun shone with such sharp +insistence, making sky and mountain of a piece in deep purity and serene +stillness. + +"That hawk's seen him, mebbe," he said, after a moment. "I bet it went up +higher when it got him in its eye. Ef it'd only speak and tell me where he +is--ef he's a day, or two days, or ten days north." + +Suddenly his eyes blazed and his mouth opened in superstitious amazement, +for the hawk stopped almost directly overhead at a great height, and swept +round in a circle many times, waveringly, uncertainly. At last it resumed +its flight southward, sliding down the mountains like a winged star. + +The mountaineer watched it with a dazed expression for a moment longer, +then both hands clutched the rifle and half swung it to position +involuntarily. + +"It's seen him, and it stopped to say so. It's seen him, I tell you, an' +I'll git him. Ef it's an hour, or a day, or a week, it's all the same. I'm +here watchin', waitin' dead on to him, the poison skunk!" + +The person to whom he had been speaking now rose from the pile of cedar +boughs where he had been sitting, stretched his arms up, then shook +himself into place, as does a dog after sleep. He stood for a minute +looking at the mountaineer with a reflective yet a furtively sardonic +look. He was not above five feet nine inches in height, and he was slim +and neat; and though his buckskin coat and breeches were worn and even +frayed in spots, he had an air of some distinction and of concentrated +force. It was a face that men turned to look at twice and shook their +heads in doubt afterward--a handsome, worn, secretive face, in as perfect +control as the strings of an instrument under the bow of a great artist. +It was the face of a man without purpose in life beyond the +moment--watchful, careful, remorselessly determined, an adventurer's +asset, the dial-plate of a hidden machinery. + +Now he took the handsome meerschaum pipe from his mouth, from which he had +been puffing smoke slowly, and said in a cold, yet quiet voice, "How long +you been waitin', Buck?" + +"A month. He's overdue near that. He always comes down to winter at Fort +o' Comfort, with his string of half-breeds, an' Injuns, an' the dogs." + +"No chance to get him at the Fort?" + +"It ain't so certain. They'd guess what I was doin' there. It's surer +here. He's got to come down the trail, an' when I spot him by the Juniper +clump"--he jerked an arm toward a spot almost a mile farther up the +valley--"I kin scoot up the underbrush a bit and git him--plumb. I could +do it from here, sure, but I don't want no mistake. Once only, jest one +shot, that's all I want, Sinnet." + +He bit off a small piece of tobacco from a black plug Sinnet offered him, +and chewed it with nervous fierceness, his eyebrows working, as he looked +at the other eagerly. Deadly as his purpose was, and grim and unvarying as +his vigil had been, the loneliness had told on him, and he had grown +hungry for a human face and human companionship. Why Sinnet had come he +had not thought to inquire. Why Sinnet should be going north instead of +south had not occurred to him. He only realized that Sinnet was not the +man he was waiting for with murder in his heart; and all that mattered to +him in life was the coming of his victim down the trail. He had welcomed +Sinnet with a sullen eagerness, and had told him in short, detached +sentences the dark story of a wrong and a waiting revenge, which brought a +slight flush to Sinnet's pale face and awakened a curious light in his +eyes. + +"Is that your shack--that where you shake down?" Sinnet said, pointing +toward a lean-to in the fir-trees to trees to the right. + +"That's it. I sleep there. It's straight on to the Juniper clump, the +front door is." He laughed viciously, grimly. "Outside or inside, I'm on +to the Juniper clump. Walk into the parlor?" he added, and drew open a +rough-made door, so covered with green cedar boughs that it seemed of a +piece with the surrounding underbrush and trees. Indeed, the little hut +was so constructed that it could not be distinguished from the woods even +a short distance away. + +"Can't have a fire, I suppose?" Sinnet asked. + +"Not daytimes. Smoke 'd give me away if he suspicioned me," answered the +mountaineer. "I don't take no chances. Never can tell." + +"Water?" asked Sinnet, as though interested in the surroundings, while all +the time he was eying the mountaineer furtively--as it were, prying to the +inner man, or measuring the strength of the outer man. He lighted a fresh +pipe and seated himself on a rough bench beside the table in the middle of +the room, and leaned on his elbows, watching. + +The mountaineer laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh to hear. "Listen," he +said. "You bin a long time out West. You bin in the mountains a good +while. Listen." + +There was silence. Sinnet listened intently. He heard the faint drip, +drip, drip of water, and looked steadily at the back wall of the room. + +"There--rock?" he said, and jerked his head toward the sound. + +"You got good ears," answered the other, and drew aside a blanket which +hung on the back wall of the room. A wooden trough was disclosed hanging +under a ledge of rock, and water dripped into it softly, slowly. + +"Almost providential, that rock," remarked Sinnet. "You've got your well +at your back door. Food--but you can't go far, and keep your eye on the +Bend too," he nodded toward the door, beyond which lay the frost-touched +valley in the early morning light of autumn. + +"Plenty of black squirrels and pigeons come here on account of the springs +like this one, and I get 'em with a bow and arrow. I didn't call myself +Robin Hood and Daniel Boone not for nothin' when I was knee-high to a +grasshopper." He drew from a rough cupboard some cold game, and put it on +the table, with some scones and a pannikin of water. Then he brought out a +small jug of whiskey and placed it beside his visitor. They began to eat. + +"How d'ye cook without fire?" asked Sinnet. + +"Fire's all right at nights. He'd never camp 'twixt here an' Juniper Bend +at night. The next camp's six miles north from here. He'd only come down +the valley daytimes. I studied it all out, and it's a dead sure thing. +From daylight till dusk I'm on to him--I got the trail in my eye." + +He showed his teeth like a wild dog, as his look swept the valley. There +was something almost revolting in his concentrated ferocity. + +Sinnet's eyes half closed as he watched the mountaineer, and the long, +scraggy hands and whipcord neck seemed to interest him greatly. He looked +at his own slim, brown hands with a half smile, and it was almost as cruel +as the laugh of the other. Yet it had, too, a knowledge and an +understanding which gave it humanity. + +"You're sure he did it?" Sinnet asked, presently, after drinking a very +small portion of liquor, and tossing some water from the pannikin after +it. "You're sure Greevy killed your boy, Buck?" + +"My name's Buckmaster, ain't it--Jim Buckmaster? Don't I know my own name? +It's as sure as that. My boy said it was Greevy when he was dying. He told +Bill Ricketts so, and Bill told me afore he went East. Bill didn't want to +tell, but he said it was fair I should know, for my boy never did nobody +any harm--an' Greevy's livin' on! But I'll git him. Right's right." + +"Wouldn't it be better for the law to hang him if you've got the proof, +Buck? A year or so in jail, an' a long time to think over what's going +round his neck on the scaffold--wouldn't that suit you, if you've got the +proof?" + +A rigid, savage look came into Buckmaster's face. + +"I ain't lettin' no judge and jury do my business. I'm for certain sure, +not for _p'r'aps_! An' I want to do it myself. Clint was only twenty. Like +boys we was together. I was eighteen when I married, an' he come when +_she_ went--jest a year--jest a year. An' ever since then we lived +together, him an' me, an' shot together, an' trapped together, an' went +gold-washin' together on the Cariboo, an' eat out of the same dish, an' +slept under the same blanket, and jawed together nights--ever since he was +five, when old Mother Lablache had got him into pants, an' he was fit to +take the trail." + +The old man stopped a minute, his whipcord neck swelling, his lips +twitching. He brought a fist down on the table with a bang. "The biggest +little rip he was, as full of fun as a squirrel, an' never a smile--jest +his eyes dancin', an' more sense than a judge. He laid hold o' me, that +cub did--it was like his mother and himself together; an' the years +flowin' in an' peterin' out, an' him gettin' older, an' always jest the +same. Always on rock-bottom, always bright as a dollar, an' we livin' at +Black Nose Lake, layin' up cash agin' the time we was to go South, an' set +up a house along the railway, an' him to git married. I was for his +gittin' married same as me, when we had enough cash. I use to think of +that when he was ten, and when he was eighteen I spoke to him about it; +but he wouldn't listen--jest laughed at me. You remember how Clint used to +laugh, sort of low and teasin' like--you remember that laugh o' Clint's, +don't you?" + +Sinnet's face was toward the valley and Juniper Bend, but he slowly turned +his head and looked at Buckmaster strangely out of his half-shut eyes. He +took the pipe from his mouth slowly. + +"I can hear it now," he answered, slowly. "I hear it often, Buck." + +The old man gripped his arm so suddenly that Sinnet was startled--in so +far as anything could startle any one who had lived a life of chance and +danger and accident--and his face grew a shade paler; but he did not move, +and Buckmaster's hand tightened convulsively. + +"You liked him, an' he liked you; he first learnt poker off you, Sinnet. +He thought you was a tough, but he didn't mind that no more than I did. It +ain't for us to say what we're goin' to be, not always. Things in life git +stronger than we are. You was a tough, but who's goin' to judge you? I +ain't; for Clint took to you, Sinnet, an' he never went wrong in his +thinkin'. God! he was wife an' child to me--an' he's dead--dead--dead!" + +The man's grief was a painful thing to see. His hands gripped the table, +while his body shook with sobs, though his eyes gave forth no tears. It +was an inward convulsion, which gave his face the look of unrelieved +tragedy and suffering--Laocoon struggling with the serpents of sorrow and +hatred which were strangling him. + +"Dead an' gone," he repeated, as he swayed to and fro, and the table +quivered in his grasp. Presently, however, as though arrested by a +thought, he peered out of the doorway toward Juniper Bend. "That hawk seen +him--it seen him. He's comin', I know it, an' I'll git him--plumb." He had +the mystery and imagination of the mountain-dweller. + +The rifle lay against the wall behind him, and he turned and touched it +almost caressingly. "I ain't let go like this since he was killed, Sinnet. +It don't do. I got to keep myself stiddy to do the trick when the minute +comes. At first I usen't to sleep at nights, thinkin' of Clint, an' +missin' him, an' I got shaky and no good. So I put a cinch on myself, an' +got to sleepin' again--from the full dusk to dawn, for Greevy wouldn't +take the trail at night. I've kept stiddy." He held out his hand as though +to show that it was firm and steady, but it trembled with the emotion +which had conquered him. He saw it, and shook his head angrily. + +"It was seein' you, Sinnet. It burst me. I ain't seen no one to speak to +in a month, an' with you sittin' there, it was like Clint an' me cuttin' +and comin' again off the loaf an' the knuckle-bone of ven'son." + +Sinnet ran a long finger slowly across his lips, and seemed meditating +what he should say to the mountaineer. At length he spoke, looking into +Buckmaster's face: "What was the story Ricketts told you? What did your +boy tell Ricketts? I've heard, too, about it, and that's why I asked you +if you had proofs that Greevy killed Clint. Of course, Clint should know, +and if he told Ricketts, that's pretty straight; but I'd like to know if +what I heard tallies with what Ricketts heard from Clint. P'r'aps it'd +ease your mind a bit to tell it. I'll watch the Bend--don't you trouble +about that. You can't do these two things at one time. I'll watch for +Greevy; you give me Clint's story to Ricketts. I guess you know I'm +feelin' for you, an' if I was in your place I'd shoot the man that killed +Clint, if it took ten years. I'd have his heart's blood--all of it. +Whether Greevy was in the right or in the wrong, I'd have him--_plumb_." + +Buckmaster was moved. He gave a fierce exclamation and made a gesture of +cruelty. "Clint right or wrong? There ain't no question of that. My boy +wasn't the kind to be in the wrong. What did he ever do but what was +right? If Clint was in the wrong I'd kill Greevy jest the same, for Greevy +robbed him of all the years that was before him--only a sapling he was, +an' all his growin' to do, all his branches to widen an' his roots to +spread. But that don't enter in it, his bein' in the wrong. It was a +quarrel, and Clint never did Greevy any harm. It was a quarrel over cards, +an' Greevy was drunk, an' followed Clint out into the prairie in the night +and shot him like a coyote. Clint hadn't no chance, an' he jest lay there +on the ground till morning, when Ricketts and Steve Joicey found him. An' +Clint told Ricketts who it was." + +"Why didn't Ricketts tell it right out at once?" asked Sinnet. + +"Greevy was his own cousin--it was in the family, an' he kept thinkin' of +Greevy's gal, Em'ly. Her--what'll it matter to her? She'll get married, an +she'll forgit. I know her, a gal that's got no deep feelin' like Clint had +for me. But because of her Ricketts didn't speak for a year. Then he +couldn't stand it any longer, an' he told me--seein' how I suffered, an' +everybody hidin' their suspicions from me, an' me up here out o' the way, +an' no account. That was the feelin' among 'em: What was the good of +making things worse? They wasn't thinkin' of the boy or of Jim Buckmaster, +his father. They was thinkin' of Greevy's gal--to save her trouble." + +Sinnet's face was turned toward Juniper Bend, and the eyes were fixed, as +it were, on a still more distant object--a dark, brooding, inscrutable +look. + +"Was that all Ricketts told you, Buck?" The voice was very quiet, but it +had a suggestive note. + +"That's all Clint told Bill before he died. That was enough." + +There was a moment's pause, and then, puffing out long clouds of smoke, +and in a tone of curious detachment, as though he were telling something +that he saw now in the far distance, or as a spectator of a battle from a +far vantage-point might report to a blind man standing near, Sinnet said: + +"P'r'aps Ricketts didn't know the whole story; p'r'aps Clint didn't know +it all to tell him; p'r'aps Clint didn't remember it all. P'r'aps he +didn't remember anything except that he and Greevy quarrelled, and that +Greevy and he shot at each other in the prairie. He'd only be thinking of +the thing that mattered most to him--that his life was over, an' that a +man had put a bullet in him, an'--" + +Buckmaster tried to interrupt him, but he waved a hand impatiently, and +continued: "As I say, maybe he didn't remember everything; he had been +drinkin' a bit himself, Clint had. He wasn't used to liquor, and couldn't +stand much. Greevy was drunk, too, and gone off his head with rage. He +always gets drunk when he first comes south to spend the winter with his +girl Em'ly." He paused a moment, then went on a little more quickly. +"Greevy was proud of her--couldn't even bear her being crossed in any way; +and she has a quick temper, and if she quarrelled with anybody Greevy +quarrelled too." + +"I don't want to know anything about her," broke in Buckmaster, roughly. +"She isn't in this thing. I'm goin' to get Greevy. I bin waitin' for him, +an' I'll git him." + +"You're going to kill the man that killed your boy, if you can, Buck; but +I'm telling my story in my own way. You told Rickett's story; I'll tell +what I've heard. And before you kill Greevy you ought to know all there is +that anybody else knows--or suspicions about it." + +"I know enough. Greevy done it, an' I'm here." + +With no apparent coherence and relevancy Sinnet continued, but his voice +was not so even as before. "Em'ly was a girl that wasn't twice alike. She +was changeable. First it was one, then it was another, and she didn't seem +to be able to fix her mind. But that didn't prevent her leadin' men on. +She wasn't changeable, though, about her father. She was to him what your +boy was to you. There she was like you, ready to give everything up for +her father." + +"I tell y' I don't want to hear about her," said Buckmaster, getting to +his feet and setting his jaws. "You needn't talk to me about her. She'll +git over it. I'll never git over what Greevy done to me or to Clint--jest +twenty, jest twenty! I got my work to do." + +He took his gun from the wall, slung it into the hollow of his arm, and +turned to look up the valley through the open doorway. + +The morning was sparkling with life--the life and vigor which a touch of +frost gives to the autumn world in a country where the blood tingles to +the dry, sweet sting of the air. Beautiful, and spacious, and buoyant, and +lonely, the valley and the mountains seemed waiting, like a new-born +world, to be peopled by man. It was as though all had been made ready for +him--the birds whistling and singing in the trees, the whisk of the +squirrels leaping from bough to bough, the peremptory sound of the +woodpecker's beak against the bole of a tree, the rustle of the leaves as +a wood-hen ran past--a waiting, virgin world. + +Its beauty and its wonderful dignity had no appeal to Buckmaster. His eyes +and mind were fixed on a deed which would stain the virgin wild with the +ancient crime that sent the first marauder on human life into the +wilderness. + +As Buckmaster's figure darkened the doorway Sinnet seemed to waken as from +a dream, and he got swiftly to his feet. "Wait--you wait, Buck. You've got +to hear all. You haven't heard my story yet. Wait, I tell you." + +His voice was so sharp and insistent, so changed, that Buckmaster turned +from the doorway and came back into the room. + +"What's the use of my hearin'? You want me not to kill Greevy, because of +that gal. What's she to me?" + +"Nothing to you, Buck, but Clint was everything to her." + +The mountaineer stood like one petrified. + +"What's that--what's that you say? It's a damn lie!" + +"It wasn't cards--the quarrel, not the real quarrel. Greevy found Clint +kissing her. Greevy wanted her to marry Gatineau, the lumber-king. That +was the quarrel." + +A snarl was on the face of Buckmaster. "Then she'll not be sorry when I +git him. It took Clint from her as well as from me." He turned to the door +again. + +"But, wait, Buck, wait one minute and hear--" + +He was interrupted by a low, exultant growl, and he saw Buckmaster's rifle +clutched as a hunter, stooping, clutches his gun to fire on his prey. + +"Quick, the spy-glass!" he flung back at Sinnet. "It's him, but I'll make +sure." + +Sinnet caught the telescope from the nails where it hung, and looked out +toward Juniper Bend. "It's Greevy--and his girl, and the half-breeds," he +said, with a note in his voice that almost seemed agitation, and yet few +had ever seen Sinnet agitated. "Em'ly must have gone up the trail in the +night." + +"It's my turn now," the mountaineer said, hoarsely, and, stooping, slid +away quickly into the undergrowth. + +Sinnet followed, keeping near him, neither speaking. For a half mile they +hastened on, and now and then Buckmaster drew aside the bushes, and looked +up the valley, to keep Greevy and his _bois brûlées_ in his eye. Just so +had he and his son and Sinnet stalked the wapiti and the red deer along +these mountains; but this was a man that Buckmaster was stalking now, with +none of the joy of the sport which had been his since a lad; only the +malice of the avenger. The lust of a mountain feud was on him; he was +pursuing the price of blood. + +At last Buckmaster stopped at a ledge of rock just above the trail. Greevy +would pass below, within three hundred yards of his rifle. He turned to +Sinnet with cold and savage eyes. "You go back," he said. "It's my +business. I don't want you to see. You don't want to see, then you won't +know, and you won't need to lie. You said that the man that killed Clint +ought to die. He's going to die, but it's none o' your business. I want to +be alone. In a minute he'll be where I kin git him--plumb. You go, +Sinnet--right off. It's my business." + +There was a strange, desperate look in Sinnet's face; it was as hard as +stone, but his eyes had a light of battle in them. + +"It's my business right enough, Buck," he said, "and you're not going to +kill Greevy. That girl of his has lost her lover, your boy. It's broke her +heart almost, and there's no use making her an orphan too. She can't stand +it. She's had enough. You leave her father alone--you hear me, let up!" He +stepped between Buckmaster and the ledge of rock from which the +mountaineer was to take aim. + +There was a terrible look in Buckmaster's face. He raised his +single-barrelled rifle, as though he would shoot Sinnet; but, at the +moment, he remembered that a shot would warn Greevy, and that he might not +have time to reload. He laid his rifle against a tree swiftly. + +"Git away from here," he said, with a strange rattle in his throat. "Git +away quick; he'll be down past here in a minute." + +Sinnet pulled himself together as he saw Buckmaster snatch at a great +clasp-knife in his belt. He jumped and caught Buckmaster's wrist in a grip +like a vise. + +"Greevy didn't kill him, Buck," he said. But the mountaineer was gone mad, +and did not grasp the meaning of the words. He twined his left arm round +the neck of Sinnet, and the struggle began, he fighting to free Sinnet's +hand from his wrist, to break Sinnet's neck. He did not realize what he +was doing. He only knew that this man stood between him and the murderer +of his boy, and all the ancient forces of barbarism were alive in him. +Little by little they drew to the edge of the rock, from which there was a +sheer drop of two hundred feet. Sinnet fought like a panther for safety, +but no sane man's strength could withstand the demoniacal energy that bent +and crushed him. Sinnet felt his strength giving. Then he said, in a +hoarse whisper: "Greevy didn't kill him. I killed him, and--" + +At that moment he was borne to the ground with a hand on his throat, and +an instant after the knife went home. + +Buckmaster got to his feet and looked at his victim for an instant, dazed +and wild; then he sprang for his gun. As he did so the words that Sinnet +had said as they struggled rang in his ears, "_Greevy didn't kill him; I +killed him_!" + +He gave a low cry and turned back toward Sinnet, who lay in a pool of +blood. + +Sinnet was speaking. He went and stooped over him. + +[Illustration: LITTLE BY LITTLE THEY DREW TO THE EDGE OF THE ROCK] + +"Em'ly threw me over for Clint," the voice said, huskily, "and I followed +to have it out with Clint. So did Greevy, but Greevy was drunk. I saw them +meet. I was hid. I saw that Clint would kill Greevy, and I fired. I was +off my head--I'd never cared for any woman before, and Greevy was her +father. Clint was off his head too. He had called me names that day--a +cardsharp, and a liar, and a thief, and a skunk, he called me, and I hated +him just then. Greevy fired twice--wide. He didn't know but what he killed +Clint, but he didn't. I did. So I tried to stop you, Buck--" + +Life was going fast, and speech failed him; but he opened his eyes again +and whispered: "I didn't want to die, Buck. I am only thirty-five, and +it's too soon; but it had to be. Don't look that way, Buck. You got the +man that killed him--plumb. But Em'ly didn't play fair with me--made a +fool of me, the only time in my life I ever cared for a woman. You leave +Greevy alone, Buck, and tell Em'ly for me I wouldn't let you kill her +father." + +"You--Sinnet--you, you done it! Why, he'd have fought for you. You--done +it--to him--to Clint!" + +Now that the blood-feud had been satisfied, a great change came over the +mountaineer. He had done his work, and the thirst for vengeance was gone. +Greevy he had hated, but this man had been with him in many a winter's +hunt. His brain could hardly grasp the tragedy--it had all been too +sudden. + +Suddenly he stooped down. "Sinnet," he said, "ef there was a woman in it, +that makes all the difference. Sinnet, ef--" + +But Sinnet was gone upon a long trail that led into an illimitable +wilderness. With a moan the old man ran to the ledge of rock. Greevy and +his girl were below. + +"When there's a woman in it--!" he said, in a voice of helplessness and +misery, and watched her till she disappeared from view. Then he turned, +and, lifting up in his arms the man he had killed, carried him into the +deeper woods. + + + + +TO-MORROW + + +I + +"My, nothing's the matter with the world to-day! It's so good it almost +hurts." + +She raised her head from the white petticoat she was ironing, and gazed +out of the doorway and down the valley with a warm light in her eyes and a +glowing face. The snow-tipped mountains far above and away, the +fir-covered, cedar-ranged foothills, and, lower down, the wonderful maple +and ash woods, with their hundred autumn tints, all merging to one soft, +red tone, the roar of the stream tumbling down the ravine from the +heights, the air that braced the nerves like wine--it all seemed to be +part of her, the passion of life corresponding to the passion of living in +her. + +After watching the scene dreamily for a moment, she turned and laid the +iron she had been using upon the hot stove near. Taking up another, she +touched it with a moistened finger to test the heat, and, leaning above +the table again, passed it over the linen for a few moments, smiling at +something that was in her mind. Presently she held the petticoat up, +turned it round, then hung it in front of her, eying it with critical +pleasure. + +"_To-morrow!_" she said, nodding at it. "You won't be seen, I suppose, but +_I'll_ know you're nice enough for a queen--and that's enough to know." +She blushed a little, as though some one had heard her words and was +looking at her, then she carefully laid the petticoat over the back of a +chair. "No queen's got one whiter, if I do say it," she continued, tossing +her head. + +In that, at any rate, she was right, for the water of the mountain springs +was pure, the air was clear, and the sun was clarifying; and little +ornamented or frilled as it was, the petticoat was exquisitely soft and +delicate. It would have appealed to more eyes than a woman's. + +"To-morrow!" She nodded at it again and turned again to the bright world +outside. With arms raised and hands resting against the timbers of the +doorway, she stood dreaming. A flock of pigeons passed with a whir not far +away, and skirted the woods making down the valley. She watched their +flight abstractedly, yet with a subconscious sense of pleasure. Life--they +were Life, eager, buoyant, belonging to this wild region, where still the +heart could feel so much at home, where the great world was missed so +little. + +Suddenly, as she gazed, a shot rang out down the valley, and two of the +pigeons came tumbling to the ground, a stray feather floating after. With +a startled exclamation she took a step forward. Her brain became confused +and disturbed. She had looked out on Eden, and it had been ravaged before +her eyes. She had been thinking of to-morrow, and this vast prospect of +beauty and serenity had been part of the pageant in which it moved. Not +the valley alone had been marauded, but that "To-morrow," and all it meant +to her. + +Instantly the valley had become clouded over for her, its glory and its +grace despoiled. She turned back to the room where the white petticoat lay +upon the chair, but stopped with a little cry of alarm. + +A man was standing in the centre of the room. He had entered stealthily by +the back door, and had waited for her to turn round. He was haggard and +travel-stained, and there was a feverish light in his eyes. His fingers +trembled as they adjusted his belt, which seemed too large for him. +Mechanically he buckled it tighter. + +"You're Jenny Long, ain't you?" he asked. "I beg pardon for sneakin' in +like this, but they're after me, some ranchers and a constable--one o' the +Riders of the Plains. I've been tryin' to make this house all day. You're +Jenny Long, ain't you?" + +She had plenty of courage, and, after the first instant of shock, she had +herself in hand. She had quickly observed his condition, had marked the +candor of the eye and the decision and character of the face, and doubt of +him found no place in her mind. She had the keen observation of the +dweller in lonely places, where every traveller has the potentialities of +a foe, while the door of hospitality is opened to him after the custom of +the wilds. Year in, year out, since she was a little girl and came to live +here with her Uncle Sanger when her father died--her mother had gone +before she could speak--travellers had halted at this door, going North or +coming South, had had bite and sup, and bed, maybe, and had passed on, +most of them never to be seen again. More than that, too, there had been +moments of peril, such as when, alone, she had faced two wood-thieves with +a revolver, as they were taking her mountain-pony with them, and herself +had made them "hands-up," and had marched them into a prospector's camp +five miles away. + +She had no doubt about the man before her. Whatever he had done, it was +nothing dirty or mean--of that she was sure. + +"Yes, I'm Jenny Long," she answered. "What have you done? What are they +after you for?" + +[Illustration: "THEY SHOT ME AN' HURT ME"] + +"Oh! to-morrow," he answered--"to-morrow I got to git to Bindon. It's life +or death. I come from prospecting two hundred miles up North. I done it in +two days and a half. My horse dropped dead--I'm near dead myself. I tried +to borrow another horse up at Clancey's, and at Scotton's Drive, but they +didn't know me, and they bounced me. So I borrowed a horse off Weigall's +paddock, to make for here--to you. I didn't mean to keep that horse. Hell, +I'm no horse-stealer! But I couldn't explain to them, except that I had to +git to Bindon to save a man's life. If people laugh in your face, it's no +use explainin'. I took a roan from Weigall's, and they got after me. 'Bout +six miles up they shot at me an' hurt me." + +She saw that one arm hung limp at his side and that his wrist was wound +with a red bandana. + +She started forward. "Are you hurt bad? Can I bind it up or wash it for +you? I've got plenty of hot water here, and it's bad letting a wound get +stale." + +He shook his head. "I washed the hole clean in the creek below. I doubled +on them. I had to go down past your place here, and then work back to be +rid of them. But there's no telling when they'll drop onto the game, and +come back for me. My only chance was to git to you. Even if I had a horse, +I couldn't make Bindon in time. It's two days round the gorge by trail. A +horse is no use now--I lost too much time since last night. I can't git to +Bindon to-morrow in time, if I ride the trail." + +"The river?" she asked, abruptly. + +"It's the only way. It cuts off fifty mile. That's why I come to you." + +She frowned a little, her face became troubled, and her glance fell on his +arm nervously. "What've I got to do with it?" she asked, almost sharply. + +"Even if this was all right"--he touched the wounded arm--"I couldn't take +the rapids in a canoe. I don't know them, an' it would be sure death. +That's not the worst, for there's a man at Bindon would lose his +life--p'r'aps twenty men--I dunno; but one man sure. To-morrow, it's go or +stay with him. He was good--Lord, but he was good!--to my little gal years +back. She'd only been married to me a year when he saved her, riskin' his +own life. No one else had the pluck. My little gal, only twenty she was, +an' pretty as a picture, an' me fifty miles away when the fire broke out +in the hotel where she was. He'd have gone down to hell for a friend, an' +he saved my little gal. I had her for five years after that. That's why I +got to git to Bindon to-morrow. If I don't, I don't want to see to-morrow. +I got to go down the river to-night." + +She knew what he was going to ask her. She knew he was thinking what all +the North knew, that she was the first person to take the Dog Nose Rapids +in a canoe, down the great river scarce a stone's-throw from her door; and +that she had done it in safety many times. Not in all the West and North +were there a half dozen people who could take a canoe to Bindon, and they +were not here. She knew that he meant to ask her to paddle him down the +swift stream, with its murderous rocks, to Bindon. She glanced at the +white petticoat on the chair, and her lips tightened. To-morrow--to-morrow +was as much to her here as it would be to this man before her, or the man +he would save at Bindon. + +"What do you want?" she asked, hardening her heart. + +"Can't you see? I want you to hide me here till to-night. There's a full +moon, an' it would be as plain goin' as by day. They told me about you up +North, and I said to myself, 'If I git to Jenny Long, an' tell her about +my friend at Bindon, an' my little gal, she'll take me down to Bindon in +time.' My little gal would have paid her own debt if she'd ever had the +chance. She didn't--she's lying up on Mazy Mountain. But one woman'll do a +lot for the sake of another woman. Say, you'll do it, won't you? If I +don't git there by to-morrow noon, it's no good." + +She would not answer. He was asking more than he knew. Why should she be +sacrificed? Was it her duty to pay the "little gal's debt," to save the +man at Bindon? To-morrow was to be the great day in her own life. The one +man in all the world was coming to marry her to-morrow. After four years' +waiting, after a bitter quarrel in which both had been to blame, he was +coming from the mining town of Selby to marry her to-morrow. + +"What will happen? Why will your friend lose his life if you don't get to +Bindon?" + +"By noon to-morrow, by twelve o'clock noon; that's the plot; that's what +they've schemed. Three days ago, I heard. I got a man free from trouble +North--he was no good, but I thought he ought to have another chance, and +I got him free. He told me of what was to be done at Bindon. There'd been +a strike in the mine, an' my friend had took it in hand with +knuckle-dusters on. He isn't the kind to fell a tree with a jack-knife. +Then three of the strikers that had been turned away--they was the +ringleaders--they laid a plan that'd make the devil sick. They've put a +machine in the mine, an' timed it, an' it'll go off when my friend comes +out of the mine at noon to-morrow." + +Her face was pale now, and her eyes had a look of pain and horror. Her +man--him that she was to marry--was the head of a mine also at Selby, +forty miles beyond Bindon, and the horrible plot came home to her with +piercing significance. + +"Without a second's warning," he urged, "to go like that, the man that was +so good to my little gal, an' me with a chance to save him, an' others +too, p'r'aps. You won't let it be. Say, I'm pinnin' my faith to you. +I'm--" + +Suddenly he swayed. She caught him, held him, and lowered him gently in a +chair. Presently he opened his eyes. "It's want o' food, I suppose," he +said. "If you've got a bit of bread and meat--I must keep up." + +She went to a cupboard, but suddenly turned toward him again. Her ears had +caught a sound outside in the underbrush. He had heard also, and he half +staggered to his feet. + +"Quick--in here!" she said, and, opening a door, pushed him inside. "Lie +down on my bed, and I'll bring you vittles as quick as I can," she added. +Then she shut the door, turned to the ironing-board, and took up the iron, +as the figure of a man darkened the doorway. + +"Hello, Jinny, fixin' up for to-morrow?" the man said, stepping inside, +with a rifle under his arm and some pigeons in his hand. + +She nodded and gave him an impatient, scrutinizing glance. His face had a +fatuous kind of smile. + +"Been celebrating the pigeons?" she asked, dryly, jerking her head toward +the two birds, which she had seen drop from her Eden skies a short time +before. + +"I only had one swig of whiskey, honest Injun!" he answered. "I s'pose I +might have waited till to-morrow, but I was dead-beat. I got a bear over +by the Ten-mile Reach, and I was tired. I ain't so young as I used to be, +and, anyhow, what's the good? What's ahead of me? You're going to git +married to-morrow after all these years we bin together, and you're going +down to Selby from the mountains, where I won't see you, not once in a +blue moon. Only that old trollop, Mother Massy, to look after me." + +"Come down to Selby and live there. You'll be welcome by Jake and me." + +He stood his gun in the corner and, swinging the pigeons in his hand, +said: "Me live out of the mountains! Don't you know better than that? I +couldn't breathe, and I wouldn't want to breathe. I've got my shack here, +I got my fur business, and they're still fond of whiskey up North!" He +chuckled to himself, as he thought of the illicit still farther up the +mountain behind them. "I make enough to live on, and I've put a few +dollars by, though I won't have so many after to-morrow, after I've given +you a little pile, Jinny." + +"P'r'aps there won't be any _to-morrow_, as you expect," she said, +slowly. + +The old man started. "What! you and Jake ain't quarrelled again? You ain't +broke it off at the last moment, same as before? You ain't had a letter +from Jake?" He looked at the white petticoat on the chair-back, and shook +his head in bewilderment. + +"I've had no letter," she answered. "I've had no letter from Selby for a +month. It was all settled then, and there was no good writing, when he was +coming to-morrow with the minister and the license. Who do you think'd be +postman from Selby here? It must have cost him ten dollars to send the +last letter." + +"Then what's the matter? I don't understand," the old man urged, +querulously. He did not want her to marry and leave him, but he wanted no +more troubles; he did not relish being asked awkward questions by every +mountaineer he met as to why Jenny Long didn't marry Jake Lawson. + +"There's only one way that I can be married to-morrow," she said, at last, +"and that's by you taking a man down the Dog Nose Rapids to Bindon +to-night." + +He dropped the pigeons on the floor, dumfounded. "What in--" + +He stopped short, in sheer incapacity to go further. Jenny had not always +been easy to understand, but she was wholly incomprehensible now. + +She picked up the pigeons and was about to speak, but she glanced at the +bedroom door, where her exhausted visitor had stretched himself on her +bed, and beckoned her uncle to another room. + +"There's a plate of vittles ready for you in there," she said. "I'll tell +you as you eat." + +He followed her into the little living-room adorned by the trophies of his +earlier achievements with gun and rifle, and sat down at the table, where +some food lay covered by a clean white cloth. + +"No one'll ever look after me as you've done, Jinny," he said, as he +lifted the cloth and saw the palatable dish ready for him. Then he +remembered again about to-morrow and the Dog Nose Rapids. + +"What's it all about, Jinny? What's that about my canoeing a man down to +Bindon?" + +"Eat, uncle," she said, more softly than she had yet spoken, for his words +about her care of him had brought a moisture to her eyes. "I'll be back in +a minute and tell you all about it." + +"Well, it's about took away my appetite," he said. "I feel a kind of +sinking." He took from his pocket a bottle, poured some of its contents +into a tin cup, and drank it off. + +"No, I suppose you couldn't take a man down to Bindon," she said, as she +saw his hand trembling on the cup. Then she turned and entered the other +room again. Going to the cupboard, she hastily heaped a plate with food, +and, taking a dipper of water from a pail near by, she entered her bedroom +hastily and placed what she had brought on a small table, as her visitor +rose slowly from the bed. + +He was about to speak, but she made a protesting gesture. + +"I can't tell you anything yet," she said. + +"Who was it come?" he asked. + +"My uncle--I'm going to tell him." + +"The men after me may git here any minute," he urged, anxiously. + +"They'd not be coming into my room," she answered, flushing slightly. + +"Can't you hide me down by the river till we start?" he asked, his eyes +eagerly searching her face. He was assuming that she would take him down +the river; but she gave no sign. + +"I've got to see if he'll take you first?" she answered. + +"He--your uncle, Tom Sanger? He drinks, I've heard. He'd never git to +Bindon." + +She did not reply directly to his words. "I'll come back and tell you. +There's a place you could hide by the river where no one could ever find +you," she said, and left the room. + +As she stepped out, she saw the old man standing in the doorway of the +other room. His face was petrified with amazement. + +"Who you got in that room, Jinny? What man you got in that room? I heard a +man's voice. Is it because o' him that you bin talkin' about no weddin' +to-morrow? Is it one o' the others come back, puttin' you off Jake +again?" + +Her eyes flashed fire at his first words, and her breast heaved with +anger, but suddenly she became composed again and motioned him to a +chair. + +"You eat, and I'll tell you all about it, Uncle Tom," she said, and, +seating herself at the table also, she told him the story of the man who +must go to Bindon. + +When she had finished, the old man blinked at her for a minute without +speaking, then he said, slowly: "I heard something 'bout trouble down at +Bindon yisterday from a Hudson's Bay man goin' North, but I didn't take it +in. You've got a lot o' sense, Jinny, an' if you think he's tellin' the +truth, why, it goes; but it's as big a mixup as a lariat in a steer's +horns. You've got to hide him sure, whoever he is, for I wouldn't hand an +Eskimo over, if I'd taken him in my home once; we're mountain people. A +man ought to be hung for horse-stealin', but this was different. He was +doing it to save a man's life, an' that man at Bindon was good to his +little gal, an' she's dead." + +He moved his head from side to side with the air of a sentimental +philosopher. He had all the vanity of a man who had been a success in a +small, shrewd, culpable way--had he not evaded the law for thirty years +with his whiskey-still? + +"I know how he felt," he continued. "When Betsy died--we was only four +years married--I could have crawled into a knot-hole an' died there. You +got to save him, Jinny, but"--he came suddenly to his feet--"he ain't safe +here. They might come any minute, if they've got back on his trail. I'll +take him up the gorge. You know where." + +"You sit still, Uncle Tom," she rejoined. "Leave him where he is a minute. +There's things must be settled first. They ain't going to look for him in +my bedroom, be they?" + +The old man chuckled. "I'd like to see 'em at it. You got a temper, Jinny; +and you got a pistol, too, eh?" He chuckled again. "As good a shot as any +in the mountains. I can see you darin' 'em to come on. But what if Jake +come, and he found a man in your bedroom"--he wiped the tears of laughter +from his eyes--"why, Jinny--" + +He stopped short, for there was anger in her face. "I don't want to hear +any more of that. I do what I want to do," she snapped out. + +"Well, well, you always done what you wanted; but we got to git him up the +hills, till it's sure they're out o' the mountains and gone back. It'll be +days, mebbe." + +"Uncle Tom, you've took too much to drink," she answered. "You don't +remember he's got to be at Bindon by to-morrow noon. He's got to save his +friend by then." + +"Pshaw! Who's going to take him down the river to-night? You're goin' to +be married to-morrow. If you like, you can give him the canoe. It'll never +come back, nor him neither!" + +"You've been down with me," she responded, suggestively. "And you went +down once by yourself." + +He shook his head. "I ain't been so well this summer. My sight ain't what +it was. I can't stand the racket as I once could. 'Pears to me I'm gettin' +old. No, I couldn't take them rapids, Jinny, not for one frozen minute." + +She looked at him with trouble in her eyes, and her face lost some of its +color. She was fighting back the inevitable, even as its shadow fell upon +her. "You wouldn't want a man to die, if you could save him, Uncle +Tom--blown up, sent to Kingdom Come without any warning at all; and +perhaps he's got them that love him--and the world so beautiful." + +"Well, it ain't nice dyin' in the summer, when it's all sun, and there's +plenty everywhere; but there's no one to go down the river with him. +What's his name?" + +Her struggle was over. She had urged him, but in very truth she was urging +herself all the time, bringing herself to the axe of sacrifice. + +"His name's Dingley. I'm going down the river with him--down to Bindon." + +The old man's mouth opened in blank amazement. His eyes blinked +helplessly. + +"What you talkin' about, Jinny? Jake's comin' up with the minister, an' +you're goin' to be married at noon to-morrow." + +"I'm takin' him"--she jerked her head toward the room where Dingley +was--"down Dog Nose Rapids to-night. He's risked his life for his friend, +thinkin' of her that's dead an' gone, and a man's life is a man's life. If +it was Jake's life in danger, what 'd I think of a woman that could save +him, and didn't?" + +"Onct you broke off with Jake Lawson--the day before you was to be +married; an' it's took years to make up an' agree again to be spliced. If +Jake comes here to-morrow, and you ain't here, what do you think he'll do? +The neighbors are comin' for fifty miles round, two is comin' up a hundred +miles, and you can't--Jinny, you can't do it. I bin sick of answerin' +questions all these years 'bout you and Jake, an' I ain't goin' through it +again. I've told more lies than there's straws in a tick." + +She flamed out. "Then take him down the river yourself--a man to do a +man's work. Are you afeard to take the risk?" + +He held out his hands slowly and looked at them. They shook a little. +"Yes, Jinny," he said, sadly, "I'm afeard. I ain't what I was. I made a +mistake, Jinny. I've took too much whiskey. I'm older than I ought to be. +I oughtn't never to have had a whiskey-still, an' I wouldn't have drunk so +much. I got money--money for you, Jinny, for you an' Jake, but I've lost +what I'll never git back. I'm afeard to go down the river with him. I'd go +smash in the Dog Nose Rapids. I got no nerve. I can't hunt the grizzly any +more, nor the puma, Jinny. I got to keep to common shootin', now and +henceforth, amen! No, I'd go smash in Dog Nose Rapids." + +She caught his hands impulsively. "Don't you fret, Uncle Tom. You've bin a +good uncle to me, and you've bin a good friend, and you ain't the first +that's found whiskey too much for him. You ain't got an enemy in the +mountains. Why, I've got two or three--" + +"Shucks! Women--only women whose beaux left 'em to follow after you. +That's nothing, an' they'll be your friends fast enough after you're +married to-morrow." + +"I ain't going to be married to-morrow. I'm going down to Bindon to-night. +If Jake's mad, then it's all over, and there'll be more trouble among the +women up here." + +By this time they had entered the other room. The old man saw the white +petticoat on the chair. "No woman in the mountains ever had a petticoat +like that, Jinny. It'd make a dress, it's that pretty an' neat. Golly! I'd +like to see it on you, with the blue skirt over, and just hitched up a +little." + +"Oh, shut up--shut up!" she said, in sudden anger, and caught up the +petticoat as though she would put it away; but presently she laid it down +again and smoothed it with quick, nervous fingers. "Can't you talk sense +and leave my clothes alone? If Jake comes, and I'm not here, and he wants +to make a fuss, and spoil everything, and won't wait, you give him this +petticoat. You put it in his arms. I bet you'll have the laugh on him. +He's got a temper." + +"So've you, Jinny, dear, so've you," said the old man, laughing. "You're +goin' to have your own way, same as ever--same as ever." + +II + +A moon of exquisite whiteness silvering the world, making shadows on the +water as though it were sunlight and the daytime, giving a spectral look +to the endless array of poplar trees on the banks, glittering on the foam +of the rapids. The spangling stars made the arch of the sky like some +gorgeous chancel in a cathedral as vast as life and time. Like the day +which was ended, in which the mountain-girl had found a taste of Eden, it +seemed too sacred for mortal strife. Now and again there came the note of +a night-bird, the croak of a frog from the shore; but the serene stillness +and beauty of the primeval North was over all. + +For two hours after sunset it had all been silent and brooding, and then +two figures appeared on the bank of the great river. A canoe was softly +and hastily pushed out from its hidden shelter under the overhanging bank, +and was noiselessly paddled out to mid-stream, dropping down the current +meanwhile. + +It was Jenny Long and the man who must get to Bindon. They had waited till +nine o'clock, when the moon was high and full, to venture forth. Then +Dingley had dropped from her bedroom window, had joined her under the +trees, and they had sped away, while the man's hunters, who had come +suddenly, and before Jenny could get him away into the woods, were +carousing inside. These had tracked their man back to Tom Sanger's house, +and at first they were incredulous that Jenny and her uncle had not seen +him. They had prepared to search the house, and one had laid his finger on +the latch of her bedroom door; but she had flared out with such anger +that, mindful of the supper she had already begun to prepare for them, +they had desisted, and the whiskey-jug which the old man brought out +distracted their attention. + +One of their number, known as the Man from Clancey's had, however, been +outside when Dingley had dropped from the window, and had seen him from a +distance. He had not given the alarm, but had followed, to make the +capture by himself. But Jenny had heard the stir of life behind them, and +had made a sharp détour, so that they had reached the shore and were out +in mid-stream before their tracker got to the river. Then he called to +them to return, but Jenny only bent a little lower and paddled on, guiding +the canoe toward the safe-channel through the first small rapids leading +to the great Dog Nose Rapids. + +A rifle-shot rang out, and a bullet "pinged" over the water and splintered +the side of the canoe where Dingley sat. He looked calmly back, and saw +the rifle raised again, but did not stir, in spite of Jenny's warning to +lie down. + +"He'll not fire on you so long as he can draw a bead on me," he said, +quietly. + +Again a shot rang out, and the bullet sang past his head. + +"If he hits me, you go straight on to Bindon," he continued. "Never mind +about me. Go to the Snowdrop Mine. Get there by twelve o'clock, and warn +them. Don't stop a second for me--" + +Suddenly three shots rang out in succession--Tom Sanger's house had +emptied itself on the bank of the river--and Dingley gave a sharp +exclamation. + +"They've hit me, but it's the same arm as before," he growled. "They got +no right to fire at me. It's not the law. Don't stop," he added, quickly, +as he saw her half turn round. + +Now there were loud voices on the shore. Old Tom Sanger was threatening to +shoot the first man that fired again, and he would have kept his word. + +"Who you firin' at?" he shouted. "That's my niece, Jinny Long, an' you let +that boat alone. This ain't the land o' lynch law. Dingley ain't escaped +from gaol. You got no right to fire at him." + +"No one ever went down Dog Nose Rapids at night," said the Man from +Clancey's, whose shot had got Dingley's arm. "There ain't a chance of them +doing it. No one's ever done it." + +The two were in the roaring rapids now, and the canoe was jumping through +the foam like a race-horse. The keen eyes on the bank watched the canoe +till it was lost in the half-gloom below the first rapids, and then they +went slowly back to Tom Sanger's house. + +"So there'll be no wedding to-morrow," said the Man from Clancey's. + +"Funerals, more likely," drawled another. + +"Jinny Long's in that canoe, an' she ginerally does what she wants to," +said Tom Sanger, sagely. + +"Well, we done our best, and now I hope they'll get to Bindon," said +another. + +Sanger passed the jug to him freely. Then they sat down and talked of the +people who had been drowned in Dog Nose Rapids, and of the last wedding in +the mountains. + +III + +It was as the Man from Clancey's had said, no one had ever gone down Dog +Nose Rapids in the night-time, and probably no one but Jenny Long would +have ventured it. Dingley had had no idea what a perilous task had been +set his rescuer. It was only when the angry roar of the great rapids +floated up-stream to them, increasing in volume till they could see the +terror of tumbling waters just below, and the canoe shot forward like a +snake through the swift, smooth current which would sweep them into the +vast caldron, that he realized the terrible hazard of the enterprise. + +The moon was directly overhead when they drew upon the race of rocks and +fighting water and foam. On either side only the shadowed shore, forsaken +by the races which had hunted and roamed and ravaged here--not a light, +nor any sign of life, or the friendliness of human presence to make their +isolation less complete, their danger, as it were, shared by +fellow-mortals. Bright as the moon was, it was not bright enough for +perfect pilotage. Never in the history of white men had these rapids been +ridden at night-time. As they sped down the flume of the deep, +irresistible current, and were launched into the trouble of rocks and +water, Jenny realized how great their peril was, and how different the +track of the waters looked at night-time from daytime. Outlines seemed +merged, rocks did not look the same, whirlpools had a different vortex, +islands of stone had a new configuration. As they sped on, lurching, +jumping, piercing a broken wall of wave and spray like a torpedo, shooting +an almost sheer fall, she came to rely on a sense of intuition rather than +memory, for night had transformed the waters. + +Not a sound escaped either. The man kept his eyes fixed on the woman; the +woman scanned the dreadful pathway with eyes deep-set and burning, +resolute, vigilant, and yet defiant, too, as though she had been trapped +into this track of danger, and was fighting without great hope, but with +the temerity and nonchalance of despair. Her arms were bare to the +shoulder almost, and her face was again and again drenched, but second +succeeded second, minute followed minute in a struggle which might well +turn a man's hair gray, and now, at last--how many hours was it since they +had been cast into this den of roaring waters?--at last, suddenly, over a +large fall, and here smooth waters again, smooth and untroubled, and +strong and deep. Then, and only then, did a word escape either; but the +man had passed through torture and unavailing regret, for he realized that +he had had no right to bring this girl into such a fight. It was not _her_ +friend who was in danger at Bindon. Her life had been risked without due +warrant. "I didn't know, or I wouldn't have asked it," he said, in a low +voice. "Lord, but you are a wonder--to take that hurdle for no one that +belonged to you, and to do it as you've done it. This country will rise to +you." He looked back on the raging rapids far behind, and he shuddered. +"It was a close call, and no mistake. We must have been within a foot of +down-you-go fifty times. But it's all right now, if we can last it out and +git there." Again he glanced back, then turned to the girl. "It makes me +pretty sick to look at it," he continued. "I bin through a lot, but that's +as sharp practice as I want." + +"Come here and let me bind up your arm," she answered. "They hit you--the +sneaks! Are you bleeding much?" + +He came near her carefully, as she got the big canoe out of the current +into quieter water. She whipped the scarf from about her neck, and with +his knife ripped up the seam of his sleeve. Her face was alive with the +joy of conflict and elated with triumph. Her eyes were shining. She bathed +the wound--the bullet had passed clean through the fleshy part of the +arm--and then carefully tied the scarf round it over her handkerchief. + +"I guess it's as good as a man could do it," she said, at last. + +"As good as any doctor," he rejoined. + +"I wasn't talking of your arm," she said. + +"Course not. Excuse me. You was talkin' of them rapids, and I've got to +say there ain't a man that could have done it and come through like you. I +guess the man that marries you'll get more than his share of luck." + +"I want none of that," she said, sharply, and picked up her paddle again, +her eyes flashing anger. + +He took a pistol from his pocket and offered it to her. "I didn't mean any +harm by what I said. Take this if you think I won't know how to behave +myself," he urged. + +She flung up her head a little. "I knew what I was doing before I +started," she said. "Put it away. How far is it, and can we do it in +time?" + +"If you can hold out, we can do it; but it means going all night and all +morning; and it ain't dawn yet, by a long shot." + + * * * * * + +Dawn came at last, and the mist of early morning, and the imperious and +dispelling sun; and with mouthfuls of food as they drifted on, the two +fixed their eyes on the horizon beyond which lay Bindon. And now it seemed +to the girl as though this race to save a life, or many lives, was the one +thing in existence. _To-morrow_ was to-day, and the white petticoat was +lying in the little house in the mountains, and her wedding was an +interminable distance off, so had this adventure drawn her into its risks +and toils and haggard exhaustion. + +Eight, nine, ten, eleven o'clock came, and then they saw signs of +settlement. Houses appeared here and there upon the banks, and now and +then a horseman watched them from the shore, but they could not pause. +Bindon--Bindon--Bindon--the Snowdrop Mine at Bindon, and a death-dealing +machine timed to do its deadly work, were before the eyes of the two +_voyageurs_. + +Half-past eleven, and the town of Bindon was just beyond them. A quarter +to twelve, and they had run their canoe into the bank beyond which were +the smokestacks and chimneys of the mine. Bindon was peacefully pursuing +its way, though here and there were little groups of strikers who had not +resumed work. + +Dingley and the girl scrambled up the bank. Trembling with fatigue, they +hastened on. The man drew ahead of her, for she had paddled for fifteen +hours, practically without ceasing, and the ground seemed to rise up at +her. But she would not let him stop. + +He hurried on, reached the mine, and entered, shouting the name of his +friend. It was seven minutes to twelve. + +A moment later, a half-dozen men came rushing from that portion of the +mine where Dingley had been told the machine was placed, and at their head +was Lawson, the man he had come to save. + +The girl hastened on to meet them, but she grew faint and leaned against a +tree, scarce conscious. She was roused by voices. + +"No, it wasn't me, it wasn't me that done it; it was a girl. Here she +is--Jenny Long! You got to thank her, Jake." + +Jake! Jake! The girl awakened to full understanding now. Jake--what Jake? +She looked, then stumbled forward with a cry. + +"Jake--it was my Jake!" she faltered. + +The mine-boss caught her in his arms. + +"You, Jenny! It's you that's saved me!" + +Suddenly there was a rumble as of thunder, and a cloud of dust and stone +rose from the Snowdrop Mine. + +The mine-boss tightened his arm round the girl's waist. "That's what I +missed, through him and you, Jenny," he said. + +"What was you doing here, and not at Selby, Jake?" she asked. + +"They sent for me--to stop the trouble here." + +"But what about our wedding to-day?" she asked, with a frown. + +"A man went from here with a letter to you three days ago," he said, +"asking you to come down here and be married. I suppose he got drunk, or +had an accident, and didn't reach you. It had to be. I was needed +here--couldn't tell what would happen." + +"It has happened out all right," said Dingley, "and this'll be the end of +it. You got them miners solid now. The strikers'll eat humble pie after +to-day." + +"We'll be married to-day, just the same," the mine-boss said, as he gave +some brandy to the girl. + +But the girl shook her head. She was thinking of a white petticoat in a +little house in the mountains. + +"I'm not going to be married to-day," she said, decisively. + +"Well, to-morrow," said the mine-boss. + +But the girl shook her head again. "To-day is to-morrow," she answered. +"You can wait, Jake. I'm going back home to be married." + + + + +QU'APPELLE + + +(_Who calls?_) + +"But I'm white; I'm not an Indian. My father was a white man. I've been +brought up as a white girl. I've had a white girl's schooling." + +Her eyes flashed as she sprang to her feet and walked up and down the room +for a moment, then stood still, facing her mother--a dark-faced, +pock-marked woman, with heavy, somnolent eyes--and waited for her to +speak. The reply came slowly and sullenly: + +"I am a Blackfoot woman. I lived on the Muskwat River among the braves for +thirty years. I have killed buffalo. I have seen battles. Men, too, I have +killed when they came to steal our horses and crept in on our lodges in +the night--the Crees! I am a Blackfoot. You are the daughter of a +Blackfoot woman. No medicine can cure that. Sit down. You have no sense. +You are not white. They will not have you. Sit down." + +The girl's handsome face flushed; she threw up her hands in an agony of +protest. A dreadful anger was in her panting breast, but she could not +speak. She seemed to choke with excess of feeling. For an instant she +stood still, trembling with agitation, then she sat down suddenly on a +great couch covered with soft deer-skins and buffalo robes. There was deep +in her the habit of obedience to this sombre but striking woman. She had +been ruled firmly, almost oppressively, and she had not yet revolted. +Seated on the couch, she gazed out of the window at the flying snow, her +brain too much on fire for thought, passion beating like a pulse in all +her lithe and graceful young body, which had known the storms of life and +time for only twenty years. + +The wind shrieked and the snow swept past in clouds of blinding drift, +completely hiding from sight the town below them, whose civilization had +built itself many habitations and was making roads and streets on the +green-brown plain, where herds of buffalo had stamped and streamed and +thundered not long ago. The town was a mile and a half away, and these two +were alone in a great circle of storm, one of them battling against a +tempest which might yet overtake her, against which she had set her face +ever since she could remember; though it had only come to violence since +her father died two years before--a careless, strong, wilful white man, +who had lived the Indian life for many years, but had been swallowed at +last by the great wave of civilization streaming westward and northward, +wiping out the game and the Indian, and overwhelming the rough, fighting, +hunting, pioneer life. Joel Renton had made money, by good luck chiefly, +having held land here and there which he had got for nothing, and had then +almost forgotten about it, and, when reminded of it, still held on to it +with that defiant stubbornness which often possesses improvident and +careless natures. He had never had any real business instinct, and to +swagger a little over the land he held and to treat offers of purchase +with contempt was the loud assertion of a capacity he did not possess. So +it was that stubborn vanity, beneath which was his angry protest against +the prejudice felt by the new people of the West for the white pioneer who +married an Indian and lived the Indian life--so it was that this gave him +competence and a comfortable home after the old trader had been driven out +by the railway and the shopkeeper. With the first land he sold he sent his +daughter away to school in a town farther east and south, where she had +been brought in touch with a life that at once cramped and attracted her; +where, too, she had felt the first chill of racial ostracism, and had +proudly fought it to the end, her weapons being talent, industry, and a +hot, defiant ambition. + +There had been three years of bitter, almost half-sullen, struggle, +lightened by one sweet friendship with a girl whose face she had since +drawn in a hundred different poses on stray pieces of paper, on the walls +of the big, well-lighted attic to which she retreated for hours every day, +when she was not abroad on the prairies, riding the Indian pony that her +uncle the Piegan Chief, Ice Breaker, had given her years before. Three +years of struggle, and then her father had died, and the refuge for her +vexed, defiant heart was gone. While he lived she could affirm the rights +of a white man's daughter, the rights of the daughter of a pioneer who had +helped to make the West; and her pride in him had given a glow to her +cheek and a spring to her step which drew every eye. In the chief street +of Portage la Drôme men would stop their trafficking and women nudge one +another when she passed, and wherever she went she stirred interest, +excited admiration, or aroused prejudice--but the prejudice did not matter +so long as her father, Joel Renton, lived. Whatever his faults, and they +were many--sometimes he drank too much, and swore a great deal, and +bullied and stormed--she blinked at them all, for he was of the conquering +race, a white man who had slept in white sheets and eaten off white +tablecloths, and used a knife and fork, since he was born; and the women +of his people had had soft petticoats and fine stockings, and silk gowns +for festal days, and feathered hats of velvet, and shoes of polished +leather, always and always, back through many generations. She had held +her head high, for she was of his women, of the women of his people, with +all their rights and all their claims. She had held it high till that +stormy day--just such a day as this, with the surf of snow breaking +against the house--when they carried him in out of the wild turmoil and +snow, laying him on the couch where she now sat, and her head fell on his +lifeless breast, and she cried out to him in vain to come back to her. + +Before the world her head was still held high, but in the attic-room, and +out on the prairies far away, where only the coyote or the prairie hen +saw, her head drooped, and her eyes grew heavy with pain and sombre +protest. Once in an agony of loneliness, and cruelly hurt by a conspicuous +slight put upon her at the Portage by the wife of the Reeve of the town, +who had daughters twain of pure white blood got from behind the bar of a +saloon in Winnipeg, she had thrown open her window at night, with the +frost below zero, and stood in her thin nightdress, craving the death +which she hoped the cold would give her soon. It had not availed, however, +and once again she had ridden out in a blizzard to die, but had come upon +a man lost in the snow, and her own misery had passed from her, and her +heart, full of the blood of plainsmen, had done for another what it would +not do for itself. The Indian in her had, with strange, sure instinct, +found its way to Portage la Drôme, the man, with both hands and one foot +frozen, on her pony, she walking at his side, only conscious that she had +saved one, not two lives that day. + +Here was another such day, here again was the storm in her heart which had +driven her into the plains that other time, and here again was that +tempest of white death outside. + +_"You have no sense. You are not white. They will not have you. Sit +down_--" The words had fallen on her ears with a cold, deadly smother. +There came a chill upon her which stilled the wild pulses in her, which +suddenly robbed the eyes of their brightness and gave a drawn look to the +face. + +"You are not white. They will not have you, Pauline." The Indian mother +repeated the words after a moment, her eyes grown still more gloomy; for +in her, too, there was a dark tide of passion moving. In all the outlived +years this girl had ever turned to the white father rather than to her, +and she had been left more and more alone. Her man had been kind to her, +and she had been a faithful wife, but she had resented the natural +instinct of her half-breed child, almost white herself and with the +feelings and ways of the whites, to turn always to her father, as though +to a superior guide, to a higher influence and authority. Was not she +herself the descendant of Blackfoot and Piegan chiefs through generations +of rulers and warriors? Was there not Piegan and Blackfoot blood in the +girl's veins? Must only the white man's blood be reckoned when they made +up their daily account and balanced the books of their lives, credit and +debtor--misunderstanding and kind act, neglect and tenderness, reproof and +praise, gentleness and impulse, anger and caress--to be set down in the +everlasting record? Why must the Indian always give way--Indian habits, +Indian desires, the Indian way of doing things, the Indian point of view, +Indian food, Indian medicine? Was it all bad, and only that which belonged +to white life good? + +"Look at your face in the glass, Pauline," she added, at last. "You are +good-looking, but it isn't the good looks of the whites. The lodge of a +chieftainess is the place for you. There you would have praise and honor; +among the whites you are only a half-breed. What is the good? Let us go +back to the life out there beyond the Muskwat River--up beyond. There is +hunting still, a little, and the world is quiet, and nothing troubles. +Only the wild dog barks at night, or the wolf sniffs at the door, and all +day there is singing. Somewhere out beyond the Muskwat the feasts go on, +and the old men build the great fires, and tell tales, and call the wind +out of the north, and make the thunder speak; and the young men ride to +the hunt or go out to battle, and build lodges for the daughters of the +tribe; and each man has his woman, and each woman has in her breast the +honor of the tribe, and the little ones fill the lodge with laughter. Like +a pocket of deerskin is every house, warm and small and full of good +things. _Hai-yai_, what is this life to that! There you will be head and +chief of all, for there is money enough for a thousand horses; and your +father was a white man, and these are the days when the white man rules. +Like clouds before the sun are the races of men, and one race rises and +another falls. Here you are not first, but last; and the child of the +white father and mother, though they be as the dirt that flies from a +horse's heels, it is before you. Your mother is a Blackfoot." + +As the woman spoke slowly and with many pauses, the girl's mood changed, +and there came into her eyes a strange, dark look deeper than anger. She +listened with a sudden patience which stilled the agitation in her breast +and gave a little touch of rigidity to her figure. Her eyes withdrew from +the wild storm without and gravely settled on her mother's face, and with +the Indian woman's last words understanding pierced, but did not dispel, +the sombre and ominous look in her eyes. + +There was silence for a moment, and then she spoke almost as evenly as her +mother had done. + +"I will tell you everything. You are my mother, and I love you; but you +will not see the truth. When my father took you from the lodges and +brought you here, it was the end of the Indian life. It was for you to go +on with him, but you would not go. I was young, but I saw, and I said that +in all things I would go with him. I did not know that it would be hard, +but at school, at the very first, I began to understand. There was only +one, a French girl--I loved her--a girl who said to me, 'You are as white +as I am, as any one, and your heart is the same, and you are beautiful.' +Yes, Manette said I was beautiful." + +She paused a moment, a misty, far-away look came into her eyes, her +fingers clasped and unclasped, and she added: + +"And her brother, Julien--he was older--when he came to visit Manette he +spoke to me as though I was all white, and was good to me. I have never +forgotten, never. It was five years ago, but I remember him. He was tall +and strong, and as good as Manette--as good as Manette. I loved Manette, +but she suffered for me, for I was not like the others, and my ways were +different--then. I had lived up there on the Warais among the lodges, and +I had not seen things--only from my father, and he did so much in an +Indian way. So I was sick at heart, and sometimes I wanted to die; and +once--But there was Manette, and she would laugh and sing, and we would +play together, and I would speak French and she would speak English, and I +learned from her to forget the Indian ways. What were they to me? I had +loved them when I was of them, but I came on to a better life. The Indian +life is to the white life as the parfleche pouch to--to this." She laid +her hand upon a purse of delicate silver mesh hanging at her waist. "When +your eyes are opened you must go on, you cannot stop. There is no going +back. When you have read of all there is in the white man's world, when +you have seen, then there is no returning. You may end it all, if you +wish, in the snow, in the river, but there is no returning. The lodge of a +chief--ah, if my father had heard you say that--!" + +The Indian woman shifted heavily in her chair, then shrank away from the +look fixed on her. Once or twice she made as if she would speak, but sank +down in the great chair, helpless and dismayed. + +"The lodge of a chief!" the girl continued, in a low, bitter voice. "What +is the lodge of a chief? A smoky fire, a pot, a bed of skins--_aih-yi_! If +the lodges of the Indians were millions, and I could be head of all, and +rule the land, yet would I rather be a white girl in the hut of her white +man, struggling for daily bread among the people who sweep the buffalo +out, but open up the land with the plough, and make a thousand live where +one lived before. It is peace you want, my mother, peace and solitude, in +which the soul goes to sleep. Your days of hope are over, and you want to +drowse by the fire. I want to see the white man's cities grow, and the +armies coming over the hill with the ploughs and the reapers and the +mowers, and the wheels and the belts and engines of the great factories, +and the white woman's life spreading everywhere; for I am a white man's +daughter. I can't be both Indian and white. I will not be like the sun +when the shadow cuts across it and the land grows dark. I will not be +half-breed. I will be white or I will be Indian; and I will be white, +white only. My heart is white, my tongue is white, I think, I feel, as +white people think and feel. What they wish, I wish; as they live, I live; +as white women dress, I dress." + +She involuntarily drew up the dark-red skirt she wore, showing a white +petticoat and a pair of fine stockings on an ankle as shapely as she had +ever seen among all the white women she knew. She drew herself up with +pride, and her body had a grace and ease which the white woman's +convention had not cramped. + +Yet, with all her protests, no one would have thought her English. She +might have been Spanish, or Italian, or Roumanian, or Slav, though nothing +of her Indian blood showed in purely Indian characteristics, and something +sparkled in her, gave a radiance to her face and figure which the storm +and struggle in her did not smother. The white women of Portage la Drôme +were too blind, too prejudiced, to see all that she really was, and +admiring white men could do little, for Pauline would have nothing to do +with them till the women met her absolutely as an equal; and from the +other half-breeds, who intermarried with one another and were content to +take a lower place than the pure whites, she held aloof, save when any of +them was ill or in trouble. Then she recognized the claim of race, and +came to their doors with pity and soft impulses to help them. French and +Scotch and English half-breeds, as they were, they understood how she was +making a fight for all who were half-Indian, half-white, and watched her +with a furtive devotion, acknowledging her superior place, and proud of +it. + +"I will not stay here," said the Indian mother, with sullen stubbornness. +"I will go back beyond the Warais. My life is my own life, and I will do +what I like with it." + +The girl started, but became composed again on the instant. "Is your life +all your own, mother?" she asked. "I did not come into the world of my own +will. If I had I would have come all white or all Indian. I am your +daughter, and I am here, good or bad--is your life all your own?" + +"You can marry and stay here, when I go. You are twenty. I had my man, +your father, when I was seventeen. You can marry. There are men. You have +money. They will marry you--and forget the rest." + +With a cry of rage and misery the girl sprang to her feet and started +forward, but stopped suddenly at sound of a hasty knocking and a voice +asking admittance. An instant later, a huge, bearded, broad-shouldered man +stepped inside, shaking himself free of the snow, laughing half-sheepishly +as he did so, and laying his fur cap and gloves with exaggerated care on +the wide window-sill. + +"John Alloway," said the Indian woman, in a voice of welcome and with a +brightening eye, for it would seem as though he came in answer to her +words of a few moments before. With a mother's instinct she had divined at +once the reason for the visit, though no warning thought crossed the mind +of the girl, who placed a chair for their visitor with a heartiness which +was real--was not this the white man she had saved from death in the snow +a year ago? Her heart was soft toward the life she had kept in the world. +She smiled at him, all the anger gone from her eyes, and there was almost +a touch of tender anxiety in her voice as she said: + +"What brought you out in this blizzard? It wasn't safe. It doesn't seem +possible you got here from the Portage." + +The huge ranchman and auctioneer laughed cheerily. "Once lost, twice get +there," he exclaimed, with a quizzical toss of the head, thinking he had +said a good thing. "It's a year ago to the very day that I was lost out +back"--he jerked a thumb over his shoulder--"and you picked me up and +brought me in; and what was I to do but come out on the anniversary and +say thank you? I'd fixed up all year to come to you, and I wasn't to be +stopped, 'cause it was like the day we first met, old Coldmaker hitting +the world with his whips of frost, and shaking his ragged blankets of snow +over the wild West." + +"Just such a day," said the Indian woman, after a pause. Pauline remained +silent, placing a little bottle of cordial before their visitor, with +which he presently regaled himself, raising his glass with an air. + +"Many happy returns to us both!" he said, and threw the liqueur down his +throat, smacked his lips, and drew his hand down his great mustache and +beard, like some vast animal washing its face with its paw. Smiling, and +yet not at ease, he looked at the two women and nodded his head +encouragingly, but whether the encouragement was for himself or for them +he could not have told. + +His last words, however, had altered the situation. The girl had caught at +a suggestion in them which startled her. This rough, white plainsman was +come to make love to her, and to say--what? He was at once awkward and +confident, afraid of her, of her refinement, grace, beauty, and education, +and yet confident in the advantage of his position, a white man bending to +a half-breed girl. He was not conscious of the condescension and majesty +of his demeanor, but it was there, and his untutored words and ways must +make it all too apparent to the girl. The revelation of the moment made +her at once triumphant and humiliated. This white man had come to make +love to her, that was apparent; but that he, ungrammatical, crude, and +rough, should think he had but to put out his hand, and she in whom every +subtle emotion and influence had delicate response, whose words and ways +were as far removed from his as day from night, would fly to him, brought +the flush of indignation to her cheek. She responded to his toast with a +pleasant nod, however, and said: + +"But if you will keep coming in such wild storms, there will not be many +anniversaries." Laughing, she poured out another glass of liqueur for +him. + +"Well, now, p'r'aps you're right, and so the only thing to do is not to +keep coming, but to stay--stay right where _you_ are." + +The Indian woman could not see her daughter's face, which was turned to +the fire, but she herself smiled at John Alloway, and nodded her head +approvingly. Here was the cure for her own trouble and loneliness. Pauline +and she, who lived in different worlds, and yet were tied to each other by +circumstances they could not control, would each work out her own destiny +after her own nature, since John Alloway had come a-wooing. She would go +back on the Warais, and Pauline would remain at the Portage, a white woman +with her white man. She would go back to the smoky fires in the huddled +lodges; to the venison stew and the snake dance; to the feasts of the +medicine-men, and the long sleeps in the summer days, and the winter's +tales, and be at rest among her own people; and Pauline would have revenge +of the wife of the prancing Reeve, and perhaps the people would forget who +her mother was. + +With these thoughts flying through her sluggish mind, she rose and moved +heavily from the room, with a parting look of encouragement at Alloway, as +though to say, a man that is bold is surest. + +With her back to the man, Pauline watched her mother leave the room, saw +the look she gave Alloway. When the door was closed she turned and looked +Alloway in the eyes. + +"How old are you?" she asked, suddenly. + +He stirred in his seat nervously. "Why, fifty, about," he answered, with +confusion. + +"Then you'll be wise not to go looking for anniversaries in blizzards, +when they're few at the best," she said, with a gentle and dangerous +smile. + +"Fifty--why, I'm as young as most men of thirty," he responded, with an +uncertain laugh. "I'd have come here to-day if it had been snowing +pitchforks and chain-lightning. I made up my mind I would. You saved my +life, that's dead sure; and I'd be down among the moles if it wasn't for +you and that Piegan pony of yours. Piegan ponies are wonders in a +storm--seem to know their way by instinct. You, too--why, I bin on the +plains all my life, and was no better than a baby that day; but you--why, +you had Piegan in you--why, yes--" + +He stopped short for a moment, checked by the look in her face, then went +blindly on: "And you've got Blackfoot in you, too; and you just felt your +way through the tornado and over the blind prairie like a bird reaching +for the hills. It was as easy to you as picking out a maverick in a bunch +of steers to me. But I never could make out what you was doing on the +prairie that terrible day. I've thought of it a hundred times. What was +you doing, if it ain't cheek to ask?" + +"I was trying to lose a life," she answered, quietly, her eyes dwelling on +his face, yet not seeing him; for it all came back on her, the agony which +had driven her out into the tempest to be lost evermore. + +He laughed. "Well now, that's good," he said; "that's what they call +speaking sarcastic. You was out to save, and not to lose, a life; that was +proved to the satisfaction of the court." He paused and chuckled to +himself, thinking he had been witty, and continued: "And I was that court, +and my judgment was that the debt of that life you saved had to be paid to +you within one calendar year, with interest at the usual per cent. for +mortgages on good security. That was my judgment, and there's no appeal +from it. I am the great Justinian in this case!" + +"Did you ever save anybody's life?" she asked, putting the bottle of +cordial away, as he filled his glass for the third time. + +"Twice certain, and once divided the honors," he answered, pleased at the +question. + +"And did you expect to get any pay, with or without interest?" she added. + +"Me! I never thought of it again. But yes--by gol, I did! One case was +funny, as funny can be. It was Ricky Wharton over on the Muskwat River. I +saved his life right enough, and he came to me a year after and said, 'You +saved my life, now what are you going to do with it? I'm stony broke. I +owe a hundred dollars, and I wouldn't be owing it if you hadn't saved my +life. When you saved it I was five hundred to the good, and I'd have left +that much behind me. Now I'm on the rocks, because you insisted on saving +my life; and you just got to take care of me.' I 'insisted'! Well, that +knocked me silly, and I took him on--blame me, if I didn't keep Ricky a +whole year, till he went north looking for gold. Get pay?--why, I _paid_! +Saving life has its responsibilities, little gal." + +"You can't save life without running some risk yourself, not as a rule, +can you?" she said, shrinking from his familiarity. + +"Not as a rule," he replied. "You took on a bit of risk with me, you and +your Piegan pony." + +"Oh, I was young," she responded, leaning over the table and drawing faces +on a piece of paper before her. "I could take more risks, I was only +nineteen!" + +"I don't catch on," he rejoined. "If it's sixteen or--" + +"Or fifty," she interposed. + +"What difference does it make? If you're done for, it's the same at +nineteen as fifty, and _vicey-versey_." + +"No, it's not the same," she answered. "You leave so much more that you +want to keep, when you go at fifty." + +"Well, I dunno. I never thought of that." + +"There's all that has belonged to you. You've been married, and have +children, haven't you?" + +He started, frowned, then straightened himself. "I got one girl--she's +East with her grandmother," he said, jerkily. + +"That's what I said; there's more to leave behind at fifty," she replied, +a red spot on each cheek. She was not looking at him, but at the face of a +man on the paper before her--a young man with abundant hair, a strong +chin, and big, eloquent eyes; and all around his face she had drawn the +face of a girl many times, and beneath the faces of both she was writing +_Manette and Julien_. + +The water was getting too deep for John Alloway. He floundered toward the +shore. "I'm no good at words," he said--"no good at argyment; but I've got +a gift for stories--round the fire of a night, with a pipe and tin basin +of tea; so I'm not going to try and match you. You've had a good education +down at Winnipeg. Took every prize, they say, and led the school, though +there was plenty of fuss because they let you do it, and let you stay +there, being half-Indian. You never heard what was going on outside, I +s'pose. It didn't matter, for you won out. Blamed foolishness, trying to +draw the line between red and white that way. Of course, it's the women +always, always the women, striking out for all-white or nothing. Down +there at Portage they've treated you mean, mean as dirt. The Reeve's +wife--well, we'll fix that up all right. I guess John Alloway ain't to be +bluffed. He knows too much, and they all know he knows enough. When John +Alloway, 32 Main Street, with a ranch on the Katanay, says, 'We're coming, +Mr. and Mrs. John Alloway is coming,' they'll get out their cards +_visite_, I guess." + +Pauline's head bent lower, and she seemed laboriously etching lines into +the faces before her--Manette and Julien, Julien and Manette; and there +came into her eyes the youth and light and gayety of the days when Julien +came of an afternoon and the riverside rang with laughter--the dearest, +lightest days she had ever spent. + +The man of fifty went on, seeing nothing but a girl over whom he was +presently going to throw the lasso of his affection and take her home with +him, yielding and glad, a white man and his half-breed girl--but such a +half-breed! + +"I seen enough of the way some of them women treated you," he continued, +"and I sez to myself, Her turn next. There's a way out, I sez, and John +Alloway pays his debts. When the anniversary comes round I'll put things +right, I sez to myself. She saved my life, and she shall have the rest of +it, if she'll take it, and will give a receipt in full, and open a new +account in the name of John and Pauline Alloway. Catch it? See--Pauline?" + +Slowly she got to her feet. There was a look in her eyes such as had been +in her mother's a little while before, but a hundred times intensified, a +look that belonged to the flood and flow of generations of Indian life, +yet controlled in her by the order and understanding of centuries of white +men's lives, the pervasive, dominating power of race. + +For an instant she kept her eyes toward the window. The storm had suddenly +ceased, and a glimmer of sunset light was breaking over the distant wastes +of snow. + +"You want to pay a debt you think you owe," she said, in a strange, +lustreless voice, turning to him at last. "Well, you have paid it. You +have given me a book to read which I will keep always. And I give you a +receipt in full for your debt." + +"I don't know about any book," he answered, dazedly. "I want to marry you +right away." + +"I am sorry, but it is not necessary," she replied, suggestively. Her face +was very pale now. + +"But I want to. It ain't a debt. That was only a way of putting it. I want +to make you my wife. I got some position, and I can make the West sit up +and look at you and be glad." + +Suddenly her anger flared out, low and vivid and fierce, but her words +were slow and measured. "There is no reason why I should marry you--not +one. You offer me marriage as a prince might give a penny to a beggar. If +my mother were not an Indian woman, you would not have taken it all as a +matter of course. But my father was a white man, and I am a white man's +daughter, and I would rather marry an Indian, who would think me the best +thing there was in the light of the sun, than marry you. Had I been pure +white you would not have been so sure; you would have asked, not offered. +I am not obliged to you. You ought to go to no woman as you came to me. +See, the storm has stopped. You will be quite safe going back now. The +snow will be deep, perhaps, but it is not far." + +She went to the window, got his cap and gloves, and handed them to him. He +took them, dumbfounded and overcome. + +"Say, I ain't done it right, mebbe, but I meant well, and I'd be good to +you and proud of you, and I'd love you better than anything I ever saw," +he said, shamefacedly, but eagerly and honestly, too. + +"Ah, you should have said those last words first," she answered. + +"I say them now." + +"They come too late; but they would have been too late in any case," she +added. "Still, I am glad you said them." + +She opened the door for him. + +"I made a mistake," he urged, humbly. "I understand better now. I never +had any schoolin'." + +"Oh, it isn't that," she answered, gently. "Good-bye." + +Suddenly he turned. "You're right--it couldn't ever be," he said. +"You're--you're great. And I owe you my life still!" + +He stepped out into the biting air. + +For a moment Pauline stood motionless in the middle of the room, her gaze +fixed upon the door which had just closed; then, with a wild gesture of +misery and despair, she threw herself upon the couch in a passionate +outburst of weeping. Sobs shook her from head to foot, and her hands, +clenched above her head, twitched convulsively. + +Presently the door opened and her mother looked in eagerly. At what she +saw her face darkened and hardened for an instant, but then the girl's +utter abandonment of grief and agony convinced and conquered her. Some +glimmer of the true understanding of the problem which Pauline represented +got into her heart and drove the sullen selfishness from her face and eyes +and mind. She came over heavily and, sinking upon her knees, swept an arm +around the girl's shoulder. She realized what had happened, and probably +this was the first time in her life that she had ever come by instinct to +a revelation of her daughter's mind or of the faithful meaning of +incidents of their lives. + +"You said no to John Alloway," she murmured. + +Defiance and protest spoke in the swift gesture of the girl's hands. "You +think because he was white that I'd drop into his arms! No--no--no!" + +"You did right, little one." + +The sobs suddenly stopped, and the girl seemed to listen with all her +body. There was something in her Indian mother's voice she had never heard +before--at least, not since she was a little child and swung in a deerskin +hammock in a tamarac-tree by Renton's Lodge, where the chiefs met and the +West paused to rest on its onward march. Something of the accents of the +voice that crooned to her then was in the woman's tones now. + +"He offered it like a lump of sugar to a bird--I know. He didn't know that +you have great blood--yes, but it is true. My man's grandfather, he was of +the blood of the kings of England. My man had the proof. And for a +thousand years my people have been chiefs. There is no blood in all the +West like yours. My heart was heavy, and dark thoughts came to me, because +my man is gone, and the life is not my life, and I am only an Indian woman +from the Warais, and my heart goes out there always now. But some great +Medicine has been poured into my heart. As I stood at the door and saw you +lying there, I called to the Sun. 'O great Spirit,' I said, 'help me to +understand, for this girl is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh, and +Evil has come between us!' And the Sun Spirit poured the Medicine into my +spirit, and there is no cloud between us now. It has passed away, and I +see. Little white one, the white life is the only life, and I will live it +with you till a white man comes and gives you a white man's home. But not +John Alloway. Shall the crow nest with the oriole?" + +As the woman spoke with slow, measured voice full of the cadences of a +heart revealing itself, the girl's breath at first seemed to stop, so +still she lay; then, as the true understanding of the words came to her, +she panted with excitement, her breast heaved, and the blood flushed her +face. When the slow voice ceased, and the room became still, she lay quiet +for a moment, letting the new thing find secure lodgment in her thought; +then, suddenly, she raised herself and threw her arms round her mother in +a passion of affection. + +"Lalika! O mother Lalika!" she said, tenderly, and kissed her again and +again. Not since she was a little girl, long before they left the Warais, +had she called her mother by her Indian name, which her father had +humorously taught her to do in those far-off happy days by the beautiful, +singing river and the exquisite woods, when, with a bow and arrow, she had +ranged, a young Diana who slew only with love. + +"Lalika, mother Lalika, it is like the old, old times," she added, softly. +"Ah, it does not matter now, for you understand!" + +"I do not understand altogether," murmured the Indian woman, gently. "I am +not white, and there is a different way of thinking; but I will hold your +hand, and we will live the white life together." + +Cheek to cheek they saw the darkness come, and afterwards the silver moon +steal up over a frozen world, in which the air bit like steel and braced +the heart like wine. Then, at last, before it was nine o'clock, after her +custom, the Indian woman went to bed, leaving her daughter brooding +peacefully by the fire. + +For a long time Pauline sat with hands clasped in her lap, her gaze on the +tossing flames, in her heart and mind a new feeling of strength and +purpose. The way before her was not clear, she saw no further than this +day, and all that it had brought; yet she was as one that has crossed a +direful flood and finds herself on a strange shore in an unknown country, +with the twilight about her, yet with so much of danger passed that there +was only the thought of the moment's safety round her, the camp-fire to be +lit, and the bed to be made under the friendly trees and stars. + +For a half-hour she sat so, and then, suddenly, she raised her head +listening, leaning toward the window, through which the moonlight +streamed. She heard her name called without, distinct and +strange--"_Pauline! Pauline!_" + +Starting up, she ran to the door and opened it. All was silent and cruelly +cold. Nothing but the wide plain of snow and the steely air. But as she +stood intently listening, the red glow from the fire behind her, again +came the cry--"Pauline!"--not far away. Her heart beat hard, and she +raised her head and called--why was it she should call out in a language +not her own?--"_Qu'appelle? Qu'appelle?_" + +And once again on the still night air came the trembling appeal, +"Pauline!" + +"_Qu'appelle? Qu'appelle_?" she cried; then, with a gasping murmur of +understanding and recognition she ran forward in the frozen night toward +the sound of the voice. The same intuitive sense which had made her call +out in French, without thought or reason, had revealed to her who it was +that called; or was it that even in the one word uttered there was the +note of a voice always remembered since those days with Manette at +Winnipeg? + +Not far away from the house, on the way to Portage la Drôme, but a little +distance from the road, was a crevasse, and toward this she sped, for once +before an accident had happened there. Again the voice called as she +sped--"Pauline!"--and she cried out that she was coming. Presently she +stood above the declivity, and peered over. Almost immediately below her, +a few feet down, was a man lying in the snow. He had strayed from the +obliterated road, and had fallen down the crevasse, twisting his foot +cruelly. Unable to walk, he had crawled several hundred yards in the snow, +but his strength had given out, and then he had called to the house, on +whose dark windows flickered the flames of the fire, the name of the girl +he had come so far to see. + +[Illustration: "PAULINE," HE SAID, FEEBLY, AND FAINTED IN HER ARMS] + +With a cry of joy and pain at once she recognized him now. It was as her +heart had said--it was Julien, Manette's brother. In a moment she was +beside him, her arm around his shoulder. + +"Pauline!" he said, feebly, and fainted in her arms. An instant later she +was speeding to the house, and, rousing her mother and two of the +stablemen, she snatched a flask of brandy from a cupboard and hastened +back. + +An hour later Julien Labrosse lay in the great sitting-room beside the +fire, his foot and ankle bandaged, and at ease, his face alight with all +that had brought him there. And once again the Indian mother with a sure +instinct knew why he had come, and saw that now her girl would have a +white man's home, and, for her man, one of the race like her father's +race, white and conquering. + +"I'm sorry to give trouble," Julien said, laughing--he had a trick of +laughing lightly; "but I'll be able to get back to the Portage +to-morrow." + +To this the Indian mother said, however: "To please yourself is a great +thing, but to please others is better; and so you will stay here till you +can walk back to the Portage, M'sieu' Julien." + +"Well, I've never been so comfortable," he said--"never so happy. If you +don't mind the trouble!" + +The Indian woman nodded pleasantly, and found an excuse to leave the room. +But before she went she contrived to place near his elbow one of the +scraps of paper on which Pauline had drawn his face, with that of Manette. +It brought a light of hope and happiness into his eyes, and he thrust the +paper under the fur robes of the couch. + +"What are you doing with your life?" Pauline asked him, as his eyes sought +hers a few moments later. + +"Oh, I have a big piece of work before me," he answered eagerly, "a great +chance--to build a bridge over the St. Lawrence, and I'm only thirty! I've +got my start. Then, I've made over the old Seigneury my father left me, +and I'm going to live in it. It will be a fine place, when I've done with +it, comfortable and big, with old oak timbers and walls, and deep +fireplaces, and carvings done in the time of Louis Quinze, and dark-red +velvet curtains for the drawing-room, and skins and furs. Yes, I must have +skins and furs like these here." He smoothed the skins with his hand. + +"Manette, she will live with you?" Pauline asked. + +"Oh no, her husband wouldn't like that. You see, Manette is to be married. +She told me to tell you all about it." + +He told her all that was to tell of Manette's courtship, and added that +the wedding would take place in the spring. + +"Manette wanted it when the leaves first flourish and the birds come +back," he said, gayly; "and so she's not going to live with me at the +Seigneury, you see. No, there it is, as fine a house, good enough for a +prince, and I shall be there alone, unless--" + +His eyes met hers, and he caught the light that was in them before the +eyelids drooped over them and she turned her head to the fire. "But the +spring is two months off yet," he added. + +"The spring?" she asked, puzzled, yet half afraid to speak. + +"Yes, I'm going into my new house when Manette goes into her new house--in +the spring. And I won't go alone if--" + +He caught her eyes again, but she rose hurriedly and said: "You must sleep +now. Good-night." She held out her hand. + +"Well, I'll tell you the rest to-morrow--to-morrow night, when it's quiet +like this, and the stars shine," he answered. "I'm going to have a home of +my own like this--ah, _bien sûr_, Pauline." + +That night the old Indian mother prayed to the Sun. "O great Spirit," she +said, "I give thanks for the Medicine poured into my heart. Be good to my +white child when she goes with her man to the white man's home far away. O +great Spirit, when I return to the lodges of my people, be kind to me, for +I shall be lonely; I shall not have my child; I shall not hear my white +man's voice. Give me good Medicine, O Sun and great Father, till my dream +tells me that my man comes from over the hills for me once more." + + + + +THE STAKE AND THE PLUMB-LINE + + +She went against all good judgment in marrying him; she cut herself off +from her own people, from the life in which she had been an alluring and +beautiful figure. Washington had never had two such seasons as those in +which she moved; for the diplomatic circle who had had "the run of the +world" knew her value, and were not content without her. She might have +made a brilliant match with one ambassador thirty years older than +herself--she was but twenty-two; and there were at least six attachés and +secretaries of legation who entered upon a tournament for her heart and +hand; but she was not for them. All her fine faculties of tact and +fairness, of harmless strategy, and her gifts of wit and unexpected humor +were needed to keep her cavaliers constant and hopeful to the last; but +she never faltered, and she did not fail. The faces of old men brightened +when they saw her, and one or two ancient figures who, for years, had been +seldom seen at social functions now came when they knew she was to be +present. There were, of course, a few women who said she would coquette +with any male from nine to ninety; but no man ever said so; and there was +none, from first to last, but smiled with pleasure at even the mention of +her name, so had her vivacity, intelligence, and fine sympathy conquered +them. She was a social artist by instinct. In their hearts they all +recognized how fair and impartial she was; and she drew out of every man +the best that was in him. The few women who did not like her said that she +chattered; but the truth was she made other people talk by swift +suggestion or delicate interrogation. + +After the blow fell, Freddy Hartzman put the matter succinctly, and told +the truth faithfully, when he said: "The first time I met her, I told her +all I'd ever done that could be told, and all I wanted to do; including a +resolve to carry her off to some desert place and set up a Kingdom of Two. +I don't know how she did it. I was like a tap, and poured myself out; and +when it was all over I thought she was the best talker I'd ever heard. But +yet she'd done nothing except look at me and listen, and put in a question +here and there, that was like a baby asking to see your watch. Oh, she was +a lily-flower, was Sally Seabrook, and I've never been sorry I told her +all my little story! It did me good. Poor darling--it makes me sick +sometimes when I think of it. Yet she'll win out all right--a hundred to +one she'll win out. She was a star." + +Freddy Hartzman was in an embassy of repute; he knew the chancelleries and +salons of many nations, and was looked upon as one of the ablest and +shrewdest men in the diplomatic service. He had written one of the best +books on international law in existence, he talked English like a native, +he had published a volume of delightful verse, and had omitted to publish +several others, including a tiny volume which Sally Seabrook's charms had +inspired him to write. His view of her was shared by most men who knew the +world, and especially by the elderly men who had a real knowledge of human +nature, among whom was a certain important member of the United States +executive called John Appleton. When the end of all things at Washington +came for Sally, these two men united to bear her up, that her feet should +not stumble upon the stony path of the hard journey she had undertaken. +Appleton was not a man of much speech; but his words had weight; for he +was not only a minister; he came of an old family which had ruled the +social destinies of a state, and had alternately controlled and disturbed +its politics. On the day of the sensation, in the fiery cloud of which +Sally disappeared, Appleton delivered himself of his mind in the matter at +a reception given by the President. + +"She will come back--and we will all take her back, be glad to have her +back," he said. "She has the grip of a lever which can lift the eternal +hills with the right pressure. Leave her alone--leave her alone. This is a +democratic country, and she'll prove democracy a success before she's +done." + +The world knew that John Appleton had offered her marriage, and he had +never hidden the fact. What they did not know was that she had told him +what she meant to do before she did it. He had spoken to her plainly, +bluntly, then with a voice that was blurred and a little broken, urging +her against the course toward which she was set; but it had not availed; +and, realizing that he had come upon a powerful will underneath the sunny +and so human surface, he had ceased to protest, to bear down upon her mind +with his own iron force. When he realized that all his reasoning was +wasted, that all worldly argument was vain, he made one last attempt, a +forlorn hope, as though to put upon record what he believed to be the +truth. + +"There is no position you cannot occupy," he said. "You have the perfect +gift in private life, and you have a public gift. You have a genius for +ruling. Say, my dear, don't wreck it all. I know you are not for me, but +there are better men in the country than I am. Hartzman will be a great +man one day--he wants you. Young Tilden wants you; he has millions, and he +will never disgrace them or you, the power which they can command, and the +power which you have. And there are others. Your people have told you they +will turn you off; the world will say things--will rend you. There is +nothing so popular for the moment as the fall of a favorite. But that's +nothing--it's nothing at all compared with the danger to yourself. I +didn't sleep last night thinking of it. Yet I'm glad you wrote me; it gave +me time to think, and I can tell you the truth as I see it. Haven't you +thought that he will drag you down, down, down, wear out your soul, break +and sicken your life, destroy your beauty--you are beautiful, my dear, +beyond what the world sees, even. Give it up--ah, give it up, and don't +break our hearts! There are too many people loving you for you to +sacrifice them--and yourself, too.... You've had such a good time!" + +"It's been like a dream," she interrupted, in a far-away voice--"like a +dream, these two years." + +"And it's been such a good dream," he urged; "and you will only go to a +bad one, from which you will never wake. The thing has fastened on him; he +will never give it up. And penniless, too--his father has cast him off. My +girl, it's impossible. Listen to me. There's no one on earth that would do +more for you than I would--no one." + +"Dear, dear friend!" she cried, with a sudden impulse, and caught his hand +in hers and kissed it before he could draw it back. "You are so true, and +you think you are right. But, but"--her eyes took on a deep, steady, +far-away look--"but I will save him; and we shall not be penniless in the +end. Meanwhile I have seven hundred dollars a year of my own. No one can +touch that. Nothing can change me now--and I have promised." + +When he saw her fixed determination, he made no further protest, but asked +that he might help her, be with her the next day, when she was to take a +step which the wise world would say must lead to sorrow and a miserable +end. + +The step she took was to marry Jim Templeton, the drunken, cast-off son of +a millionaire senator from Kentucky, who controlled railways and owned a +bank, and had so resented his son's inebriate habits that for five years +he had never permitted Jim's name to be mentioned in his presence. Jim had +had twenty thousand dollars left him by his mother, and a small income of +three hundred dollars from an investment which had been made for him when +a little boy. And this had carried him on; for, drunken as he was, he had +sense enough to eke out the money, limiting himself to three thousand +dollars a year. He had four thousand dollars left, and his tiny income of +three hundred, when he went to Sally Seabrook, after having been sober for +a month, and begged her to marry him. + +Before dissipation had made him look ten years older than he was, there +had been no handsomer man in all America. Even yet he had a remarkable +face: long, delicate, with dark-brown eyes, as fair a forehead as man +could wish, and black, waving hair, streaked with gray--gray, though he +was but twenty-nine years of age. + +When Sally was fifteen and he twenty-two, he had fallen in love with her +and she with him; and nothing had broken the early romance. He had +captured her young imagination, and had fastened his image on her heart. +Her people, seeing the drift of things, had sent her to a school on the +Hudson, and the two did not meet for some time. Then came a stolen +interview, and a fastening of the rivets of attraction--for Jim had gifts +of a wonderful kind. He knew his Horace and Anacreon and Heine and +Lamartine and Dante in the originals, and a hundred others; he was a +speaker of power and grace; and he had a clear, strong head for business. +He was also a lawyer, and was junior attorney to his father's great +business. It was because he had the real business gift, not because he had +a brilliant and scholarly mind, that his father had taken him into his +concerns, and was the more unforgiving when he gave way to temptation. +Otherwise, he would have pensioned Jim off, and dismissed him from his +mind as a useless, insignificant person; for Horace, Anacreon, and +philosophy and history were to him the recreations of the feeble-minded. +He had set his heart on Jim, and what Jim could do and would do by-and-by +in the vast financial concerns he controlled, when he was ready to slip +out and down; but Jim had disappointed him beyond calculation. + +In the early days of their association Jim had left his post and taken to +drink at critical moments in their operations. At first, high words had +been spoken, then there came the strife of two dissimilar natures, and +both were headstrong, and each proud and unrelenting in his own way. Then, +at last, had come the separation, irrevocable and painful; and Jim had +flung out into the world, a drunkard, who, sober for a fortnight, or a +month, or three months, would afterward go off on a spree, in which he +quoted Sappho and Horace in taverns, and sang bacchanalian songs with a +voice meant for the stage--a heritage from an ancestor who had sung upon +the English stage a hundred years before. Even in his cups, even after his +darling vice had submerged him, Jim Templeton was a man marked out from +his fellows, distinguished and very handsome. Society, however, had ceased +to recognize him for a long time, and he did not seek it. For two or three +years he practised law now and then. He took cases, preferably criminal +cases, for which very often he got no pay; but that, too, ceased at last. +Now, in his quiet, sober intervals he read omnivorously, and worked out +problems in physics for which he had a taste, until the old appetite +surged over him again. Then his spirits rose, and he was the old brilliant +talker, the joyous galliard until, in due time, he became silently and +lethargically drunk. + +In one of his sober intervals he had met Sally Seabrook in the street. It +was the first time in four years, for he had avoided her, and though she +had written to him once or twice, he had never answered her--shame was in +his heart. Yet all the time the old song was in Sally's ears. Jim +Templeton had touched her in some distant and intimate corner of her +nature where none other had reached; and in all her gay life, when men had +told their tale of admiration in their own way, her mind had gone back to +Jim, and what he had said under the magnolia-trees; and his voice had +drowned all others. She was not blind to what he had become, but a deep +belief possessed her that she, of all the world, could save him. She knew +how futile it would look to the world, how wild a dream it looked even to +her own heart, how perilous it was; but, play upon the surface of things +as she had done so much and so often in her brief career, she was seized +of convictions having origin, as it might seem, in something beyond +herself. + +So when she and Jim met in the street, the old, true thing rushed upon +them both, and for a moment they stood still and looked at each other. As +they might look who say farewell forever, so did each dwell upon the +other's face. That was the beginning of the new epoch. A few days more, +and Jim came to her and said that she alone could save him; and she meant +him to say it, had led him to the saying, for the same conviction was +burned deep in her own soul. She knew the awful risk she was taking, that +the step must mean social ostracism, and that her own people would be no +kinder to her than society; but she gasped a prayer, smiled at Jim as +though all were well, laid her plans, made him promise her one thing on +his knees, and took the plunge. + +Her people did as she expected. She was threatened with banishment from +heart and home--with disinheritance; but she pursued her course; and the +only person who stood with her and Jim at the altar was John Appleton, who +would not be denied, and who had such a half-hour with Jim before the +ceremony as neither of them forgot in the years that the locust ate +thereafter. And, standing at the altar, Jim's eyes were still wet, with +new resolves in his heart and a being at his side meant for the best man +in the world. As he knelt beside her, awaiting the benediction, a sudden +sense of the enormity of this act came upon him, and for her sake he would +have drawn back then, had it not been too late. He realized that it was a +crime to put this young, beautiful life in peril; that his own life was a +poor, contemptible thing, and that he had been possessed of the egotism of +the selfish and the young. + +But the thing was done, and a new life was begun. Before they were +launched upon it, however, before society had fully grasped the sensation, +or they had left upon their journey to northern Canada, where Sally +intended they should work out their problem and make their home, far and +free from all old associations, a curious thing happened. Jim's father +sent an urgent message to Sally to come to him. When she came, he told her +she was mad, and asked her why she had thrown her life away. + +"Why have you done it?" he said. "You--you knew all about him; you might +have married the best man in the country. You could rule a kingdom; you +have beauty and power, and make people do what you want; and you've got a +sot." + +"He is your son," she answered, quietly. + +She looked so beautiful and so fine as she stood there, fearless and +challenging before him, that he was moved. But he would not show it. + +"He was my son--when he was a man," he retorted grimly. + +"He is the son of the woman you once loved," she answered. + +The old man turned his head away. + +"What would she have said to what you did to Jim?" + +He drew himself around sharply. Her dagger had gone home, but he would not +let her know it. + +"Leave her out of the question--she was a saint," he said, roughly. + +"She cannot be left out; nor can you. He got his temperament naturally; he +inherited his weakness. From your grandfather, from her father. Do you +think you are in no way responsible?" + +He was silent for a moment, but then said, stubbornly: "Why--why have you +done it? What's between him and me can't be helped; we are father and son; +but you--you had no call, no responsibility." + +"I love Jim. I always loved him, ever since I can remember, as you did. I +see my way ahead. I will not desert him. No one cares what happens to him, +no one but me. Your love wouldn't stand the test; mine will." + +"Your folks have disinherited you--you have almost nothing, and I will not +change my mind. What do you see ahead of you?" + +"Jim--only Jim--and God." + +Her eyes were shining, her hands were clasped together at her side in the +tenseness of her feeling, her indomitable spirit spoke in her face. + +Suddenly the old man brought his fist down on the table with a bang. "It's +a crime--oh, it's a crime, to risk your life so! You ought to have been +locked up. I'd have done it." + +"Listen to me," she rejoined, quietly. "I know the risk. But do you think +that I could have lived my life out, feeling that I might have saved Jim +and didn't try? You talk of beauty and power and ruling--you say what +others have said to me. Which is the greater thing, to get what pleases +one, or to work for something which is more to one than all else in the +world? To save one life, one intellect, one great man--oh, he has the +making of a great man in him!--to save a soul, would not life be well +lost, would not love be well spent, in doing it?" + +"Love's labor lost," said the old man, slowly, cynically, but not without +emotion. + +"I have ambition," she continued. "No girl was ever more ambitious, but my +ambition is to make the most and best of myself. Place?--Jim and I will +hold it yet. Power?--it shall be as it must be; but Jim and I will work +for it to fulfil ourselves. For me--ah, if I can save him--and I mean to +do so!--do you think that I would not then have my heaven on earth? You +want money--money--money, power, and to rule; and these are to you the +best things in the world. I make my choice differently, though I would +have these other things if I could; and I hope I shall. But Jim first--Jim +first, your son, Jim--my husband, Jim!" + +The old man got to his feet slowly. She had him at bay. "But you are +great," he said, "great! It is an awful stake--awful! Yet, if you win, +you'll have what money can't buy. And listen to me. We'll make the stake +bigger. It will give it point, too, in another way. If you keep Jim sober +for four years from the day of your marriage, on the last day of that four +years I'll put in your hands for you and him, or for your child--if you +have one--five millions of dollars. I am a man of my word. While Jim +drinks I won't take him back; he's disinherited. I'll give him nothing now +or hereafter. Save him for four years--if he can do that he will do +all--and there's five millions as sure as the sun's in heaven. Amen and +amen." + +He opened the door. There was a strange, soft light in her eyes as she +came to go. + +"Aren't you going to kiss me?" she said, looking at him whimsically. + +He was disconcerted. She did not wait, but reached up and kissed him on +the cheek. "Good-bye," she said, with a smile. "We'll win the stake. +Good-bye." + +An instant and she was gone. He shut the door, then turned and looked in a +mirror on the wall. Abstractedly he touched the cheek she had kissed. +Suddenly a change passed over his face. He dropped in a chair, and his +fist struck the table as he said: "By God, she may do it, she may do it! +But it's life and death--it's life and death." + +Society had its sensation, and then the veil dropped. For a long time none +looked behind it except Jim's father. He had too much at stake not to have +his telescope upon them. A detective followed them to keep Jim's record. +But this they did not know. + +II + +From the day they left Washington Jim put his life and his fate in his +wife's hands. He meant to follow her judgment, and, self-willed and strong +in intellect as he was, he said that she should have a fair chance of +fulfilling her purpose. There had been many _pour parlers_ as to what Jim +should do. There was farming. She set that aside, because it meant +capital, and it also meant monotony and loneliness; and capital was +limited, and monotony and loneliness were bad for Jim, deadening an active +brain which must not be deprived of stimulants--stimulants of a different +sort, however, from those which had heretofore mastered it. There was the +law. But Jim would have to become a citizen of Canada, change his flag, +and where they meant to go--to the outskirts--there would be few +opportunities for the law; and with not enough to _do_ there would be +danger. Railway construction? That seemed good in many ways, but Jim had +not the professional knowledge necessary; his railway experience with his +father had only been financial. Above all else he must have +responsibility, discipline, and strict order in his life. + +"Something that will be good for my natural vanity, and knock the nonsense +out of me," Jim agreed, as they drew farther and farther away from +Washington and the past, and nearer and nearer to the Far North and their +future. Never did two more honest souls put their hands in each other's, +and set forth upon the thorniest path to a goal which was their heart's +desire. Since they had become one, there had come into Sally's face that +illumination which belongs only to souls possessed of an idea greater than +themselves, outside themselves--saints, patriots; faces which have been +washed in the salt tears dropped for others' sorrows and lighted by the +fire of self-sacrifice. Sally Seabrook, the high-spirited, the radiant, +the sweetly wilful, the provoking, to concentrate herself upon this narrow +theme--to reconquer the lost paradise of one vexed mortal soul! + +What did Jim's life mean? It was only one in the millions coming and +going, and every man must work out his own salvation. Why should she cramp +her soul to this one issue, when the same soul could spend itself upon the +greater motives and in the larger circle? A wide world of influence had +opened up before her; position, power, adulation, could all have been +hers, as John Appleton and Jim's father had said. She might have moved in +well-trodden ways, through gardens of pleasure, lived a life where all +would be made easy, where she would be shielded at every turn, and her +beauty would be flattered by luxury into a constant glow. She was not so +primitive, so unintellectual, as not to have thought of this, else her +decision would have had less importance; she would have been no more than +an infatuated, emotional woman with a touch of second-class drama in her +nature. She had thought of it all, and she had made her choice. The easier +course was the course for meaner souls, and she had not one vein of thin +blood nor a small idea in her whole nature. She had a heart and mind for +great issues. She believed that Jim had a great brain, and would and could +accomplish great things. She knew that he had in him the strain of +hereditary instinct--his mother's father had ended a brief life in a +drunken duel on the Mississippi, and Jim's boyhood had never had +discipline or direction, or any strenuous order. He might never acquire +order, and the power that order and habit and the daily iteration of +necessary thoughts and acts bring; but the prospect did not appal her. She +had taken the risk with her eyes wide open; had set her own life and +happiness in the hazard. But Jim must be saved, must be what his talents, +his genius, entitled him to be. And the long game must have the long +thought. + +So, as they drew into the great Saskatchewan Valley, her hand in his, and +hope in his eyes, and such a look of confidence and pride in her as +brought back his old, strong beauty of face and smoothed the careworn +lines of self-indulgence, she gave him his course: as a private he must +join the North-West Mounted Police, the red-coated riders of the plains, +and work his way up through every stage of responsibility, beginning at +the foot of the ladder of humbleness and self-control. She believed that +he would agree with her proposal; but her hands clasped his a little more +firmly and solicitously--there was a faint, womanly fear at her heart--as +she asked him if he would do it. The life meant more than occasional +separation; it meant that there would be periods when she would not be +with him; and there was great danger in that; but she knew that the risks +must be taken, and he must not be wholly reliant on her presence for his +moral strength. + +His face fell for a moment when she made the suggestion, but it cleared +presently, and he said, with a dry laugh: "Well, I guess they must make me +a sergeant pretty quick. I'm a colonel in the Kentucky Carbineers!" + +She laughed, too; then a moment afterward, womanlike, wondered if she was +right, and was a little frightened. But that was only because she was not +self-opinionated, and was anxious, more anxious than any woman in all the +North. + +It happened as Jim said; he was made a sergeant at once--Sally managed +that; for, when it came to the point, she saw the conditions in which the +privates lived, and realized that Jim must be one of them, and clean out +the stables, and groom his horse and the officers' horses, and fetch and +carry, her heart failed her, and she thought that she was making her +remedy needlessly heroical. So, she went to see the commissioner, who was +on a tour of scrutiny on their arrival at the post, and, as better men +than he had done in more knowing circles, he fell under her spell. If she +had asked for a lieutenancy, he would probably have corrupted some member +of Parliament into securing it for Jim. + +But Jim was made a sergeant, and the commissioner and the captain of the +troop kept their eyes on him. So did other members of the troop who did +not quite know their man, and attempted, figuratively, to pinch him here +and there. They found that his actions were greater than his words, and +both were in perfect harmony in the end, though his words often seemed +pointless to their minds, until they understood that they had conveyed +truths through a medium more like a heliograph than a telephone. By-and-by +they began to understand his heliographing, and, when they did that, they +began to swear by him, not at him. + +In time it was found that the troop never had a better disciplinarian than +Jim. He knew when to shut his eyes, and when to keep them open. To +non-essentials he kept his eyes shut; to essentials he kept them very wide +open. There were some men of good birth from England and elsewhere among +them, and these mostly understood him first. But they all understood Sally +from the beginning, and after a little they were glad enough to be +permitted to come, on occasion, to the five-roomed little house near the +barracks, and hear her talk, then answer her questions, and, as men had +done at Washington, open out their hearts to her. They noticed, however, +that while she made them barley-water, and all kinds of soft drinks from +citric acid, sarsaparilla, and the like, and had one special drink of her +own invention, which she called cream-nectar, no spirits were to be had. +They also noticed that Jim never drank a drop of liquor, and by-and-by, +one way or another, they got a glimmer of the real truth, before it became +known who he really was or anything of his story. And the interest in the +two, and in Jim's reformation, spread through the country, while Jim +gained reputation as the smartest man in the force. + +They were on the outskirts of civilization--as Jim used to say, "One step +ahead of the procession." Jim's duty was to guard the columns of +settlement and progress, and to see that every man got his own rights and +not more than his rights; that justice should be the plumb-line of march +and settlement. His principle was embodied in certain words which he +quoted once to Sally from the prophet Amos--"_And the Lord said unto me, +Amos, what seest thou? And I said, A plumb-line_." + +On the day that Jim became a lieutenant his family increased by one. It +was a girl, and they called her Nancy, after Jim's mother. It was the +anniversary of their marriage, and, so far, Jim had won, with what +fightings and strugglings and wrestlings of the spirit only Sally and +himself knew. And she knew as well as he, and always saw the storm coming +before it broke--a restlessness, then a moodiness, then a hungry, eager, +helpless look, and afterward an agony of longing, a feverish desire to +break away and get the thrilling thing which would still the demon within +him. + +There had been moments when his doom seemed certain--he knew and she knew +that if he once got drunk again he would fall never to rise. On one +occasion, after a hard, long, hungry ride, he was half-mad with desire, +but even as he seized the flask that was offered to him by his only enemy, +the captain of B Troop, at the next station eastward, there came a sudden +call to duty, two hundred Indians having gone upon the war-path. It saved +him, it broke the spell. He had to mount and away, with the antidote and +stimulant of responsibility driving him on. + +Another occasion was equally perilous to his safety. They had been idle +for days in a hot week in summer, waiting for orders to return from the +rail-head where they had gone to quell a riot, and where drink and +hilarity were common. Suddenly--more suddenly than it had ever come, the +demon of his thirst had Jim by the throat. Sergeant Sewell, of the +gray-stubble head, who loved him more than his sour heart had loved +anybody in all his life, was holding himself ready for the physical +assault he must make upon his superior officer if he raised a glass to his +lips, when salvation came once again. An accident had occurred far down on +the railway line, and the operator of the telegraph-office had that very +day been stricken down with pleurisy and pneumonia. In despair the manager +had sent to Jim, eagerly hoping that he might help them, for the Riders of +the Plains were a sort of court of appeal for every trouble in the Far +North. + +Instantly Jim was in the saddle with his troop. Out of curiosity he had +learned telegraphy when a boy, as he had learned many things, and, arrived +at the scene of the accident, he sent messages and received them--by +sound, not on paper as did the official operator, to the amazement and +pride of the troop. Then, between caring for the injured in the accident, +against the coming of the relief train, and nursing the sick operator +through the dark moments of his dangerous illness, he passed a crisis of +his own disease triumphantly; but not the last crisis. + +So the first and so the second and third years passed in safety. + +III + +"Please, I want to go, too, Jim." + +Jim swung round and caught the child up in his arms. + +"Say, how dare you call your father _Jim_--eh, tell me that?" + +"It's what mummy calls you--it's pretty." + +"I don't call her 'mummy' because you do, and you mustn't call me _Jim_ +because she does--do you hear?" + +The whimsical face lowered a little, then the rare and beautiful dark blue +eyes raised slowly, shaded by the long lashes, and the voice said, +demurely, "Yes--Jim." + +"Nancy--Nancy," said a voice from the corner in reproof, mingled with +suppressed laughter. "Nancy, you mustn't be saucy. You must say 'father' +to--" + +"Yes, mummy. I'll say father to--Jim." + +"You imp--you imp of delight," said Jim, as he strained the dainty little +lass to his breast, while she appeared interested in a wave of his black +hair, which she curled around her finger. + +Sally came forward with the little parcel of sandwiches she had been +preparing, and put them in the saddlebags lying on a chair at the door, in +readiness for the journey Jim was about to make. Her eyes were glistening, +and her face had a heightened color. The three years which had passed +since she married had touched her not at all to her disadvantage, rather +to her profit. She looked not an hour older; motherhood had only added to +her charm, lending it a delightful gravity. The prairie life had given a +shining quality to her handsomeness, an air of depth and firmness, an +exquisite health and clearness to the color in her cheeks. Her step was as +light as Nancy's, elastic and buoyant--a gliding motion which gave a +sinuous grace to the movements of her body. There had also come into her +eyes a vigilance such as deaf people possess, a sensitive observation +imparting a deeper intelligence to the face. + +Here was the only chance by which you could guess the story of her life. +Her eyes were like the ears of an anxious mother who can never sleep till +every child is abed; whose sense is quick to hear the faintest footstep +without or within; and who, as years go on, and her children grow older +and older, must still lie awake hearkening for the late footstep on the +stair. In Sally's eyes was the story of the past three years: of love and +temptation and struggle, of watchfulness and yearning and anxiety, of +determination and an inviolable hope. Her eyes had a deeper look than that +in Jim's. Now, as she gazed at him, the maternal spirit rose up from the +great well of protectiveness in her and engulfed both husband and child. +There was always something of the maternal in her eyes when she looked at +Jim. He did not see it--he saw only the wonderful blue, and the humor +which had helped him over such difficult places these past three years. In +steadying and strengthening Jim's will, in developing him from his +Southern indolence into Northern industry and sense of responsibility, +John Appleton's warnings had rung in Sally's ears, and Freddy Hartzman's +forceful and high-minded personality had passed before her eyes with an +appeal powerful and stimulating; but always she came to the same upland of +serene faith and white-hearted resolve; and Jim became dearer and dearer. + +The baby had done much to brace her faith in the future and comfort her +anxious present. The child had intelligence of a rare order. She would lie +by the half-hour on the floor, turning over the leaves of a book without +pictures, and, before she could speak, would read from the pages in a +language all her own. She made a fairy world for herself, peopled by +characters to whom she gave names, to whom she assigned curious attributes +and qualities. They were as real to her as though flesh and blood, and she +was never lonely, and never cried; and she had buried herself in her +father's heart. She had drawn to her the roughest men in the troop, and +for old Sewell, the grim sergeant, she had a specially warm place. + +"You can love me if you like," she had said to him at the very start, with +the egotism of childhood; but made haste to add, "because I love you, +Gri-Gri." She called him Gri-Gri from the first, but they knew only long +afterward that "gri-gri" meant "gray-gray," to signify that she called him +after his grizzled hairs. + +What she had been in the life-history of Sally and Jim they both knew. Jim +regarded her with an almost superstitious feeling. Sally was his strength, +his support, his inspiration, his bulwark of defence; Nancy was the charm +he wore about his neck--his mascot, he called her. Once, when she was ill, +he had suffered as he had never done before in his life. He could not +sleep nor eat, and went about his duties like one in a dream. When his +struggles against his enemy were fiercest, he kept saying over her name to +himself, as though she could help him. Yet always it was Sally's hand he +held in the darkest hours, in his brutal moments; for in this fight +between appetite and will there are moments when only the animal seems to +exist, and the soul disappears in the glare and gloom of the primal +emotions. Nancy he called his "lucky sixpence," but he called Sally his +"guinea-girl." + +From first to last his whimsicality never deserted him. In his worst +hours, some innate optimism and humor held him steady in his fight. It was +not depression that possessed him at the worst, but the violence of an +appetite most like a raging pain which men may endure with a smile upon +their lips. He carried in his face the story of a conflict, the aftermath +of bitter experience; and through all there pulsed the glow of experience. +He had grown handsomer, and the graceful decision of his figure, the +deliberate certainty of every action, heightened the force of a singular +personality. As in the eyes of Sally, in his eyes was a long, reflective +look which told of things overcome, and yet of dangers present. His lips +smiled often, but the eyes said: "I have lived, I have seen, I have +suffered, and I must suffer more. I have loved, I have been loved under +the shadow of the sword. Happiness I have had, and golden hours, but not +peace--never peace. My soul has need of peace." + +In the greater, deeper experience of their lives, the more material side +of existence had grown less and less to them. Their home was a model of +simple comfort and some luxury, though Jim had insisted that Sally's +income should not be spent, except upon the child, and should be saved for +the child, their home being kept on his pay and on the tiny income left by +his mother. With the help of an Indian girl, and a half-breed for out-door +work and fires and gardening, Sally had cared for the house herself. +Ingenious and tasteful, with a gift for cooking and an educated hand, she +had made her little home as pretty as their few possessions would permit. +Refinement covered all, and three or four score books were like so many +friends to comfort her when Jim was away; like kind and genial neighbors +when he was at home. From Browning she had written down in her long, +sliding handwriting, and hung up beneath Jim's looking-glass, the +heartening and inspiring words: + + "One who never turned his back, but marched breast + forward, + Never doubted clouds would break, + Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would + triumph, + Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, + Sleep to wake." + +They had lived above the sordid, and there was something in the nature of +Jim's life to help them to it. He belonged to a small handful of men who +had control over an empire, with an individual responsibility and +influence not contained in the scope of their commissions. It was a matter +of moral force and character, and of uniform, symbolical only of the great +power behind; of the long arm of the State; of the insistence of the law, +which did not rely upon force alone, but on the certainty of its +administration. In such conditions the smallest brain was bound to expand, +to take on qualities of judgment and temperateness which would never be +developed in ordinary circumstances. In the case of Jim Templeton, who +needed no stimulant to his intellect, but rather a steadying quality, a +sense of proportion, the daily routine, the command of men, the diverse +nature of his duties, half civil, half military, the personal appeals made +on all sides by the people of the country for advice, for help, for +settlement of disputes, for information which his well-instructed mind +could give--all these modified the romantic brilliance of his intellect, +made it and himself more human. + +It had not come to him all at once. His intellect at first stood in his +way. His love of paradox, his deep observation, his insight--all made him +inherently satirical, though not cruelly so; but satire had become pure +whimsicality at last; and he came to see that, on the whole, the world was +imperfect, but also, on the whole, was moving toward perfection rather +than imperfection. He grew to realize that what seemed so often weakness +in men was tendency and idiosyncrasy rather than evil. And in the end he +thought better of himself as he came to think better of all others. For he +had thought less of all the world because he had thought so little of +himself. He had overestimated his own faults, had made them into crimes in +his own eyes, and, observing things in others of similar import, had +become almost a cynic in intellect, while in heart he had remained a boy. + +In all that he had changed a great deal. His heart was still the heart of +a boy, but his intellect had sobered, softened, ripened--even in this +secluded and seemingly unimportant life; as Sally had said and hoped it +would. Sally's conviction had been right. But the triumph was not yet +achieved. She knew it. On occasion the tones of his voice told her, the +look that came into his eyes proclaimed it to her, his feverishness and +restlessness made it certain. How many a night had she thrown her arm over +his shoulder, and sought his hand and held it while in the dark silence, +wide-eyed, dry-lipped, and with a throat like fire he had held himself +back from falling. There was liquor in the house--the fight would not have +been a fight without it. She had determined that he should see his enemy +and meet him in the plains and face him down; and he was never many feet +away from his possible disaster. Yet for long over three years all had +gone well. There was another year. Would he last out the course? + +At first the thought of the great stake for which she was playing in terms +of currency, with the head of Jim's father on every note, was much with +her. The amazing nature of the offer of five millions of dollars +stimulated her imagination, roused her; gold coins are counters in the +game of success, signs and tokens. Money alone could not have lured her; +but rather what it represented--power, width of action, freedom to help +when the heart prompted, machinery for carrying out large plans, ability +to surround with advantage those whom we love. So, at first, while yet the +memories of Washington were much with her, the appeal of the millions was +strong. The gallant nature of the contest and the great stake braced her; +she felt the blood quicken in her pulse. + +But, all through, the other thing really mastered her: the fixed idea that +Jim must be saved. As it deepened, the other life that she had lived +became like the sports in which we shared when children, full of vivacious +memory, shining with impulse and the stir of life, but not to be +repeated--days and deeds outgrown. So the light of one idea shone in her +face. Yet she was intensely human too; and if her eyes had not been set on +the greater glory, the other thought might have vulgarized her mind, made +her end and goal sordid--the descent of a nature rather than its +ascension. + +When Nancy came, the lesser idea, the stake, took on a new importance, for +now it seemed to her that it was her duty to secure for the child its +rightful heritage. Then Jim, too, appeared in a new light, as one who +could never fulfil himself unless working through the natural channels of +his birth, inheritance, and upbringing. Jim, drunken and unreliable, with +broken will and fighting to find himself--the waste places were for him, +until he was the master of his will and emotions. Once, however, secure in +ability to control himself, with cleansed brain and purpose defined, the +widest field would be still be too narrow for his talents--and the five, +yes, the fifty millions of his father must be his. + +She had never repented having married Jim; but twice in those three years +she had broken down and wept as though her heart would break. There were +times when Jim's nerves were shaken in his struggle against the unseen +foe, and he had spoken to her querulously, almost sharply. Yet in her +tears there was no reproach for him, rather for herself--the fear that she +might lose her influence over him, that she could not keep him close to +her heart, that he might drift away from her in the commonplaces and +monotony of work and domestic life. Everything so depended on her being to +him not only the one woman for whom he cared, but the woman without whom +he could care for nothing else. + +"O, my God, give me his love," she had prayed. "Let me keep it yet a +little while. For his sake, not for my own, let me have the power to hold +his love. Make my mind always quiet, and let me blow neither hot nor cold. +Help me to keep my temper sweet and cheerful, so that he will find the +room empty where I am not, and his footsteps will quicken when he comes to +the door. Not for my sake, dear God, but for his, or my heart will +break--it will break unless Thou dost help me to hold him. O Lord, keep me +from tears; make my face happy that I may be goodly to his eyes, and +forgive the selfishness of a poor woman who has little, and would keep her +little and cherish it, for Christ's sake." + +Twice had she poured out her heart so, in the agony of her fear that she +should lose favor in Jim's sight--she did not know how alluring she was, +in spite of the constant proofs offered her. She had had her will with all +who came her way, from Governor to Indian brave. Once, in a journey they +had made far north, soon after they came, she had stayed at a Hudson Bay +Company's post for some days, while there came news of restlessness among +the Indians, because of lack of food, and Jim had gone farther north to +steady the tribes, leaving her with the factor and his wife and a +half-breed servant. + +While she and the factor's wife were alone in the yard of the post one +day, an Indian chief, Arrowhead, in war-paint and feathers, entered +suddenly, brandishing a long knife. He had been drinking, and there was +danger in his black eyes. With a sudden inspiration she came forward +quickly, nodded and smiled to him, and then pointed to a grindstone +standing in the corner of the yard. As she did so, she saw Indians +crowding into the gate armed with knives, guns, bows, and arrows. She +beckoned to Arrowhead, and he followed her to the grindstone. She poured +some water on the wheel and began to turn it, nodding at the now impassive +Indian to begin. Presently he nodded also, and put his knife on the stone. +She kept turning steadily, singing to herself the while, as with anxiety +she saw the Indians drawing closer and closer in from the gate. Faster and +faster she turned, and at last the Indian lifted his knife from the stone. +She reached out her hand with simulated interest, felt the edge with her +thumb, the Indian looking darkly at her the while. Presently, after +feeling the edge himself, he bent over the stone again, and she went on +turning the wheel, still singing softly. At last he stopped again and felt +the edge. With a smile which showed her fine, white teeth, she said, "Is +that for me?" making a significant sign across her throat at the same +time. + +The old Indian looked at her grimly, then slowly shook his head in +negation. + +"I go hunt Yellow Hawk to-night," he said. "I go fight; I like marry you +when I come back. _How_!" he said, and turned away toward the gate. + +Some of his braves held back, the blackness of death in their looks. He +saw. "My knife is sharp," he said. "The woman is brave. She shall live--go +and fight Yellow Hawk, or starve and die." + +Divining their misery, their hunger, and the savage thought that had come +to them, Sally had whispered to the factor's wife to bring food, and the +woman now came running out with two baskets full, and returned for more. +Sally ran forward among the Indians and put the food into their hands. +With grunts of satisfaction they seized what she gave, and thrust it into +their mouths, squatting on the ground. Arrowhead looked on stern and +immobile, but when at last she and the factor's wife sat down before the +braves with confidence and an air of friendliness, he sat down also; yet, +famished as he was, he would not touch the food. At last Sally, realizing +his proud defiance of hunger, offered him a little lump of pemmican and a +biscuit, and with a grunt he took it from her hands and ate it. Then, at +his command, a fire was lit, the pipe of peace was brought out, and Sally +and the factor's wife touched their lips to it, and passed it on. + +So was a new treaty of peace and loyalty made with Arrowhead and his tribe +by a woman without fear, whose life had seemed not worth a minute's +purchase; and, as the sun went down, Arrowhead and his men went forth to +make war upon Yellow Hawk beside the Nettigon River. In this wise had her +influence spread in the land. + + * * * * * + +Standing now with the child in his arms and his wife looking at him with a +shining moisture of the eyes, Jim laughed outright. There came upon him a +sudden sense of power, of aggressive force--the will to do. Sally +understood, and came and laughingly grasped his arm. + +"Oh, Jim," she said, playfully, "you are getting muscles like steel. You +hadn't these when you were colonel of the Kentucky Carbineers!" + +"I guess I need them now," he said, smiling, and with the child still in +his arms drew her to a window looking northward. As far as the eye could +see, nothing but snow, like a blanket spread over the land. Here and there +in the wide expanse a tree silhouetted against the sky, a tracery of +eccentric beauty, and off in the far distance a solitary horseman riding +toward the post--riding hard. + +"It was root, hog, or die with me, Sally," he continued, "and I rooted.... +I wonder--that fellow on the horse--I have a feeling about him. See, he's +been riding hard and long--you can tell by the way the horse drops his +legs. He sags a bit himself.... But isn't it beautiful, all that out +there--the real quintessence of life." + +The air was full of delicate particles of frost on which the sun sparkled, +and though there was neither bird nor insect, nor animal, nor stir of +leaf, nor swaying branch or waving grass, life palpitated in the air, +energy sang its song in the footstep that crunched the frosty ground, that +broke the crusted snow; it was in the delicate wind that stirred the flag +by the barracks away to the left; hope smiled in the wide prospect over +which the thrilling, bracing air trembled. Sally had chosen right. + +"You had a big thought when you brought me here, guinea-girl," he added, +presently. "We are going to win out here"--he set the child down--"you and +I and this lucky sixpence." He took up his short fur coat. "Yes, we'll +win, honey." Then, with a brooding look in his face, he added: + + "'The end comes as came the beginning, + And shadows fail into the past; + And the goal, is it not worth the winning, + If it brings us but home at the last? + While far through the pain of waste places + We tread, 'tis a blossoming rod + That drives us to grace from disgraces, + From the fens to the gardens of God!'" + +He paused reflectively. "It's strange that this life up here makes you +feel that you must live a bigger life still, that this is only the wide +porch to the great labor-house--it makes you want to do things. Well, +we've got to win the stake first," he added, with a laugh. + +"The stake is a big one, Jim--bigger than you think." + +"You and her and me--me that was in the gutter." + +"What is the gutter, dadsie?" asked Nancy. + +"The gutter--the gutter is where the dish-water goes, midget," he +answered, with a dry laugh. + +"Oh, I don't think you'd like to be in the gutter," Nancy said, solemnly. + +"You have to get used to it first, miss," answered Jim. Suddenly Sally +laid both hands on Jim's shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "You must +win the stake, Jim. Think--now!" + +She laid a hand on the head of the child. He did not know that he was +playing for a certain five millions, perhaps fifty millions, of dollars. +She had never told him of his father's offer. He was fighting only for +salvation, for those he loved, for freedom. As they stood there, the +conviction had come upon her that they had come to the last battle-field, +that this journey which Jim now must take would decide all, would give +them perfect peace or lifelong pain. The shadow of battle was over them, +but he had no foreboding, no premonition; he had never been so full of +spirits and life. + +To her adjuration Jim replied by burying his face in her golden hair, and +he whispered: "Say, I've done near four years, my girl. I think I'm all +right now--I think. This last six months, it's been easy--pretty fairly +easy." + +"Four months more, only four months more--God be good to us!" she said, +with a little gasp. + +If he held out for four months more, the first great stage in their +life-journey would be passed, the stake won. + +"I saw a woman get an awful fall once," Jim said, suddenly. "Her bones +were broken in twelve places, and there wasn't a spot on her body without +injury. They set and fixed up every broken bone except one. It was split +down. They didn't dare perform the operation; she couldn't stand it. There +was a limit to pain, and she had reached the boundary. Two years went by, +and she got better every way, but inside her leg those broken pieces of +bone were rubbing against each other. She tried to avoid the inevitable +operation, but Nature said, 'You must do it, or die in the end.' She +yielded. Then came the long preparations for the operation. Her heart +shrank, her mind got tortured. She'd suffered too much. She pulled herself +together, and said, 'I must conquer this shrinking body of mine by my +will. How shall I do it?' Something within her said, 'Think and do for +others. Forget yourself.' And so, as they got her ready for her torture, +she visited hospitals, agonized cripple as she was, and smiled and talked +to the sick and broken, telling them of her own miseries endured and +dangers faced, of the boundary of human suffering almost passed; and so +she got her courage for her own trial. And she came out all right in the +end. Well, that's the way I've felt sometimes. But I'm ready for my +operation now whenever it comes, and it's coming, I know. Let it come when +it must." He smiled. + +There came a knock at the door, and presently Sewell entered. "The +Commissioner wishes you to come over, sir," he said. + +"I was just coming, Sewell. Is all ready for the start?" + +"Everything's ready, sir, but there's to be a change of orders. +Something's happened--a bad job up in the Cree country, I think." + +A few minutes later Jim was in the Commissioner's office. The murder of a +Hudson's Bay Company's man had been committed in the Cree country. The +stranger whom Jim and Sally had seen riding across the plains had brought +the news for thirty miles, word of the murder having been carried from +point to point. The Commissioner was uncertain what to do, as the Crees +were restless through want of food and the absence of game, and a force +sent to capture Arrowhead, the chief who had committed the murder, might +precipitate trouble. Jim solved the problem by offering to go alone and +bring the chief into the post. It was two hundred miles to the Cree +encampment, and the journey had its double dangers. + +Another officer was sent on the expedition for which Jim had been +preparing, and he made ready to go upon his lonely duty. His wife did not +know till three days after he had gone what the nature of his mission +was. + +IV + +Jim made his journey in good weather with his faithful dogs alone, and +came into the camp of the Crees armed with only a revolver. If he had gone +with ten men, there would have been an instant mêlée, in which he would +have lost his life. This is what the chief had expected, had prepared for; +but Jim was more formidable alone, with power far behind him which could +come with force and destroy the tribe, if resistance was offered, than +with fifty men. His tongue had a gift of terse and picturesque speech, +powerful with a people who had the gift of imagination. With five hundred +men ready to turn him loose in the plains without dogs or food, he carried +himself with a watchful coolness and complacent determination which got +home to their minds with great force. + +For hours the struggle for the murderer went on, a struggle of mind over +inferior mind and matter. + +Arrowhead was a chief whose will had never been crossed by his own people, +and to master that will by a superior will, to hold back the destructive +force which, to the ignorant minds of the braves, was only a natural force +of defence, meant a task needing more than authority behind it. For the +very fear of that authority put in motion was an incentive to present +resistance--to stave off the day of trouble. The faces that surrounded Jim +were thin with hunger, and the murder that had been committed by the chief +had, as its origin, the foolish replies of the Hudson's Bay Company's man +to their demand for supplies. Arrowhead had killed him with his own hand. + +But Jim Templeton was of a different calibre. Although he had not been +told it, he realized that, indirectly, hunger was the cause of the crime +and might easily become the cause of another; for their tempers were +sharper even than their appetites. Upon this he played; upon this he made +an exhortation to the chief. He assumed that Arrowhead had become violent +because of his people's straits, that Arrowhead's heart yearned for his +people and would make sacrifice for them. Now, if Arrowhead came quietly, +he would see that supplies of food were sent at once, and that +arrangements were made to meet the misery of their situation. Therefore, +if Arrowhead came freely, he would have so much in his favor before his +judges; if he would not come quietly, then he must be brought by force; +and if they raised a hand to prevent it, then destruction would fall upon +all--all save the women and children. The law must be obeyed. They might +try to resist the law through him, but, if violence was shown, he would +first kill Arrowhead, and then destruction would descend like a wind out +of the north, darkness would swallow them, and their bones would cover the +plains. + +As he ended his words a young brave sprang forward with hatchet raised. +Jim's revolver slipped down into his palm from his sleeve, and a bullet +caught the brave in the lifted arm. The hatchet dropped to the ground. + +Then Jim's eyes blazed, and he turned a look of anger on the chief, his +face pale and hard, as he said: "The stream rises above the banks; come +with me, chief, or all will drown. I am master, and I speak. Ye are hungry +because ye are idle. Ye call the world yours, yet ye will not stoop to +gather from the earth the fruits of the earth. Ye sit idle in the summer, +and women and children die round you when winter comes. Because the game +is gone, ye say. Must the world stand still because a handful of Crees +need a hunting-ground? Must the makers of cities and the wonders of the +earth, who fill the land with plenty--must they stand far off, because the +Crees and their chief would wander over a million acres, for each man a +million, when by a hundred--ay, by ten--each white man would live in +plenty and make the land rejoice? See! Here is the truth. When the Great +Spirit draws the game away so that the hunting is poor, ye sit down and +fill your hearts with murder, and in the blackness of your thoughts kill +my brother. Idle and shiftless and evil ye are, while the earth cries out +to give you of its plenty, a great harvest from a little seed, if ye will +but dig and plant, and plough and sow and reap, and lend your backs to +toil. Now hear and heed. The end is come. For this once ye shall be +fed--by the blood of my heart, ye shall be fed! And another year ye shall +labor, and get the fruits of your labor, and not stand waiting, as it +were, till a fish shall pass the spear or a stag water at your door, that +ye may slay and eat. The end is come, ye idle men. O chief, hearken! One +of your braves would have slain me, even as you slew my brother--he one, +and you a thousand. Speak to your people as I have spoken, and then come +and answer for the deed done by your hand. And this I say that right shall +be done between men and men. Speak." + +Jim had made his great effort, and not without avail. Arrowhead rose +slowly, the cloud gone out of his face, and spoke to his people, bidding +them wait in peace until food came, and appointing his son chief in his +stead until his return. + +"The white man speaks truth, and I will go," he said. "I shall return," he +continued, "if it be written so upon the leaves of the Tree of Life; and +if it be not so written, I shall fade like a mist, and the tepees will +know me not again. The days of my youth are spent, and my step no longer +springs from the ground. I shuffle among the grass and the fallen leaves, +and my eyes scarce know the stag from the doe. The white man is master--if +he wills it we shall die; if he wills it we shall live. And this was ever +so. It is in the tale of our people. One tribe ruled, and the others were +their slaves. If it is written on the leaves of the Tree of Life that the +white man rule us forever, then it shall be so, I have spoken. Now, +behold, I go." + +Jim had conquered, and together they sped away with the dogs through the +sweet-smelling spruce woods where every branch carried a cloth of white, +and the only sound heard was the swish of a blanket of snow as it fell to +the ground from the wide webs of green, or a twig snapped under the load +it bore. Peace brooded in the silent and comforting forest, and Jim and +Arrowhead, the Indian ever ahead, swung along, mile after mile, on their +snow-shoes, emerging at last upon the wide, white prairie. + + * * * * * + +A hundred miles of sun and fair weather, sleeping at night in the open in +a trench dug in the snow, no fear in the thoughts of Jim, nor evil in the +heart of the heathen man. There had been moments of watchfulness, of +uncertainty, on Jim's part, the first few hours of the first night after +they left the Cree reservation; but the conviction speedily came to Jim +that all was well; for the chief slept soundly from the moment he lay down +in his blankets between the dogs. Then Jim went to sleep as in his own +bed, and, waking, found Arrowhead lighting a fire from a little load of +sticks from the sledges. And between murderer and captor there sprang up +the companionship of the open road which brings all men to a certain land +of faith and understanding, unless they are perverted and vile. There was +no vileness in Arrowhead. There were no handcuffs on his hands, no sign of +captivity; they two ate out of the same dish, drank from the same basin, +broke from the same bread. The crime of Arrowhead, the gallows waiting for +him, seemed very far away. They were only two silent travellers, sharing +the same hardship, helping to give material comfort to each other--in the +inevitable democracy of those far places, where small things are not great +nor great things small; where into men's hearts comes the knowledge of the +things that matter; where, from the wide, starry sky, from the august +loneliness, and the soul of the life which has brooded there for untold +generations, God teaches the values of this world and the next. + +One hundred miles of sun and fair weather, and then fifty miles of bitter, +aching cold, with nights of peril from the increasing chill, so that Jim +dared not sleep lest he should never wake again, but die benumbed and +exhausted! Yet Arrowhead slept through all. Day after day so, and then ten +miles of storm such as come only to the vast barrens of the northlands; +and woe to the traveller upon whom the icy wind and the blinding snow +descended! Woe came upon Jim Templeton and Arrowhead, the heathen. + +In the awful struggle between man and nature that followed, the captive +became the leader. The craft of the plains, the inherent instinct, the +feeling which was more than eyesight became the only hope. One whole day +to cover ten miles--an endless path of agony, in which Jim went down again +and again, but came up blinded by snow and drift, and cut as with lashes +by the angry wind. At the end of the ten miles was a Hudson Bay Company's +post and safety; and through ten hours had the two struggled toward it, +going off at tangents, circling on their own tracks; but the Indian, by an +instinct as sure as the needle to the pole, getting the direction to the +post again, in the moments of direst peril and uncertainty. To Jim the +world became a sea of maddening forces which buffeted him; a whirlpool of +fire in which his brain was tortured, his mind was shrivelled up; a vast +army rending itself, each man against the other. It was a purgatory of +music, broken by discords; and then at last--how sweet it all was, after +the eternity of misery!--"Church bells and voices low," and Sally singing +to him, Nancy's voice calling! Then, nothing but sleep--sleep, a sinking +down millions of miles in an ether of drowsiness which thrilled him; and +after--no more. + +None who has suffered up to the limit of what the human body and soul may +bear can remember the history of those distracted moments when the +struggle became one between the forces in nature and the forces in man, +between agonized body and smothered mind, yet with the divine intelligence +of the created being directing, even though subconsciously, the fight. + +How Arrowhead found the post in the mad storm he could never have told. +Yet he found it, with Jim unconscious on the sledge and with limbs frozen, +all the dogs gone but two, the leathers over the Indian's shoulders as he +fell against the gate of the post with a shrill cry that roused the factor +and his people within, together with Sergeant Sewell, who had been sent +out from headquarters to await Jim's arrival there. It was Sewell's hand +which first felt Jim's heart and pulse, and found that there was still +life left, even before it could be done by the doctor from headquarters, +who had come to visit a sick man at the post. + +For hours they worked with snow upon the frozen limbs to bring back life +and consciousness. Consciousness came at last with half delirium, half +understanding; as, emerging from the passing sleep of anæsthetics, the eye +sees things and dimly registers them before the brain has set them in any +relation to life or comprehension. + +But Jim was roused at last, and the doctor presently held to his lips a +glass of brandy. Then from infinite distance Jim's understanding returned; +the mind emerged, but not wholly, from the chaos in which it was +travelling. His eyes stood out in eagerness. + +"Brandy! brandy!" he said, hungrily. + +With an oath Sewell snatched the glass from the doctor's hand, put it on +the table, then stooped to Jim's ear and said, hoarsely: "Remember--Nancy. +For God's sake, sir, don't drink!" + +Jim's head fell back, the fierce light went out of his eyes, the face +became grayer and sharper. "Sally--Nancy--Nancy," he whispered, and his +fingers clutched vaguely at the quilt. + +"He must have brandy or he will die. The system is pumped out. He must be +revived," said the doctor. He reached again for the glass of spirits. + +Jim understood now. He was on the borderland between life and death, his +feet were at the brink. "No--not--brandy, no!" he moaned. "Sally--Sally, +kiss me," he said, faintly, from the middle world in which he was. + +"Quick, the broth!" said Sewell to the factor, who had been preparing it. +"Quick, while there's a chance." He stooped and called into Jim's ear: +"For the love of God, wake up, sir. They're coming--they're both +coming--Nancy's coming. They'll soon be here." What matter that he +lied?--a life was at stake. + +Jim's eyes opened again. The doctor was standing with the brandy in his +hand. Half madly Jim reached out. "I must live until they come," he cried; +"the brandy--ah, give it! Give it--ah, no, no, I must not," he added, +gasping, his lips trembling, his hands shaking. + +Sewell held the broth to his lips. He drank a little, yet his face became +grayer and grayer; a bluish tinge spread about his mouth. + +"Have you nothing else, sir?" asked Sewell, in despair. + +The doctor put down the brandy, went quickly to his medicine-case, dropped +into a glass some liquid from a phial, came over again, and poured a +little between the lips; then a little more, as Jim's eyes opened again; +and at last every drop in the glass trickled down the sinewy throat. + +Presently as they watched him the doctor said: "It will not do. He must +have brandy. It has life--food--in it." + +Jim understood the words. He knew that if he drank the brandy the chances +against his future were terrible. He had made his vow, and he must keep +it. Yet the thirst was on him; his enemy had him by the throat again, was +dragging him down. Though his body was so cold, his throat was on fire. +But in the extremity of his strength his mind fought on--fought on, +growing weaker every moment. He was having his last fight. They watched +him with an aching anxiety, and there was anger in the doctor's face. He +had no patience with these forces arrayed against him. + +At last the doctor whispered to Sewell, "It's no use; he must have the +brandy, or he can't live an hour." + +Sewell weakened; the tears fell down his rough, hard cheeks. "It'll ruin +him--it's ruin or death." + +"Trust a little more in God and in the man's strength. Let us give him the +chance. Force it down his throat--he's not responsible," said the +physician, to whom saving life was more than all else. + +Suddenly there appeared at the bedside Arrowhead, gaunt and weak, his face +swollen, the skin of it broken by the whips of storm. + +"He is my brother," he said, and, stooping, laid both hands, which he had +held before the fire for a long time, on Jim's heart. "Take his feet, his +hands, his legs, and his head in your hands," he said to them all. "Life +is in us; we will give him life." + +He knelt down and kept both hands on Jim's heart, while the others, even +the doctor, awed by his act, did as they were bidden. "Shut your eyes. Let +your life go into him. Think of him, and him alone. Now!" said Arrowhead, +in a strange voice. + +He murmured, and continued murmuring, his body drawing closer and closer +to Jim's body, while in the deep silence, broken only by the chanting of +his low, monotonous voice, the others pressed Jim's hands and head and +feet and legs--six men under the command of a heathen murderer. + +The minutes passed. The color came back to Jim's face, the skin of his +hands filled up, they ceased twitching, his pulse got stronger, his eyes +opened with a new light in them. + +"I'm living, anyhow," he said, at last, with a faint smile. "I'm +hungry--broth, please." + +The fight was won, and Arrowhead, the pagan murderer, drew over to the +fire and crouched down beside it, his back to the bed, impassive and +still. They brought him a bowl of broth and bread, which he drank slowly, +and placed the empty bowl between his knees. He sat there through the +night, though they tried to make him lie down. + +As the light came in at the windows, Sewell touched him on the shoulder +and said, "He is sleeping now." + +"I hear my brother breathe," answered Arrowhead. "He will live." + +All night he had listened, and had heard Jim's breath as only a man who +has lived in waste places can hear. "He will live. What I take with one +hand I give with the other." + +He had taken the life of the factor; he had given Jim his life. And when +he was tried three months later for murder, some one else said this for +him, and the hearts of all, judge and jury, were so moved they knew not +what to do. + +But Arrowhead was never sentenced, for, at the end of the first day's +trial, he lay down to sleep and never waked again. He was found the next +morning still and cold, and there was clasped in his hands a little doll +which Nancy had given him on one of her many visits to the prison during +her father's long illness. They found a piece of paper in his belt with +these words in the Cree language: "With my hands on his heart at the post +I gave him the life that was in me, saving but a little until now. +Arrowhead, the chief, goes to find life again by the well at the root of +the tree. _How!_" + +V + +On the evening of the day that Arrowhead made his journey to "the well at +the root of the tree" a stranger knocked at the door of Captain +Templeton's cottage; then, without awaiting admittance, entered. + +Jim was sitting with Nancy on his knee, her head against his shoulder, +Sally at his side, her face alight with some inner joy. Before the knock +came to the door Jim had just said, "Why do your eyes shine so, Sally? +What's in your mind?" She had been about to answer, to say to him what had +been swelling her heart with pride, though she had not meant to tell him +what he had forgotten--not till midnight. But the figure that entered the +room, a big man with deep-set eyes, a man of power who had carried +everything before him in the battle of life, answered for her. + +"You have won the stake, Jim," he said, in a hoarse voice. "You and she +have won the stake, and I've brought it--brought it." + +Before they could speak he placed in Sally's hands bonds for five million +dollars. + +"Jim--Jim, my son!" he burst out. Then, suddenly, he sank into a chair +and, putting his head in his hands, sobbed aloud. + +"My God, but I'm proud of you--speak to me, Jim. You've broken me up." He +was ashamed of his tears, but he could not wipe them away. + +"Father, dear old man!" said Jim, and put his hands on the broad +shoulders. + +Sally knelt down beside him, took both the great hands from the +tear-stained face, and laid them against her cheek. But presently she put +Nancy on his knees. + +"I don't like you to cry," the child said, softly; "but to-day I cried +too, 'cause my Indian man is dead." + +The old man could not speak, but he put his cheek down to hers. After a +minute, "Oh, but she's worth ten times that!" he said, as Sally came close +to him with the bundle he had thrust into her hands. + +"What is it?" said Jim. + +"It's five million dollars--for Nancy," she said. + +"Five--million--what--?" + +"The stake, Jim," said Sally. "If you did not drink for four years--never +touched a drop--we were to have five million dollars." + +"You never told him, then--you never told him that?" asked the old man. + +"I wanted him to win without it," she said. "If he won, he would be the +stronger; if he lost, it would not be so hard for him to bear." + +The old man drew her down and kissed her cheek. He chuckled, though the +tears were still in his eyes. + +"You are a wonder--the tenth wonder of the world!" he blurted. + +Jim stood staring at the bundle in Nancy's hands. "Five millions--five +million dollars!" he kept saying to himself. + +"I said Nancy's worth ten times that, Jim." The old man caught his hand +and pressed it. "But it was a damned near thing, I tell you," he added. +"They tried to break me and my railways and my bank. I had to fight the +combination, and there was one day when I hadn't that five million dollars +there, nor five. Jim, they tried to break the old man! And if they'd +broken me, they'd have made me out a scoundrel to her--to this wife of +yours who risked everything for both of us--for both of us, Jim; for she'd +given up the world to save you, and she was playing like a soul in hell +for heaven. If they'd broken me, I'd never have lifted my head again. When +things were at their worst I played to save that five millions--her stake +and mine; I played for that. I fought for it as a man fights his way out +of a burning house. And I won--I won. And it was by fighting for that five +millions I saved fifty--fifty millions, son. They didn't break the old +man, Jim. They didn't break him--not much." + +"There are giants in the world still," said Jim, his own eyes full. He +knew now his father and himself, and he knew the meaning of all the bitter +and misspent life of the old days. He and his father were on a level of +understanding at last. + +"Are you a giant?" asked Nancy, peering up into her grandfather's eyes. + +The old man laughed, then sighed. "Perhaps I was once, more or less, my +dear," saying to her what he meant for the other two--"perhaps I was; but +I've finished. I'm through. I've had my last fight." + +He looked at his son. "I pass the game on to you, Jim. You can do it. I +knew you could do it as the reports came in this year. I've had a +detective up here for four years. I had to do it. It was the devil in me. +You've got to carry on the game, Jim; I'm done. I'll stay home and potter +about. I want to go back to Kentucky, and build up the old place, and take +care of it a bit--your mother always loved it. I'd like to have it as it +was when she was there long ago. But I'll be ready to help you when I'm +wanted, understand." + +"You want me to run things--your colossal schemes? You think--?" + +"I don't think. I'm old enough to know," + + + + +WHEN THE SWALLOWS HOMEWARD FLY + + +The arrogant Sun had stalked away into the evening, trailing behind him +banners of gold and crimson, and a swift twilight was streaming over the +land. As the sun passed, the eyes of two men on a high hill followed it, +and the look of one was like a light in a window to a lost traveller. It +had in it the sense of home and the tale of a journey done. Such a journey +this man had made as few have ever attempted and fewer accomplished. To +the farthermost regions of snow and ice, where the shoulder of a continent +juts out into the northwestern arctic seas, he had travelled on foot and +alone, save for his dogs, and for Indian guides who now and then +shepherded him from point to point. The vast ice-hummocks had been his +housing; pemmican, the raw flesh of fish, and even the fat and oil of +seals had been his food. Ever and ever through long months the everlasting +white glitter of the snow and ice, ever and ever the cold stars, the +cloudless sky, the moon at full, or swung like a white sickle in the sky +to warn him that his life must be mown like grass. At night to sleep in a +bag of fur and wool, by day the steely wind, or the air shaking with a +filmy powder of frost; while the illimitably distant sun made the tiny +flakes sparkle like silver--a _poudre_ day, when the face and hands are +most like to be frozen, and all so still and white and passionless, yet +aching with energy. Hundreds upon hundreds of miles that endless trail +went winding to the farthest Northwest. No human being had ever trod its +lengths before, though Indians or a stray Hudson's Bay Company man had +made journeys over part of it during the years that have passed since +Prince Rupert sent his adventurers to dot that northern land with posts +and forts and trace fine arteries of civilization through the wastes. + +Where this man had gone none other had been of white men from the western +lands, though from across the wide Pacific, from the Eastern world, +adventurers and exiles had once visited what is now known as the Yukon +Valley. So this man, browsing in the library of his grandfather, an +Eastern scholar, had come to know; and for love of adventure, and because +of the tale of a valley of gold and treasure to be had, and because he had +been ruined by bad investments, he had made a journey like none ever +essayed before. And on his way up to those regions, where the veil before +the face of God is very thin and fine, and men's hearts glow within them, +where there was no oasis save the unguessed deposit of a great human dream +that his soul could feel, the face of a girl had haunted him. Her +voice--so sweet a voice that it rang like muffled silver in his ears, +till, in the everlasting theatre of the pole, the stars seemed to repeat +it through millions of echoing hills, growing softer and softer as the +frost hushed it to his ears--had said to him late and early, "You must +come back with the swallows." Then she had sung a song which had been like +a fire in his heart, not alone because of the words of it, but because of +the soul in her voice, and it had lain like a coverlet on his heart to +keep it warm: + + "Adieu! The sun goes awearily down, + The mist creeps up o'er the sleepy town, + The white sail bends to the shuddering mere, + And the reapers have reaped and the night is here. + + "Adieu! And the years are a broken song, + The right grows weak in the strife with wrong, + The lilies of love have a crimson stain, + And the old days never will come again. + + "Adieu! Where the mountains afar are dim + 'Neath the tremulous tread of the seraphim, + Shall not our querulous hearts prevail, + That have prayed for the peace of the Holy Grail? + + "Adieu! Sometime shall the veil between + The things that are and that might have been + Be folded back for our eyes to see, + And the meaning of all shall be clear to me." + +It had been but an acquaintance of five days while he fitted out for his +expedition, but in this brief time it had sunk deep into his mind that +life was now a thing to cherish, and that he must indeed come back; though +he had left England caring little if, in the peril and danger of his +quest, he ever returned. He had been indifferent to his fate till he came +to the Valley of the Saskatchewan, to the town lying at the foot of the +maple hill beside the great northern stream, and saw the girl whose life +was knit with the far North, whose mother's heart was buried in the great +wastes where Sir John Franklin's expedition was lost; for her husband had +been one of the ill-fated if not unhappy band of lovers of that +civilization for which they had risked all and lost all save immortality. +Hither the two had come after he had been cast away on the icy plains, +and, as the settlement had crept north, had gone north with it, always on +the outer edge of house and field, ever stepping northward. Here, with +small income but high hearts and quiet souls, they had lived and labored. + +And when this newcomer from the old land set his face northward to an +unknown destination, the two women had prayed as the mother did in the old +days when the daughter was but a babe at her knee, and it was not yet +certain that Franklin and his men had been cast away forever. Something in +him--his great height, his strength of body, his clear, meditative eyes, +his brave laugh--reminded her of him, her husband, who, like Sir Humphrey +Gilbert, had said that it mattered little where men did their duty, since +God was always near to take or leave as it was His will. When Bickersteth +went, it was as though one they had known all their lives had passed; and +the woman knew also that a new thought had been sown in her daughter's +mind, a new door opened in her heart. + +And he had returned. He was now looking down into the valley where the +village lay. Far, far over, two days' march away, he could see the cluster +of houses, and the glow of the sun on the tin spire of the little mission +church where he had heard the girl and her mother sing, till the hearts of +all were swept by feeling and ravished by the desire for "the peace of the +Holy Grail." The village was, in truth, but a day's march away from him, +but he was not alone, and the journey could not be hastened. Beside him, +his eyes also upon the sunset and the village, was a man in a costume +half-trapper, half-Indian, with bushy gray beard and massive frame, and a +distant, sorrowful look, like that of one whose soul was tuned to past +suffering. As he sat, his head sunk on his breast, his elbow resting on a +stump of pine--the token of a progressive civilization--his chin upon his +hand, he looked like the figure of Moses made immortal by Michael Angelo. +But his strength was not like that of the man beside him, who was thirty +years younger. When he walked, it was as one who had no destination, who +had no haven toward which to travel, who journeyed as one to whom the +world is a wilderness, and one tent or one hut is the same as another, and +none is home. + +Like two ships meeting hull to hull on the wide seas, where a few miles of +water will hide them from each other, whose ports are thousands of miles +apart, whose courses are not the same, they two had met, the elder man, +sick and worn and near to death, in the poor hospitality of an Indian's +tepee. John Bickersteth had nursed the old man back to strength, and had +brought him southward with him--a silent companion, who spoke in +monosyllables, who had no conversation at all of the past and little of +the present, but who was a woodsman and an arctic traveller of the most +expert kind, who knew by instinct where the best places for shelter and +for sleeping might be found, who never complained, and was wonderful with +the dogs. Close as their association was, Bickersteth had felt concerning +the other that his real self was in some other sphere or place toward +which his mind was always turning, as though to bring it back. + +Again and again had Bickersteth tried to get the old man to speak about +the past, but he had been met by a dumb sort of look, a straining to +understand. Once or twice the old man had taken his hands in both of his +own and gazed with painful eagerness into his face, as though trying to +remember or to comprehend something that eluded him. Upon these occasions +the old man's eyes dropped tears in an apathetic quiet, which tortured +Bickersteth beyond bearing. Just such a look he had seen in the eyes of a +favorite dog when he had performed an operation on it to save its life--a +reproachful, non-comprehending, loving gaze. + +Bickersteth understood a little of the Chinook language, which is familiar +to most Indian tribes, and he had learned that the Indians knew nothing +exact concerning the old man; but rumors had passed from tribe to tribe +that this white man had lived forever in the farthest North among the +arctic tribes, and that he passed from people to people, disappearing into +the untenanted wilderness, but reappearing again among stranger tribes, +never resting, and as one always seeking what he could not find. + +One thing had helped this old man in all his travels and sojourning. He +had, as it seemed to the native people, a gift of the hands; for when they +were sick a few moments' manipulation of his huge, quiet fingers +vanquished pain. A few herbs he gave in tincture, and these also were +praised; but it was a legend that when he was persuaded to lay on his +hands and close his eyes, and with his fingers to "search for the pain and +find it, and kill it," he always prevailed. They believed that, though his +body was on earth, his soul was with Manitou, and that it was his soul +which came into him again, and gave the Great Spirit's healing to the +fingers. This had been the man's safety through how many years--or how +many generations--they did not know; for legends regarding the pilgrim had +grown and were fostered by the medicine-men, who, by giving him great age +and supernatural power, could, with more self-respect, apologize for their +own incapacity. + +So the years--how many it was impossible to tell, since he did not know or +would not say--had gone on; and now, after ceaseless wandering, his face +was turned toward that civilization out of which he had come so long +ago--or was it so long ago?--one generation, or two, or ten? It seemed to +Bickersteth at times as though it were ten, so strange, so unworldly was +his companion. At first he thought that the man remembered more than he +would appear to acknowledge, but he found that after a day or two +everything that happened as they journeyed was also forgotten. + +It was only visible things, or sounds, that appeared to open the doors of +memory of the most recent happenings. These happenings, if not varied, +were of critical moment, since, passing down from the land of unchanging +ice and snow, they had come into March and April storms and the perils of +the rapids and the swollen floods of May. Now, in June, two years and a +month since Bickersteth had gone into the wilds, they looked down upon the +goal of one at least--of the younger man who had triumphed in his quest up +in these wilds abandoned centuries ago. + +With the joyous thought in his heart that he had discovered anew one of +the greatest gold-fields of the world, that a journey unparalleled had +been accomplished, he turned toward his ancient companion, and a feeling +of pity and human love enlarged within him. He, John Bickersteth, was +going into a world again where--as he believed--a happy fate awaited him; +but what of this old man? He had brought him out of the wilds, out of the +unknown--was he only taking him into the unknown again? Were there +friends, any friends anywhere in the world, waiting for him? He called +himself by no name, he said he had no name. Whence came he? Of whom? +Whither was he wending now? Bickersteth had thought of the problem often, +and he had no answer for it save that he must be taken care of, if not by +others, then by himself; for the old man had saved him from drowning; had +also saved him from an awful death on a March day when he fell into a +great hole and was knocked insensible in the drifting snow; had saved him +from brooding on himself--the beginning of madness--by compelling him to +think for another. And sometimes, as he looked at the old man, his +imagination had caught the spirit of the legend of the Indians, and he had +cried out, "O soul, come back and give him memory--give him back his +memory, Manitou the mighty!" + +[Illustration: THE OLD MAN SHOOK HIS HEAD. THOUGH NOT WITH UNDERSTANDING] + +Looking on the old man now, an impulse seized him. "Dear old man," he +said, speaking as one speaks to a child that cannot understand, "you shall +never want while I have a penny, or have head or hands to work. But is +there no one that you care for or that cares for you, that you remember, +or that remembers you?" + +The old man shook his head, though not with understanding, and he laid a +hand on the young man's shoulder, and whispered: + +"Once it was always snow, but now it is green, the land. I have seen it--I +have seen it once." His shaggy eyebrows gathered over, his eyes searched, +searched the face of John Bickersteth. "Once, so long ago--I cannot +think," he added, helplessly. + +"Dear old man," Bickersteth said, gently, knowing he would not wholly +comprehend, "I am going to ask her--Alice--to marry me, and if she does, +she will help look after you, too. Neither of us would have been here +without the other, dear old man, and we shall not be separated. Whoever +you are, you are a gentleman, and you might have been my father or +hers--or hers." + +He stopped suddenly. A thought had flashed through his mind, a thought +which stunned him, which passed like some powerful current through his +veins, shocked him, then gave him a palpitating life. It was a wild +thought, but yet why not?--why not? There was the chance, the faint, +far-off chance. He caught the old man by the shoulders and looked him in +the eyes, scanned his features, pushed back the hair from the rugged +forehead. + +"Dear old man," he said, his voice shaking, "do you know what I'm +thinking? I'm thinking that you may be of those who went out to the Arctic +Sea with Sir John Franklin--with Sir John Franklin, you understand. Did +you know Sir John Franklin?--is it true, dear old boy?--is it true? Are +you one that has lived to tell the tale? Did you know Sir John +Franklin?--is it--tell me, is it true?" + +He let go the old man's shoulders, for over the face of the other there +had passed a change. It was strained and tense. The hands were +outstretched, the eyes were staring straight into the west and the coming +night. + +"It is--it is--that's it!" cried Bickersteth. "That's it--oh, love o' God, +that's it! Sir John Franklin--Sir John Franklin, and all the brave lads +that died up there! You remember the ship--the Arctic Sea--the ice-fields, +and Franklin--you remember him? Dear old man, say you remember Franklin?" + +The thing had seized him. Conviction was upon him, and he watched the +other's anguished face with anguish and excitement in his own. But--but it +might be, it might be her father--the eyes, the forehead are like hers; +the hands, the long hands, the pointed fingers. "Dear old man, did you +have a wife and child, and were they both called Alice--do you remember? +Franklin!--Alice! Do you remember?" + +The old man got slowly to his feet, his arms outstretched, the look in his +face changing, understanding, struggling for its place, memory fighting +for its own, the soul contending for its mastery. + +"Franklin--Alice--the snow," he said, confusedly, and sank down. + +"God have mercy!" cried Bickersteth, as he caught the swaying body and +laid it upon the ground. "He was there--almost." + +He settled the old man against the great pine stump and chafed his hands. +"Man, dear man, if you belong to her--if you do, can't you see what it +will mean to me? She can't say no to me then. But if it's true, you'll +belong to England and to all the world, too, and you'll have fame +everlasting. I'll have gold for her and for you, and for your Alice, too, +dear old man. Wake up now and remember if you are Dyke Allingham, who went +with Franklin to the silent seas of the Pole. If it's you, really you, +what wonder you lost your memory! You saw them all die, Franklin and all, +die there in the snow, with all the white world round them. If you were +there, what a travel you have had, what strange things you have seen! +Where the world is loneliest, God lives most. If you get close to the +heart of things, it's no marvel you forgot what you were, or where you +came from; because it didn't matter; you knew that you were only one of +thousands of millions who have come and gone, that make up the soul of +things, that make the pulses of the universe beat. That's it, dear old +man. The universe would die, if it weren't for the souls that leave this +world and fill it with life. Wake up! Wake up, Allingham, and tell us +where you've been, and what you've seen." + +He did not labor in vain. Slowly consciousness came back, and the gray +eyes opened wide, the lips smiled faintly under the bushy beard; but +Bickersteth saw that the look in the face was much the same as it had been +before. The struggle had been too great, the fight for the other lost self +had exhausted him, mind and body, and only a deep obliquity and a great +weariness filled the countenance. He had come back to the verge, he had +almost again discovered himself; but the opening door had shut fast +suddenly, and he was back again in the night, the incompanionable night of +forgetfulness. + +Bickersteth saw that the travail and strife had drained life and energy, +and that he must not press the mind and vitality of this exile of time and +the unknown too far. He felt that when the next test came the old man +would either break completely, and sink down into another and everlasting +forgetfulness, or tear away forever the veil between himself and his past, +and emerge into a long-lost life. His strength must be shepherded, and he +must be kept quiet and undisturbed until they came to the town yonder in +the valley, over which the night was slowly settling down. There two women +waited, the two Alices, from both of whom had gone lovers into the North. +The daughter was living over again in her young love the pangs of suspense +through which her mother had passed. Two years since Bickersteth had gone, +and not a sign! + +Yet, if the girl had looked from her bedroom window, this Friday night, +she would have seen on the far hill a sign; for there burned a fire beside +which sat two travellers who had come from the uttermost limits of snow. +But as the fire burned--a beacon to her heart if she had but known it--she +went to her bed, the words of a song she had sung at choir-practice with +tears in her voice and in her heart ringing in her ears. A concert was to +be held after the service on the coming Sunday night, at which there was +to be a collection for funds to build another mission-house a hundred +miles farther north, and she had been practising music she was to sing. +Her mother had been an amateur singer of great power, and she was renewing +her mother's gift in a voice behind which lay a hidden sorrow. As she +cried herself to sleep the words of the song which had moved her kept +ringing in her ears and echoing in her heart: + + "When the swallows homeward fly, + And the roses' bloom is o'er--" + +But her mother, looking out into the night, saw on the far hill the fire, +burning like a star, where she had never seen a fire set before, and a +hope shot into her heart for her daughter--a hope that had flamed up and +died down so often during the past year. Yet she had fanned with +heartening words every such glimmer of hope when it came, and now she went +to bed saying, "Perhaps he will come to-morrow." In her mind, too, rang +the words of the song which had ravished her ears that night, the song she +had sung the night before her own husband, Dyke Allingham, had gone with +Franklin to the Polar seas: + + "When the swallows homeward fly--" + +As she and her daughter entered the little church on the Sunday evening, +two men came over the prairie slowly toward the town, and both raised +their heads to the sound of the church-bell calling to prayer. In the eyes +of the younger man there was a look which has come to many in this world +returning from hard enterprise and great dangers, to the familiar streets, +the friendly faces of men of their kin and clan--to the lights of home. + +The face of the older man, however, had another look. It was such a +look as is seldom seen in the faces of men, for it showed the struggle +of a soul to regain its identity. The words which the old man had +uttered in response to Bickersteth's appeal before he fainted +away--"Franklin--Alice--the snow"--had showed that he was on the verge; +the bells of the church pealing in the summer air brought him near it once +again. How many years had gone since he had heard church-bells? +Bickersteth, gazing at him in eager scrutiny, wondered if, after all, he +might be mistaken about him. But no, this man had never been born and +bred in the Far North. His was a type which belonged to the civilization +from which he himself had come. There would soon be the test of it all. +Yet he shuddered, too, to think what might happen if it was all true, +and discovery or reunion should shake to the centre the very life of +the two long-parted ones. + +He saw the look of perplexed pain and joy at once in the face of the old +man, but he said nothing, and he was almost glad when the bell stopped. +The old man turned to him. + +"What is it?" he said. "I remember--" but he stopped suddenly, shaking his +head. + +An hour later, cleared of the dust of travel, the two walked slowly toward +the church from the little tavern where they were lodged. The service was +now over, but the concert had begun. The church was full, and there were +people in the porch; but these made way for the two strangers; and, as +Bickersteth was recognized by two or three present, place was found for +them. Inside, the old man stared round him in a confused and troubled way, +but his motions were quiet and abstracted, and he looked like some old +viking, his workaday life done, come to pray ere he went hence forever. +They had entered in a pause in the concert, but now two ladies came +forward to the chancel steps, and one with her hands clasped before her, +began to sing: + + "When the swallows homeward fly, + And the roses' bloom is o'er, + And the nightingale's sweet song + In the woods is heard no more--" + +It was Alice--Alice the daughter--and presently the mother, the other +Alice, joined in the refrain. At sight of them Bickersteth's eyes had +filled, not with tears, but with a cloud of feeling, so that he went +blind. There she was, the girl he loved. Her voice was ringing in his +ears. In his own joy for one instant he had forgotten the old man beside +him and the great test that was now upon him. He turned quickly, however, +as the old man got to his feet. For an instant the lost exile of the North +stood as though transfixed. The blood slowly drained from his face, and in +his eyes was an agony of struggle and desire. For a moment an awful +confusion had the mastery, and then suddenly a clear light broke into his +eyes, his face flushed healthily and shone, his arms went up, and there +rang in his ears the words: + + "Then I think, with bitter pain, + Shall we ever meet again + When the swallows homeward fly?" + +"Alice!--Alice!" he called, and tottered forward up the aisle, followed by +John Bickersteth. + +"Alice, I have come back!" he cried again. + + + + +GEORGE'S WIFE + + +"She's come, and she can go back. No one asked her, no one wants her, and +she's got no rights here. She thinks she'll come it over me, but she'll +get nothing, and there's no place for her here." + +The old, gray-bearded man, gnarled and angular, with overhanging brows and +a harsh face, made this little speech of malice and unfriendliness, +looking out on the snow-covered prairie through the window. Far in the +distance were a sleigh and horses like a spot in the snow, growing larger +from minute to minute. + +It was a day of days. Overhead the sun was pouring out a flood of light +and warmth, and, though it was bitterly cold, life was beating hard in the +bosom of the West. Men walked lightly, breathed quickly, and their eyes +were bright with the brightness of vitality and content. Even the old man +at the window of this lonely house, in a great, lonely stretch of country, +with the cedar hills behind it, had a living force which defied his +seventy-odd years, though the light in his face was hard and his voice was +harder still. Under the shelter of the foothills, cold as the day was, his +cattle were feeding in the open, scratching away the thin layer of snow +and browsing on the tender grass underneath. An arctic world in +appearance, it had an abounding life which made it friendly and +generous--the harshness belonged to the surface. So, perhaps, it was with +the old man who watched the sleigh in the distance coming nearer, but that +in his nature on which any one could feed was not so easily reached as the +fresh young grass under the protecting snow. + +"She'll get nothing out of me," he repeated, as the others in the room +behind him made no remark, and his eyes ranged gloatingly over the cattle +under the foothills and the buildings which he had gathered together to +proclaim his substantial greatness in the West. "Not a _sou markee_!" he +added, clinking some coins in his pocket. "She's got no rights." + +"Cassy's got as much right here as any of us, Abel, and she's coming to +say it, I guess." + +The voice which spoke was unlike a Western voice. It was deep and full and +slow, with an organ-like quality. It was in good-keeping with the tall, +spare body and large, fine, rugged face of the woman to whom it belonged. +She sat in a rocking-chair, but did not rock, her fingers busy with the +knitting-needles, her feet planted squarely on the home-made hassock at +her feet. + +The old man waited for a minute in a painful silence, then he turned +slowly round, and, with tight-pressed lips, looked at the woman in the +rocking-chair. If it had been any one else who had "talked back" at him, +he would have made quick work of them, for he was of that class of tyrant +who pride themselves on being self-made, and have an undue respect for +their own judgment and importance. But the woman who had ventured to +challenge his cold-blooded remarks about his dead son's wife, now +hastening over the snow to the house her husband had left under a cloud +eight years before, had no fear of him, and, maybe, no deep regard for +him. He respected her, as did all who knew her--a very reticent, +thoughtful, busy being, who had been like a well of comfort to so many +that had drunk and passed on out of her life, out of time and time's +experiences. Seventy-nine years saw her still upstanding, strong, full of +work, and fuller of life's knowledge. It was she who had sent the horses +and sleigh for Cassy when the old man, having read the letter that Cassy +had written him, said that she could "freeze at the station" for all of +him. Aunt Kate had said nothing then, but, when the time came, by her +orders the sleigh and horses were at the station; and the old man had made +no direct protest, for she was the one person he had never dominated nor +bullied. If she had only talked, he would have worn her down, for he was +fond of talking, and it was said by those who were cynical and incredulous +about him that he had gone to prayer-meetings, had been a local preacher, +only to hear his own voice. Probably, if there had been any politics in +the West in his day, he would have been a politician, though it would have +been too costly for his taste, and religion was very cheap; it enabled him +to refuse to join in many forms of expenditure, on the ground that he "did +not hold by such things." + +In Aunt Kate, the sister of his wife, dead so many years ago, he had found +a spirit stronger than his own. He valued her; he had said more than once, +to those who he thought would never repeat it to her, that she was a +"great woman"; but self-interest was the mainspring of his appreciation. +Since she had come again to his house--she had lived with him once before +for two years when his wife was slowly dying--it had been a different +place. Housekeeping had cost less than before, yet the cooking was better, +the place was beautifully clean, and discipline without rigidity reigned +everywhere. One by one the old woman's boys and girls had died--four of +them--and she was now alone, with not a single grandchild left to cheer +her; and the life out here with Abel Baragar had been unrelieved by much +that was heartening to a woman; for Black Andy, Abel's son, was not an +inspiring figure, though even his moroseness gave way under her influence. +So it was that when Cassy's letter came her breast seemed to grow warmer +and swell with longing to see the wife of her nephew, who had such a bad +reputation in Abel's eyes, and to see George's little boy, who was coming, +too. After all, whatever Cassy was, she was the mother of Abel's son's +son; and Aunt Kate was too old and wise to be frightened by tales told of +Cassy or any one else. So, having had her own way so far regarding Cassy's +coming, she looked Abel calmly in the eyes, over the gold-rimmed +spectacles which were her dearest possession--almost the only thing of +value she had. She was not afraid of Abel's anger, and he knew it; but his +eldest son, Black Andy, was present, and he must make a show of being +master of the situation. + +"Aunt Kate," he said, "I didn't make a fuss about you sending the horses +and sleigh for her, because women do fool things sometimes. I suppose +curiosity got the best of you. Anyhow, mebbe it's right Cassy should find +out, once for all, how things stand, and that they haven't altered since +she took George away, and ruined his life, and sent him to his grave. +That's why I didn't order Mick back when I saw him going out with the +team." + +"Cassy Mavor," interjected a third voice from a corner behind the great +stove--"Cassy Mavor, of the variety-dance-and-song, and a talk with the +gallery between!" + +Aunt Kate looked over at Black Andy, and stopped knitting, for there was +that in the tone of the sullen ranchman which stirred in her a sudden +anger, and anger was a rare and uncomfortable sensation to her. A flush +crept slowly over her face, then it died away, and she said quietly to +Black Andy--for she had ever prayed to be master of the demon of temper +down deep in her, and she was praying now-- + +"She earnt her living by singing and dancing, and she's brought up +George's boy by it, and singing and dancing isn't a crime. David danced +before the Lord. I danced myself when I was a young girl, and before I +joined the church. 'Twas about the only pleasure I ever had; 'bout the +only one I like to remember. There's no difference to me 'twixt making +your feet handy and clever and full of music, and playing with your +fingers on the piano or on a melodeon at a meeting. As for singing, it's +God's gift; and many a time I wisht I had it. I'd have sung the blackness +out of your face and heart, Andy." She leaned back again and began to knit +very fast. "I'd like to hear Cassy sing, and see her dance, too." + +Black Andy chuckled coarsely. "I often heard her sing and saw her dance +down at Lumley's before she took George away East. You wouldn't have +guessed she had consumption. She knocked the boys over down to Lumley's. +The first night at Lumley's done for George." + +Black Andy's face showed no lightening of its gloom as he spoke, but there +was a firing-up of the black eyes, and the woman with the knitting felt +that--for whatever reason--he was purposely irritating his father. + +"The devil was in her heels and in her tongue," Andy continued. "With her +big mouth, red hair, and little eyes she'd have made anybody laugh. I +laughed." + +"You laughed!" snapped out his father, with a sneer. + +Black Andy's eyes half closed with a morose look, then he went on: "Yes, I +laughed at Cassy. While she was out here at Lumley's getting cured, +accordin' to the doctor's orders, things seemed to get a move on in the +West. But it didn't suit professing Christians like you, dad." He jerked +his head toward the old man and drew the spittoon near with his feet. + +"The West hasn't been any worse off since she left," snarled the old man. + +"Well, she took George with her," grimly retorted Black Andy. + +Abel Baragar's heart had been warmer toward his dead son George than to +any one else in the world. George had been as fair of face and hair as +Andrew was dark, as cheerful and amusing as Andrew was gloomy and +dispiriting, as agile and dexterous of mind and body as his brother was +slow and angular, as emotional and warm-hearted as the other was +phlegmatic and sour--or so it seemed to the father and to nearly all +others. + +In those old days they had not been very well off. The railway was not +completed, and the West had not begun "to move." The old man had bought +and sold land and cattle and horses, always living on a narrow margin of +safety, but in the hope that one day the choice bits of land he was +shepherding here and there would take a leap up in value; and his judgment +had been right. His prosperity had all come since George went away with +Cassy Mavor. His anger at George had been the more acute, because the +thing happened at a time when his affairs were on the edge of a precipice. +He had won through it, but only by the merest shave, and it had all left +him with a bad spot in his heart, in spite of his "having religion." +Whenever he remembered George he instinctively thought of those black days +when a Land and Cattle Syndicate was crowding him over the edge into the +chasm of failure, and came so near doing it. A few thousand dollars less +to put up here and there, and he would have been ruined; his blood became +hotter whenever he thought of it. He had had to fight the worst of it +through alone, for George, who had been useful as a kind of buyer and +seller, who was ever all things to all men, and ready with quip and jest, +and not a little uncertain as to truth--to which the old man shut his eyes +when there was a "deal" on--had, in the end, been of no use at all, and +had seemed to go to pieces just when he was most needed. His father had +put it all down to Cassy Mavor, who had unsettled things since she had +come to Lumley's, and, being a man of very few ideas, he cherished those +he had with an exaggerated care. Prosperity had not softened him; it had +given him an arrogance unduly emphasized by a reputation for rigid virtue +and honesty. The indirect attack which Andrew now made on George's memory +roused him to anger, as much because it seemed to challenge his own +judgment as cast a slight on the name of the boy whom he had cast off, yet +who had a firmer hold on his heart than any human being ever had. It had +only been pride which had prevented him from making it up with George +before it was too late; but, all the more, he was set against the woman +who "kicked up her heels for a living"; and, all the more, he resented +Black Andy, who, in his own grim way, had managed to remain a partner with +him in their present prosperity, and had done so little for it. + +"George helped to make what you've got," he said, darkly, now. "The West +missed George. The West said, 'There was a good man ruined by a woman.' +The West'd never think anything or anybody missed you, 'cept yourself. +When you went North, it never missed you; when you come back, its jaw +fell. You wasn't fit to black George's boots." + +Black Andy's mouth took on a bitter sort of smile, and his eyes drooped +furtively as he struck the damper of the stove heavily with his foot; then +he replied, slowly: + +"Well, that's all right; but if I wasn't fit to black his boots, it ain't +my fault. I git my nature honest, as he did. We wasn't any cross-breeds, I +s'pose. We got the strain direct, and we was all right on her side." + +He jerked his head toward Aunt Kate, whose face was growing pale. She +interposed now. + +"Can't you leave the dead alone?" she asked, in a voice ringing a little. +"Can't you let them rest? Ain't it enough to quarrel about the living? +Cassy'll be here soon," she added, peering out of the window, "and if I +was you I'd try and not make her sorry she ever married a Baragar. It +ain't a feeling that'd make a sick woman live long." + +Aunt Kate did not strike often, but when she did she struck hard. Abel +Baragar staggered a little under this blow, for, at the moment, it seemed +to him that he saw his dead wife's face looking at him from the chair +where her sister now sat. Down in his ill-furnished heart, where there had +been little which was companionable, there was a shadowed corner. Sophy +Baragar had been such a true-hearted, brave-souled woman, and he had been +so impatient and exacting with her, till the beautiful face, which had +been reproduced in George, had lost its color and its fire, had become +careworn and sweet with that sweetness which goes early out of the world. +In all her days the vanished wife had never hinted at as much as Aunt Kate +suggested now, and Abel Baragar shut his eyes against the thing which he +was seeing. He was not all hard, after all. + +Aunt Kate turned to Black Andy now. + +"Mebbe Cassy ain't for long," she said. "Mebbe she's come out for what she +came out for before. It seems to me it's that, or she wouldn't have come; +because she's young yet, and she's fond of her boy, and she'd not want to +bury herself alive out here with us. Mebbe her lungs is bad again." + +"Then she's sure to get another husband out here," said the old man, +recovering himself. "She got one before easy, on the same ticket." With +something of malice he looked over at Black Andy. + +"If she can sing and dance as she done nine years ago, I shouldn't +wonder," answered Black Andy, smoothly. These two men knew each other; +they had said hard things to each other for many a year, yet they lived on +together unshaken by each other's moods and bitternesses. + +"I'm getting old--I'm seventy-nine--and I ain't for long," urged Aunt +Kate, looking Abel in the eyes. "Some day soon I'll be stepping out and +away. Then things'll go to sixes and sevens, as they did after Sophy died. +Some one ought to be here that's got a right to be here, not a hired +woman." + +Suddenly the old man raged out: + +"Her--off the stage to look after this! Her, that's kicked up her heels +for a living! It's--no, she's no good. She's common. She's come, and she +can go. I ain't having sweepings from the streets living here as if they +had rights." + +Aunt Kate set her lips. + +"Sweepings! You've got to take that back, Abel. It's not Christian. You've +got to take that back." + +"He'll take it back all right before we've done, I guess," remarked Black +Andy. "He'll take a lot back." + +"Truth's truth, and I'll stand by it, and--" + +The old man stopped, for there came to them now, clearly, the sound of +sleigh-bells. They all stood still for an instant, silent and attentive, +then Aunt Kate moved toward the door. + +"Cassy's come," she said. "Cassy and George's boy've come." + +Another instant and the door was opened on the beautiful, white, sparkling +world, and the low sleigh, with its great, warm, buffalo robes, in which +the small figures of a woman and a child were almost lost, stopped at the +door. Two whimsical but tired eyes looked over a rim of fur at the old +woman in the doorway, then Cassy's voice rang out: + +"Hello! that's Aunt Kate, I know! Well, here we are, and here's my boy. +Jump, George!" + +A moment later and the gaunt old woman folded both mother and son in her +arms and drew them into the room. The door was shut, and they all faced +one another. + +The old man and Black Andy did not move, but stood staring at the trim +figure in black, with the plain face, large mouth, and tousled red hair, +and the dreamy-eyed, handsome little boy beside her. + +Black Andy stood behind the stove, looking over at the new-comers with +quizzical, almost furtive eyes, and his father remained for a moment with +mouth open, gazing at his dead son's wife and child, as though not quite +comprehending the scene. The sight of the boy had brought back, in some +strange, embarrassing way, a vision of thirty years before, when George +was a little boy in buckskin pants and jacket, and was beginning to ride +the prairie with him. This boy was like George, yet not like him. The face +was George's, the sensuous, luxurious mouth; but the eyes were not those +of a Baragar, nor yet those of Aunt Kate's family; and they were not +wholly like the mother's. They were full and brimming, while hers were +small and whimsical; yet they had her quick, humorous flashes and her +quaintness. + +"Have I changed so much? Have you forgotten me?" Cassy asked, looking the +old man in the eyes. "You look as strong as a bull." She held out her hand +to him and laughed. + +"Hope I see you well," said Abel Baragar, mechanically, as he took the +hand and shook it awkwardly. + +"Oh, I'm all right," answered the nonchalant little woman, undoing her +jacket. "Shake hands with your grandfather, George. That's right--don't +talk too much," she added, with a half-nervous little laugh, as the old +man, with a kind of fixed smile, and the child shook hands in silence. + +Presently she saw Black Andy behind the stove. "Well, Andy, have you been +here ever since?" she asked, and, as he came forward, she suddenly caught +him by both arms, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. "Last time I saw you, +you were behind the stove at Lumley's. Nothing's ever too warm for you," +she added. "You'd be shivering on the equator. You were always hugging the +stove at Lumley's." + +"Things were pretty warm there, too, Cassy," he said, with a sidelong look +at his father. + +She saw the look, her face flushed with sudden temper, then her eyes fell +on her boy, now lost in the arms of Aunt Kate, and she curbed herself. + +"There were plenty of things doing at Lumley's in those days," she said, +brusquely. "We were all young and fresh then," she added, and then +something seemed to catch her voice, and she coughed a little--a hard, +dry, feverish cough. "Are the Lumleys all right? Are they still there, at +the Forks?" she asked, after the little paroxysm of coughing. + +"Cleaned out--all scattered. We own the Lumleys' place now," replied Black +Andy, with another sidelong glance at his father, who, as he put some more +wood on the fire and opened the damper of the stove wider, grimly watched +and listened. + +"Jim, and Lance, and Jerry, and Abner?" she asked, almost abstractedly. + +"Jim's dead--shot by a U. S. marshal by mistake for a smuggler," answered +Black Andy, suggestively. "Lance is up on the Yukon, busted; Jerry is one +of our hands on the place; and Abner is in jail." + +"Abner--in jail!" she exclaimed, in a dazed way. "What did he do? Abner +always seemed so straight." + +[Illustration: GEORGE'S WIFE] + +"Oh, he sloped with a thousand dollars of the railway people's money. They +caught him, and he got seven years." + +"He was married, wasn't he?" she asked, in a low voice. + +"Yes, to Phenie Tyson. There's no children, so she's all right, and +divorce is cheap over in the States, where she is now." + +"Phenie Tyson didn't marry Abner because he was a saint, but because he +was a man, I suppose," she replied, gravely. "And the old folks?" + +"Both dead. What Abner done sent the old man to his grave. But Abner's +mother died a year before." + +"What Abner done killed his father," said Abel Baragar, with dry emphasis. +"Phenie Tyson was extravagant--wanted this and that, and nothin' was too +good for her. Abner spoilt his life gettin' her what she wanted; and it +broke old Ezra Lumley's heart." + +George's wife looked at him for a moment with her eyes screwed up, and +then she laughed softly. "My, it's curious how some folks go up and some +go down! It must be lonely for Phenie waiting all these years for Abner to +get free.... I had the happiest time in my life at Lumley's. I was getting +better of my--cold. While I was there I got lots of strength stored up, to +last me many a year when I needed it; and, then, George and I were married +at Lumley's!" + +Aunt Kate came slowly over with the boy and laid a hand on Cassy's +shoulder, for there was an undercurrent to the conversation which boded no +good. The very first words uttered had plunged Abel Baragar and his son's +wife into the midst of the difficulty which she had hoped might, after +all, be avoided. + +"Come, and I'll show you your room, Cassy," she said. "It faces south, and +you'll get the sun all day. It's like a sun-parlor. We're going to have +supper in a couple of hours, and you must rest some first. Is the house +warm enough for you?" + +The little, garish woman did not reply directly, but shook back her red +hair and caught her boy to her breast and kissed him; then she said, in +that staccato manner which had given her words on the stage such point and +emphasis: "Oh, this house is a'most too warm for me, Aunt Kate!" + +Then she moved toward the door with the grave, kindly old woman, her son's +hand in her own. + +"You can see the Lumleys' place from your window, Cassy," said Black Andy, +grimly. "We got a mortgage on it, and foreclosed it, and it's ours now; +and Jerry Lumley's stock-riding for us. Anyhow, he's better off than +Abner, or Abner's wife." + +Cassy turned at the door and faced him. Instinctively she caught at some +latent conflict with old Abel Baragar in what Black Andy had said, and her +face softened, for it suddenly flashed into her mind that he was not +against her. + +"I'm glad to be back West," she said. "It meant a lot to me when I was at +Lumley's." She coughed a little again, but turned to the door with a +laugh. + +"How long have you come to stay here--out West?" asked the old man, +furtively. + +"Oh, there's plenty of time to think of that!" she answered, brusquely, +and she heard Black Andy laugh derisively as the door closed behind her. + + * * * * * + +In a blaze of joy the sun swept down behind the southern hills, and the +windows of Lumley's house at the Forks, catching the oblique rays, +glittered and shone like flaming silver. Nothing of life showed, save the +cattle here and there, creeping away to the shelter of the foothills for +the night. The white, placid snow made a coverlet as wide as the vision of +the eye, save where spruce and cedar trees gave a touch of warmth and +refuge here and there. A wonderful, buoyant peace seemed to rest upon the +wide, silent expanse. The birds of song were gone South over the hills, +and the living wild things of the prairies had stolen into +winter-quarters. Yet, as Cassy Mavor looked out upon the exquisite beauty +of the scene, upon the splendid outspanning of the sun along the hills, +the deep plangent blue of the sky and the thrilling light, she saw a world +in agony and she heard the moans of the afflicted. The sun shone bright on +the windows of Lumley's house, but she could hear the crying of Abner's +wife, and of old Ezra and Eliza Lumley, when their children were stricken +or shamed; when Abel Baragar drew tighter and tighter the chains of the +mortgage, which at last made them tenants in the house once their own. +Only eight years ago, and all this had happened. And what had not happened +to her, too, in those eight years! + +With George--reckless, useless, loving, lying George--she had left +Lumley's with her sickness cured, as it seemed, after a long year in the +West, and had begun life again. What sort of life had it been? "Kicking up +her heels on the stage," as Abel Baragar had said; but, somehow, not as it +was before she went West to give her perforated lung to the healing air of +the plains, and to live out-doors with the men--a man's life. Then she had +never put a curb on her tongue, or greatly on her actions, except that, +though a hundred men quarrelled openly, or in their own minds, about her, +no one had ever had any _right_ to quarrel about her. With a tongue which +made men gasp with laughter, with as comic a gift as ever woman had, and +as equally comic a face, she had been a good-natured little tyrant in her +way. She had given a kiss here and there, and had taken one, but always +there had been before her mind the picture of a careworn woman who +struggled to bring up her three children honestly, and without the help of +charity, and, with a sigh of content and weariness, had died as Cassy made +her first hit on the stage and her name became a household word. And +Cassy, garish, gay, freckled, witty, and whimsical, had never forgotten +those days when her mother prayed and worked her heart out to do her duty +by her children. Cassy Mavor had made her following, had won her place, +was the idol of "the gallery"; and yet she was "of the people," as she had +always been, until her first sickness came, and she had gone out to +Lumley's, out along the foothills of the Rockies. + +What had made her fall in love with George Baragar? She could not have +told, if she had been asked. He was wayward, given to drink at times, +given also to card-playing and racing; but he had a way with him which few +women could resist and that made men his friends; and he had a sense of +humor akin to her own. In any case, one day she let him catch her up in +his arms, and there was the end of it. But no, not the end, after all. It +was only the beginning of real life for her. All that had gone before +seemed but playing on the threshold, though it had meant hard, bitter +hard, work, and temptation, and patience, and endurance of many kinds. And +now George was gone forever. But George's little boy lay there on the bed +in a soft sleep, with all his life before him. + +She turned from the warm window and the buoyant, inspiring scene to the +bed. Stooping over, she kissed the sleeping boy with an abrupt eagerness, +and made a little awkward, hungry gesture of love over him, and her face +flushed hot with the passion of motherhood in her. + +"All I've got now," she murmured. "Nothing else left--nothing else at +all." + +She heard the door open behind her, and she turned round. Aunt Kate was +entering with a bowl in her hands. + +"I heard you moving about, and I've brought you something hot to drink," +she said. + +"That's real good of you, Aunt Kate," was the cheerful reply. "But it's +near supper-time, and I don't need it." + +"It's boneset tea--for your cold," answered Aunt Kate, gently, and put it +on the high dressing-table made of a wooden box and covered with muslin. +"For your cold, Cassy," she repeated. + +The little woman stood still a moment gazing at the steaming bowl, lines +growing suddenly around her mouth, then she looked at Aunt Kate +quizzically. "Is my cold bad--so bad that I need boneset?" she asked, in a +queer, constrained voice. + +"It's comforting, is boneset tea, even when there's no cold, 'specially +when the whiskey's good, and the boneset and camomile has steeped some +days." + +"Have you been steeping them some days?" Cassy asked, softly, eagerly. + +Aunt Kate nodded, then tried to explain. + +"It's always good to be prepared, and I didn't know but what the cold you +used to have might be come back," she said. "But I'm glad if it ain't--if +that cough of yours is only one of the measly little hacks people get in +the East, where it's so damp." + +Cassy was at the window again, looking out at the dying radiance of the +sun. Her voice seemed hollow and strange and rather rough, as she said, in +reply: + +"It's a real cold, deep down, the same as I had nine years ago, Aunt Kate; +and it's come to stay, I guess. That's why I came back West. But I +couldn't have gone to Lumley's again, even if they were at the Forks now, +for I'm too poor. I'm a back-number now. I had to give up singing and +dancing a year ago, after George died. So I don't earn my living any more, +and I had to come to George's father, with George's boy." + +Aunt Kate had a shrewd mind, and was tactful, too. She did not understand +why Cassy, who had earned so much money all these years, should be so poor +now, unless it was that she hadn't saved--that she and George hadn't +saved. But, looking at the face before her, and the child on the bed, she +was convinced that the woman was a good woman; that, singer and dancer as +she was, there was no reason why any home should be closed to her, or any +heart should shut its doors before her. She guessed a reason for this +poverty of Cassy Mavor, but it only made her lay a hand on the little +woman's shoulders and look into her eyes. + +"Cassy," she said, gently, "you was right to come here. There's trials +before you, but for the boy's sake you must bear them. Sophy, George's +mother, had to bear them, and Abel was fond of her, too, in his way. He's +stored up a lot of things to say, and he'll say them; but you'll keep the +boy in your mind, and be patient, won't you, Cassy? You got rights here, +and it's comfortable, and there's plenty, and the air will cure your lung +as it did before. It did all right before, didn't it?" She handed the bowl +of boneset tea. "Take it; it'll do you good, Cassy," she added. + +Cassy said nothing in reply. She looked at the bed where her boy lay, she +looked at the angular face of the woman, with its brooding motherliness, +at the soft, gray hair, and, with a little gasp of feeling, she raised the +bowl to her lips and drank freely. Then, putting it down, she said: + +"He doesn't mean to have us, Aunt Kate, but I'll try and keep my temper +down. Did he ever laugh in his life?" + +"He laughs sometimes--kind o' laughs." + +"I'll make him laugh real, if I can," Cassy rejoined. "I've made a lot of +people laugh in my time." + +The old woman leaned suddenly over, and drew the red, ridiculous head to +her shoulder with a gasp of affection, and her eyes were full of tears. + +"Cassy," she exclaimed, "Cassy, you make me cry!" and then she turned and +hurried from the room. + +Three hours later the problem was solved in the big sitting-room where +Cassy had first been received with her boy. Aunt Kate sat with her feet on +a hassock, rocking gently and watching and listening. Black Andy was +behind the great stove with his chair tilted back, carving the bowl of a +pipe; the old man sat rigid by the table, looking straight before him and +smacking his lips now and then as he was wont to do at meeting; while +Cassy, with her chin in her hands and elbows on her knees, gazed into the +fire and waited for the storm to break. + +Her little flashes of humor at dinner had not brightened things, and she +had had an insane desire to turn cartwheels round the room, so implacable +and highly strained was the attitude of the master of the house, so +unctuous was the grace and the thanksgiving before and after the meal. +Abel Baragar had stored up his anger and his righteous antipathy for +years, and this was the first chance he had had of visiting his +displeasure on the woman who had "ruined" George, and who had now come to +get "rights," which he was determined she should not have. He had steeled +himself against seeing any good in her whatever. Self-will, self-pride, +and self-righteousness were big in him, and so the supper had ended in +silence, and with a little attack of coughing on the part of Cassy, which +made her angry at herself. Then the boy had been put to bed, and she had +come back to await the expected outburst. She could feel it in the air, +and while her blood tingled in a desire to fight this tyrant to the bitter +end, she thought of her boy and his future, and she calmed the tumult in +her veins. + +She did not have to wait very long. The querulous voice of the old man +broke the silence. + +"When be you goin' back East? What time did you fix for goin'?" he asked. + +She raised her head and looked at him squarely. "I didn't fix any time for +going East again," she replied. "I came out West this time to stay." + +"I thought you was on the stage," was the rejoinder. + +"I've left the stage. My voice went when I got a bad cold again, and I +couldn't stand the draughts of the theatre, and so I couldn't dance, +either. I'm finished with the stage. I've come out here for good and +all." + +"Where did you think of livin' out here?" + +"I'd like to have gone to Lumley's, but that's not possible, is it? +Anyway, I couldn't afford it now. So I thought I'd stay here, if there was +room for me." + +"You want to board here?" + +"I didn't put it to myself that way. I thought perhaps you'd be glad to +have me. I'm handy. I can cook, I can sew, and I'm quite cheerful and +kind. Then there's George--little George. I thought you'd like to have +your grandson here with you." + +"I've lived without him--or his father--for eight years, an' I could bear +it awhile yet, mebbe." + +There was a half-choking sound from the old woman in the rocking-chair, +but she did not speak, though her knitting dropped into her lap. + +"But if you knew us better, perhaps you'd like us better," rejoined Cassy, +gently. "We're both pretty easy to get on with, and we see the bright side +of things. He has a wonderful disposition, has George." + +"I ain't goin' to like you any better," said the old man, getting to his +feet. "I ain't goin' to give you any rights here. I've thought it out, and +my mind's made up. You can't come it over me. You ruined my boy's life and +sent him to his grave. He'd have lived to be an old man out here; but you +spoiled him. You trapped him into marrying you, with your kicking and your +comic songs, and your tricks of the stage, and you parted us--parted him +and me forever." + +"That was your fault. George wanted to make it up." + +"With you!" The old man's voice rose shrilly, the bitterness and passion +of years was shooting high in the narrow confines of his mind. The geyser +of his prejudice and antipathy was furiously alive. "To come back with you +that ruined him and broke up my family, and made my life like bitter +aloes! No! And if I wouldn't have him with you, do you think I'll have you +without him? By the God of Israel, no!" + +Black Andy was now standing up behind the stove intently watching, his +face grim and sombre; Aunt Kate sat with both hands gripping the arms of +the rocker. + +Cassy got slowly to her feet. "I've been as straight a woman as your +mother or your wife ever was," she said, "and all the world knows it. I'm +poor--and I might have been rich. I was true to myself before I married +George, and I was true to George after, and all I earned he shared; and +I've got little left. The mining stock I bought with what I saved went +smash, and I'm poor as I was when I started to work for myself. I can work +awhile yet; but I wanted to see if I could fit in out here and get well +again, and have my boy fixed in the house of his grandfather. That's the +way I'm placed, and that's how I came. But give a dog a bad name--ah, you +shame your dead boy in thinking bad of me! I didn't ruin him. I didn't +kill him. He never came to any bad through me. I helped him; he was happy. +Why, I--" She stopped suddenly, putting a hand to her mouth. "Go on, say +what you want to say, and let's understand once for all," she added, with +a sudden sharpness. + +Abel Baragar drew himself up. "Well, I say this. I'll give you three +thousand dollars, and you can go somewhere else to live. I'll keep the boy +here. That's what I've fixed in my mind to do. You can go, and the boy +stays. I ain't goin' to live with you that spoiled George's life." + +The eyes of the woman dilated, she trembled with a sudden rush of anger, +then stood still, staring in front of her without a word. Black Andy +stepped from behind the stove. + +"You are going to stay here, Cassy," he said, "here where you have rights +as good as any, and better than any, if it comes to that." He turned to +his father. "You thought a lot of George," he added. "He was the apple of +your eye. He had a soft tongue, and most people liked him; but George was +foolish--I've known it all these years. George was pretty foolish. He +gambled, he bet at races, he speculated--wild. You didn't know it. He took +ten thousand dollars of your money, got from the Wonegosh farm he sold for +you. He--" + +Cassy Mavor started forward with a cry, but Black Andy waved her down. + +"No, I'm going to tell it. George lost your ten thousand dollars, dad, +gambling, racing, speculating. He told her--Cassy--two days after they was +married, and she took the money she earned on the stage and give it to him +to pay you back on the quiet through the bank. You never knew, but that's +the kind of boy your son George was, and that's the kind of wife he had. +George told me all about it when I went East six years ago." + +He came over to Cassy and stood beside her. "I'm standing by George's +wife," he said, taking her hand, while she shut her eyes in her +misery--had she not hid her husband's wrong-doing all these years?--"I'm +standing by her. If it hadn't been for that ten thousand dollars she paid +back for George, you'd have been swamped, when the Syndicate got after +you, and we wouldn't have had Lumley's place, nor this, nor anything. I +guess she's got rights here, dad, as good as any." + +The old man sank slowly into a chair. "George--George stole from me--stole +money from me!" he whispered. His face was white. His pride and vainglory +were broken. He was a haggard, shaken figure. His self-righteousness was +levelled in the dust. + +With sudden impulse Cassy stole over to him and took his hand and held it +tight. + +"Don't! Don't feel so bad!" she said. "He was weak and wild then. But he +was all right afterward. He was happy with me." + +"I've owed Cassy this for a good many years, dad," said Black Andy, "and +it had to be paid. She's got better stuff in her than any Baragar." + + * * * * * + +An hour later the old man said to Cassy at the door of her room: "You got +to stay here and git well. It's yours, the same as the rest of us--what's +here." + +Then he went down-stairs and sat with Aunt Kate by the fire. + +"I guess she's a good woman," he said, at last. "I didn't use her right." + +"You've been lucky with your women-folk," Aunt Kate answered, quietly. + +"Yes, I've been lucky," he answered. "I dunno if I deserve it. Mebbe not. +Do you think she'll git well?" + +"It's a healing air out here," Aunt Kate answered, and listened to the +wood of the house snapping in the sharp frost. + + + + +MARCILE + + +That the day was beautiful, that the harvest of the West had been a great +one, that the salmon-fishing had been larger than ever before, that gold +had been found in the Yukon, made no difference to Jacques Grassette, for +he was in the condemned cell of Bindon Jail, living out those days which +pass so swiftly between the verdict of the jury and the last slow walk +with the Sheriff. + +He sat with his back to the stone wall, his hands on his knees, looking +straight before him. All that met his physical gaze was another stone +wall, but with his mind's eye he was looking beyond it into spaces far +away. His mind was seeing a little house with dormer-windows, and a steep +roof on which the snow could not lodge in winter-time; with a narrow stoop +in front where one could rest of an evening, the day's work done; the +stone-and-earth oven near by in the open, where the bread for a family of +twenty was baked; the wooden plough tipped against the fence, to wait the +"fall" cultivation; the big iron cooler in which the sap from the +maple-trees was boiled, in the days when the snow thawed and spring opened +the heart of the wood; the flash of the sickle and the scythe hard by; the +fields of the little, narrow farm running back from the St. Lawrence like +a riband; and, out on the wide stream, the great rafts with their riverine +population floating down to Michelin's mill-yards. + +For hours he had sat like this, unmoving, his gnarled red hands clamping +each leg as though to hold him steady while he gazed; and he saw himself +as a little lad, barefooted, doing chores, running after the shaggy, +troublesome pony which would let him catch it when no one else could, and, +with only a halter on, galloping wildly back to the farm-yard, to be +hitched up in the cariole which had once belonged to the old Seigneur. He +saw himself as a young man back from "the States," where he had been +working in the mills, regarded austerely by little Father Roche, who had +given him his first Communion--for, down in Massachusetts he had learned +to wear his curly hair plastered down on his forehead, smoke bad cigars, +and drink "old Bourbon," to bet and to gamble, and be a figure at +horse-races. + +Then he saw himself, his money all gone, but the luck still with him, at +Mass on the Sunday before going to the backwoods lumber-camp for the +winter, as boss of a hundred men. He had a way with him, and he had +brains, had Jacques Grassette, and he could manage men, as Michelin the +lumber-king himself had found in a great river-row and strike, when +bloodshed seemed certain. Even now the ghost of a smile played at his lips +as he recalled the surprise of the old _habitants_ and of Father Roche +when he was chosen for this responsible post; for to run a great +lumber-camp well, hundreds of miles from civilisation, where there is no +visible law, no restraints of ordinary organized life, and where men, for +seven months together, never saw a woman or a child, and ate pork and +beans, and drank white whiskey, was a task of administration as difficult +as managing a small republic new-created out of violent elements of +society. But Michelin was right, and the old Seigneur, Sir Henri +Robitaille, who was a judge of men, knew he was right, as did also +Hennepin the school-master, whose despair Jacques had been, for he never +worked at his lessons as a boy, and yet he absorbed Latin and mathematics +by some sure but unexplainable process. "Ah, if you would but work, +Jacques, you _vaurien_, I would make a great man of you," Hennepin had +said to him more than once; but this had made no impression on Jacques. It +was more to the point that the ground-hogs and black squirrels and pigeons +were plentiful in Casanac Woods. + +And so he thought as he stood at the door of the Church of St. Francis on +that day before going "out back" to the lumber-camp. He had reached the +summit of greatness--to command men. That was more than wealth or +learning, and as he spoke to the old Seigneur going in to Mass, he still +thought so, for the Seigneur's big house and the servants and the great +gardens had no charm for him. The horses--that was another thing; but +there would be plenty of horses in the lumber-camp; and, on the whole, he +felt himself rather superior to the old Seigneur, who now was +Lieutenant-Governor of the province in which lay Bindon Jail. + +At the door of the Church of St. Francis he had stretched himself up with +good-natured pride, for he was by nature gregarious and friendly, but with +a temper quick and strong, and even savage when roused; though Michelin +the lumber-king did not know that when he engaged him as boss, having seen +him only at the one critical time when his superior brain and will saw its +chance to command and had no personal interest in the strife. He had been +a miracle of coolness then, and his six-foot-two of pride and muscle was +taking natural tribute at the door of the Church of St. Francis, where he +waited till nearly every one had entered, and Father Roche's voice could +be heard in the Mass. + +[Illustration: THEN HAD HAPPENED THE REAL EVENT OF HIS LIFE] + +Then had happened the real event of his life: a black-eyed, rose-cheeked +girl went by with her mother, hurrying in to Mass. As she passed him their +eyes met, and his blood leaped in his veins. He had never seen her before, +and, in a sense, he had never seen any woman before. He had danced with +many a one, and kissed a few in the old days among the flax-beaters, at +the harvesting, in the gayeties of a wedding, and also down in +Massachusetts. That, however, was a different thing, which he forgot an +hour after; but this was the beginning of the world for him; for he knew +now, of a sudden, what life was, what home meant, why "old folks" slaved +for their children, and mothers wept when girls married or sons went away +from home to bigger things; why in there, in at Mass, so many were praying +for all the people and thinking only of one. All in a moment it came--and +stayed; and he spoke to her, to Marcile, that very night, and he spoke +also to her father, Valloir the farrier, the next morning by lamplight, +before he started for the woods. He would not be gainsaid, nor take no for +an answer, nor accept, as a reason for refusal, that she was only sixteen, +and that he did not know her, for she had been away with a childless aunt +since she was three. That she had fourteen brothers and sisters who had to +be fed and cared for did not seem to weigh with the farrier. That was an +affair of _le bon Dieu_, and enough would be provided for them all as +heretofore--one could make little difference; and though Jacques was a +very good match, considering his prospects and his favor with the +lumber-king, Valloir had a kind of fear of him, and could not easily +promise his beloved Marcile, the flower of his flock, to a man of whom the +priest so strongly disapproved. But it was a new sort of Jacques Grassette +who, that morning, spoke to him with the simplicity and eagerness of a +child; and the suddenly conceived gift of a pony stallion, which every man +in the parish envied Jacques, won Valloir over; and Jacques went "away +back" with the first timid kiss of Marcile Valloir burning on his cheek. +"Well, bagosh, you are a wonder!" said Jacques' father, when he told him +the news, and saw Jacques jump into the cariole and drive away. + +Here in prison, this, too, Jacques saw--this scene; and then the wedding +in the spring, and the tour through the parishes for days together, lads +and lasses journeying with them; and afterward the new home with a bigger +stoop than any other in the village, with some old, gnarled +crab-apple-trees and lilac bushes, and four years of happiness, and a +little child that died; and all the time Jacques rising in the esteem of +Michelin the lumber-king, and sent on inspections, and to organize camps; +for weeks, sometimes for months, away from the house behind the lilac +bushes--and then the end of it all, sudden and crushing and unredeemable. + +Jacques came back one night and found the house empty. Marcile had gone to +try her luck with another man. + +That was the end of the upward career of Jacques Grassette. He went out +upon a savage hunt which brought him no quarry, for the man and the woman +had disappeared as completely as though they had been swallowed by the +sea. And here, at last, he was waiting for the day when he must settle a +bill for a human life taken in passion and rage. + +His big frame seemed out of place in the small cell, and the watcher +sitting near him, to whom he had not addressed a word nor replied to a +question since the watching began, seemed an insignificant factor in the +scene. Never had a prisoner been more self-contained, or rejected more +completely all those ministrations of humanity which relieve the horrible +isolation of the condemned cell. Grassette's isolation was complete. He +lived in a dream, did what little there was to do in a dark abstraction, +and sat hour after hour, as he was sitting now, piercing, with a brain at +once benumbed to all outer things and afire with inward things, those +realms of memory which are infinite in a life of forty years. + +"_Sacré!_" he muttered at last, and a shiver seemed to pass through him +from head to foot; then an ugly and evil oath fell from his lips, which +made his watcher shrink back appalled, for he also was a Catholic, and had +been chosen of purpose, in the hope that he might have an influence on +this revolted soul. It had, however, been of no use, and Grassette had +refused the advances and ministrations of the little good priest, Father +Laflamme, who had come from the coast of purpose to give him the offices +of the Church. Silent, obdurate, sullen, he had looked the priest straight +in the face, and had said, in broken English, "_Non_, I pay my bill. _Nom +de diable!_ I will say my own Mass, light my own candle, go my own way. I +have too much." + +Now, as he sat glooming, after his outbreak of oaths, there came a +rattling noise at the door, the grinding of a key in the lock, the +shooting of bolts, and a face appeared at the little wicket in the door. +Then the door opened, and the Sheriff stepped inside, accompanied by a +white-haired, stately old man. At sight of this second figure--the Sheriff +had come often before, and would come for one more doleful walk with +him--Grassette started. His face, which had never whitened in all the +dismal and terrorizing doings of the capture and the trial and sentence, +though it had flushed with rage more than once, now turned a little pale, +for it seemed as if this old man had stepped out of the visions which had +just passed before his eyes. + +"His Honor, the Lieutenant-Governor, Sir Henri Robitaille, has come to +speak with you.... Stand up!" the Sheriff added, sharply, as Grassette +kept his seat. + +Grassette's face flushed with anger, for the prison had not broken his +spirit; then he got up slowly. "I not stand up for you," he growled at the +Sheriff; "I stand up for him." He jerked his head toward Sir Henri +Robitaille. This grand Seigneur, with Michelin had believed in him in +those far-off days which he had just been seeing over again, and all his +boyhood and young manhood was rushing back on him. But now it was the +Governor who turned pale, seeing who the criminal was. + +"Jacques Grassette!" he cried, in consternation and emotion, for under +another name the murderer had been tried and sentenced, nor had his +identity been established--the case was so clear, the defence had been +perfunctory, and Quebec was very far away! + +"M'sieu'!" was the respectful response, and Grassette's fingers twitched. + +"It was my sister's son you killed, Grassette," said the Governor, in a +low, strained voice. + +"_Nom de Dieu_!" said Grassette, hoarsely. + +"I did not know, Grassette," the Governor went on--"I did not know it was +you." + +"Why did you come, m'sieu'?" + +"Call him 'your Honor,'" said the Sheriff, sharply. + +Grassette's face hardened, and his look, turned upon the Sheriff, was +savage and forbidding. "I will speak as it please me. Who are you? What do +I care? To hang me--that is your business; but, for the rest, you spik to +me differen'! Who are you? Your father kep' a tavern for thieves, _vous +savez bien_!" It was true that the Sheriff's father had had no savory +reputation in the West. + +The Governor turned his head away in pain and trouble, for the man's rage +was not a thing to see--and they both came from the little parish of St. +Francis, and had passed many an hour together. + +"Never mind, Grassette," he said, gently. "Call me what you will. You've +got no feeling against me; and I can say with truth that I don't want your +life for the life you took." + +Grassette's breast heaved. "He put me out of my work, the man I kill. He +pass the word against me, he hunt me out of the mountains, he call--_tête +de diable_! he call me a name so bad. Everything swim in my head, and I +kill him." + +The Governor made a protesting gesture. "I understand. I am glad his +mother was dead. But do you not think how sudden it was? Now here, in the +thick of life, then, out there, beyond this world in the dark--in +purgatory." + +The brave old man had accomplished what every one else, priest, lawyer, +Sheriff, and watcher, had failed to do: he had shaken Grassette out of his +blank isolation and obdurate unrepentance, had touched some chord of +recognizable humanity. + +"It is done--_bien_, I pay for it," responded Grassette, setting his jaw. +"It is two deaths for me. Waiting and remembering, and then with the +Sheriff there the other--so quick, and all." + +The Governor looked at him for some moments without speaking. The Sheriff +intervened again officiously. + +"His Honor has come to say something important to you," he remarked, +oracularly. + +"Hold you--does he need a Sheriff to tell him when to spik?" was +Grassette's surly comment. Then he turned to the Governor. "Let us speak +in French," he said, in _patois_. "This rope-twister will not understan'. +He is no good--I spit at him!" + +The Governor nodded, and, despite the Sheriff's protest, they spoke in +French, Grassette with his eyes intently fixed on the other, eagerly +listening. + +"I have come," said the Governor, "to say to you, Grassette, that you +still have a chance of life." + +He paused, and Grassette's face took on a look of bewilderment and vague +anxiety. A chance of life--what did it mean? + +"Reprieve?" he asked, in a hoarse voice. + +The Governor shook his head. "Not yet; but there is a chance. Something +has happened. A man's life is in danger, or it may be he is dead; but more +likely he is alive. You took a life; perhaps you can save one now. +Keeley's Gulch, the mine there!" + +"They have found it--gold?" asked Grassette, his eyes staring. He was +forgetting for a moment where and what he was. + +"He went to find it, the man whose life is in danger. He had heard from a +trapper who had been a miner once. While he was there a landslip came, and +the opening to the mine was closed up." + +"There were two ways in. Which one did he take?" cried Grassette. + +"The only one he could take, the only one he or any one else knew. You +know the other way in--you only, they say." + +"I found it--the easier, quick way in; a year ago I found it." + +"Was it near the other entrance?" + +Grassette shook his head. "A mile away." + +"If the man is alive--and we think he is--you are the only person that can +save him. I have telegraphed the Government. They do not promise, but they +will reprieve, and save your life if you find the man." + +"Alive or dead?" + +"Alive or dead, for the act would be the same. I have an order to take you +to the Gulch, if you will go; and I am sure that you will have your life +if you do it. I will promise--ah, yes, Grassette, but it shall be so! +Public opinion will demand it. You will do it?" + +"To go free--_altogether_?" + +"Well, but if your life is saved, Grassette?" + +The dark face flushed, then grew almost repulsive again in its +sullenness. + +"Life--and this, in prison, shut in year after year! To do always what +some one else wills, to be a slave to a warder! To have men like that over +me that have been a boss of men--wasn't it that drove me to kill?--to be +treated like dirt! And to go on with this, while outside there is free +life, and to go where you will at your own price--no! What do I care for +life? What is it to me! To live like this--ah, I would break my head +against these stone walls, I would choke myself with my own hands! If I +stayed here, I would kill again--I would kill--kill!" + +"Then to go free altogether--that would be the wish of all the world, if +you save this man's life, if it can be saved. Will you not take the +chance? We all have to die some time or other, Grassette, some sooner, +some later; and when you go, will you not want to take to God in your +hands a life saved for a life taken? Have you forgotten God, Grassette? We +used to remember Him in the Church of St. Francis down there at home." + +There was a moment's silence, in which Grassette's head was thrust +forward, his eyes staring into space. The old Seigneur had touched a +vulnerable corner in his nature. + +Presently he said in a low voice: "To be free altogether!... What is his +name? Who is he?" + +"His name is Bignold," the Governor answered. He turned to the Sheriff +inquiringly. "That is it, is it not?" he asked, in English, again. + +"James Tarran Bignold," answered the Sheriff. + +The effect of these words upon Grassette was remarkable. His body appeared +to stiffen, his face became rigid, he stared at the Governor blankly, +appalled; the color left his face, and his mouth opened with a curious and +revolting grimace. The others drew back, startled, and watched him. + +"_Sang de Dieu_!" he murmured at last, with a sudden gesture of misery and +rage. + +Then the Governor understood: he remembered that the name just given by +the Sheriff and himself was the name of the Englishman who had carried off +Grassette's wife years ago. He stepped forward and was about to speak, but +changed his mind. He would leave it all to Grassette; he would not let the +Sheriff know the truth, unless Grassette himself disclosed the situation. +He looked at Grassette with a look of poignant pity and interest combined. +In his own placid life he had never had any tragic happening, his blood +had run coolly, his days had been blessed by an urbane fate; such scenes +as this were but a spectacle to him; there was no answering chord of human +suffering in his own breast to make him realize what Grassette was +undergoing now; but he had read widely, he had been an acute observer of +the world and its happenings, and he had a natural human sympathy which +had made many a man and woman eternally grateful to him. + +What would Grassette do? It was a problem which had no precedent, and the +solution would be a revelation of the human mind and heart. What would the +man do? + +"Well, what is all this, Grassette?" asked the Sheriff, brusquely. His +official and officious intervention, behind which was the tyranny of the +little man, given a power which he was incapable of wielding wisely, would +have roused Grassette to a savage reply a half-hour before, but now it was +met by a contemptuous wave of the hand, and Grassette kept his eyes fixed +on the Governor. + +"James Tarran Bignold!" Grassette said, harshly, with eyes that searched +the Governor's face; but they found no answering look there. The Governor, +then, did not remember that tragedy of his home and hearth, and the man +who had made of him an Ishmael. Still, Bignold had been almost a stranger +in the parish, and it was not curious if the Governor had forgotten. + +"Bignold!" he repeated, but the Governor gave no response. + +"Yes, Bignold is his name, Grassette," said the Sheriff. "You took a life, +and now, if you save one, that'll balance things. As the Governor says, +there'll be a reprieve anyhow. It's pretty near _the day_, and this isn't +a bad world to kick in, so long as you kick with one leg on the ground, +and--" + +The Governor hastily intervened upon the Sheriff's brutal remarks. "There +is no time to be lost, Grassette. He has been ten days in the mine." + +Grassette's was not a slow brain. For a man of such physical and bodily +bulk, he had more talents than are generally given. If his brain had been +slower, his hand also would have been slower to strike. But his +intelligence had been surcharged with hate these many years, and since the +day he had been deserted it had ceased to control his actions--a +passionate and reckless wilfulness had governed it. But now, after the +first shock and stupefaction, it seemed to go back to where it was before +Marcile went from him, gather up the force and intelligence it had then, +and come forward again to this supreme moment, with all that life's harsh +experiences had done for it, with the education that misery and misdoing +give. Revolutions are often the work of instants, not years, and the +crucial test and problem by which Grassette was now faced had lifted him +into a new atmosphere, with a new capacity alive in him. A moment ago his +eyes had been bloodshot and swimming with hatred and passion; now they +grew, almost suddenly, hard and lurking and quiet, with a strange, +penetrating force and inquiry in them. + +"Bignold--where does he come from?--What is he?" he asked the Sheriff. + +"He is an Englishman; he's only been out here a few months. He's been +shooting and prospecting; but he's a better shooter than a prospector. +He's a stranger; that's why all the folks out here want to save him if +it's possible. It's pretty hard dying in a strange land far away from all +that's yours. Maybe he's got a wife waiting for him over there." + +"_Nom de Dieu_!" said Grassette, with suppressed malice, under his +breath. + +"Maybe there's a wife waiting for him, and there's her to think of. The +West's hospitable, and this thing has taken hold of it; the West wants to +save this stranger, and it's waiting for you, Grassette, to do its work +for it, you being the only man that can do it, the only one that knows the +other secret way into Keeley's Gulch. Speak right out, Grassette. It's +your chance for life. Speak out quick." + +The last three words were uttered in the old slave-driving tone, though +the earlier part of the speech had been delivered oracularly, and had +brought again to Grassette's eyes the reddish, sullen look which had made +them, a little while before, like those of some wounded, angered animal at +bay; but it vanished slowly, and there was silence for a moment. The +Sheriff's words had left no vestige of doubt in Grassette's mind. This +Bignold was the man who had taken Marcile away, first to the English +province, then into the States, where he had lost track of them, then over +to England. Marcile--where was Marcile now? + +In Keeley's Gulch was the man who could tell him, the man who had ruined +his home and his life. Dead or alive, he was in Keeley's Gulch, the man +who knew where Marcile was; and if he knew where Marcile was, and if she +was alive, and he was outside these prison walls, what would he do to her? +And if he was outside these prison walls, and in the Gulch, and the man +was there alive before him, what would he do? + +Outside these prison walls--to be out there in the sun, where life would +be easier to give up, if it had to be given up! An hour ago he had been +drifting on a sea of apathy, and had had his fill of life. An hour ago he +had had but one desire, and that was to die fighting, and he had even +pictured to himself a struggle in this narrow cell where he would compel +them to kill him, and so in any case let him escape the rope. Now he was +suddenly brought face to face with the great central issue of his life, +and the end, whatever that end might be, could not be the same in meaning, +though it might be the same concretely. If he elected to let things be, +then Bignold would die out there in the Gulch, starved, anguished, and +alone. If he went, he could save his own life by saving Bignold, if +Bignold was alive; or he could go--and not save Bignold's life or his own! +What would he do? + +The Governor watched him with a face controlled to quietness, but with an +anxiety which made him pale in spite of himself. + +"What will you do, Grassette?" he said, at last, in a low voice and with a +step forward to him. "Will you not help to clear your conscience by doing +this thing? You don't want to try and spite the world by not doing it. You +can make a lot of your life yet, if you are set free. Give yourself and +give the world a chance. You haven't used it right. Try again." + +Grassette imagined that the Governor did not remember who Bignold was, and +that this was an appeal against his despair, and against revenging himself +on the community which had applauded his sentence. If he went to the +Gulch, no one would know or could suspect the true situation, every one +would be unprepared for that moment when Bignold and he would face each +other--and all that would happen then. + +Where was Marcile? Only Bignold knew. Alive or dead? Only Bignold knew. + +"_Bien_, I will do it, m'sieu'," he said to the Governor. "I am to go +alone--eh?" + +The Sheriff shook his head. "No; two warders will go with you--and +myself." + +A strange look passed over Grassette's face. He seemed to hesitate for a +moment, then he said again: "_Bon_, I will go." + +"Then there is, of course, the doctor," said the Sheriff. + +"_Bon_!" said Grassette. "What time is it?" + +"Twelve o'clock," answered the Sheriff, and made a motion to the warder to +open the door of the cell. + +"By sundown!" Grassette said, and he turned with a determined gesture to +leave the cell. + +At the gate of the prison a fresh, sweet air caught his face. +Involuntarily he drew in a great draught of it, and his eyes seemed to +gaze out, almost wonderingly, over the grass and the trees to the +boundless horizon. Then he became aware of the shouts of the crowd--shouts +of welcome. This same crowd had greeted him with shouts of execration when +he had left the court-house after his sentence. He stood still for a +moment and looked at them, as it were only half comprehending that they +were cheering him now, and that voices were saying, "Bravo, Grassette! +Save him, and we'll save you." + +Cheer upon cheer, but he took no notice. He walked like one in a dream--a +long, strong step. He turned neither to left nor right, not even when the +friendly voice of one who had worked with him bade him "Cheer up and do +the trick." He was busy working out a problem which no one but himself +could solve. He was only half conscious of his surroundings; he was moving +in a kind of detached world of his own, where the warders and the Sheriff +and those who followed were almost abstract and unreal figures. He was +living with a past which had been everlastingly distant, and had now +become a vivid and buffeting present. He returned no answers to the +questions addressed to him, and would not talk, save when for a little +while they dismounted from their horses and sat under the shade of a great +ash-tree for a few moments and snatched a mouthful of luncheon. Then he +spoke a little and asked some questions, but lapsed into a moody silence +afterward. His life and nature were being passed through a fiery crucible. +In all the years that had gone he had had an ungovernable desire to kill +both Bignold and Marcile if he ever met them--a primitive, savage desire +to blot them out of life and being. His fingers had ached for Marcile's +neck, that neck in which he had lain his face so often in the transient, +unforgettable days of their happiness. If she was alive now!--if she was +still alive! + +Her story was hidden there in Keeley's Gulch with Bignold, and he was +galloping hard to reach his foe. As he went, by some strange alchemy of +human experience, by that new birth of his brain, the world seemed +different from what it had ever been before, at least since the day when +he had found an empty home and a shamed hearthstone. He got a new feeling +toward it, and life appealed to him as a thing that might have been so +well worth living! But since that was not to be, then he would see what he +could do to get compensation for all that he had lost, to take toll for +the thing that had spoiled him, and given him a savage nature and a raging +temper, which had driven him at last to kill a man who, in no real sense, +had injured him. + +Mile after mile they journeyed, a troop of interested people coming after; +the sun and the clear, sweet air, the waving grass, the occasional +clearings where settlers had driven in the tent-pegs of home; the forest +now and then swallowing them, the mountains rising above them like a blank +wall, and then suddenly opening out before them; and the rustle and +scamper of squirrels and coyotes; and over their heads the whistle of +birds, the slow beat of wings of great wild-fowl. The tender sap of youth +was in this glowing and alert new world, and, by sudden contrast with the +prison walls which he had just left behind, the earth seemed recreated, +unfamiliar, compelling, and companionable. Strange that in all the years +that had been since he had gone back to his abandoned home to find Marcile +gone, the world had had no beauty, no lure for him. In the splendor of it +all he had only raged and stormed, hating his fellow-man, waiting, however +hopelessly, for the day when he should see Marcile and the man who had +taken her from him. And yet now, under the degradation of his crime and +its penalty, and the unmanning influence of being the helpless victim of +the iron power of the law, rigid, ugly, and demoralizing--now with the +solution of his life's great problem here before him in the hills, with +the man for whom he had waited so long caverned in the earth but a +hand-reach away, as it were, his wrongs had taken a new manifestation in +him, and the thing that kept crying out in him every moment was, Where is +Marcile? + +It was four o'clock when they reached the pass which only Grassette knew, +the secret way into the Gulch. There was two hours' walking through the +thick, primeval woods, where few had ever been, except the ancient tribes +which had once lorded it here; then came a sudden drop into the earth, a +short travel through a dim cave, and afterward a sheer wall of stone +enclosing a ravine where the rocks on either side nearly met overhead. + +Here Grassette gave the signal to shout aloud, and the voice of the +Sheriff called out: "Hello, Bignold! Hello! Hello, Bignold! Are you +there?--Hello!" His voice rang out clear and piercing, and then came a +silence--a long, anxious silence. Again the voice rang out: "Hello! +Hello-o-o! Bignold! Bigno-o-ld!" + +They strained their ears. Grassette was flat on the ground, his ear to the +earth. Suddenly he got to his feet, his face set, his eyes glittering. + +"He is there beyon'--I hear him," he said, pointing farther down the +Gulch. "Water--he is near it." + +"We heard nothing," said the Sheriff--"not a sound." + +"I hear ver' good. He is alive. I hear him--so," responded Grassette; and +his face had a strange, fixed look which the others interpreted to be +agitation at the thought that he had saved his own life by finding +Bignold--and alive; which would put his own salvation beyond doubt. + +He broke away from them and hurried down the Gulch. The others followed +hard after, the Sheriff and the warders close behind; but he outstripped +them. + +Suddenly he stopped and stood still, looking at something on the ground. +They saw him lean forward and his hands stretched out with a fierce +gesture. It was the attitude of a wild animal ready to spring. + +They were beside him in an instant, and saw at his feet Bignold worn to a +skeleton, with eyes starting from his head and fixed on Grassette in agony +and stark fear. + +The Sheriff stooped to lift Bignold up, but Grassette waved them back with +a fierce gesture, standing over the dying man. + +"He spoil my home. He break me--I have my bill to settle here," he said, +in a voice hoarse and harsh. "It is so? It is so--eh? Spik!" he said to +Bignold. + +"Yes," came feebly from the shrivelled lips. "Water! Water!" the wretched +man gasped. "I'm dying!" + +A sudden change came over Grassette. "Water--queeck!" he said. + +The Sheriff stooped and held a hatful of water to Bignold's lips, while +another poured brandy from a flask into the water. + +Grassette watched them eagerly. When the dying man had swallowed a little +of the spirit and water, Grassette leaned over him again, and the others +drew away. They realized that these two men had an account to settle, and +there was no need for Grassette to take revenge, for Bignold was going +fast. + +"You stan' far back," said Grassette, and they fell away. + +Then he stooped down to the sunken, ashen face, over which death was fast +drawing its veil. + +"Marcile--where is Marcile?" he asked. + +The dying man's lips opened. "God forgive me--God save my soul!" he +whispered. He was not concerned for Grassette now. + +"Queeck--queeck, where is Marcile?" Grassette said, sharply. "Come back, +Bignold. Listen--where is Marcile?" + +He strained to hear the answer. Bignold was going, but his eyes opened +again, however, for this call seemed to pierce to his soul as it struggled +to be free. + +"Ten years--since--I saw her," he whispered. "Good girl--Marcile. She +loves you, but she--is afraid." He tried to say something more, but his +tongue refused its office. + +"Where is she?--spik!" commanded Grassette, in a tone of pleading and +agony now. + +Once more the flying spirit came back. A hand made a motion toward his +pocket, then lay still. + +Grassette felt hastily in the dead man's pocket, drew forth a letter, and +with half-blinded eyes read the few lines it contained. It was dated from +a hospital in New York, and was signed, "Nurse Marcile." + +With a groan of relief Grassette stood staring at the dead man. When the +others came to him again, his lips were moving, but they did not hear what +he was saying. They took up the body and moved away with it up the +ravine. + +"It's all right, Grassette. You'll be a free man," said the Sheriff. + +Grassette did not answer. He was thinking how long it would take him to +get to Marcile, when he was free. + +He had a true vision of beginning life again with Marcile. + + + + +A MAN, A FAMINE, AND A HEATHEN BOY + + +I + +Athabasca in the Far North is the scene of this story--Athabasca, one of +the most beautiful countries in the world in summer, but a cold, bare land +in winter. Yet even in winter it is not so bleak and bitter as the +districts southwest of it, for the Chinook winds steal through from the +Pacific and temper the fierceness of the frozen Rockies. Yet forty and +fifty degrees below zero is cold, after all, and July strawberries in this +wild Northland are hardly compensation for seven months of ice and snow, +no matter how clear and blue the sky, how sweet the sun during its short +journey in the day. Some days, too, the sun may not be seen even when +there is no storm, because of the fine, white, powdered frost in the air. + +A day like this is called a _poudre_ day; and woe to the man who tempts it +unthinkingly, because the light makes the delicate mist of frost shine +like silver. For that powder bites the skin white in short order, and +sometimes reckless men lose ears or noses or hands under its sharp caress. +But when it really storms in that Far North, then neither man nor beast +should be abroad--not even the Eskimo dogs; though times and seasons can +scarcely be chosen when travelling in Athabasca, for a storm comes +unawares. Upon the plains you will see a cloud arising, not in the sky, +but from the ground--a billowy surf of drifting snow; then another white +billow from the sky will sweep down and meet it, and you are caught +between. + +He who went to Athabasca to live a generation ago had to ask himself if +the long winter, spent chiefly indoors, with, maybe, a little trading with +the Indians, meagre sport, and scant sun, savages and half-breeds the only +companions, and out of all touch with the outside world, letters coming +but once a year; with frozen fish and meat, always the same, as the staple +items in a primitive fare; with danger from starvation and marauding +tribes; with endless monotony, in which men sometimes go mad--he had to +ask himself if these were to be cheerfully endured because, in the short +summer, the air is heavenly, the rivers and lakes are full of fish, the +flotilla of canoes of the fur-hunters is pouring down, and all is gayety +and pleasant turmoil; because there is good shooting in the autumn, and +the smell of the land is like a garden, and hardy fruits and flowers are +at hand. + +That is a question which was asked William Rufus Holly once upon a time. + +William Rufus Holly, often called "Averdoopoy," sometimes "Sleeping +Beauty," always Billy Rufus, had had a good education. He had been to +high-school and to college, and he had taken one or two prizes _en route_ +to graduation; but no fame travelled with him, save that he was the +laziest man of any college year for a decade. He loved his little +porringer, which is to say that he ate a good deal; and he loved to read +books, which is not to say that he loved study; he hated getting out of +bed, and he was constantly gated for morning chapel. More than once he had +sweetly gone to sleep over his examination papers. This is not to say that +he failed at his examinations--on the contrary, he always succeeded; but +he only did enough to pass and no more; and he did not wish to do more +than pass. His going to sleep at examinations was evidence that he was +either indifferent or self-indulgent, and it certainly showed that he was +without nervousness. He invariably roused himself, or his professor roused +him, a half-hour before the papers should be handed in, and, as it were, +by a mathematical calculation he had always done just enough to prevent +him being plucked. + +He slept at lectures, he slept in hall, he slept as he waited his turn to +go to the wicket in a cricket match, and he invariably went to sleep +afterward. He even did so on the day he had made the biggest score in the +biggest game ever played between his college and the pick of the country; +but he first gorged himself with cake and tea. The day he took his degree +he had to be dragged from a huge grandfather's chair and forced along in +his ragged gown--"ten holes and twelve tatters"--to the function in the +convocation-hall. He looked so fat and shiny, so balmy and sleepy, when he +took his degree and was handed his prize for a poem on Sir John Franklin, +that the public laughed, and the college men in the gallery began +singing-- + + "Bye O, my baby, + Father will come to you soo-oon!" + +He seemed not to care, but yawned in his hand as he put his prize book +under his arm through one of the holes in his gown, and in two minutes was +back in his room, and in another five was fast asleep. + +It was the general opinion that William Rufus Holly, fat, yellow-haired, +and twenty-four years old, was doomed to failure in life, in spite of the +fact that he had a little income of a thousand dollars a year and had made +a century in an important game of cricket. Great, therefore, was the +surprise of the college, and afterward of the Province, when, at the +farewell dinner of the graduates, Sleeping Beauty announced, between his +little open-eyed naps, that he was going Far North as a missionary. + +At first it was thought he was joking, but when at last, in his calm and +dreamy look, they saw he meant what he said, they arose and carried him +round the room on a chair, making impromptu songs as they travelled. They +toasted Billy Rufus again and again, some of them laughing till they cried +at the thought of Averdoopoy going to the Arctic regions. But an uneasy +seriousness fell upon these "beautiful, bountiful, brilliant boys," as +Holly called them later, when in a simple, honest, but indolent speech he +said he had applied for ordination. + +Six months later William Rufus Holly, a deacon in holy orders, journeyed +to Athabasca in the Far North. + +On his long journey there was plenty of time to think. He was embarked on +a career which must forever keep him in the wilds; for very seldom indeed +does a missionary of the North ever return to the crowded cities or take a +permanent part in civilized life. + +What the loneliness of it would be he began to feel, as for hours and +hours he saw no human being on the plains; in the thrilling stillness of +the night; in fierce storms in the woods, when his half-breed guides bent +their heads to meet the wind and rain, and did not speak for hours; in the +long, adventurous journey on the river by the day, in the cry of the +plaintive loon at night; in the scant food for every meal. Yet what the +pleasure would be he felt in the joyous air, the exquisite sunshine, the +flocks of wild-fowl flying north, _honking_ on their course; in the song +of the half-breeds as they ran the rapids. Of course, he did not think +these things quite as they are written here--all at once and all together; +but in little pieces from time to time, feeling them rather than saying +them to himself. + +At least he did understand how serious a thing it was, his going as a +missionary into the Far North. Why did he do it? Was it a whim, or the +excited imagination of youth, or that prompting which the young often have +to make the world better? Or was it a fine spirit of adventure with a good +heart behind it? Perhaps it was a little of all these; but there was also +something more, and it was to his credit. + +Lazy as William Rufus Holly had been at school and college, he had still +thought a good deal, even when he seemed only sleeping; perhaps he thought +more because he slept so much, because he studied little and read a great +deal. He always knew what everybody thought--that he would never do +anything but play cricket till he got too heavy to run, and then would +sink into a slothful, fat, and useless middle and old age; that his life +would be a failure. And he knew that they were right; that if he stayed +where he could live an easy life, a fat and easy life he would lead; that +in a few years he would be good for nothing except to eat and sleep--no +more. One day, waking suddenly from a bad dream of himself so fat as to be +drawn about on a dray by monstrous fat oxen with rings through their +noses, led by monkeys, he began to wonder what he should do--the hardest +thing to do; for only the hardest life could possibly save him from +failure, and, in spite of all, he really did want to make something of his +life. He had been reading the story of Sir John Franklin's Arctic +expedition, and all at once it came home to him that the only thing for +him to do was to go to the Far North and stay there, coming back about +once every ten years to tell the people in the cities what was being done +in the wilds. Then there came the inspiration to write his poem on Sir +John Franklin, and he had done so, winning the college prize for poetry. +But no one had seen any change in him in those months; and, indeed, there +had been little or no change, for he had an equable and practical, though +imaginative, disposition, despite his avoirdupois, and his new purpose did +not stir him yet from his comfortable sloth. + +And in all the journey west and north he had not been stirred greatly from +his ease of body, for the journey was not much harder than playing cricket +every day, and there were only the thrill of the beautiful air, the new +people, and the new scenes to rouse him. As yet there was no great +responsibility. He scarcely realized what his life must be until one +particular day. + +Then Sleeping Beauty waked wide up, and from that day lost the name. Till +then he had looked and borne himself like any other traveller, +unrecognized as a parson or "mikonaree." He had not had prayers in camp +_en route_, he had not preached, he had held no meetings. He was as yet +William Rufus Holly, the cricketer, the laziest dreamer of a college +decade. His religion was simple and practical; he had never had any morbid +ideas; he had lived a healthy, natural, and honorable life, until he went +for a mikonaree, and, if he had no cant, he had not a clear idea of how +many-sided, how responsible, his life must be--until that one particular +day. + +This is what happened then. + +From Fort O'Call, an abandoned post of the Hudson's Bay Company on the +Peace River, nearly the whole tribe of the Athabasca Indians in +possession of the post now had come up the river, with their chief, +Knife-in-the-Wind, to meet the mikonaree. Factors of the Hudson's Bay +Company, _coureurs de bois_, and _voyageurs_ had come among them at +times, and once the renowned Father Lacombe, the Jesuit priest, had +stayed with them three months; but never to this day had they seen a +Protestant mikonaree, though once a factor, noted for his furious temper, +his powers of running, and his generosity, had preached to them. These +men, however, were both over fifty years old. The Athabascas did not +hunger for the Christian religion, but a courier from Edmonton had +brought them word that a mikonaree was coming to their country to stay, +and they put off their stoical manner and allowed themselves the luxury of +curiosity. That was why even the squaws and papooses came up the river +with the braves, all wondering if the stranger had brought gifts with +him, all eager for their shares; for it had been said by the courier of +the tribe that "Oshondonto," their name for the newcomer, was bringing +mysterious loads of well-wrapped bales and skins. Upon a point below the +first rapids of the Little Manitou they waited with their camp-fires +burning and their pipe of peace. + +When the canoes bearing Oshondonto and his _voyageurs_ shot the rapids to +the song of the river, + + "En roulant, ma boule roulant,[[y:italic]] + En roulant, ma boule!"[[y:italic]] + +with the shrill voices of the boatmen rising to meet the cry of the +startled water-fowl, the Athabascas crowded to the high banks. They +grunted "How!" in greeting, as the foremost canoe made for the shore. + +But if surprise could have changed the countenances of Indians, these +Athabascas would not have known one another when the missionary stepped +out upon the shore. They had looked to see a gray-bearded man like the +chief factor who quarrelled and prayed; but they found instead a +round-faced, clean-shaven youth, with big, good-natured eyes, yellow hair, +and a roundness of body like that of a month-old bear's cub. They expected +to find a man who, like the factor, could speak their language, and they +found a cherub sort of youth who talked only English, French, and +Chinook--that common language of the North--and a few words of their own +language which he had learned on the way. + +Besides, Oshondonto was so absent-minded at the moment, so absorbed in +admiration of the garish scene before him, that he addressed the chief in +French, of which Knife-in-the-Wind knew but one word, _câche_, which all +the North knows. + +But presently William Rufus Holly recovered himself, and in stumbling +Chinook made himself understood. Opening a bale, he brought out beads and +tobacco and some bright red flannel, and two hundred Indians sat round him +and grunted "How!" and received his gifts with little comment. Then the +pipe of peace went round, and Oshondonto smoked it becomingly. + +But he saw that the Indians despised him for his youth, his fatness, his +yellow hair as soft as a girl's, his cherub face, browned though it was by +the sun and weather. + +As he handed the pipe to Knife-in-the-Wind, an Indian called Silver +Tassel, with a cruel face, said, grimly: + +"Why does Oshondonto travel to us?" + +William Rufus Holly's eyes steadied on those of the Indian as he replied +in Chinook: "To teach the way to Manitou the Mighty, to tell the +Athabascas of the Great Chief who died to save the world." + +"The story is told in many ways; which is right? There was the factor, +Word of Thunder. There is the song they sing at Edmonton--I have heard." + +"The Great Chief is the same Chief," answered the missionary. "If you tell +of Fort O'Call, and Knife-in-the-Wind tells of Fort O'Call, he and you +will speak different words, and one will put in one thing and one will +leave out another; men's tongues are different. But Fort O'Call is the +same, and the Great Chief is the same." + +"It was a long time ago," said Knife-in-the-Wind, sourly, "many thousand +moon, as the pebbles in the river, the years." + +"It is the same world, and it is the same Chief, and it was to save us," +answered William Rufus Holly, smiling, yet with a fluttering heart, for +the first test of his life had come. + +In anger Knife-in-the-Wind thrust an arrow into the ground and said: + +"How can the white man who died thousands of moons ago in a far country +save the red man of to-day?" + +"A strong man should bear so weak a tale," broke in Silver Tassel, +ruthlessly. "Are we children, that the Great Chief sends a child as +messenger?" + +For a moment Billy Rufus did not know how to reply, and in the pause +Knife-in-the-Wind broke in two pieces the arrow he had thrust in the +ground in token of displeasure. + +Suddenly, as Oshondonto was about to speak, Silver Tassel sprang to his +feet, seized in his arms a lad of twelve who was standing near, and, +running to the bank, dropped him into the swift current. + +"If Oshondonto be not a child, let him save the lad," said Silver Tassel, +standing on the brink. + +Instantly William Rufus Holly was on his feet. His coat was off before +Silver Tassel's words were out of his mouth, and, crying, "In the name of +the Great White Chief!" he jumped into the rushing current. "In the name +of your Manitou, come on, Silver Tassel!" he called up from the water, and +struck out for the lad. + +Not pausing an instant, Silver Tassel sprang into the flood, into the +whirling eddies and dangerous current below the first rapids and above the +second. + +II + +Then came the struggle for Wingo of the Cree tribe, a waif among the +Athabascas, whose father had been slain as they travelled, by a wandering +tribe of Blackfeet. Never was there a braver rivalry, although the odds +were with the Indian--in lightness, in brutal strength. With the +mikonaree, however, were skill, and that sort of strength which the world +calls "moral," the strength of a good and desperate purpose. Oshondonto +knew that on the issue of this shameless business--this cruel sport of +Silver Tassel--would depend his future on the Peace River. As he shot +forward with strong strokes in the whirling torrent after the helpless +lad, who, only able to keep himself afloat, was being swept down toward +the rapids below, he glanced up to the bank along which the Athabascas +were running. He saw the garish colors of their dresses; he saw the +ignorant medicine-man, with his mysterious bag, making incantations, he +saw the _tepee_ of the chief, with its barbarous pennant above; he saw the +idle, naked children tearing at the entrails of a calf; and he realized +that this was a deadly tournament between civilization and barbarism. + +Silver Tassel was gaining on him; they were both overhauling the boy; it +was now to see which should reach Wingo first, which should take him to +shore. That is, if both were not carried under before they reached him; +that is, if, having reached him, they and he would ever get to shore; for, +lower down, before it reached the rapids, the current ran horribly smooth +and strong, and here and there were jagged rocks just beneath the +surface. + +Still Silver Tassel gained on him, as they both gained on the boy. +Oshondonto swam strong and hard, but he swam with his eyes on the struggle +for the shore also; he was not putting forth his utmost strength, for he +knew it would be bitterly needed, perhaps to save his own life by a last +effort. + +Silver Tassel passed him when they were about fifty feet from the boy. +Shooting by on his side, with a long stroke and a plunge of his body like +a projectile, the dark face with the long, black hair plastering it turned +toward his own, in fierce triumph Silver Tassel cried "How!" in derision. + +Billy Rufus set his teeth and lay down to his work like a sportsman. His +face had lost its roses, and it was set and determined, but there was no +look of fear upon it, nor did his heart sink when a cry of triumph went up +from the crowd on the banks. The white man knew by old experience in the +cricket-field and in many a boat-race that it is well not to halloo till +you are out of the woods. His mettle was up, he was not the Reverend +William Rufus Holly, missionary, but Billy Rufus, the champion cricketer, +the sportsman playing a long game. + +Silver Tassel reached the boy, who was bruised and bleeding and at his +last gasp, and, throwing an arm round him, struck out for the shore. The +current was very strong, and he battled fiercely as Billy Rufus, not far +above, moved down toward them at an angle. For a few yards Silver Tassel +was going strong, then his pace slackened, he seemed to sink lower in the +water, and his stroke became splashing and irregular. Suddenly he struck a +rock, which bruised him badly, and, swerving from his course, he lost his +stroke and let go the boy. + +By this time the mikonaree had swept beyond them, and he caught the boy by +his long hair as he was being swept below. Striking out for the shore, he +swam with bold, strong strokes, his judgment guiding him well past rocks +beneath the surface. Ten feet from shore he heard a cry of alarm from +above. It concerned Silver Tassel, he knew, but he could not look round +yet. + +In another moment the boy was dragged up the bank by strong hands, and +Billy Rufus swung round in the water toward Silver Tassel, who, in his +confused energy, had struck another rock, and, exhausted now, was being +swept toward the rapids. Silver Tassel's shoulder scarcely showed--his +strength was gone. In a flash Billy Rufus saw there was but one thing to +do. He must run the rapids with Silver Tassel--there was no other way. It +would be a fight through the jaws of death; but no Indian's eyes had a +better sense for river-life than William Rufus Holly's. + +How he reached Silver Tassel, and drew the Indian's arm over his own +shoulder; how they drove down into the boiling flood; how Billy Rufus' fat +body was battered and torn and ran red with blood from twenty flesh +wounds; but how by luck beyond the telling he brought Silver Tassel +through safely into the quiet water a quarter of a mile below the rapids, +and was hauled out, both more dead than alive, is a tale still told by the +Athabascas around their camp-fire. The rapids are known to-day as the +Mikonaree Rapids. + +The end of this beginning of the young man's career was that Silver Tassel +gave him the word of eternal friendship, Knife-in-the-Wind took him into +the tribe, and the boy Wingo became his very own, to share his home and +his travels, no longer a waif among the Athabascas. + +After three days' feasting, at the end of which the missionary held his +first service and preached his first sermon, to the accompaniment of +grunts of satisfaction from the whole tribe of Athabascas, William Rufus +Holly began his work in the Far North. + +The journey to Fort O'Call was a procession of triumph, for, as it was +summer, there was plenty of food, the missionary had been a success, and +he had distributed many gifts of beads and flannel. + +All went well for many moons, although converts were uncertain and +baptisms few, and the work was hard and the loneliness at times terrible. +But at last came dark days. + +One summer and autumn there had been poor fishing and shooting, the +_câches_ of meat were fewer on the plains, and almost nothing had come up +to Fort O'Call from Edmonton, far below. The yearly supplies for the +missionary, paid for out of his private income--the bacon, beans, tea, +coffee, and flour--had been raided by a band of hostile Indians, and he +viewed with deep concern the progress of the severe winter. Although three +years of hard, frugal life had made his muscles like iron, they had only +mellowed his temper, increased his flesh, and rounded his face; nor did he +look an hour older than on the day when he had won Wingo for his willing +slave and devoted friend. + +He never resented the frequent ingratitude of the Indians; he said little +when they quarrelled over the small comforts his little income brought +them yearly from the South. He had been doctor, lawyer, judge among them, +although he interfered little in the larger disputes, and was forced to +shut his eyes to intertribal enmities. He had no deep faith that he could +quite civilize them; he knew that their conversion was only on the +surface, and he fell back on his personal influence with them. By this he +could check even the excesses of the worst man in the tribe, his old +enemy, Silver Tassel of the bad heart, who yet was ready always to give a +tooth for a tooth, and accepted the fact that he owed Oshondonto his +life. + +When famine crawled across the plains to the doors of the settlement and +housed itself at Fort O'Call, Silver Tassel acted badly, however, and +sowed fault-finding among the thoughtless of the tribe. + +"What manner of Great Spirit is it who lets the food of his chief +Oshondonto fall into the hands of the Blackfeet?" he said. "Oshondonto +says the Great Spirit hears. What has the Great Spirit to say? Let +Oshondonto ask." + +Again, when they were all hungrier, he went among them with complaining +words. "If the white man's Great Spirit can do all things, let him give +Oshondonto and the Athabascas food." + +The missionary did not know of Silver Tassel's foolish words, but he saw +the downcast face of Knife-in-the-Wind, the sullen looks of the people; +and he unpacked the box he had reserved jealously for the darkest days +that might come. For meal after meal he divided these delicacies among +them--morsels of biscuit, and tinned meats, and dried fruits. But his eyes +meanwhile were turned again and again to the storm raging without, as it +had raged for this the longest week he had ever spent. If it would but +slacken, a boat could go out to the nets set in the lake near by some days +before, when the sun of spring had melted the ice. From the hour the nets +had been set the storm had raged. On the day when the last morsel of meat +and biscuit had been given away the storm had not abated, and he saw with +misgiving the gloomy, stolid faces of the Indians round him. One man, two +children, and three women had died in a fortnight. He dreaded to think +what might happen, his heart ached at the looks of gaunt suffering in the +faces of all; he saw, for the first time, how black and bitter +Knife-in-the-Wind looked as Silver Tassel whispered to him. + +With the color all gone from his cheeks, he left the post and made his way +to the edge of the lake where his canoe was kept. Making it ready for the +launch, he came back to the fort. Assembling the Indians, who had watched +his movements closely, he told them that he was going through the storm to +the nets on the lake, and asked for a volunteer to go with him. + +No one replied. He pleaded--for the sake of the women and children. + +Then Knife-in-the-Wind spoke. "Oshondonto will die if he goes. It is a +fool's journey--does the wolverine walk into an empty trap?" + +Billy Rufus spoke passionately now. His genial spirit fled; he reproached +them. + +Silver Tassel spoke up loudly: "Let Oshondonto's Great Spirit carry him to +the nets alone, and back again with fish for the heathen the Great Chief +died to save." + +"You have a wicked heart, Silver Tassel. You know well that one man can't +handle the boat and the nets also. Is there no one of you--?" + +A figure shot forward from a corner. "I will go with Oshondonto," came the +voice of Wingo, the waif of the Crees. + +The eye of the mikonaree flashed round in contempt on the tribe. Then +suddenly it softened, and he said to the lad, "We will go together, +Wingo." + +Taking the boy by the hand, he ran with him through the rough wind to the +shore, launched the canoe on the tossing lake, and paddled away through +the tempest. + + * * * * * + +The bitter winds of an angry spring, the sleet and wet snow of a belated +winter, the floating blocks of ice crushing against the side of the boat, +the black water swishing over man and boy, the harsh, inclement world near +and far.... The passage made at last to the nets; the brave Wingo +steadying the canoe--a skilful hand sufficing where the strength of a +Samson would not have availed; the nets half full, and the breaking cry of +joy from the lips of the waif--a cry that pierced the storm and brought +back an answering cry from the crowd of Indians on the far shore.... The +quarter-hour of danger in the tossing canoe; the nets too heavy to be +dragged, and fastened to the thwarts instead; the canoe going shoreward +jerkily, a cork on the waves with an anchor behind; heavier seas and winds +roaring down on them as they slowly near the shore; and at last, in one +awful moment, the canoe upset, and the man and the boy in the water.... +Then both clinging to the upturned canoe as it is driven near and nearer +shore.... The boy washed off once, twice, and the man with his arm round +clinging--clinging, as the shrieking storm answers to the calling of the +Athabascas on the shore, and drives craft and fish and man and boy down +upon the banks; no savage bold enough to plunge in to their rescue.... At +last a rope thrown, a drowning man's wrists wound round it, his teeth set +in it--and now, at last, a man and a heathen boy, both insensible, being +carried to the mikonaree's hut and laid upon two beds, one on either side +of the small room, as the red sun goes slowly down.... The two still +bodies on bearskins in the hut, and a hundred superstitious Indians flying +from the face of death.... The two alone in the light of the flickering +fire; the many gone to feast on fish, the price of lives. + +But the price was not yet paid, for the man waked from +insensibility--waked to see himself with the body of the boy beside him +in the red light of the fires. + +For a moment his heart stopped beating, he turned sick and faint. Deserted +by those for whom he risked his life!... How long had he lain there? What +time was it? When was it that he had fought his way to the nets and back +again--hours, maybe? And the dead boy there, Wingo, who had risked his +life, also dead--how long? His heart leaped--ah, not hours, only minutes, +maybe. It was sundown as unconsciousness came on him--Indians would not +stay with the dead after sundown. Maybe it was only ten minutes--five +minutes--one minute ago since they left him!... + +His watch! Shaking fingers drew it out, wild eyes scanned it. It was not +stopped. Then it could have only been minutes ago. Trembling to his feet, +he staggered over to Wingo, he felt the body, he held a mirror to the +lips. Yes, surely there was light moisture on the glass. + +Then began another fight with death--William Rufus Holly struggling to +bring to life again Wingo, the waif of of the Crees. + +The blood came back to his own heart with a rush as the mad desire to save +this life came on him. He talked to the dumb face, he prayed in a kind of +delirium, as he moved the arms up and down, as he tilted the body, as he +rubbed, chafed, and strove. He forgot he was a missionary, he almost +cursed himself. "For them--for cowards, I risked his life, the brave lad +with no home! Oh, God! give him back to me!" he sobbed. "What right had I +to risk his life for theirs? I should have shot the first man that refused +to go.... Wingo, speak! Wake up! Come back!" + +The sweat poured from him in his desperation and weakness. He said to +himself that he had put this young life into the hazard without cause. Had +he, then, saved the lad from the rapids and Silver Tassel's brutality only +to have him drag fish out of the jaws of death for Silver Tassel's meal? + +It seemed to him that he had been working for hours, though it was in fact +only a short time, when the eyes of the lad slowly opened and closed +again, and he began to breathe spasmodically. A cry of joy came from the +lips of the missionary, and he worked harder still. At last the eyes +opened wide, stayed open, saw the figure bent over him, and the lips +whispered, "Oshondonto--my master!" as a cup of brandy was held to his +lips. + + * * * * * + +Billy Rufus the cricketer had won the game, and somehow the Reverend +William Rufus Holly the missionary never repented the strong language he +used against the Athabascas as he was bringing Wingo back to life, though +it was not what is called "strictly canonical." + +He had conquered the Athabascas forever. Even Silver Tassel acknowledged +his power, and he as industriously spread abroad the report that the +mikonaree had raised Wingo from the dead, as he had sown dissension during +the famine. But the result was that the missionary had power in the land, +and the belief in him was so great that, when Knife-in-the-Wind died, the +tribe came to him to raise their chief from the dead. They never quite +believed that he could not--not even Silver Tassel, who now rules the +Athabascas and is ruled in turn by William Rufus Holly: which is a very +good thing for the Athabascas. + + + + +THE HEALING SPRINGS AND THE PIONEERS + + +He came out of the mysterious South one summer day, driving before him a +few sheep, a cow, and a long-eared mule which carried his tent and other +necessaries, and camped outside the town on a knoll, at the base of which +was a thicket of close shrub. During the first day no one in Jansen +thought anything of it, for it was a land of pilgrimage, and hundreds came +and went on their journeys in search of free homesteads and good water and +pasturage. But when, after three days, he was still there, Nicolle +Terasse, who had little to do and an insatiable curiosity, went out to see +him. He found a new sensation for Jansen. This is what he said when he +came back: + +"You want know 'bout him, _bagosh_! Dat is somet'ing to see, dat +man--Ingles is his name. Sooch hair--mooch long an' brown, and a leetla +beard not so brown, an' a leather sole onto his feet, and a gray coat to +his ankles--_oui_, so like dat. An' his voice--_voilà_, it is like water +in a cave. He is a great man--I dunno not; but he spik at me like dis, 'Is +dere sick, and cripple, and stay-in-bed people here dat can't get up?' he +say. An' I say, 'Not plenty, but some--_bagosh_! Dere is dat Miss Greet, +an' ole Ma'am Drouchy, an' dat young Pete Hayes--an' so on.' 'Well, if +they have faith I will heal them,' he spik at me. 'From de Healing Springs +dey shall rise to walk,' he say. _Bagosh_, you not t'ink dat true? Den you +go see." + +So Jansen turned out to see, and besides the man they found a curious +thing. At the foot of the knoll, in a space which he had cleared, was a +hot spring that bubbled and rose and sank, and drained away into the +thirsty ground. Luck had been with Ingles the Faith Healer. Whether he +knew of the existence of this spring, or whether he chanced upon it, he +did not say; but while he held Jansen in the palm of his hand, in the +feverish days that followed, there were many who attached mysterious +significance to it, who claimed for it supernatural origin. In any case, +the one man who had known of the existence of this spring was far away +from Jansen, and he did not return till a day of reckoning came for the +Faith Healer. + +Meanwhile, Jansen made pilgrimage to the Springs of Healing, and at +unexpected times Ingles suddenly appeared in the town, and stood at street +corners; and in his "Patmian voice," as Flood Rawley the lawyer called it, +warned the people to flee their sins, and, purifying their hearts, learn +to cure all ills of mind and body, the weaknesses of the sinful flesh and +the "ancient evil" in their souls, by faith that saves. + +"'_Is not the life more than meat?_'" he asked them. "And if, +peradventure, there be those among you who have true belief in hearts all +purged of evil, and yet are maimed, or sick of body, come to me, and I +will lay my hands upon you, and I will heal you." Thus he cried. + +There were those so wrought upon by his strange eloquence and spiritual +passion, so hypnotized by his physical and mental exaltation, that they +rose up from the hand-laying and the prayer eased of their ailments. +Others he called upon to lie in the hot spring at the foot of the hill for +varying periods, before the laying-on of hands, and these also, crippled +or rigid with troubles of the bone, announced that they were healed. + +People flocked from other towns, and though, to some who had been cured, +their pains and sickness returned, there were a few who bore perfect +evidence to his teaching and healing, and followed him, "converted and +consecrated," as though he were a new Messiah. In this corner of the West +was such a revival as none could remember--not even those who had been to +camp-meetings in the East in their youth, and had seen the Spirit descend +upon hundreds and draw them to the anxious seat. + +Then came the great sensation--the Faith Healer converted Laura Sloly. +Upon which Jansen drew its breath painfully; for, while it was willing to +bend to the inspiration of the moment, and to be swept on a tide of +excitement into that enchanted field called Imagination, it wanted to +preserve its institutions--and Laura Sloly had come to be an institution. +Jansen had always plumed itself, and smiled, when she passed; and even now +the most sentimentally religious of them inwardly anticipated the time +when the town would return to its normal condition; and that condition +would not be normal if there were any change in Laura Sloly. It mattered +little whether most people were changed or not, because one state of their +minds could not be less or more interesting than another; but a change in +Laura Sloly could not be for the better. + +Her father had come to the West in the early days, and had prospered by +degrees until a town grew up beside his ranch; and though he did not +acquire as much permanent wealth from this golden chance as might have +been expected, and lost much he did make by speculation, still he had his +rich ranch left, and it and he and Laura were part of the history of +Jansen. Laura had been born at Jansen before even it had a name. Next to +her father she was the oldest inhabitant, and she had a prestige which was +given to no one else. + +[Illustration: THE FAITH HEALER] + +Everything had conspired to make her a figure of moment and interest. She +was handsome in almost a mannish sort of way, being of such height and +straightness, and her brown eyes had a depth and fire in which more than a +few men had drowned themselves. Also, once she had saved a settlement by +riding ahead of a marauding Indian band to warn their intended victims, +and had averted another tragedy of pioneer life. Pioneers proudly told +strangers to Jansen of the girl of thirteen who rode a hundred and twenty +miles without food, and sank inside the palisade of the Hudson Bay +Company's fort, as the gates closed upon the settlers taking refuge, the +victim of brain fever at last. _Cerebro-spinal meningitis_, the doctor +from Winnipeg called it, and the memory of that time when men and women +would not sleep till her crisis was past was still fresh on the tongues of +all. + +Then she had married at seventeen, and, within a year, had lost both her +husband and her baby, a child bereaved of her Playmates--for her husband +had been but twenty years old and was younger far than she in everything. +And since then, twelve years before, she had seen generations of lovers +pass into the land they thought delectable; and their children flocked to +her, hung about her, were carried off by her to the ranch, and kept for +days, against the laughing protests of their parents. Flood Rawley called +her the Pied Piper of Jansen, and, indeed, she had a voice that fluted and +piped, and yet had so whimsical a note that the hardest faces softened at +the sound of it; and she did not keep its best notes for the few. She was +impartial, almost impersonal; no woman was her enemy, and every man was +her friend--and nothing more. She had never had an accepted lover since +the day her Playmates left her. Every man except one had given up hope +that he might win her; and though he had been gone from Jansen for two +years, and had loved her since the days before the Playmates came and +went, he never gave up hope, and was now to return and say again what he +had mutely said for years--what she understood, and he knew she +understood. + +Tim Denton had been a wild sort in his brief day. He was a rough diamond, +but he was a diamond, and was typical of the West--its heart, its courage, +its freedom, and its force; capable of exquisite gentleness strenuous to +exaggeration, with a very primitive religion, and the only religion Tim +knew was that of human nature. Jansen did not think Tim good enough--not +within a comet shot--for Laura Sloly; but they thought him better than any +one else. + +But now Laura was a convert to the prophet of the Healing Springs, and +those people who still retained their heads in the eddy of religious +emotion were in despair. They dreaded to meet Laura; they kept away from +the "protracted meetings," but were eager to hear about her and what she +said and did. What they heard allayed their worst fears. She still smiled, +and seemed as cheerful as before, they heard, and she neither spoke nor +prayed in public, but she led the singing always. Now the anxious and the +sceptical and the reactionary ventured out to see and hear; and seeing and +hearing gave them a satisfaction they hardly dared express. She was more +handsome than ever, and if her eyes glistened with a light they had never +seen before, and awed them, her lips still smiled, and the old laugh came +when she spoke to them. Their awe increased. This was "getting religion" +with a difference. + +But presently they received a shock. A whisper grew that Laura was in love +with the Faith Healer. Some woman's instinct drove straight to the centre +of a disconcerting possibility, and in consternation she told her husband; +and Jansen husbands had a freemasonry of gossip. An hour, and all Jansen +knew, or thought they knew; and the "saved" rejoiced; and the rest of the +population, represented by Nicolle Terasse at one end and Flood Rawley at +the other, flew to arms. No vigilance committee was ever more determined +and secret and organized than the unconverted civic patriots who were +determined to restore Jansen to its old-time condition. They pointed out +cold-bloodedly that the Faith Healer had failed three times where he had +succeeded once; and that, admitting the successes, there was no proof that +his religion was their cause. There were such things as hypnotism and +magnetism and will-power, and abnormal mental stimulus on the part of the +healed--to say nothing of the Healing Springs. + +Carefully laying their plans, they quietly spread the rumor that Ingles +had promised to restore to health old Mary Jewell, who had been bedridden +ten years, and had sent word and prayed to have him lay his hands upon +her--Catholic though she was. The Faith Healer, face to face with this +supreme and definite test, would have retreated from it but for Laura +Sloly. She expected him to do it, believed that he could, said that he +would, herself arranged the day and the hour, and sang so much exaltation +into him that at last a spurious power seemed to possess him. He felt that +there had entered into him something that could be depended on, not the +mere flow of natural magnetism fed by an out-door life and a temperament +of great emotional force and chance and suggestion--and other things. If, +at first, he had influenced Laura, some ill-controlled, latent idealism in +him, working on a latent poetry and spirituality in her, somehow bringing +her into nearer touch with her lost Playmates than she had been in the +long years that had passed; she, in turn, had made his unrationalized +brain reel; had caught him up into a higher air, on no wings of his own; +had added another lover to her company of lovers--and the first impostor +she had ever had. She who had known only honest men as friends, in one +blind moment lost her perspicuous sense; her instinct seemed asleep. She +believed in the man and in his healing. Was there anything more than +that? + +The day of the great test came, hot, brilliant, vivid. The air was of a +delicate sharpness, and, as it came toward evening, the glamour of an +August when the reapers reap was upon Jansen; and its people gathered +round the house of Mary Jewell to await the miracle of faith. Apart from +the emotional many who sang hymns and spiritual songs were a few +determined men, bent on doing justice to Jansen though the heavens might +fall. Whether or no Laura Sloly was in love with the Faith Healer, Jansen +must look to its own honor--and hers. In any case, this peripatetic saint +at Sloly's Ranch--the idea was intolerable; women must be saved in spite +of themselves. + +Laura was now in the house by the side of the bedridden Mary Jewell, +waiting, confident, smiling, as she held the wasted hand on the coverlet. +With her was a minister of the Baptist persuasion, who was swimming with +the tide, and who approved of the Faith Healer's immersions in the hot +Healing Springs; also a medical student who had pretended belief in +Ingles, and two women weeping with unnecessary remorse for human failings +of no dire kind. The windows were open, and those outside could see. +Presently, in a lull of the singing, there was a stir in the crowd, and +then sudden loud greetings-- + +"My, if it ain't Tim Denton! Jerusalem! You back, Tim!" + +These and other phrases caught the ear of Laura Sloly in the sick-room. A +strange look flashed across her face, and the depth of her eyes was +troubled for a moment, as to the face of the old comes a tremor at the +note of some long-forgotten song. Then she steadied herself and waited, +catching bits of the loud talk which still floated toward her from +without. + +"What's up? Some one getting married--or a legacy, or a saw-off? Why, what +a lot of Sunday-go-to-meeting folks _to_ be sure!" Tim laughed loudly. + +After which the quick tongue of Nicolle Terasse: "You want know? _Tiens_, +be quiet; here he come. He cure you body and soul, ver' queeck--yes." + +The crowd swayed and parted, and slowly, bare head uplifted, face looking +to neither right nor left, the Faith Healer made his way to the door of +the little house. The crowd hushed. Some were awed, some were +overpoweringly interested, some were cruelly patient. Nicolle Terasse and +others were whispering loudly to Tim Denton. That was the only sound, +until the Healer got to the door. Then, on the steps, he turned to the +multitude. + +"Peace be to you all, and upon this house," he said, and stepped through +the doorway. + +Tim Denton, who had been staring at the face of the Healer, stood for an +instant like one with all his senses arrested. Then he gasped and +exclaimed, "Well, I'm eternally--!" and broke off with a low laugh, which +was at first mirthful, and then became ominous and hard. + +"Oh, magnificent!--magnificent!--jerickety!" he said into the sky above +him. + +His friends who were not "saved" closed in on him to find the meaning of +his words, but he pulled himself together, looked blankly at them, and +asked them questions. They told him so much more than he cared to hear +that his face flushed a deep red--the bronze of it most like the color of +Laura Sloly's hair; then he turned pale. Men saw that he was roused beyond +any feeling in themselves. + +"'Sh!" he said. "Let's see what he can do." With the many who were +silently praying, as they had been bidden to do, the invincible ones +leaned forward, watching the little room where healing--or tragedy--was +afoot. As in a picture, framed by the window, they saw the kneeling +figures, the Healer standing with outstretched arms. They heard his voice, +sonorous and appealing, then commanding--and yet Mary Jewell did not rise +from her bed and walk. Again, and yet again, the voice rang out, and still +the woman lay motionless. Then he laid his hands upon her, and again he +commanded her to rise. + +There was a faint movement, a desperate struggle to obey, but Nature and +Time and Disease had their way. + +Yet again there was the call. An agony stirred the bed. Then another great +Healer came between and mercifully dealt the sufferer a blow--Death has a +gentle hand sometimes. Mary Jewell was bedridden still--and forever. + +Like a wind from the mountains the chill knowledge of death wailed through +the window and over the heads of the crowd. All the figures were upright +now in the little room. Then those outside saw Laura Sloly lean over and +close the sightless eyes. This done, she came to the door and opened it, +and motioned for the Healer to leave. He hesitated, hearing the harsh +murmur from the outskirts of the crowd. Once again she motioned, and he +came. With a face deadly pale she surveyed the people before her silently +for a moment, her eyes all huge and staring. Presently she turned to +Ingles and spoke to him quickly in a low voice; then, descending the +steps, passed out through the lane made for her by the crowd, he following +with shaking limbs and bowed head. + +Warning words had passed among the few invincible ones who waited where +the Healer must pass into the open, and there was absolute stillness as +Laura advanced. Their work was to come--quiet and swift and sure; but not +yet. + +Only one face Laura saw as she led the way to the moment's safety--Tim +Denton's; and it was as stricken as her own. She passed, then turned and +looked at him again. He understood; she wanted him. + +He waited till she sprang into her wagon, after the Healer had mounted his +mule and ridden away with ever-quickening pace into the prairie. Then he +turned to the set, fierce men beside him. + +"Leave him alone," he said--"leave him to me. I know him. You hear? Ain't +I no rights? I tell you I knew him--South. You leave him to me." + +They nodded, and he sprang into his saddle and rode away. They watched the +figure of the Healer growing smaller in the dusty distance. + +"Tim'll go to her," one said, "and perhaps they'll let the snake get off. +Hadn't we best make sure?" + +"Perhaps you'd better let him vamoose," said Flood Rawley, anxiously. +"Jansen is a law-abiding place." + +The reply was decisive. Jansen had its honor to keep. It was the home of +the Pioneers--Laura Sloly was a Pioneer. + + * * * * * + +Tim Denton was a Pioneer, with all the comradeship which lay in the word, +and he was that sort of lover who has seen one woman and can never see +another--not the product of the most modern civilization. Before Laura had +had Playmates he had given all he had to give; he had waited and hoped +ever since; and when the ruthless gossips had said to him before Mary +Jewell's house that she was in love with the Faith Healer, nothing changed +in him. For the man--for Ingles--Tim belonged to a primitive breed, and +love was not in his heart. As he rode out to Sloly's Ranch, he ground his +teeth in rage. But Laura had called him to her, and-- + +"Well, what you say goes, Laura," he muttered at the end of a long hour of +human passion and its repression. "If he's to go scot-free, then he's got +to go; but the boys yonder'll drop on me if he gets away. Can't you see +what a swab he is, Laura?" + +The brown eyes of the girl looked at him gently. The struggle between them +was over; she had had her way--to save the preacher, impostor though he +was; and now she felt, as she had never felt before in the same fashion, +that this man was a man of men. + +"Tim, you do not understand," she urged. "You say he was a landsharp in +the South, and that he had to leave--" + +"He had to vamoose, or take tar and feathers." + +"But he had to leave. And he came here preaching and healing; and he is a +hypocrite and a fraud--I know that now, my eyes are opened. He didn't do +what he said he could do, and it killed Mary Jewell--the shock; and there +were other things he said he could do, and didn't do them. Perhaps he is +all bad, as you say--I don't think so. But he did some good things, and +through him I've felt as I've never felt before about God and life, and +about Walt and the baby--as though I'll see them again, sure. I've never +felt that before. It was all as if they were lost in the hills, and no +trail home, or out to where they are. Like as not God was working in him +all the time, Tim; and he failed because he counted too much on the little +he had, and made up for what he hadn't by what he pretended." + +"He can pretend to himself, or God Almighty, or that lot down there"--he +jerked a finger toward the town--"but to you, a girl, and a Pioneer--" + +A flash of humor shot into her eyes at his last words, then they filled +with tears, through which the smile shone. To pretend to "a Pioneer"--the +splendid vanity and egotism of the West! + +"He didn't pretend to me, Tim. People don't usually have to _pretend_ to +like me." + +"You know what I'm driving at." + +"Oh yes, I know. And whatever he is, you've said that you will save him. +I'm straight, you know that. Somehow, what I felt from his +preaching--well, everything got sort of mixed up with him, and he was--was +different. It was like the long dream of Walt and the baby, and he a part +of it. I don't know what I felt, or what I might have felt for him. I'm a +woman--I can't understand. But I know what I feel now. I never want to see +him again on earth--or in heaven. It needn't be necessary even in heaven; +but what happened between God and me through him stays, Tim; and so you +must help him get away safe. It's in your hands--you say they left it to +you." + +"I don't trust that too much." + +Suddenly he pointed out of the window toward the town. "See, I'm right; +there they are, a dozen of 'em mounted. They're off, to run him down." + +Her face paled; she glanced toward the Hill of Healing. "He's got an +hour's start," she said; "he'll get into the mountains and be safe." + +"If they don't catch him 'fore that." + +"Or if you don't get to him first," she said, with nervous insistence. + +He turned to her with a hard look; then, as he met her soft, fearless, +beautiful eyes, his own grew gentle. + +"It takes a lot of doing. Yet I'll do it for you, Laura," he said. "But +it's hard on the Pioneers." + +Once more her humor flashed, and it seemed to him that "getting religion" +was not so depressing after all--wouldn't be, anyhow, when this nasty job +was over. + +"The Pioneers will get over it, Tim," she rejoined. "They've swallowed a +lot in their time. Heaven's gate will have to be pretty wide to let in a +real Pioneer," she added. "He takes up so much room--ah, Timothy Denton!" +she added, with an outburst of whimsical merriment. + +"It hasn't spoiled you--being converted--has it?" he said, and gave a +quick little laugh, which somehow did more for his ancient cause with her +than all he had ever said or done. Then he stepped outside and swung into +his saddle. + + * * * * * + +It had been a hard and anxious ride, but Tim had won, and was keeping his +promise. The night had fallen before he got to the mountains, which he and +the Pioneers had seen the Faith Healer enter. They had had four miles' +start of Tim, and had ridden fiercely, and they entered the gulch into +which the refugee had disappeared still two miles ahead. + +The invincibles had seen Tim coming, but they had determined to make a +sure thing of it, and would themselves do what was necessary with the +impostor, and take no chances. So they pressed their horses, and he saw +them swallowed by the trees as darkness gathered. Changing his course, he +entered the familiar hills, which he knew better than any Pioneer of +Jansen, and rode a diagonal course over the trail they would take. But +night fell suddenly, and there was nothing to do but to wait till morning. +There was comfort in this--the others must also wait, and the refugee +could not go far. In any case, he must make for settlement or perish, +since he had left behind his sheep and his cow. + +It fell out better than Tim hoped. The Pioneers were as good hunters as +was he, their instinct was as sure, their scouts and trackers were many, +and he was but one. They found the Faith Healer by a little stream, eating +bread and honey, and, like an ancient woodlander, drinking from a +horn--relic of his rank imposture. He made no resistance. They tried him, +formally if perfunctorily; he admitted his imposture, and begged for his +life. Then they stripped him naked, tied a bit of canvas round his waist, +fastened him to a tree, and were about to complete his punishment when Tim +Denton burst upon them. + +Whether the rage Tim showed was all real or not; whether his accusations +of bad faith came from so deeply wounded a spirit as he would have them +believe, he was not likely to tell; but he claimed the prisoner as his +own, and declined to say what he meant to do. When, however, they saw the +abject terror of the Faith Healer as he begged not to be left alone with +Tim--for they had not meant death, and Ingles thought he read death in +Tim's ferocious eyes--they laughed cynically, and left it to Tim to uphold +the honor of Jansen and the Pioneers. + +As they disappeared, the last thing they saw was Tim with his back to +them, his hands on his hips, and a knife clasped in his fingers. + +"He'll lift his scalp and make a monk of him," chuckled the oldest and +hardest of them. + +"Dat Tim will cut his heart out, I t'ink--_bagosh_!" said Nicolle Terasse, +and took a drink of white whiskey. + +For a long time Tim stood looking at the other, until no sound came from +the woods whither the Pioneers had gone. Then at last, slowly and with no +roughness, as the terror-stricken impostor shrank and withered, he cut the +cords. + +"Dress yourself," he said, shortly, and sat down beside the stream, and +washed his face and hands as though to cleanse them from contamination. He +appeared to take no notice of the other, though his ears keenly noted +every movement. + +The impostor dressed nervously, yet slowly; he scarce comprehended +anything, except that he was not in immediate danger. When he had +finished, he stood looking at Tim, who was still seated on a log plunged +in meditation. + +It seemed hours before Tim turned round, and now his face was quiet, if +set and determined. He walked slowly over, and stood looking at his victim +for some time without speaking. The other's eyes dropped, and a grayness +stole over his features. This steely calm was even more frightening than +the ferocity which had previously been in his captor's face. At length the +tense silence was broken: + +"Wasn't the old game good enough? Was it played out? Why did you take to +this? Why did you do it, Scranton?" + +The voice quavered a little in reply: "I don't know. Something sort of +pushed me into it." + +"How did you come to start it?" + +There was a long silence, then the husky reply came: + +"I got a sickener last time--" + +"Yes, I remember, at Waywing." + +"I got into the desert, and had hard times--awful for a while. I hadn't +enough to eat, and I didn't know whether I'd die by hunger or fever or +Indians--or snakes." + +"Oh, you were seeing snakes!" said Tim, grimly. + +"Not the kind you mean; I hadn't anything to drink--" + +"No, you never did drink, I remember--just was crooked, and slopped over +women. Well, about the snakes?" + +"I caught them to eat, and they were poison-snakes often. And I wasn't +quick at first to get them safe by the neck--they're quick, too." + +Tim laughed inwardly. "Getting your food by the sweat of your brow--and a +snake in it, same as Adam! Well, was it in the desert you got your taste +for honey, too, same as John the Baptist--that was his name, if I +recomember?" He looked at the tin of honey on the ground. + +"Not in the desert, but when I got to the grass-country." + +"How long were you in the desert?" + +"Close to a year." + +Tim's eyes opened wider. He saw that the man was speaking the truth. + +"Got to thinking in the desert, and sort of willing things to come to +pass, and mooning along, you and the sky and the vultures and the hot +hills and the snakes and the flowers--eh?" + +"There weren't any flowers till I got to the grass-country." + +"Oh, cuss me, if you ain't simple for your kind! I know all about that. +And when you got to the grass-country you just picked up the honey and the +flowers, and a calf and a lamb and a mule here and there, 'without money +and without price,' and walked on--that it?" + +The other shrank before the steel in the voice, and nodded his head. + +"But you kept thinking in the grass-country of what you'd felt and said +and done--and willed, in the desert, I suppose?" + +Again the other nodded. + +"It seemed to you in the desert as if you'd saved your own life a hundred +times, as if you'd just willed food and drink and safety to come; as if +Providence had been at your elbow?" + +"It was like a dream, and it stayed with me. I had to think in the desert +things I'd never thought before," was the half-abstracted answer. + +"You _felt_ good in the desert?" + +The other hung his head in shame. + +"Makes you seem pretty small, doesn't it? You didn't stay long enough, I +guess, to get what you were feeling for; you started in on the new racket +too soon. You never got really possessed that you was a sinner. I expect +that's it." + +The other made no reply. + +"Well, I don't know much about such things. I was loose brought up; but +I've a friend"--Laura was before his eyes--"that says religion's all +right, and long ago as I can remember my mother used to pray three times a +day--with grace at meals, too. I know there's a lot in it for them that +need it; and there seems to be a lot of folks needing it, if I'm to judge +by folks down there at Jansen, 'specially when there's the laying-on of +hands and the Healing Springs. Oh, that was a pigsty game, Scranton, that +about God giving you the Healing Springs, like Moses and the rock! Why, I +discovered them springs myself two years ago, before I went South, and I +guess God wasn't helping me any--not after I've kept out of His way as I +have. But, anyhow, religion's real; that's my sense of it; and you can get +it, I bet, if you try. I've seen it got. A friend of mine got it--got it +under your preaching; not from you; but you was the accident that brought +it about, I expect. It's funny--it's merakilous, but it's so. Kneel down!" +he added, with peremptory suddenness. "Kneel, Scranton!" + +In fear the other knelt. + +"You're going to get religion now--here. You're going to pray for what you +didn't get--and almost got--in the desert. You're going to ask forgiveness +for all your damn tricks, and pray like a fanning-mill for the Spirit to +come down. You ain't a scoundrel at heart--a friend of mine says so. +You're a weak vessel--cracked, perhaps. You've got to be saved, and start +right over again--and 'Praise God from whom all blessings flow!' +Pray--pray, Scranton, and tell the whole truth, and get it--get religion. +Pray like blazes. You go on, and pray out loud. Remember the desert, and +Mary Jewell, and your mother--did you have a mother, Scranton?--say, did +you have a mother, lad?" + +Tim's voice suddenly lowered before the last word, for the Faith Healer +had broken down in a torrent of tears. + +"Oh, my mother--O God!" he groaned. + +"Say, that's right--that's right--go on," said the other and drew back a +little, and sat down on a log. + +The man on his knees was convulsed with misery. Denton, the world, +disappeared. He prayed in agony. + +Presently Tim moved uneasily, then got up and walked about; and at last, +with a strange, awed look, when an hour was past, he stole back into the +shadow of the trees while still the wounded soul poured out its misery and +repentance. + +Time moved on. A curious shyness possessed Tim now, a thing which he had +never felt in his life. He moved about self-consciously, awkwardly, until +at last there was a sudden silence over by the brook. + +Tim looked, and saw the face of the kneeling man cleared and quiet and +shining. He hesitated, then stepped out, and came over. + +"Have you got it?" he asked, quietly. "It's noon now." + +"May God help me to redeem my past," answered the other, in a new voice. + +"You've got it--sure?" Tim's voice was meditative. + +"God has spoken to me," was the simple answer. + +"I've got a friend'll be glad to hear that," he said; and once more, in +imagination, he saw Laura Sloly standing at the door of her home, with a +light in her eyes he had never seen before. + +"You'll want some money for your journey?" Tim asked. + +"I want nothing but to go away--far away," was the low reply. + +"Well, you've lived in the desert--I guess you can live in the +grass-country," came the dry response, "Good-bye--and good-luck, +Scranton." + +Tim turned to go, moved on a few steps, then looked back. + +"Don't be afraid--they'll not follow," he said. "I'll fix it for you all +right." + +But the man appeared not to hear; he was still on his knees. + +Tim faced the woods once more. + +He was about to mount his horse when he heard a step behind him. He turned +sharply--and faced Laura. + +"I couldn't rest. I came out this morning. I've seen everything," she +said. + +"You didn't trust me," he said, heavily. + +"I never did anything else," she answered. + +He gazed half-fearfully into her eyes. "Well?" he asked. "I've done my +best, as I said I would." + +"Tim," she said, and slipped a hand in his, "would you mind the +religion--if you had me?" + + + + +THE LITTLE WIDOW OF JANSEN + + +Her advent to Jansen was propitious. Smallpox in its most virulent form +had broken out in the French-Canadian portion of the town, and, coming +with some professional nurses from the East, herself an amateur, to attend +the sufferers, she worked with such skill and devotion that the official +thanks of the Corporation were offered her, together with a tiny gold +watch, the gift of grateful citizens. But she still remained on at Jansen, +saying always, however, that she was "going East in the spring." + +Five years had passed, and still she had not gone East, but remained +perched in the rooms she had first taken, over the Imperial Bank, while +the town grew up swiftly round her. And even when the young bank manager +married, and wished to take over the rooms, she sent him to the +right-about from his own premises in her gay, masterful way. The young +manager behaved well in the circumstances, because he had asked her to +marry him, and she had dismissed him with a warning against challenging +his own happiness--that was the way she had put it. Perhaps he was galled +the less because others had striven for the same prize, and had been +thrust back, with an almost tender misgiving as to their sense of +self-preservation and sanity. Some of them were eligible enough, and all +were of some position in the West. Yet she smiled them firmly away, to the +wonder of Jansen, and to its satisfaction, for was it not a tribute to all +that she would distinguish no particular unit by her permanent favor? But +for one so sprightly and almost frivolous in manner at times, the +self-denial seemed incongruous. She was unconventional enough to sit on +the sidewalk with a half-dozen children round her blowing bubbles, or to +romp in any garden, or in the street, playing Puss-in-the-ring; yet this +only made her more popular. Jansen's admiration was at its highest, +however, when she rode in the annual steeplechase with the best horsemen +of the province. She had the gift of doing as well as of being. + +"'Tis the light heart she has, and slippin' in and out of things like a +hummin'-bird, no easier to ketch and no longer to stay," said Finden, the +rich Irish landbroker, suggestively to Father Bourassa, the huge +French-Canadian priest who had worked with her through all the dark weeks +of the smallpox epidemic, and who knew what lay beneath the outer gayety. +She had been buoyant of spirit beside the beds of the sick, and her words +were full of raillery and humor, yet there was ever a gentle note behind +all; and the priest had seen her eyes shining with tears as she bent over +some stricken sufferer bound upon an interminable journey. + +"Bedad! as bright a little spark as ever struck off the steel," added +Finden to the priest, with a sidelong, inquisitive look, "but a heart no +bigger than a marrowfat pea--selfishness, all self. Keepin' herself for +herself when there's many a good man needin' her. Mother o' Moses, how +many! From Terry O'Ryan, brother of a peer, at Latouche, to Bernard Bapty, +son of a millionaire, at Vancouver, there's a string o' them. All pride +and self; and as fair a lot they've been as ever entered for the Marriage +Cup. Now isn't that so, father?" + +Finden's brogue did not come from a plebeian origin. It was part of his +commercial equipment, an asset of his boyhood spent among the peasants on +the family estate in Galway. + +Father Bourassa fanned himself with the black broadbrim hat he wore, and +looked benignly but quizzically on the wiry, sharp-faced Irishman. + +"You t'ink her heart is leetla. But perhaps it is your mind is not so +big enough to see--_hien_?" The priest laughed noiselessly, showing +white teeth. "Was it so selfish in Madame to refuse the name of +Finden--_n'est-ce pas_?" + +Finden flushed, then burst into a laugh. "I'd almost forgotten I was one +of them--the first almost. Blessed be he that expects nothing, for he'll +get it sure. It was my duty, and I did it. Was she to feel that Jansen did +not price her high? Bedad, father, I rose betimes and did it, before anny +man should say he set me the lead. Before the carpet in the parlor was +down, and with the bare boards soundin' to my words, I offered her the +name of Finden." + +"And so--the first of the long line! _Bien_, it is an honor." The priest +paused a moment, looked at Finden with a curious reflective look, and then +said, "And so you t'ink there is no one; that she will say yes not at +all--no?" + +They were sitting on Father Bourassa's verandah, on the outskirts of the +town, above the great river, along which had travelled millions of bygone +people, fighting, roaming, hunting, trapping; and they could hear it +rushing past, see the swirling eddies, the impetuous currents, the +occasional rafts moving majestically down the stream. They were facing the +wild North, while civilization was hacking and hewing and ploughing its +way to newer and newer cities, in an empire ever spreading to the Pole. + +Finden's glance loitered on this scene before he replied. At length, +screwing up one eye, and with a suggestive smile, he answered: "Sure, it's +all a matter of time, to the selfishest woman. 'Tis not the same with +women as with men; you see, they don't get younger--that's a point. +But"--he gave a meaning glance at the priest--"but perhaps she's not going +to wait for that, after all. And there he rides, a fine figure of a man, +too, if I have to say it!" + +"M'sieu' Varley?" the priest responded, and watched a galloping horseman +to whom Finden had pointed till he rounded a corner of a little wood. + +"Varley, the great London surgeon, sure! Say, father, it's a hundred to +one she'd take him if--" + +There was a curious look in Father Bourassa's face, a cloud in his eyes. +He sighed. "London, it is ver' far away," he remarked, obliquely. + +"What's to that? If she is with the right man, near or far is nothing." + +"So far--from home," said the priest, reflectively, but his eyes furtively +watched the other's face. + +"But home's where man and wife are." + +The priest now looked him straight in the eyes. "Then, as you say, she +will not marry M'sieu' Varley--_hein_?" + +The humor died out of Finden's face. His eyes met the priest's eyes +steadily. "Did I say that? Then my tongue wasn't making a fool of me, +after all. How did you guess I knew--everything, father?" + +"A priest knows many t'ings--so." + +There was a moment of gloom, then the Irishman brightened. He came +straight to the heart of the mystery around which they had been +manoeuvring. "Have you seen her husband--Meydon--this year? It isn't his +usual time to come yet." + +Father Bourassa's eyes drew those of his friend into the light of a new +understanding and revelation. They understood and trusted each other. + +[Illustration: "AS PURTY A WOMAN, TOO--AS PURTY AND AS STRAIGHT BEWHILES"] + +"_Hélas!_ He is there in the hospital," he answered, and nodded toward a +building not far away, which had been part of an old Hudson Bay Company's +fort. It had been hastily adapted as a hospital for the smallpox victims. + +"Oh, it's Meydon, is it, that bad case I heard of to-day?" + +The priest nodded again and pointed. "_Voilà_, Madame Meydon, she is +coming. She has seen him--her hoosban'." + +Finden's eyes followed the gesture. The little widow of Jansen was coming +from the hospital, walking slowly toward the river. + +"As purty a woman, too--as purty and as straight bewhiles. What is the +matter with him--with Meydon?" Finden asked, after a moment. + +"An accident in the woods--so. He arrive, it is las' night, from Great +Slave Lake." + +Finden sighed. "Ten years ago he was a man to look at twice--before he did +_It_ and got away. Now his own mother wouldn't know him--bad 'cess to him! +I knew him from the cradle almost. I spotted him here by a knife-cut I +gave him in the hand when we were lads together. A divil of a timper +always both of us had, but the good-nature was with me, and I didn't drink +and gamble and carry a pistol. It's ten years since he did the killing, +down in Quebec, and I don't suppose the police will get him now. He's been +counted dead. I recognized him here the night after I asked her how she +liked the name of Finden. She doesn't know that I ever knew him. And he +didn't recognize me--twenty-five years since we met before! It would be +better if he went under the sod. Is he pretty sick, father?" + +"He will die unless the surgeon's knife it cure him before twenty-four +hours, and--" + +"And Doctor Brydon is sick, and Doctor Hadley away at Winnipeg, and this +is two hundred miles from nowhere! It looks as if the police'll never get +him, eh?" + +"You have not tell any one--never?" + +Finden laughed. "Though I'm not a priest, I can lock myself up as tight as +anny. There's no tongue that's so tied, when tying's needed, as the one +that babbles most bewhiles. Babbling covers a lot of secrets." + +"So you t'ink it better Meydon should die, as Hadley is away and Brydon is +sick--_hein_?" + +"Oh, I think--" + +Finden stopped short, for a horse's hoofs sounded on the turf beside the +house, and presently Varley, the great London surgeon, rounded the corner +and stopped his horse in front of the veranda. + +He lifted his hat to the priest. "I hear there's a bad case at the +hospital," he said. + +"It is ver' dangerous," answered Father Bourassa; "but, _voilà_, come in! +There is something cool to drink. Ah, yes, he is ver' bad, that man from +the Great Slave Lake." + +Inside the house, with the cooling drinks, Varley pressed his questions, +and presently, much interested, told at some length of singular cases +which had passed through his hands--one a man with his neck broken, who +had lived for six months afterward. + +"Broken as a man's neck is broken by hanging--dislocation, really--the +disjointing of the _medulla oblongata_, if you don't mind technicalities," +he said. "But I kept him living just the same. Time enough for him to +repent in and get ready to go. A most interesting case. He was a criminal, +too, and wanted to die; but you have to keep life going if you can, to the +last inch of resistance." + +The priest looked thoughtfully out of the window; Finden's eyes were +screwed up in a questioning way, but neither made any response to Varley's +remarks. There was a long minute's silence. They were all three roused by +hearing a light footstep on the veranda. + +Father Bourassa put down his glass and hastened into the hallway. Finden +caught a glimpse of a woman's figure, and, without a word, passed abruptly +from the dining-room, where they were, into the priest's study, leaving +Varley alone. Varley turned to look after him, stared, and shrugged his +shoulders. + +"The manners of the West," he said, good-humoredly, and turned again to +the hallway, from whence came the sound of the priest's voice. Presently +there was another voice--a woman's. He flushed slightly and involuntarily +straightened himself. + +"Valerie," he murmured. + +An instant afterward she entered the room with the priest. She was dressed +in a severely simple suit of gray, which set off to advantage her slim, +graceful figure. There seemed no reason why she should have been called +the little widow of Jansen, for she was not small, but she was very finely +and delicately made, and the name had been but an expression of Jansen's +paternal feeling for her. She had always had a good deal of fresh color, +but to-day she seemed pale, though her eyes had a strange disturbing +light. It was not that they brightened on seeing this man before her; they +had been brighter, burningly bright, when she left the hospital, where, +since it had been built, she had been the one visitor of authority--Jansen +had given her that honor. She had a gift of smiling, and she smiled now, +but it came from grace of mind rather than from humor. As Finden had said, +"She was forever acting, and never doin' any harm by it." + +Certainly she was doing no harm by it now; nevertheless, it was acting. +Could it be otherwise, with what was behind her life--a husband who had +ruined her youth, had committed homicide, had escaped capture, but who had +not subsequently died, as the world believed he had done, so +circumstantial was the evidence. He was not man enough to make the +accepted belief in his death a fact. What could she do but act, since the +day she got a letter from the Far North, which took her out to Jansen, +nominally to nurse those stricken with smallpox under Father Bourassa's +care, actually to be where her wretched husband could come to her once a +year, as he had asked with an impossible selfishness? + +Each year she had seen him for an hour or less, giving him money, speaking +to him over a gulf so wide that it seemed sometimes as though her voice +could not be heard across it; each year opening a grave to look at the +embalmed face of one who had long since died in shame, which only brought +back the cruellest of all memories, that which one would give one's best +years to forget. With a fortitude beyond description she had faced it, +gently, quietly, but firmly faced it--firmly, because she had to be firm +in keeping him within those bounds the invasion of which would have killed +her. And after the first struggle with his unchangeable brutality it had +been easier: for into his degenerate brain there had come a faint +understanding of the real situation and of her. He had kept his side of +the gulf, but gloating on this touch between the old luxurious, indulgent +life, with its refined vices, and this present coarse, hard life, where +pleasures were few and gross. The free Northern life of toil and hardship +had not refined him. He greedily hung over this treasure, which was not +for his spending, yet was his own--as though in a bank he had hoards of +money which he might not withdraw. + +So the years had gone on, with their recurrent dreaded anniversaries, +carrying misery almost too great to be borne by this woman mated to the +loathed phantom of a sad, dead life; and when this black day of each year +was over, for a few days afterwards she went nowhere, was seen by none. +Yet, when she did appear again, it was with her old laughing manner, her +cheerful and teasing words, her quick response to the emotions of others. + +So it had gone till Varley had come to follow the open-air life for four +months, after a heavy illness due to blood-poisoning got in his surgical +work in London. She had been able to live her life without too great a +struggle till he came. Other men had flattered her vanity, had given her a +sense of power, had made her understand her possibilities, but nothing +more--nothing of what Varley brought with him. And before three months had +gone, she knew that no man had ever interested her as Varley had done. Ten +years before, she would not have appreciated or understood him, this +intellectual, clean-shaven, rigidly abstemious man, whose pleasures +belonged to the fishing-rod and the gun and the horse, and who had come to +be so great a friend of him who had been her best friend--Father Bourassa. +Father Bourassa had come to know the truth--not from her, for she had ever +been a Protestant, but from her husband, who, Catholic by birth and a +renegade from all religion, had had a moment of spurious emotion, when he +went and confessed to Father Bourassa and got absolution, pleading for the +priest's care of his wife. Afterward Father Bourassa made up his mind that +the confession had a purpose behind it other than repentance, and he +deeply resented the use to which he thought he was being put--a kind of +spy upon the beautiful woman whom Jansen loved, and who, in spite of any +outward flippancy, was above reproach. + +In vital things the instinct becomes abnormally acute, and, one day, when +the priest looked at her commiseratingly, she had divined what moved him. +However it was, she drove him into a corner with a question to which he +dare not answer yes, but to which he might not answer no, and did not; and +she realized that he knew the truth, and she was the better for his +knowing, though her secret was no longer a secret. She was not aware that +Finden also knew. Then Varley came, bringing a new joy and interest in her +life, and a new suffering also, for she realized that if she were free, +and Varley asked her to marry him, she would consent. + +But when he did ask her, she said no with a pang that cut her heart in +two. He had stayed his four months, and it was now six months, and he +was going at last--to-morrow. He had stayed to give her time to learn to +say yes, and to take her back with him to London; and she knew that he +would speak again to-day, and that she must say no again; but she had +kept him from saying the words till now. And the man who had ruined +her life and had poisoned her true spirit was come back broken and +battered. He was hanging between life and death; and now--for he was +going to-morrow--Varley would speak again. + +The half-hour she had just spent in the hospital with Meydon had tried her +cruelly. She had left the building in a vortex of conflicting emotions, +with the call of duty and of honor ringing through a thousand other voices +of temptation and desire, the inner pleadings for a little happiness while +yet she was young. After she married Meydon, there had only been a few +short weeks of joy before her black disillusion came, and she had realized +how bitter must be her martyrdom. + +When she left the hospital, she seemed moving in a dream, as one +intoxicated by some elixir might move unheeding among event and accident +and vexing life and roaring multitudes. And all the while the river +flowing through the endless prairies, high-banked, ennobled by living +woods, lipped with green, kept surging in her ears, inviting her, alluring +her--alluring her with a force too deep and powerful for weak human nature +to bear for long. It would ease her pain, it said; it would still the +tumult and the storm; it would solve her problem, it would give her peace. +But as she moved along the river-bank among the trees, she met the little +niece of the priest, who lived in his house, singing, as though she was +born but to sing, a song which Finden had written and Father Bourassa had +set to music. Did not the distant West know Father Bourassa's gift, and +did not Protestants attend Mass to hear him play the organ afterward? The +fresh, clear voice of the child rang through the trees, stealing the +stricken heart away from the lure of the river: + +"Will you come back home, where the young larks are singin'? +The door is open wide, and the bells of Lynn are ringin'; + There's a little lake I know, + And a boat you used to row +To the shore beyond that's quiet--will you come back home? + +"Will you come back, darlin'? Never heed the pain and blightin', +Never trouble that you're wounded, that you bear the scars of fightin'; + Here's the luck o' Heaven to you, + Here's the hand of love will brew you +The cup of peace--ah, darlin', will you come back home?" + +She stood listening for a few moments, and, under the spell of the fresh, +young voice, the homely, heart-searching words, and the intimate sweetness +of the woods, the despairing apathy lifted slowly away. She started +forward again with a new understanding, her footsteps quickened. She would +go to Father Bourassa. He would understand. She would tell him all. He +would help her to do what now she knew she must do, ask Leonard Varley to +save her husband's life--Leonard Varley to save her husband's life! + +When she stepped upon the veranda of the priest's house, she did not know +that Varley was inside. She had no time to think. She was ushered into the +room where he was, with the confusing fact of his presence fresh upon her. +She had had but a word or two with the priest, but enough for him to know +what she meant to do, and that it must be done at once. + +Varley advanced to meet her. She shuddered inwardly to think what a +difference there was between the fallen creature she had left behind in +the hospital and this tall, dark, self-contained man, whose name was +familiar in the surgeries of Europe, who had climbed from being the son of +a clockmaker to his present distinguished place. + +"Have you come for absolution, also?" he asked, with a smile; "or is it to +get a bill of excommunication against your only enemy--there couldn't be +more than one?" + +Cheerful as his words were, he was shrewdly observing her, for her +paleness and the strange light in her eyes gave him a sense of anxiety. He +wondered what trouble was on her. + +"Excommunication?" he repeated. + +The unintended truth went home. She winced, even as she responded with +that quaint note in her voice which gave humor to her speech. "Yes, +excommunication," she replied; "but why an enemy? Do we not need to +excommunicate our friends sometimes?" + +"That is a hard saying," he answered, soberly. + +Tears sprang to her eyes, but she mastered herself, and brought the crisis +abruptly. + +"I want you to save a man's life," she said, with her eyes looking +straight into his. "Will you do it?" + +His face grew grave and eager. "I want you to save a man's happiness," he +answered. "Will you do it?" + +"That man yonder will die unless your skill saves him," she urged. + +"This man here will go away unhappy and alone, unless your heart befriends +him," he replied, coming closer to her. "At sunrise to-morrow he goes." He +tried to take her hand. + +"Oh, please, please," she pleaded, with a quick, protesting gesture. +"Sunrise is far off, but the man's fate is near, and you must save him. +You only can do so, for Doctor Hadley is away, and Doctor Brydon is sick, +and in any case Doctor Brydon dare not attempt the operation alone. It is +too critical and difficult, he says." + +"So I have heard," he answered, with a new note in his voice, his +professional instinct roused in spite of himself. "Who is this man? What +interests you in him?" + +"To how many unknown people have you given your skill for nothing--your +skill and all your experience to utter strangers, no matter how low or +poor! Is it not so? Well, I cannot give to strangers what you have given +to so many, but I can help in my own way." + +"You want me to see the man at once?" + +"If you will." + +"What is his name? I know of his accident and the circumstances." + +She hesitated for an instant, then said, "He is called Draper--a trapper +and a woodsman." + +"But I was going away to-morrow at sunrise. All my arrangements are made," +he urged, his eyes holding hers, his passion swimming in his eyes again. + +"But you will not see a man die, if you can save him?" she pleaded, unable +now to meet his look, its mastery and its depth. + +Her heart had almost leaped with joy at the suggestion that he could not +stay; but as suddenly self-reproach and shame filled her mind, and she had +challenged him so. But yet, what right had she to sacrifice this man she +loved to the perverted criminal who had spoiled her youth and taken away +from her every dear illusion of her life and heart? By every right of +justice and humanity she was no more the wife of Henry Meydon than if she +had never seen him. He had forfeited every claim upon her, dragged in the +mire her unspotted life--unspotted, for in all temptation, in her +defenceless position, she had kept the whole commandment; she had, while +at the mercy of her own temperament, fought her way through all, with a +weeping heart and laughing lips. Had she not longed for a little home with +a great love, and a strong, true man? Ah, it had been lonely, bitterly +lonely! Yet she had remained true to the scoundrel, from whom she could +not free herself without putting him in the grasp of the law to atone for +his crime. She was punished for his crimes; she was denied the exercise of +her womanhood in order to shield him. Still she remembered that once she +had loved him, those years ago, when he first won her heart from those so +much better than he, who loved her so much more honestly; and this memory +had helped her in a way. She had tried to be true to it, that dead, lost +thing, of which this man who came once a year to see her, and now, lying +with his life at stake in the hospital, was the repellent ghost. + +"Ah, you will not see him die?" she urged. + +"It seems to move you greatly what happens to this man," he said, his +determined dark eyes searching hers, for she baffled him. If she could +feel so much for a "casual," why not a little more feeling for him? +Suddenly, as he drew her eyes to him again, there came the conviction that +they were full of feeling for him. They were sending a message, an +appealing, passionate message, which told him more than he had ever heard +from her or seen in her face before. Yes, she was his! Without a word +spoken she had told him so. What, then, held her back? But women were a +race by themselves, and he knew that he must wait till she chose to have +him know what she had unintentionally conveyed but now. + +"Yes, I am moved," she continued, slowly. "Who can tell what this man +might do with his life if it is saved! Don't you think of that? It isn't +the importance of a life that's at stake; it's the importance of living; +and we do not live alone, do we?" + +His mind was made up. "I will not, cannot promise anything till I have +seen him. But I will go and see him, and I'll send you word later what I +can do or not do. Will that satisfy you? If I cannot do it, I will come to +say good-bye." + +Her face was set with suppressed feeling. She held out her hand to him +impulsively, and was about to speak, but suddenly caught the hand away +again from his thrilling grasp and, turning hurriedly, left the room. In +the hall she met Father Bourassa. + +"Go with him to the hospital," she whispered, and disappeared through the +doorway. + +Immediately after she had gone, a man came driving hard to bring Father +Bourassa to visit a dying Catholic in the prairie, and it was Finden who +accompanied Varley to the hospital, waited for him till his examination of +the "casual" was concluded, and met him outside. + +"Can it be done?" he asked of Varley. "I'll take word to Father +Bourassa." + +"It can be done--it will be done," answered Varley, absently. "I do not +understand the man. He has been in a different sphere of life. He tried to +hide it, but the speech--occasionally! I wonder." + +"You wonder if he's worth saving?" + +Varley shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "No; that's not what I meant." + +Finden smiled to himself. "Is it a difficult case?" he asked. + +"Critical and delicate; but it has been my specialty." + +"One of the local doctors couldn't do it, I suppose?" + +"They would be foolish to try." + +"And you are going away at sunrise to-morrow?" + +"Who told you that?" Varley's voice was abrupt, impatient. + +"I heard you say so--everybody knows it.... That's a bad man yonder, +Varley." He jerked his thumb toward the hospital. "A terrible bad man, +he's been. A gentleman once, and fell down--fell down hard. He's done more +harm than most men. He's broken a woman's heart and spoiled her life, and, +if he lives, there's no chance for her, none at all. He killed a man, and +the law wants him; and she can't free herself without ruining him; and she +can't marry the man she loves because of that villain yonder, crying for +his life to be saved. By Josh and by Joan, but it's a shame, a dirty +shame, it is!" + +Suddenly Varley turned and gripped his arm with fingers of steel. + +"His name--his real name?" + +"His name's Meydon--and a dirty shame it is, Varley." + +Varley was white. He had been leading his horse and talking to Finden. He +mounted quickly now, and was about to ride away, but stopped short again. +"Who knows--who knows the truth?" he asked. + +"Father Bourassa and me--no others," he answered. "I knew Meydon thirty +years ago." + +There was a moment's hesitation, then Varley said, hoarsely, "Tell +me--tell me all." + +When all was told, he turned his horse toward the wide waste of the +prairie, and galloped away. Finden watched him till he was lost to view +beyond the bluff. + +"Now, a man like that, you can't guess what he'll do," he said, +reflectively. "He's a high-stepper, and there's no telling what +foolishness will get hold of him. It'd be safer if he got lost on the +prairie for twenty-four hours. He said that Meydon's only got twenty-four +hours, if the trick isn't done! Well--" + +He took a penny from his pocket. "I'll toss for it. Heads he does it, and +tails he doesn't." + +He tossed. It came down heads. "Well, there's one more fool in the world +than I thought," he said, philosophically, as though he had settled the +question; as though the man riding away into the prairie with a dark +problem to be solved had told the penny what he meant to do. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Meydon, Father Bourassa, and Finden stood in the little waiting-room +of the hospital at Jansen, one at each window, and watched the wild +thunderstorm which had broken over the prairie. The white heliographs of +the elements flashed their warnings across the black sky, and the roaring +artillery of the thunder came after, making the circle of prairie and tree +and stream a theatre of anger and conflict. The streets of Jansen were +washed with flood, and the green and gold things of garden and field and +harvest crumbled beneath the sheets of rain. + +The faces at the window of the little room of the hospital, however, were +but half-conscious of the storm; it seemed only an accompaniment of their +thoughts, to typify the elements of tragedy surrounding them. + +For Varley there had been but one thing to do. A life might be saved, and +it was his duty to save it. He had ridden back from the prairie as the sun +was setting the night before, and had made all arrangements at the +hospital, giving orders that Meydon should have no food whatever till the +operation was performed the next afternoon, and nothing to drink except a +little brandy-and-water. + +The operation was performed successfully, and Varley had issued from the +operating-room with the look of a man who had gone through an ordeal which +had taxed his nerve to the utmost, to find Valerie Meydon waiting, with a +piteous, dazed look in her eyes. But this look passed when she heard him +say, "All right!" + +The words brought a sense of relief, for if he had failed, it would have +seemed almost unbearable in the circumstances--the cup of trembling must +be drunk to the dregs. + +Few words had passed between them, and he had gone, while she remained +behind with Father Bourassa, till the patient should wake from the sleep +into which he had fallen when Varley left. + +But within two hours they sent for Varley again, for Meydon was in evident +danger. Varley had come, and had now been with the patient for some time. + +At last the door opened and Varley came in quickly. He beckoned to Mrs. +Meydon and to Father Bourassa. "He wishes to speak with you," he said to +her. "There is little time." + +Her eyes scarcely saw him, as she left the room and passed to where Meydon +lay nerveless, but with wide-open eyes, waiting for her. The eyes closed, +however, before she reached the bed. Presently they opened again, but the +lids remained fixed. He did not hear what she said. + + * * * * * + +In the little waiting-room, Finden said to Varley, "What happened?" + +"Food was absolutely forbidden, but he got it from another patient early +this morning while the nurse was out for a moment. It has killed him." + +"'Twas the least he could do, but no credit's due him. It was to be. I'm +not envying Father Bourassa nor her there with him." + +Varley made no reply. He was watching the receding storm with eyes which +told nothing. + +Finden spoke once more, but Varley did not hear him. Presently the door +opened and Father Bourassa entered. He made a gesture of the hand to +signify that all was over. + +Outside, the sun was breaking through the clouds upon the Western prairie, +and there floated through the evening air the sound of a child's voice +singing beneath the trees that fringed the river: + +"Will you come back, darlin'? Never heed the pain and blightin', +Never trouble that you're wounded, that you bear the scars of fightin'; + Here's the luck o' Heaven to you, + Here's the hand of love will brew you +The cup of peace--ah, darlin', will you come back home?" + + + + +WATCHING THE RISE OF ORION + + +"In all the wide border his steed was the best," and the name and fame of +Terence O'Ryan were known from Strathcona to Qu'appelle. He had ambition +of several kinds, and he had the virtue of not caring who knew of it. He +had no guile, and little money; but never a day's work was too hard for +him, and he took bad luck, when it came, with a jerk of the shoulder and a +good-natured surprise on his clean-shaven face that suited well his wide +gray eyes and large, luxurious mouth. He had an estate, half ranch, half +farm, with a French-Canadian manager named Vigon, an old prospector who +viewed every foot of land in the world with the eye of the discoverer. +Gold, coal, iron, oil, he searched for them everywhere, making sure that +sooner or later he would find them. Once Vigon had found coal. That was +when he worked for a man called Constantine Jopp, and had given him great +profit; but he, the discoverer, had been put off with a horse and a +hundred dollars. He was now as devoted to Terence O'Ryan as he had been +faithful to Constantine Jopp, whom he cursed waking and sleeping. + +In his time O'Ryan had speculated, and lost; he had floated a coal-mine, +and "been had"; he had run for the local legislature, had been elected, +and then unseated for bribery committed by an agent; he had run races at +Regina, and won--he had won for three years in succession; and this had +kept him going and restored his finances when they were at their worst. He +was, in truth, the best rider in the country, and, so far, was the owner +also of the best three-year-old that the West had produced. He achieved +popularity without effort. The West laughed at his enterprises and loved +him; he was at once a public moral and a hero. It was a legend of the West +that his forebears had been kings in Ireland like Brian Boroihme. He did +not contradict this; he never contradicted anything. His challenge to all +fun and satire and misrepresentation was, "What'll be the differ a hundred +years from now!" + +He did not use this phrase, however, toward one experience--the advent of +Miss Molly Mackinder, the heiress, and the challenge that reverberated +through the West after her arrival. Philosophy deserted him then; he fell +back on the primary emotions of mankind. + +A month after Miss Mackinder's arrival at La Touche a dramatic performance +was given at the old fort, in which the officers of the Mounted Police +took part, together with many civilians who fancied themselves. By that +time the district had realized that Terry O'Ryan had surrendered to what +they called "the laying on of hands" by Molly Mackinder. It was not +certain, however, that the surrender was complete, because O'Ryan had been +wounded before, and yet had not been taken captive altogether. His +complete surrender seemed now more certain to the public because the lady +had a fortune of two hundred thousand dollars, and that amount of money +would be useful to an ambitious man in the growing West. It would, as Gow +Johnson said, "Let him sit back and view the landscape o'er before he puts +his ploughshare in the mud." + +There was an out-door scene in the play produced by the impetuous +amateurs, and dialogue had been interpolated by three "imps of fame" at +the suggestion of Constantine Jopp, one of the three, who bore malice +toward O'Ryan, though this his colleagues did not know distinctly. The +scene was a camp-fire--a starlit night, a colloquy between the three, upon +which the hero of the drama, played by Terry O'Ryan, should break, after +having, unknown to them, but in sight of the audience, overheard their +kind intentions toward himself. + +The night came. When the curtain rose for the third act there was exposed +a star-sown sky, in which the galaxy of Orion was shown with distinctness, +each star sharply twinkling from the electric power behind--a pretty +scene, evoking great applause. O'Ryan had never seen this back +curtain--they had taken care that he should not--and, standing in the +wings awaiting his cue, he was unprepared for the laughter of the +audience, first low and uncertain, then growing, then insistent, and now a +peal of ungovernable mirth, as one by one they understood the significance +of the stars of Orion on the back curtain. + +O'Ryan got his cue, and came on to an outburst of applause which shook the +walls. La Touche rose at him, among them Miss Molly Mackinder in the front +row with the notables. + +He did not see the back curtain, or Orion blazing in the ultramarine blue. +According to the stage directions, he was to steal along the trees at the +wings, and listen to the talk of the men at the fire plotting against him, +who were presently to pretend good comradeship to his face. It was a +vigorous melodrama, with some touches of true Western feeling. After +listening for a moment, O'Ryan was to creep up the stage again toward the +back curtain, giving a cue for his appearance. + +When the hilarious applause at his entrance had somewhat subsided, the +three took up their parable, but it was not the parable of the play. They +used dialogue not in the original. It had a significance which the +audience were not slow to appreciate, and went far to turn _The Sunburst +Trail_ at this point into a comedy-farce. When this new dialogue began, +O'Ryan could scarcely trust his ears or realize what was happening. + +"Ah, look," said Dicky Fergus at the fire, "as fine a night as I ever saw +in the West! The sky's a picture. You could almost hand the stars down, +they're so near." + +"What's that clump together on the right--what are they called in +astronomy?" asked Constantine Jopp, with a leer. + +"Orion is the name--a beauty, ain't it?" answered Fergus. + +"I've been watching Orion rise," said the third--Holden was his name. +"Many's the time I've watched Orion rising. Orion's the star for me. Say, +he wipes 'em all out--right out. Watch him rising now." + +By a manipulation of the lights Orion moved up the back curtain slowly and +blazed with light nearer the zenith. And La Touche had more than the worth +of its money in this opening to the third act of the play. O'Ryan was a +favorite, at whom La Touche loved to jeer, and the parable of the stars +convulsed them. + +At the first words O'Ryan put a hand on himself and tried to grasp the +meaning of it all, but his entrance and the subsequent applause had +confused him. Presently, however, he turned to the back curtain, as Orion +moved slowly up the heavens, and found the key to the situation. He +gasped. Then he listened to the dialogue, which had nothing to do with +"_The Sunburst Trail_." + +"What did Orion do, and why does he rise? Has he got to rise? Why was the +gent called Orion in them far-off days?" asked Holden. + +"He did some hunting in his time--with a club," Fergus replied. "He kept +making hits, he did. Orion was a spoiler. When he took the field there was +no room for the rest of the race. Why does he rise? Because it is a habit. +They could always get a rise out of Orion. The Athens _Eirenicon_ said +that yeast might fail to rise, but touch the button and Orion would rise +like a bird." + +At that instant the galaxy jerked up the back curtain again, and, when the +audience could control itself, Constantine Jopp, grinning meanly, asked: + +"Why does he wear the girdle?" + +"It is not a girdle--it is a belt," was Dicky Fergus' reply. "The gods +gave it to him because he was a favorite. There was a lady called +Artemis--she was the last of them. But he went visiting with Eos, another +lady of previous acquaintance, down at a place called Ortygia, and Artemis +shot him dead with a shaft Apollo had given her; but she didn't marry +Apollo neither. She laid Orion out on the sky, with his glittering belt +around him. And Orion keeps on rising." + +"Will he ever stop rising?" asked Holden. + +Followed for the conspirators a disconcerting moment; for, when the +laughter had subsided, a lazy voice came from the back of the hall, "He'll +stop long enough to play with Apollo a little, I guess." + +It was Gow Johnson who had spoken, and no man knew Terry O'Ryan better, or +could gauge more truly the course he would take. He had been in many an +enterprise, many a brush with O'Ryan, and his friendship would bear any +strain. + +O'Ryan recovered himself from the moment he saw the back curtain, and he +did not find any fun in the thing. It took a hold on him out of all +proportion to its importance. He realized that he had come to the parting +of the ways in his life. It suddenly came upon him that something had been +lacking in him in the past, and that his want of success in many things +had not been wholly due to bad luck. He had been eager, enterprising, a +genius almost at seeing good things; and yet others had reaped where he +had sown. He had believed too much in his fellow-man. For the first time +in his life he resented the friendly, almost affectionate satire of his +many friends. It was amusing, it was delightful; but down beneath it all +there was a little touch of ridicule. He had more brains than any of them, +and he had known it in a way; he had led them sometimes, too, as on raids +against cattle-stealers, and in a brush with half-breeds and Indians; as +when he stood for the legislature; but he felt now for the first time that +he had not made the most of himself, that there was something hurting to +self-respect in this prank played upon him. When he came to that point his +resentment went higher. He thought of Molly Mackinder, and he heard all +too acutely the vague veiled references to her in their satire. By the +time Gow Johnson spoke he had mastered himself, however, and had made up +his mind. He stood still for a moment. + +"Now, please, my cue," he said, quietly and satirically from the trees +near the wings. + +He was smiling, but Gow Johnson's prognostication was right; and ere long +the audience realized that he was right. There was standing before them +not the Terry O'Ryan they had known, but another. He threw himself fully +into his part--a young rancher made deputy-sheriff, who by the occasional +exercise of his duty had incurred the hatred of a small floating +population that lived by fraud, violence, and cattle-stealing. The +conspiracy was to raid his cattle, to lure him to pursuit, to ambush him, +and kill him. Terry now played the part with a naturalness and force which +soon lifted the play away from the farcical element introduced into it by +those who had interpolated the gibes at himself. They had gone a step too +far. + +"He's going large," said Gow Johnson, as the act drew near its close and +the climax neared where O'Ryan was to enter upon a physical struggle with +his assailants. "His blood's up. There'll be hell to pay." + +To Gow Johnson the play had instantly become real, and O'Ryan an injured +man at bay, the victim of the act--not of the fictitious characters of the +play, but of the three men, Fergus, Holden, and Constantine Jopp, who had +planned the discomfiture of O'Ryan; and he felt that the victim's +resentment would fall heaviest on Constantine Jopp, the bully, an old +schoolmate of Terry's. + +Jopp was older than O'Ryan by three years, which in men is little, but in +boys, at a certain time of life, is much. It means, generally, weight and +height, an advantage in a scrimmage. Constantine Jopp had been the plague +and tyrant of O'Ryan's boyhood. He was now a big, leering fellow, with +much money of his own, got chiefly from the coal discovered on his place +by Vigon, the half-breed French-Canadian. He had a sense of dark and +malicious humor, a long, horse-like face, with little, beady eyes, and a +huge frame. + +Again and again had Terry fought him as a boy at school, and often he had +been badly whipped, but he had never refused the challenge of an insult +when he was twelve and Jopp fifteen. The climax to their enmity at school +had come one day when Terry was seized with a cramp while bathing, and +after having gone down twice was rescued by Jopp, who dragged him out by +the hair of the head. He had been restored to consciousness on the bank +and carried to his home, where he lay ill for days. During the course of +the slight fever which followed the accident his hair was cut close to his +head. Impetuous always, his first thought was to go and thank Constantine +Jopp for having saved his life. As soon as he was able he went forth to +find his rescuer, and met him suddenly on turning a corner of the street. +Before he could stammer out the gratitude that was in his heart, Jopp, +eying him with a sneering smile, said, drawlingly: + +"If you'd had your hair cut like that I couldn't have got you out, could +I? Holy, what a sight! Next time I'll take you by the scruff, putty +face--bah!" + +That was enough for Terry. He had swallowed the insult, stuttered his +thanks to the jeering laugh of the lank bully, and had gone home and cried +in shame and rage. + +It was the one real shadow in his life. Ill-luck and good luck had been +taken with an equable mind; but the fact that he must, while he lived, own +the supreme debt of his life to a boy and afterward to a man whom he hated +by instinct was a constant cloud on him. Jopp owned him. For some years +they did not meet, and then at last they again were thrown together in the +West, when Jopp settled at La Touche. It was gall and wormwood to Terry, +but he steeled himself to be friendly, although the man was as great a +bully as the boy, as offensive in mind and character; but withal acute and +able in his way, and with a reputation for commercial sharpness which +would be called by another name in a different civilization. They met +constantly, and O'Ryan always put a hand on himself, and forced himself to +be friendly. Once when Jopp became desperately ill there had been--though +he fought it down, and condemned himself in every term of reproach--a +sense of relief in the thought that perhaps his ancient debt would now be +cancelled. It had gone on so long. And Constantine Jopp had never lost an +opportunity of vexing him, of turturing him, of giving veiled thrusts, +which he knew O'Ryan could not resent. It was the constant pin-prick of a +mean soul, who had an advantage of which he could never be +dispossessed--unless the ledger was balanced in some inscrutable way. + +Apparently bent on amusement only, and hiding his hatred from his +colleagues, Jopp had been the instigator and begetter of the huge joke of +the play; but it was the brains of Dick Fergus which had carried it out, +written the dialogue, and planned the electric appliances of the back +curtain--for he was an engineer and electrician. Neither he nor Holden had +known the old antipathy of Terry and Constantine Jopp. There was only one +man who knew the whole truth, and that was Gow Johnson, to whom Terry had +once told all. At the last moment Fergus had interpolated certain points +in the dialogue which were not even included at rehearsal. These referred +to Apollo. He had a shrewd notion that Jopp had an idea of marrying Molly +Mackinder if he could, cousins though they were; and he was also aware +that Jopp, knowing Molly's liking for Terry, had tried to poison her mind +against him, through suggestive gossip about a little widow at Jansen, +thirty miles away. He had in so far succeeded that, on the very day of the +performance, Molly had declined to be driven home from the race-course by +Terry, despite the fact that Terry had won the chief race and owned the +only dog-cart in the West. + +As the day went on, Fergus realized, as had Gow Johnson, that Jopp had +raised a demon. The air was electric. The play was drawing near to its +climax--an attempt to capture the deputy-sheriff, tie him to a tree, and +leave him bound and gagged alone in the waste. There was a glitter in +Terry's eyes, belying the lips which smiled in keeping with the character +he presented. A look of harshness was stamped on his face, and the +outlines of the temples were as sharp as the chin was set and the voice +slow and penetrating. + +Molly Mackinder's eyes were riveted on him. She sat very still, her hands +clasped in her lap, watching his every move. Instinct told her that Terry +was holding himself in; that some latent fierceness and iron force in him +had emerged into life; and that he meant to have revenge on Constantine +Jopp one way or another, and that soon; for she had heard the rumor flying +through the hall that her cousin was the cause of the practical joke just +played. From hints she had had from Constantine that very day she knew +that the rumor was the truth; and she recalled now with shrinking dislike +the grimace accompanying the suggestion. She had not resented it then, +being herself angry with Terry because of the little widow at Jansen. + +Presently the silence in the hall became acute; the senses of the audience +were strained to the utmost. The acting before them was more realistic +than anything they had ever seen, or were ever likely to see again in La +Touche. All three conspirators, Fergus, Holden, and Jopp, realized that +O'Ryan's acting had behind it an animal anger which transformed him. When +he looked into their eyes it was with a steely directness harder and +fiercer than was observed by the audience. Once there was an occasion for +O'Ryan to catch Fergus by the arm, and Fergus winced from the grip. When +standing in the wings with Terry he ventured to apologize playfully for +the joke, but Terry made no answer; and once again he had whispered +good-naturedly as they stood together on the stage; but the reply had been +a low, scornful laugh. Fergus realized that a critical moment was at hand. +The play provided for some dialogue between Jopp and Terry, and he +observed with anxiety that Terry now interpolated certain phrases meant to +warn Constantine, and to excite him to anger also. + +The moment came upon them sooner than the text of the play warranted. +O'Ryan deliberately left out several sentences, and gave a later cue, and +the struggle for his capture was precipitated. Terry meant to make the +struggle real. So thrilling had been the scene that to an extent the +audience was prepared for what followed; but they did not grasp the full +reality--that the play was now only a vehicle for a personal issue of a +desperate character. No one had ever seen O'Ryan angry; and now that the +demon of rage was on him, directed by a will suddenly grown to its full +height, they saw not only a powerful character in a powerful melodrama, +but a man of wild force. When the three desperadoes closed in on O'Ryan, +and, with a blow from the shoulder which was not a pretence, he sent +Holden into a far corner gasping for breath and moaning with pain, the +audience broke out into wild cheering. It was superb acting, they thought. +As most of them had never seen the play, they were not surprised when +Holden did not again join the attack on the deputy-sheriff. Those who did +know the drama--among them Molly Mackinder--became dismayed, then +anxious. + +Fergus and Jopp knew well from the blow O'Ryan had given that, unless they +could drag him down, the end must be disaster to some one. They were +struggling with him for personal safety now. The play was forgotten, +though mechanically O'Ryan and Fergus repeated the exclamations and the +few phrases belonging to the part. Jopp was silent, fighting with a malice +which belongs to only half-breed, or half-bred, natures; and from far back +in his own nature the distant Indian strain in him was working in savage +hatred. The two were desperately hanging onto O'Ryan like pumas on a +grizzly, when suddenly, with a twist he had learned from Ogami the Jap on +the Smoky River, the slim Fergus was slung backward to the ground with the +tendons of his arm strained and the arm itself useless for further work. +There remained now Constantine Jopp, heavier and more powerful than +O'Ryan. + +For O'Ryan the theatre, the people, disappeared. He was a boy again on the +village-green, with the bully before him who had tortured his young days. +He forgot the old debt to the foe who saved his life; he forgot everything +except that once again, as of old, Constantine Jopp was fighting him, with +long, strong arms trying to bring him to the ground. Jopp's superior +height gave him an advantage in a close grip; the strength of his +gorilla-like arms was difficult to withstand. Both were forgetful of the +world, and the two other injured men, silent and awed, were watching the +fight, in which one of them, at least, was powerless to take part. + +The audience was breathless. Most now saw the grim reality of the scene +before them; and when at last O'Ryan's powerful right hand got a grip upon +the throat of Jopp, and they saw the grip tighten, tighten, and Jopp's +face go from red to purple, a hundred people gasped. Excited men made as +though to move toward the stage; but the majority still believed that it +all belonged to the play, and shouted, "Sit down!" + +Suddenly the voice of Gow Johnson was heard: "Don't kill him--let go, +boy!" + +The voice rang out with sharp anxiety, and pierced the fog of passion and +rage in which O'Ryan was moving. He realized what he was doing, the real +sense of it came upon him. Suddenly he let go the lank throat of his +enemy, and, by a supreme effort, flung him across the stage, where Jopp +lay resting on his hands, his bleared eyes looking at Terry with the fear +and horror still in them which had come with that tightening grip on his +throat. + +Silence fell suddenly on the theatre. The audience was standing. A woman +sobbed somewhere in a far corner, but the rest were dismayed and +speechless. A few steps before them all was Molly Mackinder, white and +frightened, but in her eyes was a look of understanding as she gazed at +Terry. Breathing hard, Terry stood still in the middle of the stage, the +red fog not yet gone out of his eyes, his hands clasped at his side, +vaguely realizing the audience again. Behind him was the back curtain, in +which the lights of Orion twinkled aggressively. The three men who had +attacked him were still where he had thrown them. + +The silence was intense, the strain oppressive. But now a drawling voice +came from the back of the hall. + +"Are you watching the rise of Orion?" it said. It was the voice of Gow +Johnson. + +The strain was broken; the audience dissolved in laughter; but it was not +hilarious; it was the nervous laughter of relief, touched off by a native +humor always present in the dweller of the prairie. + +"I beg your pardon," said Terry, quietly and abstractedly, to the +audience. + +And the scene-shifter bethought himself and let down the curtain. + +The fourth act was not played that night. The people had had more than the +worth of their money. In a few moments the stage was crowded with people +from the audience, but both Jopp and O'Ryan had disappeared. + +Among the visitors to the stage was Molly Mackinder. There was a meaning +smile upon her face as she said to Dicky Fergus: + +"It was quite wonderful, wasn't it--like a scene out of the classics--the +gladiators or something?" + +Fergus gave a wary smile as he answered: "Yes. I felt like saying '_Ave, +Cæsar, ave!_' and I watched to see Artemis drop her handkerchief." + +"She dropped it, but you were too busy to pick it up. It would have been a +useful sling for your arm," she added, with thoughtful malice. "It seemed +so real--you all acted so well, so appropriately. And how you keep it up!" +she added, as he cringed when some one knocked against his elbow, hurting +the injured tendons. + +Fergus looked at her meditatively before he answered. "Oh, I think we'll +likely keep it up for some time," he rejoined, ironically. + +"Then the play isn't finished?" she added. "There is another act? Yes, I +thought there was; the programme said four." + +"Oh yes, there's another act," he answered, "but it isn't to be played +now; and I'm not in it." + +"No, I suppose you are not in it. You really weren't in the last act. Who +will be in it?" + +Fergus suddenly laughed outright as he looked at Holden expostulating +intently to a crowd of people round him. "Well, honor bright, I don't +think there'll be anybody in it except little Conny Jopp and gentle Terry +O'Ryan; and Conny mayn't be in it very long. But he'll be in it for a +while, I guess. You see, the curtain came down in the middle of a +situation, not at the end of it. The curtain has to rise again." + +"Perhaps Orion will rise again--you think so?" She laughed in satire; for +Dicky Fergus had made love to her during the last three months with +unsuppressed activity, and she knew him in his sentimental moments; which +is fatal. It is fatal if, in a duet, one breathes fire and the other +frost. + +"If you want my opinion," he said, in a lower voice, as they moved toward +the door, while people tried to listen to them--"if you want it straight, +I think Orion has risen--right up where shines the evening star--Oh, say, +now," he broke off, "haven't you had enough fun out of me? I tell you, it +was touch and go. He nearly broke my arm--would have done it, if I hadn't +gone limp to him; and your cousin Conny Jopp, little Conny Jopp, was as +near Kingdom Come as a man wants at his age. I saw an elephant go _must_ +once in India, and it was as like O'Ryan as putty is to dough. It isn't +all over, either, for O'Ryan will forget and forgive, and Jopp won't. He's +your cousin, but he's a sulker. If he has to sit up nights to do it, he'll +try to get back on O'Ryan. He'll sit up nights, but he'll do it, if he +can. And, whatever it is, it won't be pretty." + +Outside the door they met Gow Johnson, excitement in his eyes. He heard +Fergus' last words. + +"He'll see Orion rising if he sits up nights," Gow Johnson said. "The game +is with Terry--at last." + +Then he called to the dispersing, gossiping crowd: "Hold on--hold on, you +people! I've got news for you. Folks, this is O'Ryan's night. It's his in +the starry firmament. Look at him shine!" he cried, stretching out his arm +toward the heavens, where the glittering galaxy hung near the zenith. +"Terry O'Ryan--our O'Ryan--he's struck oil--on his ranch it's been struck. +Old Vigon found it. Terry's got his own at last. O'Ryan's in it--in it +alone. Now, let's hear the prairie-whisper!" he shouted, in a great, +raucous voice. "Let's hear the prairie-whisper! What is it?" + +The crowd responded in a hoarse shout for O'Ryan and his fortune. Even the +women shouted--all except Molly Mackinder. She was wondering if O'Ryan +risen would be the same to her as O'Ryan rising. She got into her carriage +with a sigh, though she said to the few friends with her: + +"If it's true, it's splendid. He deserves it, too. Oh, I'm glad--I'm so +glad!" She laughed; but the laugh was a little hysterical. + +She was both glad and sorry. Yet as she drove home over the prairie she +was silent. Far off in the east was a bright light. It was a bonfire built +on O'Ryan's ranch, near where he had struck oil--struck it rich. The light +grew and grew, and the prairie was alive with people hurrying toward it. +La Touche should have had the news hours earlier, but the half-breed +French-Canadian, Vigon, who had made the discovery, and had started for La +Touche with the news, went suddenly off his head with excitement, and had +ridden away into the prairie fiercely shouting his joy to an invisible +world. The news had been brought in later by a farm-hand. + + * * * * * + +Terry O'Ryan had really struck oil, and his ranch was a scene of decent +revelry, of which Gow Johnson was master. But the central figure of it +all, the man who had, in truth, risen like a star, had become to La Touche +all at once its notoriety as well as its favorite, its great man as well +as its friend, he was nowhere to be found. He had been seen riding full +speed into the prairie toward the Kourmash Wood, and the starlit night had +swallowed him. Constantine Jopp had also disappeared; but at first no one +gave that thought or consideration. + +As the night went on, however, a feeling began to stir which it is not +good to rouse in frontier lands. It is sure to exhibit itself in forms +more objective than are found in great populations where methods of +punishment are various, and even when deadly are often refined. But +society in new places has only limited resources, and is thrown back on +primary ways and means. La Touche was no exception, and the keener +spirits, to whom O'Ryan had ever been "a white man," and who so rejoiced +in his good-luck now that they drank his health a hundred times in his own +whiskey and cider, were simmering with desire for a public reproval of +Constantine Jopp's conduct. Though it was pointed out to them by the +astute Gow Johnson that Fergus and Holden had participated in the colossal +joke of the play, they had learned indirectly also the whole truth +concerning the past of the two men. They realized that Fergus and Holden +had been duped by Jopp into the escapade. Their primitive sense of justice +exonerated the humorists and arraigned the one malicious man. As the night +wore on they decided on the punishment to be meted out by La Touche to the +man who had not "acted on the square." + +Gow Johnson saw, too late, that he had roused a spirit as hard to appease +as the demon roused in O'Ryan earlier in the evening. He would have +enjoyed the _battue_ of punishment under ordinary circumstances; but he +knew that Miss Molly Mackinder would be humiliated and indignant at the +half-savage penalty they meant to exact. He had determined that O'Ryan +should marry her; and this might be an obstruction in the path. It was +true that O'Ryan now would be a rich man--one of the richest in the West, +unless all signs failed; but, meanwhile, a union of fortunes would only be +an added benefit. Besides, he had seen that O'Ryan was in earnest, and +what O'Ryan wanted he himself wanted even more strongly. He was not +concerned greatly for O'Ryan's absence. He guessed that Terry had ridden +away into the night to work off the dark spirit that was on him, to have +it out with himself. Gow Johnson was a philosopher. He was twenty years +older than O'Ryan, and he had studied his friend as a pious monk his +missal. + +He was right in his judgment. When Terry left the theatre he was like one +in a dream, every nerve in his body at tension, his head aflame, his +pulses throbbing. For miles he rode away into the waste along the northern +trail, ever away from La Touche and his own home. He did not know of the +great good-fortune that had come to him; and if, in this hour, he had +known, he would not have cared. As he rode on and on remorse drew him into +its grasp. Shame seized him that he had let passion be his master, that he +had lost his self-control, had taken a revenge out of all proportion to +the injury and insult to himself. It did not ease his mind that he knew +Constantine Jopp had done the thing out of meanness and malice; for he was +alive to-night in the light of the stars, with the sweet, crisp air +blowing in his face, because of an act of courage on the part of his +school-days' foe. He remembered now that, when he was drowning, he had +clung to Jopp with frenzied arms and had endangered the bully's life also. +The long torture of owing this debt to so mean a soul was on him still, +was rooted in him; but suddenly, in the silent, searching night, some +spirit whispered in his ear that this was the price which he must pay for +his life saved to the world, a compromise with the Inexorable Thing. On +the verge of oblivion and the end, he had been snatched back by relenting +Fate, which requires something for something given when laws are overriden +and doom defeated. Yes, the price he was meant to pay was gratitude to one +of shrivelled soul and innate antipathy; and he had not been man enough to +see the trial through to the end! With a little increased strain put upon +his vanity and pride, he had run amuck. Like some heathen gladiator, he +had ravaged in the ring. He had gone down into the basements of human life +and there made a cockpit for his animal rage, till, in the contest, brain +and intellect had been saturated by the fumes and sweat of fleshly fury. + +How quiet the night was, how soothing to the fevered mind and body, how +the cool air laved the heated head and flushed the lungs of the rheum of +passion! He rode on and on, farther and farther away from home, his back +upon the scenes where his daily deeds were done. It was long past midnight +before he turned his horse's head again homeward. + +Buried in his thoughts, now calm and determined, with a new life grown up +in him, a new strength different from the mastering force which gave him a +strength in the theatre like one in a delirium, he noticed nothing. He was +only conscious of the omniscient night and its warm, penetrating +friendliness; as, in a great trouble, when no words can be spoken, a cool, +kind palm steals into the trembling hand of misery and stills it, gives it +strength and life and an even pulse. He was now master in the house of his +soul, and had no fear or doubt as to the future or as to his course. + +His first duty was to go to Constantine Jopp and speak his regret like a +man. And after that it would be his duty to carry a double debt his life +long for the life saved, for the wrong done. He owed an apology to La +Touche, and he was scarcely aware that the native gentlemanliness in him +had said through his fever of passion over the footlights, "I beg your +pardon." In his heart he felt that he had offered a mean affront to every +person present, to the town where his interests lay, where his heart lay. + +Where his heart lay--Molly Mackinder! He knew now that vanity had +something to do, if not all to do, with his violent acts, and though there +suddenly shot through his mind, as he rode back, a savage thrill at the +remembrance of how he had handled the three, it was only a passing +emotion. He was bent on putting himself right with Jopp and with La +Touche. With the former his way was clear; he did not yet see his way as +to La Touche. How would he be able to make the _amende honorable_ to La +Touche? + +By-and-by he became somewhat less absorbed and enveloped by the comforting +night. He saw the glimmer of red light afar, and vaguely wondered what it +was. It was in the direction of O'Ryan's Ranch, but he thought nothing of +it, because it burned steadily. It was probably a fire lighted by settlers +trailing to the farther North. While the night wore on he rode as slowly +back to the town as he had galloped from it like a centaur with a +captive. + +Again and again Molly Mackinder's face came before him, but he resolutely +shut it out of his thoughts. He felt that he had no right to think of her +until he had "done the right thing" by Jopp and by La Touche. Yet the look +in her face as the curtain came down, it was not that of one indifferent +to him or to what he did. He neared the town half-way between midnight and +morning. Almost unconsciously avoiding the main streets, he rode a +roundabout way toward the little house where Constantine Jopp lived. He +could hear loud noises in the streets, singing, and hoarse shouts. Then +silence came, then shouts, and silence again. It was all quiet as he rode +up to Jopp's house, standing on the outskirts of the town. There was a +bright light in the window of a room. + +Jopp, then, was still up. He would not wait till to-morrow. He would do +the right thing now. He would put things straight with his foe before he +slept; he would do it at any sacrifice to his pride. He had conquered his +pride. + +He dismounted, threw the bridle over a post, and, going into the garden, +knocked gently at the door. There was no response. He knocked again, and +listened intently. Now he heard a sound--like a smothered cry or groan. He +opened the door quickly and entered. It was dark. In another room beyond +was a light. From it came the same sound he had heard before, but louder; +also there was a shuffling footstep. Springing forward to the half-open +door, he pushed it wide, and met the terror-stricken eyes of Constantine +Jopp--the same look that he had seen at the theatre when his hands were on +Jopp's throat, but more ghastly. + +Jopp was bound to a chair by a lasso. Both arms were fastened to the +chair-arm, and beneath them, on the floor, were bowls into which blood +dropped from his punctured wrists. + +He had hardly taken it all in--the work of an instant--when he saw +crouched in a corner, madness in his eyes, his half-breed Vigon. He +grasped the situation in a flash. Vigon had gone mad, had lain in wait in +Jopp's house, and, when the man he hated had seated himself in the chair, +had lassoed him, bound him, and was slowly bleeding him to death. + +He had no time to think. Before he could act Vigon was upon him also, +frenzy in his eyes, a knife clutched in his hand. Reason had fled, and he +only saw in O'Ryan the frustrator of his revenge. He had watched the drip, +drip from his victim's wrists with a dreadful joy. + +They were man and man, but O'Ryan found in this grisly contest a vaster +trial of strength than in the fight upon the stage a few hours ago. The +first lunge that Vigon made struck him on the tip of the shoulder and drew +blood; but he caught the hand holding the knife in an iron grasp, while +the half-breed, with superhuman strength, tried in vain for the long, +brown throat of the man for whom he had struck oil. As they struggled and +twisted, the eyes of the victim in the chair watched them with agonized +emotions. For him it was life or death. He could not cry out--his mouth +was gagged; but to O'Ryan his groans were like a distant echo of his own +hoarse gasps as he fought his desperate fight. Terry was as one in an +awful dream battling with vague, impersonal powers which slowly strangled +his life, yet held him back in torture from the final surrender. + +For minutes they struggled. At last O'Ryan's strength came to a point of +breaking, for Vigon was a powerful man, and to this was added a madman's +energy. He felt that the end was coming. But all at once, through the +groans of the victim in the chair, Terry became conscious of noises +outside--such noises as he had heard before he entered the house, only +nearer and louder. At the same time he heard a horse's hoofs, then a knock +at the door, and a voice calling, "Jopp! Jopp!" + +He made a last desperate struggle, and shouted hoarsely. + +An instant later there were footsteps in the room, followed by a cry of +fright and amazement. + +It was Gow Johnson. He had come to warn Constantine Jopp that a crowd were +come to tar and feather him, and to get him away on his own horse. + +Now he sprang to the front door, called to the approaching crowd for help, +then ran back to help O'Ryan. A moment later a dozen men had Vigon secure, +and had released Constantine Jopp, now almost dead from loss of blood. + +As they took the gag from his mouth and tied their handkerchiefs round his +bleeding wrists, Jopp sobbed aloud. His eyes were fixed on Terry O'Ryan. +Terry met the look, and grasped the limp hand lying on the chair-arm. + +"I'm sorry, O'Ryan, I'm sorry for all I've done to you," Jopp sobbed. "I +was a sneak, but I want to own it. I want to be square now. You can tar +and feather me, if you like. I deserve it." He looked at the others. "I +deserve it," he repeated. + +"That's what the boys had thought would be appropriate," said Gow Johnson, +with a dry chuckle, and the crowd looked at one another and winked. The +wink was kindly, however. "To own up and take your gruel!" was the easiest +way to touch the men of the prairie. + +A half-hour later the roisterers, who had meant to carry Constantine Jopp +on a rail, carried Terry O'Ryan on their shoulders through the town, +against his will. As they passed the house where Miss Mackinder lived, +some one shouted: + +"Are you watching the rise of Orion?" + +Many a time thereafter Terry O'Ryan and Molly Mackinder looked at the +galaxy in the evening sky with laughter and with pride. It had played its +part with Fate against Constantine Jopp and the little widow at Jansen. It +had never shone so brightly as on the night when Vigon struck oil on +O'Ryan's ranch. But Vigon had no memory of that. Such is the irony of +life. + + + + +THE ERROR OF THE DAY + + + The "Error of the Day" may be defined as the "The difference between + the distance or range which must be put upon the sights in order to + hit the target and the actual distance from the gun to the + target."--_Admiralty Note._ + + A great naval gun never fires twice alike. It varies from day to day, + and expert allowance has to be made in sighting every time it is + fired. Variations in atmosphere, condition of ammunition, and the + wear of the gun are the contributory causes to the ever-varying + "Error of the Day." + +"Say, ain't he pretty?" + +"A Jim-dandy--oh, my!" + +"What's his price in the open market?" + +"Thirty millions--I think not." + +Then was heard the voice of Billy Goat--his name was William Goatry---- + + "Out in the cold world, out in the street, + Nothing to wear and nothing to eat, + Fatherless, motherless, sadly I roam, + Child of misfortune, I'm driven from home." + +A loud laugh followed, for Billy Goat was a popular person at Kowatin, in +the Saskatchewan country. He had an inimitable drollery, heightened by a +cast in his eye, a very large mouth, and a round, good-humored face; also +he had a hand and arm like iron, and was altogether a great man on a +"spree." + +There had been a two days' spree at Kowatin, for no other reason than that +there had been great excitement over the capture and subsequent escape of +a prairie-rover who had robbed the contractor's money-chest at the +rail-head on the Canadian Pacific Railroad. Forty miles from Kowatin he +had been caught by, and escaped from, the tall, brown-eyed man with the +hard-bitten face who leaned against the open window of the tavern, looking +indifferently at the jeering crowd before him. For a police officer, he +was not unpopular with them, but he had been a failure for once, and, as +Billy Goat had said, "It tickled us to death to see a rider of the plains +off his trolley--on the cold, cold ground, same as you and me." + +They did not undervalue him. If he had been less a man than he was, they +would not have taken the trouble to cover him with their drunken ribaldry. +He had scored off them in the past in just such sprees as this, when he +had the power to do so, and used the power good-naturedly and quietly--but +used it. + +Then he was Sergeant Foyle, of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, on duty +in a district as large as the United Kingdom. And he had no greater +admirer than Billy Goat, who now reviled him. Not without cause, in a way, +for he had reviled himself to this extent that, when the prairie-rover, +Halbeck, escaped on the way to Prince Albert, after six months' hunt for +him and a final capture in the Kowatin district, Foyle resigned the Force +before the Commissioner could reproach him or call him to account. Usually +so exact, so certain of his target, some care had not been taken, he had +miscalculated, and there had been the Error of the Day. Whatever it was, +it had seemed to him fatal; and he had turned his face from the +barrack-yard. + +Then he had made his way to the Happy Land Hotel at Kowatin, to begin life +as "a free and independent gent on the loose," as Billy Goat had said. To +resign had seemed extreme; because, though the Commissioner was vexed at +Halbeck's escape, Foyle was the best non-commissioned officer in the +Force. He had frightened horse-thieves and bogus land-agents and +speculators out of the country; had fearlessly tracked down a criminal or +a band of criminals when the odds were heavy against him. He carried on +his cheek the scars of two bullets, and there was one white lock in his +brown hair where an arrow had torn the scalp away as, alone, he drove into +the Post a score of Indians, fresh from raiding the cattle of an immigrant +trailing north. + +Now he was out of work, or so it seemed; he had stepped down from his +scarlet-coated dignity, from the place of guardian and guide to +civilization, into the idleness of a tavern stoop. + +As the little group swayed round him, and Billy Goat started another song, +Foyle roused himself as though to move away--he was waiting for the +mail-stage to take him south-- + + "Oh, father, dear father, come home with me now, + The clock in the steeple strikes one; + You said you were coming right home from the shop + As soon as your day's work was done. + Come home--come home--" + +The song arrested him, and he leaned back against the window again. A +curious look came into his eyes, a look that had nothing to do with the +acts of the people before him. It was searching into a scene beyond this +bright sunlight and the far green-brown grass, and the little oasis of +trees in the distance marking a homestead, and the dust of the +wagon-wheels out on the trail beyond the grain-elevator--beyond the blue +horizon's rim, quivering in the heat, and into regions where this crisp, +clear, life-giving, life-saving air never blew. + + "You said you were coming right home from the shop + As soon as your day's work was done. + Come home--come home--" + +He remembered when he had first heard this song in a play called _Ten +Nights in a Bar-Room_, many years before, and how it had wrenched his +heart and soul, and covered him with a sudden cloud of shame and anger. +For his father had been a drunkard, and his brother had grown up a +drunkard, that brother whom he had not seen for ten years until--until-- + +He shuddered, closed his eyes, as though to shut out something that the +mind saw. He had had a rough life, he had become inured to the seamy side +of things--there was a seamy side even in this clean, free, wide land; and +he had no sentimentality; though something seemed to hurt and shame him +now. + + "As soon as your day's work was done. + Come home--come home--" + +The crowd was uproarious. The exhilaration had become a kind of delirium. +Men were losing their heads; there was an element of irresponsibility in +the new outbreak likely to breed some violent act, which every man of them +would lament when sober again. + +Nettlewood Foyle watched the dust rising from the wheels of the stage, +which had passed the elevator and was nearing the Prairie Home Hotel, far +down the street. He would soon leave behind him this noisy ribaldry of +which he was the centre. He tossed his cheroot away. Suddenly he heard a +low voice behind him. + +"Why don't you hit out, sergeant?" it said. + +He started almost violently, and turned round. Then his face flushed, his +eyes blurred with feeling and deep surprise, and his lips parted in a +whispered exclamation and greeting. + +A girl's face from the shade of the sitting-room was looking out at him, +half smiling, but with heightened color and a suppressed agitation. The +girl was not more than twenty-five, graceful, supple, and strong. Her chin +was dimpled; across her right temple was a slight scar. She had eyes of a +wonderful deep blue; they seemed to swim with light. As Foyle gazed at her +for a moment dumfounded, with a quizzical suggestion and smiling still a +little more, she said: + +"You used to be a little quicker, Nett." The voice appeared to attempt +unconcern; but it quivered from a force of feeling underneath. It was so +long since she had seen him. + +He was about to reply, but, at the instant, a reveller pushed him with a +foot behind the knees so that they were sprung forward. The crowd +laughed--all save Billy Goat, who knew his man. + +Like lightning, and with cold fury in his eyes, Foyle caught the tall +cattleman by the forearm, and, with a swift, dexterous twist, had the +fellow in his power. + +"Down--down to your knees, you skunk!" he said, in a low, fierce voice. + +The knees of the big man bent--Foyle had not taken lessons of Ogami, the +Jap, for nothing--they bent, and the cattleman squealed, so intense was +the pain. It was break or bend; and he bent--to the ground and lay there. +Foyle stood over him for a moment, a hard light in his eyes, and then, as +if bethinking himself, he looked at the other roisterers and said: + +"There's a limit, and he reached it. Your mouths are your own, and you can +blow off to suit your fancy, but if any one thinks I'm a tame coyote to be +poked with a stick--!" He broke off, stooped over, and helped the man +before him to his feet. The arm had been strained, and the big fellow +nursed it. + +"Hell, but you're a twister!" the cattleman said, with a grimace of pain. + +Billy Goat was a gentleman, after his kind, and he liked Sergeant Foyle +with a great liking. He turned to the crowd and spoke. + +"Say, boys, this mine's worked out. Let's leave the Happy Land to Foyle. +Boys, what is he--what--is--he? What--is--Sergeant Foyle--boys?" + +The roar of the song they all knew came in reply, as Billy Goat waved his +arms about like the wild leader of a wild orchestra: + + "Sergeant Foyle, oh, he's a knocker from the West, + He's a chase-me-Charley, come-and-kiss-me tiger from the zoo; + He's a dandy on the pinch, and he's got a double cinch + On the gent that's going careless, and he'll soon cinch you: + And he'll soon--and he'll soon--cinch you!" + +Foyle watched them go, dancing, stumbling, calling back at him, as they +moved toward the Prairie Home Hotel: + + "And he'll soon--and he'll soon--cinch you!" + +His under-lip came out, his eyes half closed, as he watched them. "I've +done my last cinch. I've done my last cinch," he murmured. + +Then, suddenly, the look in his face changed, the eyes swam as they had +done a minute before at the sight of the girl in the room behind. Whatever +his trouble was, that face had obscured it in a flash, and the pools of +feeling far down in the depths of a lonely nature had been stirred. +Recognition, memory, tenderness, desire swam in his face, made generous +and kind the hard lines of the strong mouth. In an instant he had swung +himself over the window-sill. The girl had drawn away now into a more +shaded corner of the room, and she regarded him with a mingled anxiety and +eagerness. Was she afraid of something? Did she fear that--she knew not +quite what, but it had to do with a long ago? + +"It was time you hit out, Nett," she said, half shyly. "You're more +patient than you used to be, but you're surer. My, that was a twist you +gave him, Nett. Aren't you glad to see me?" she added, hastily and with an +effort to hide her agitation. + +He reached out and took her hand with a strange shyness and a +self-consciousness which was alien to his nature. The touch of her hand +thrilled him. Their eyes met. She dropped hers. Then he gathered himself +together. "Glad to see you? Of course, of course, I'm glad. You stunned +me, Jo. Why, do you know where you are? You're a thousand miles from home. +I can't get it through my head, not really. What brings you here? It's ten +years--ten years since I saw you, and you were only fifteen, but a fifteen +that was as good as twenty." + +He scanned her face closely. "What's that scar on your forehead, Jo? You +hadn't that--then." + +"I ran up against something," she said, evasively, her eyes glittering, +"and it left that scar. Does it look so bad?" + +"No, you'd never notice it, if you weren't looking close as I am. You see, +I knew your face so well ten years ago." + +He shook his head with a forced kind of smile. It became him, however, for +he smiled rarely; and the smile was like a lantern turned on his face; it +gave light and warmth to its quiet strength--or hardness. + +"You were always quizzing," she said, with an attempt at a laugh--"always +trying to find things out. That's why you made them reckon with you out +here. You always could see behind things; always would have your own way; +always were meant to be a success." + +She was beginning to get control of herself again, was trying hard to keep +things on the surface. "You were meant to succeed--you had to," she +added. + +"I've been a failure--a dead failure," he answered, slowly. "So they say. +So they said. You heard them, Jo." + +He jerked his head toward the open window. + +"Oh, those drunken fools!" she exclaimed, indignantly, and her face +hardened. "How I hate drink! It spoils everything." + +There was silence for a moment. They were both thinking of the same +thing--_of the same man_. He repeated a question. + +"What brings you out here, Jo?" he asked, gently. + +"Dorland," she answered, her face setting into determination and anxiety. + +His face became pinched. "Dorl!" he said, heavily. "What for, Jo? What do +you want with Dorl?" + +"When Cynthy died she left her five hundred dollars a year to the baby, +and--" + +"Yes, yes, I know. Well, Jo?" + +"Well, it was all right for five years--Dorland paid it in; but for five +years he hasn't paid anything. He's taken it, stolen it from his own child +by his own honest wife. I've come to get it--anyway, to stop him from +doing it any more. His own child--it puts murder in my heart, Nett! I +could kill him." + +He nodded grimly. "That's likely. And you've kept Dorl's child with your +own money all these years?" + +"I've got four hundred dollars a year, Nett, you know; and I've been +dressmaking--they say I've got taste," she added, with a whimsical smile. + +Nett nodded his head. "Five years. That's twenty-five hundred dollars he's +stolen from his own child. It's eight years old now, isn't it?" + +"Bobby is eight and a half," she answered. + +"And his schooling, and his clothing, and everything; and you have to pay +for it all?" + +"Oh, I don't mind, Nett; it isn't that. Bobby is Cynthy's child, and I +love him--love him; but I want him to have his rights. Dorl must give up +his hold on that money--or--" + +He nodded gravely. "Or you'll set the law on him?" + +"It's one thing or the other. Better to do it now when Bobby is young and +can't understand." + +"Or read the newspapers," he commented, thoughtfully. + +"I don't think I've a hard heart," she continued, "but I'd like to punish +him, if it wasn't that he's your brother, Nett, and if it wasn't for +Bobby. Dorland was dreadfully cruel, even to Cynthy." + +"How did you know he was up here?" he asked. + +"From the lawyer that pays over the money. Dorland has had it sent out +here to Kowatin this two years. And he sent word to the lawyer a month ago +that he wanted it to get here as usual. The letter left the same day as I +did, and it got here yesterday with me, I suppose. He'll be after +it--perhaps to-day. He wouldn't let it wait long, Dorl wouldn't." + +Foyle started. "To-day--to-day--" + +There was a gleam in his eyes, a setting of the lips, a line sinking into +the forehead between the eyes. + +"I've been watching for him all day, and I'll watch till he comes. I'm +going to say some things to him that he won't forget. I'm going to get +Bobby's money, or have the law to do it--unless you think I'm a brute, +Nett." She looked at him wistfully. + +"That's all right. Don't worry about me, Jo. He's my brother, but I know +him--I know him through and through. He's done everything that a man can +do and not be hanged. A thief, a drunkard, and a brute--and he killed a +man out here," he added, hoarsely. "I found it out myself--myself. It was +murder." + +Suddenly, as he looked at her, an idea seemed to flash into his mind. He +came very near and looked at her closely. Then he reached over and almost +touched the scar on her forehead. + +"Did he do that, Jo?" + +For an instant she was silent and looked down at the floor. Presently she +raised her eyes, her face suffused. Once or twice she tried to speak, but +failed. At last she gained courage, and said: + +"After Cynthy's death I kept house for him for a year, taking care of +little Bobby. I loved Bobby so--he has Cynthy's eyes. One day Dorland--oh, +Nett, of course I oughtn't to have stayed there--I know it now; but I was +only sixteen, and what did I understand! And my mother was dead. One +day--oh, please, Nett, you can guess. He said something to me. I made him +leave the house. Before I could make plans what to do, he came back mad +with drink. I went for Bobby, to get out of the house, but he caught hold +of me. I struck him in the face, and he threw me against the edge of the +open door. It made the scar." + +Foyle's face was white. "Why did you never write and tell me that, Jo? You +know that I--" He stopped suddenly. + +"You had gone out of our lives down there. I didn't know where you were +for a long time; and then--then it was all right about Bobby and me, +except that Bobby didn't get the money that was his. But now--" + +Foyle's voice was hoarse and low. "He made that scar, and he--and you only +sixteen--Oh, my God!" + +Suddenly his face reddened, and he choked with shame and anger. "And he's +my brother!" was all that he could say. + +"Do you see him up here ever?" she asked, pityingly. + +"I never saw him till a week ago." A moment, then he added, "The letter +wasn't to be sent here in his own name, was it?" + +She nodded. "Yes, in his own name, Dorland W. Foyle. Didn't he go by that +name when you saw him?" + +There was an oppressive silence, in which she saw that something moved him +strangely, and then he answered, "No, he was going by the name of +Halbeck--Hiram Halbeck." + +The girl gasped. Then the whole thing burst upon her. "Hiram Halbeck! +Hiram Halbeck, the thief--I read it all in the papers--the thief that you +caught, and that got away. And you've left the Mounted Police because of +it--oh, Nett!" Her eyes were full of tears, her face was drawn and gray. + +He nodded. "I didn't know who he was till I arrested him," he said. "Then, +afterward, I thought of his child, and let him get away; and for my poor +old mother's sake. She never knew how bad he was, even as a boy. But I +remember how he used to steal and drink the brandy from her bedside, when +she had the fever. She never knew the worst of him. But I let him away in +the night, Jo, and I resigned, and they thought that Halbeck had beaten +me, had escaped. Of course I couldn't stay in the Force, having done that. +But, by the heaven above us, if I had him here now I'd do the thing--do +it, so help me God!" + +"Why should you ruin your life for him?" she said, with an outburst of +indignation. All that was in her heart welled up in her eyes at the +thought of what Foyle was. "You must not do it. You shall not do it. _He_ +must pay for his wickedness, not you. It would be a sin. You and what +becomes of you mean so much." Suddenly, with a flash of purpose, she +added, "He will come for that letter, Nett. He would run any kind of risk +to get a dollar. He will come here for that letter--perhaps to-day." + +He shook his head moodily, oppressed by the trouble that was on him. "He's +not likely to venture here, after what's happened." + +"You don't know him as well as I do, Nett. He is so vain he'd do it, just +to show that he could. He'd probably come in the evening. Does any one +know him here? So many people pass through Kowatin every day. Has any one +seen him?" + +"Only Billy Goatry," he answered, working his way to a solution of the +dark problem. "Only Billy Goatry knows him. The fellow that led the +singing--that was Goatry." + +"There he is now," he added, as Billy Goat passed the window. + +She came and laid a hand on his arm. "We've got to settle things with +him," she said. "If Dorl comes, Nett--" + +There was silence for a moment, then he caught her hand in his and held +it. "If he comes, leave him to me, Jo. You will leave him to me?" he +added, anxiously. + +"Yes," she answered. "You'll do what's right--by Bobby?" + +"And by Dorl, too," he replied, strangely. + +There were loud footsteps without. + +"It's Goatry," said Foyle. "You stay here. I'll tell him everything. He's +all right; he's a true friend. He'll not interfere." + +The handle of the door turned slowly. "You keep watch on the post-office, +Jo," he added. + +Goatry came round the opening door with a grin. + +"Hope I don't intrude," he said, stealing a half-leering look at the girl. +As soon as he saw her face, however, he straightened himself up and took +on different manners. He had not been so intoxicated as he had made out, +and he seemed only "mellow" as he stood before them, with his corrugated +face and queer, quaint look, the eye with the cast in it blinking faster +than the other. + +"It's all right, Goatry," said Foyle. "This lady is one of my family from +the East." + +"Goin' on by stage?" Goatry said, vaguely, as they shook hands. + +She did not reply, for she was looking down the street, and presently she +started as she gazed. She laid a hand suddenly on Foyle's arm. + +"See--he's come," she said, in a whisper, and as though not realizing +Goatry's presence. "He's come." + +Goatry looked, as well as Foyle. "Halbeck--the devil!" he said. + +Foyle turned to him. "Stand by, Goatry. I want you to keep a shut mouth. +I've work to do." + +Goatry held out his hand. "I'm with you. If you get him this time, clamp +him, clamp him like a tooth in a harrow." + +Halbeck had stopped his horse at the post-office door. Dismounting, he +looked quickly round, then drew the reins over the horse's head, letting +them trail, as is the custom of the West. + +A few swift words passed between Goatry and Foyle. + +"I'll do this myself, Jo," he whispered to the girl presently. "Go into +another room. I'll bring him here." + + * * * * * + +In another minute Goatry was leading the horse away from the post-office, +while Foyle stood waiting quietly at the door. The departing footsteps of +the horse brought Halbeck swiftly to the doorway, with a letter in his +hand. + +"Hi, there, you damned sucker!" he called after Goatry, and then saw Foyle +waiting. + +"What the hell--!" he said, fiercely, his hand on something in his +hip-pocket. + +"Keep quiet, Dorl. I want to have a little talk with you. Take your hand +away from that gun--take it away!" he added, with a meaning not to be +misunderstood. + +Halbeck knew that one shout would have the town on him, and he did not +know what card his brother was going to play. He let his arm drop to his +side. "What's your game? What do you want?" he asked, surlily. + +"Come over to the Happy Land Hotel," Foyle answered, and in the light of +what was in his mind his words had a grim irony. + +With a snarl Halbeck stepped out. Goatry, who had handed the horse over to +the hostler, watched them coming. + +"Why did I never notice the likeness before?" Goatry said to himself. +"But, gosh! what a difference in the men. Foyle's going to double cinch +him this time, I guess." + +He followed them inside the hall of the Happy Land. When they stepped into +the sitting-room, he stood at the door waiting. The hotel was entirely +empty, the roisterers at the Prairie Home having drawn off the idlers and +spectators. The barman was nodding behind the bar, the proprietor was +moving about in the backyard inspecting a horse. There was a cheerful +warmth everywhere; the air was like an elixir; the pungent smell of a +pine-tree at the door gave a kind of medicament to the indrawn breath. And +to Billy Goat, who sometimes sang in the choir of a church not a hundred +miles away--for the people agreed to forget his occasional sprees--there +came, he knew not why, the words of a hymn he had sung only the preceding +Sunday: + + "As pants the hart for cooling streams, + When heated in the chase--" + +The words kept ringing in his ears as he listened to the conversation +inside the room--the partition was thin, the door thinner, and he heard +much. Foyle had asked him not to intervene, but only to stand by and await +the issue of this final conference. He meant, however, to take a hand in +if he thought he was needed, and he kept his ear glued to the door. If he +thought Foyle needed him--his fingers were on the handle of the door. + +"Now, hurry up! What do you want with me?" asked Halbeck of his brother. + +"Take your time," said ex-Sergeant Foyle, as he drew the blind +three-quarters down, so that they could not be seen from the street. + +"I'm in a hurry, I tell you. I've got my plans. I'm going South. I've only +just time to catch the Canadian Pacific three days from now, riding +hard." + +"You're not going South, Dorl." + +"Where am I going, then?" was the sneering reply. + +"Not farther than the Happy Land." + +"What the devil's all this? You don't mean you're trying to arrest me +again, after letting me go?" + +"You don't need to ask. You're my prisoner. You're my prisoner," he said, +in a louder voice--"_until you free yourself_." + +"I'll do that damn quick, then," said the other, his hand flying to his +hip. + +"Sit down," was the sharp rejoinder, and a pistol was in his face before +he could draw his own weapon. + +"Put your gun on the table," Foyle said, quietly. Halbeck did so. There +was no other way. + +Foyle drew it over to himself. His brother made a motion to rise. + +"Sit still, Dorl," came the warning voice. + +White with rage, the freebooter sat still, his dissipated face and heavy +angry lips, looking like a debauched and villanous caricature of his +brother before him. + +"Yes, I suppose you'd have potted me, Dorl," said the ex-sergeant. "You'd +have thought no more of doing that than you did of killing Linley, the +ranchman; than you did of trying to ruin Jo Byndon, your wife's sister, +when she was sixteen years old, when she was caring for your child--giving +her life for the child you brought into the world." + +"What in the name of hell--it's a lie!" + +"Don't bluster. I know the truth." + +"Who told you--the truth?" + +"She did--to-day--an hour ago." + +"She here--out here?" There was a new, cowed note in the voice. + +"She is in the next room." + +"What did she come here for?" + +"To make you do right by your own child. I wonder what a jury of decent +men would think about a man who robbed his child for five years, and let +that child be fed and clothed and cared for by the girl he tried to +destroy, the girl he taught what sin there was in the world." + +"She put you up to this. She was always in love with you, and you know +it." + +There was a dangerous look in Foyle's eyes, and his jaw set hard. "There +would be no shame in a decent woman caring for me, even if it was true. I +haven't put myself outside the boundary as you have. You're my brother, +but you're the worst scoundrel in the country--the worst unhanged. Put on +the table there the letter in your pocket. It holds five hundred dollars +belonging to your child. There's twenty-five hundred dollars more to be +accounted for." + +The other hesitated, then with an oath threw the letter on the table. +"I'll pay the rest as soon as I can, if you'll stop this damned +tomfoolery," he said, sullenly, for he saw that he was in a hole. + +"You'll pay it, I suppose, out of what you stole from the C. P. R. +contractor's chest. No, I don't think that will do." + +"You want me to go to prison, then?" + +"I think not. The truth would come out at the trial--the whole truth--the +murder and all. There's your child, Bobby. You've done him enough wrong +already. Do you want him--but it doesn't matter whether you do or not--do +you want him to carry through life the fact that his father was a +jail-bird and a murderer, just as Jo Byndon carries the scar you made when +you threw her against the door?" + +"What do you want with me, then?" The man sank slowly and heavily back +into the chair. + +"There is a way--have you never thought of it? When you threatened others +as you did me, and life seemed such a little thing in others--can't you +think?" + +Bewildered, the man looked around helplessly. In the silence which +followed Foyle's words his brain was struggling to see a way out. Foyle's +further words seemed to come from a great distance. + +"It's not too late to do the decent thing. You'll never repent of all +you've done; you'll never do different." + +The old, reckless, irresponsible spirit revived in the man; he had both +courage and bravado; he was not hopeless yet of finding an escape from the +net. He would not beg, he would struggle. + +"I've lived as I meant to, and I'm not going to snivel or repent now. It's +all a rotten business, anyhow," he rejoined. + +With a sudden resolution the ex-sergeant put his own pistol in his pocket, +then pushed Halbeck's pistol over toward him on the table. Halbeck's eyes +lighted eagerly, grew red with excitement, then a change passed over them. +They now settled on the pistol, and stayed. + +He heard Foyle's voice. "It's with you to do what you ought to do. Of +course you can kill me. My pistol's in my pocket. But I don't think you +will. You've murdered one man. You won't load your soul up with another. +Besides, if you kill me, you will never get away from Kowatin alive. But +it's with you--take your choice. It's me or you." + +Halbeck's fingers crept out and found the pistol. + +"Do your duty, Dorl," said the ex-sergeant, as he turned his back on his +brother. + +The door of the room opened, and Goatry stepped inside softly. He had work +to do, if need be, and his face showed it. Halbeck did not see him. + +There was a demon in Halbeck's eyes, as his brother stood, his back +turned, taking his chances. A large mirror hung on the wall opposite +Halbeck. Goatry was watching Halbeck's face in the glass, and saw the +danger. He measured his distance. + +All at once Halbeck caught Goatry's face in the mirror. The dark devilry +faded out of his eyes. His lips moved in a whispered oath. Every way was +blocked. + +With a sudden wild resolution he raised the pistol to his head. It +cracked, and he fell back heavily in the chair. There was a red trickle at +the temple. + +He had chosen the best way out. + +"He had the pluck," said Goatry, as Foyle swung round with a face of +misery. + +A moment afterward came a rush of people. Goatry kept them back. + +"Sergeant Foyle arrested Halbeck, and Halbeck's shot himself," Goatry +explained to them. + +A white-faced girl with a scar on her temple made her way into the room. + +[Illustration: "IF YOU KILL ME, YOU WILL NEVER GET AWAY +FROM KOWATIN ALIVE"] + +"Come away--come away, Jo," said the voice of the man she loved; and he +did not let her see the lifeless figure in the chair. + + * * * * * + +Three days later the plains swallowed them, as they made their way with +Billy Goatry to the headquarters of the Riders of the Plains, where +Sergeant Foyle was asked to reconsider his resignation: which he did. + + + + +THE WHISPERER + + + "And thou shalt be brought down and shalt speak out of the ground, + and thy speech shall be low out of the dust, and thy voice shall be + as of one that hath a familiar spirit out of the ground, and thy + speech shall whisper out of the dust." + +The harvest was all in, and, as far as eye could observe, nothing remained +of the golden sea of wheat which had covered the wide prairie save the +yellow stubble, the bed of an ocean of wealth which had been gathered. +Here the yellow level was broken by a dark patch of fallow land, there by +a covert of trees also tinged with yellow, or deepening to crimson and +mauve--the harbinger of autumn. The sun had not the insistent and +intensive strength of more southerly climes; it was buoyant, confident, +and heartening, and it shone in a turquoise vault which covered and +endeared the wide, even world beneath. Now and then a flock of wild ducks +whirred past, making for the marshes or the innumerable lakes that +vitalized the expanse, or buzzards hunched heavily along, frightened from +some far resort by eager sportsmen. + +That was above; but beneath, on a level with the unlifted eye, were houses +here and there, looking in the vastness like dolls' habitations. Many of +the houses stood blank and staring in the expanse, but some had trees, and +others little oases of green. Everywhere prosperity, everywhere the +strings of life pulled taut, signs that energy had been straining on the +leash. + +Yet there was one spot where it seemed that deadness made encampment. It +could not be seen in the sweep of the eye, you must have travelled and +looked vigilantly to find it; but it was there--a lake shimmering in the +eager sun, washing against a reedy shore, a little river running into the +reedy lake at one end and out at the other, a small, dilapidated house +half hid in a wood that stretched for half a mile or so upon a rising +ground. In front of the house, not far from the lake, a man was lying +asleep upon the ground, a rough felt hat drawn over his eyes. + +Like the house, the man seemed dilapidated also: a slovenly, ill-dressed, +demoralized figure he looked, even with his face covered. He seemed in a +deep sleep. Wild ducks settled on the lake not far from him with a swish +and flutter; a coyote ran past, veering as it saw the recumbent figure; a +prairie hen rustled by with a shrill cluck, but he seemed oblivious to +all. If asleep, he was evidently dreaming, for now and then he started, or +his body twitched and a muttering came from beneath the hat. + +The battered house, the absence of barn or stable or garden, or any token +of thrift or energy, marked the man as an excrescence in this theatre of +hope and fruitful toil. It all belonged to some degenerate land, some +exhausted civilization, not to this field of vigor where life rang like +silver. + +So the man lay for hour upon hour. He slept as though he had been upon a +long journey in which the body was worn to helplessness. Or was it that +sleep of the worn-out spirit which, tortured by remembrance and remorse, +at last sinks into the depths where the conscious vexes the unconscious--a +little of fire, a little of ice, and now and then the turn of the screw? + +The day marched nobly on toward evening, growing out of its blue and +silver into a pervasive golden gleam; the bare, grayish houses on the +prairie were transformed into miniature palaces of light. Presently a girl +came out of the woods behind, looking at the neglected house with a +half-pitying curiosity. She carried in one hand a fishing-rod which had +been telescoped till it was no bigger than a cane; in the other she +carried a small fishing-basket. Her father's shooting and fishing camp was +a few miles away by a lake of greater size than this which she approached. +She had tired of the gay company in camp, brought up for sport from beyond +the American border where she also belonged, and she had come to explore +the river running into this reedy lake. She turned from the house and came +nearer to the lake, shaking her head, as though compassionating the poor +folk who lived there. She was beautiful. Her hair was brown, going to +tawny, but in this soft light which enwrapped her she was in a sort of +topaz flame. As she came on, suddenly she stopped as though transfixed. +She saw the man--and saw also a tragedy afoot. + +The man stirred violently in his sleep, cried out, and started up. As he +did so, a snake, disturbed in its travel past him, suddenly raised itself +in anger. Startled out of sleep by some inner torture, the man heard the +sinister rattle he knew so well, and gazed paralyzed. + +The girl had been but a few feet away when she first saw the man and his +angry foe. An instant, then, with the instinct of the woods and the +plains, and the courage that has habitation everywhere, dropping her +basket she sprang forward noiselessly. The short, telescoped fishing-rod +she carried swung round her head and completed its next half-circle at the +head of the reptile, even as it was about to strike. The blow was sure, +and with half-severed head the snake fell dead upon the ground beside the +man. + +He was like one who has been projected from one world to another, dazed, +stricken, fearful. Presently the look of agonized dismay gave way to such +an expression of relief as might come upon the face of a reprieved victim +about to be given to the fire or to the knife that flays. The place of +dreams from which he had emerged was like hell, and this was some world of +peace that he had not known these many years. Always one had been at his +elbow--"a familiar spirit out of the ground"--whispering in his ear. He +had been down in the abysses of life. + +He glanced again at the girl, and realized what she had done: she had +saved his life. Whether it had been worth saving was another question; but +he had been near to the brink, had looked in, and the animal in him had +shrunk back from the precipice in a confused agony of fear. He staggered +to his feet. + +"Where do you come from?" he said, pulling his coat closer to hide the +ragged waistcoat underneath, and adjusting his worn and dirty hat--in his +youth he had been vain and ambitious, and good-looking also. + +He asked his question in no impertinent tone, but in the low voice of one +who "shall whisper out of the dust." He had not yet recovered from the +first impression of his awakening, that the world in which he now stood +was not a real world. + +She understood, and half in pity and half in conquered repugnance said: + +"I come from a camp beyond"--she indicated the direction by a gesture. "I +had been fishing"--she took up the basket--"and chanced on you--then." She +glanced at the snake significantly. + +"You killed it in the nick of time," he said, in a voice that still spoke +of the ground, but with a note of half-shamed gratitude. "I want to thank +you," he added. "You were brave. It would have turned on you if you had +missed. I know them. I've killed five." He spoke very slowly, huskily. + +"Well, you are safe--that is the chief thing," she rejoined, making as +though to depart. But presently she turned back. "Why are you so +dreadfully poor--and everything?" she asked, gently. + +His eye wandered over the lake and back again before he answered her, in a +dull, heavy tone, "I've had bad luck, and, when you get down, there are +plenty to kick you farther." + +"You weren't always poor as you are now--I mean long ago, when you were +young." + +"I'm not so old," he rejoined, sluggishly--"only thirty-four." + +She could not suppress her astonishment. She looked at the hair already +gray, the hard, pinched face, the lustreless eyes. + +"Yet it must seem long to you," she said, with meaning. + +Now he laughed--a laugh sodden and mirthless. He was thinking of his +boyhood. Everything, save one or two spots all fire or all darkness, was +dim in his debilitated mind. + +"Too far to go back," he said, with a gleam of the intelligence which had +been strong in him once. + +She caught the gleam. She had wisdom beyond her years. It was the greater +because her mother was dead, and she had had so much wealth to dispense, +for her father was rich beyond counting, and she controlled his household +and helped to regulate his charities. She saw that he was not of the +laboring classes, that he had known better days; his speech, if abrupt and +cheerless, was grammatical. + +"If you cannot go back, you can go forward," she said, firmly. "Why should +you be the only man in this beautiful land who lives like this, who is +idle when there is so much to do, who sleeps in the daytime when there is +so much time to sleep at night?" + +A faint flush came on the grayish, colorless face. "I don't sleep at +night," he returned, moodily. + +"Why don't you sleep?" she asked. + +He did not answer, but stirred the body of the snake with his foot. The +tail moved; he stamped upon the head with almost frenzied violence, out of +keeping with his sluggishness. + +She turned away, yet looked back once more--she felt tragedy around her. +"It is never too late to mend," she said, and moved on, but stopped, for a +young man came running from the woods toward her. + +"I've had a hunt--such a hunt for you!" the young man said, eagerly, then +stopped short when he saw to whom she had been talking. A look of disgust +came upon his face as he drew her away, his hand on her arm. + +"In Heaven's name, why did you talk to that man?" he said. "You ought not +to have trusted yourself near him." + +"What has he done?" she asked. "Is he so bad?" + +"I've heard about him. I inquired the other day. He was once in a better +position as a ranchman--ten years ago; but he came into some money one +day, and he changed at once. He never had a good character; even before he +got his money he used to gamble, and was getting a bad name. Afterward he +began drinking, and he took to gambling harder than ever. Presently his +money all went and he had to work; but his bad habits had fastened on him, +and now he lives from hand to mouth, sometimes working for a month, +sometimes idle for months. There's something sinister about him, there's +some mystery; for poverty, or drink even--and he doesn't drink much +now--couldn't make him what he is. He doesn't seek company, and he walks +sometimes endless miles talking to himself, going as hard as he can. How +did you come to speak to him, Grace?" + +She told him all, with a curious abstraction in her voice, for she was +thinking of the man from a standpoint which her companion could not +realize. She was also trying to verify something in her memory. Ten years +ago, so her lover had just said, the poor wretch behind them had been a +different man; and there had shot into her mind the face of a ranchman she +had seen with her father, the railway king, one evening when his "special" +had stopped at a railway station on his tour through Montana--ten years +ago. Why did the face of the ranchman which had fixed itself on her memory +then, because he had come on the evening of her birthday and had spoiled +it for her, having taken her father away from her for an hour--why did his +face come to her now? What had it to do with the face of this outcast she +had just left? + +"What is his name?" she asked at last. + +"Roger Lygon," he answered. + +"Roger Lygon," she repeated, mechanically. Something in the man chained +her thought--his face that moment when her hand saved him and the awful +fear left him and a glimmer of light came into his eyes. + +But her lover beside her broke into song. He was happy with her. +Everything was before him, her beauty, her wealth, herself. He could not +dwell upon dismal things; his voice rang out on the sharp, sweet, evening +air: + + "Oh, where did you get them, the bonny, bonny roses + That blossom in your cheeks, and the morning in your eyes?' + 'I got them on the North Trail, the road that never closes, + That widens to the seven gold gates of paradise.' + 'Oh, come, let us camp in the North Trail together, + With the night-fires lit and the tent-pegs down.'" + +Left alone, the man by the reedy lake stood watching them until they were +out of view. The song came back to him, echoing across the waters: + + "'Oh, come, let us camp on the North Trail together, + With the night-fires lit and the tent-pegs down.'" + +The sunset glow, the girl's presence, had given him a moment's illusion, +had absorbed him for a moment, acting on his deadened nature like a +narcotic at once soothing and stimulating. As some wild animal in a +forgotten land, coming upon ruins of a vast civilization, towers, temples +and palaces, in the golden glow of an Eastern evening, stands abashed and +vaguely wondering, having neither reason to understand nor feeling to +enjoy, yet is arrested and abashed, so he stood. He had lived the last +three years so much alone, had been cut off so completely from his +kind--had lived so much alone. Yet to-night, at last, he would not be +alone. + +Some one was coming to-night, some one whom he had not seen for a long +time. Letters had passed, the object of the visit had been defined, and he +had spent the intervening days since the last letter had arrived, now +agitated, now apathetic and sullen, now struggling with some invisible +being that kept whispering in his ear, saying to him: "It was the price of +fire and blood and shame. You did it--you--you--you! You are down, and you +will never get up. You can only go lower still--fire and blood and +shame!" + +Criminal as he was, he had never become hardened, he had only become +degraded. Crime was not his vocation. He had no gift for it; still, the +crime he had committed had never been discovered--the crime that he did +with others. There were himself and Dupont and another. Dupont was coming +to-night--Dupont, who had profited by the crime, and had not spent his +profits, but had built upon them to further profit; for Dupont was +avaricious and prudent, and a born criminal. Dupont had never had any +compunctions or remorse, had never lost a night's sleep because of what +they two had done, instigated thereto by the other, who had paid them so +well for the dark thing. + +The other was Henderley, the financier. He was worse perhaps than Dupont, +for he was in a different sphere of life, was rich beyond counting, and +had been early nurtured in quiet Christian surroundings. The spirit of +ambition, rivalry, and the methods of a degenerate and cruel finance had +seized him, mastered him; so that, under the cloak of power--as a toreador +hides the blade under the red cloth before his enemy the _toro_--he held a +sword of capital which did cruel and vicious things, at last becoming +criminal also. Henderley had incited and paid; the others, Dupont and +Lygon, had acted and received. Henderley had had no remorse, none at any +rate that weighed upon him, for he had got used to ruining rivals and +seeing strong men go down, and those who had fought him come to beg or +borrow of him in the end. He had seen more than one commit suicide, and +those they loved go down and farther down, and he had helped these up a +little, but not near enough to put them near his own plane again; and he +could not see--it never occurred to him--that he had done any evil to +them. Dupont thought upon his crimes now and then, and his heart hardened, +for he had no moral feeling; Henderley did not think at all. It was left +to the man of the reedy lake to pay the penalty of apprehension, to suffer +the effects of crime upon a nature not naturally criminal. + +Again and again, how many hundreds of times, had Roger Lygon seen in his +sleep--had even seen awake, so did hallucination possess him--the new +cattle trail he had fired for scores of miles. The fire had destroyed the +grass over millions of acres, two houses had been burned and three people +had lost their lives; all to satisfy the savage desire of one man, to +destroy the chance of a cattle trade over a great section of country for +the railway which was to compete with his own--an act which, in the end, +was futile, failed of its purpose. Dupont and Lygon had been paid their +price, and had disappeared and been forgotten--they were but pawns in his +game--and there was no proof against Henderley. Henderley had forgotten. +Lygon wished to forget, but Dupont remembered, and meant now to reap fresh +profit by the remembrance. + +Dupont was coming to-night, and the hatchet of crime was to be dug up +again. So it had been planned. + +As the shadows fell, Lygon roused himself from his trance with a shiver. +It was not cold, but in him there was a nervous agitation, making him cold +from head to foot; his body seemed as impoverished as his mind. Looking +with heavy-lidded eyes across the prairie, he saw in the distance the +barracks of the Riders of the Plains and the jail near by, and his +shuddering ceased. There was where he belonged, within four stone walls; +yet here he was free to go where he willed, to live as he willed, with no +eye upon him. With no eye upon him? There was no eye, but there was the +Whisperer whom he could never drive away. Morning and night he heard the +words: "You--you--you! Fire and blood and shame!" He had snatched sleep +when he could find it, after long, long hours of tramping over the plains, +ostensibly to shoot wild fowl, but in truth to bring on a great bodily +fatigue--and sleep. His sleep only came then in the first watches of the +night. As the night wore on the Whisperer began again, as the cloud of +weariness lifted a little from him and the senses were released from the +heavy sedative of unnatural exertion. + +The dusk deepened. The moon slowly rose. He cooked his scanty meal and +took a deep draught from a horn of whiskey from beneath a board in the +flooring. He had not the courage to face Dupont without it, nor yet to +forget what he must forget if he was to do the work Dupont came to +arrange--he must forget the girl who had saved his life and the influence +of those strange moments in which she had spoken down to him, in the abyss +where he had been lying. + +He sat in the doorway, a fire gleaming behind him; he drank in the good +air as though his lungs were thirsty for it, and saw the silver glitter of +the moon upon the water. Not a breath of wind stirred, and the shining +path the moon made upon the reedy lake fascinated his eye. Everything was +so still except that whisper, louder in his ear than it had ever been +before. + +Suddenly, upon the silver path upon the lake there shot a silent canoe, +with a figure as silently paddling toward him. He gazed for a moment +dismayed, and then got to his feet with a jerk. + +"Dupont," he said, mechanically. + +The canoe swished among the reeds and rushes, scraped on the shore, and a +tall, burly figure sprang from it and stood still, looking at the house. + +"_Qui reste là_--Lygon?" he asked. + +"Dupont," was the nervous, hesitating reply. + +Dupont came forward quickly. "_Ah_, _ben_, here we are again--so," he +grunted, cheerily. + +Entering the house, they sat before the fire, holding their hands to the +warmth from force of habit, though the night was not cold. + +"_Ben_, you will do it to-night--then?" Dupont said. "_Sacré_, it is +time!" + +"Do what?" rejoined the other, heavily. + +An angry light leaped into Dupont's eyes. "You not unnerstan' my +letters--bah! You know it all right, so queeck." + +The other remained silent, staring into the fire with wide, searching +eyes. + +Dupont put a hand on him. "You ketch my idee queeck. We mus' have more +money from that Henderley--certainlee. It is ten years, and he t'ink it is +all right. He t'ink we come no more becos' he give five t'ousand dollars +to us each. That was to do the t'ing, to fire the country. Now we want +another ten t'ousan' to us each, to forget we do it for him--_hein_?" + +Still there was no reply. Dupont went on, watching the other furtively, +for he did not like this silence. But he would not resent it till he was +sure there was good cause. + +"It comes to suit us. He is over there at the Old Man Lak', where you can +get at him easy, not like in the city where he lif'. Over in the States, +he laugh mebbe, becos' he is at home, an' can buy off the law. But +here--it is Canadaw, an' they not care eef he have hunder' meellion +dollar. He know that--sure. Eef you say you not care a dam to go to jail, +so you can put him there, too, becos' you have not'ing, an' so dam seeck +of everyt'ing, he will t'ink ten t'ousan' dollar same as one cent to Nic +Dupont--_ben sûr_!" + +Lygon nodded his head, still holding his hands to the blaze. With ten +thousand dollars he could get away into--into another world somewhere, +some world where he could forget, as he forgot for a moment this afternoon +when the girl said to him, "It is never too late to mend." + +Now, as he thought of her, he pulled his coat together and arranged the +rough scarf at his neck involuntarily. Ten thousand dollars--but ten +thousand dollars by blackmail, hush-money, the reward of fire and blood +and shame! Was it to go on? Was he to commit a new crime? + +He stirred, as though to shake off the net that he felt twisting round +him, in the hands of the robust and powerful Dupont, on whom crime sat so +lightly, who had flourished while he, Lygon, had gone lower and lower. Ten +years ago he had been the better man, had taken the lead, was the master, +Dupont the obedient confederate, the tool. Now, Dupont, once the rough +river-driver, grown prosperous in a large way for him--who might yet be +mayor of his town in Quebec--he held the rod of rule. Lygon was conscious +that the fifty dollars sent him every New Year for five years by Dupont +had been sent with a purpose, and that he was now Dupont's tool. +Debilitated, demoralized, how could he, even if he wished, struggle +against this powerful confederate, as powerful in will as in body? Yet if +he had his own way he would not go to Henderley. He had lived with a +"familiar spirit" so long, he feared the issue of this next excursion into +the fens of crime. + +Dupont was on his feet now. "He will be here only three days more--I haf +find it so. To-night it mus' be done. As we go I will tell you what to +say. I will wait at the Forks, an' we will come back togedder. His check +will do. Eef he gif at all, the check is all right. He will not stop it. +Eef he have the money, it is better--_sacré_--yes. Eef he not gif--well, I +will tell you, there is the other railway man he try to hurt, how would he +like--But I will tell you on the river. _Maint'nant_--queeck, we go." + +Without a word Lygon took down another coat and put it on. Doing so he +concealed a weapon quickly, as Dupont stooped to pick a coal for his pipe +from the blaze. Lygon had no fixed purpose in taking a weapon with him; it +was only a vague instinct of caution that moved him. + +In the canoe on the river, in an almost speechless apathy, he heard +Dupont's voice giving him instructions. + +Henderley, the financier, had just finished his game of whist and +dismissed his friends--it was equivalent to dismissal, rough yet genial as +he seemed to be, so did immense wealth and its accompanying power affect +his relations with those about him. In everything he was "considered." He +was in good-humor, for he had won all the evening, and with a smile he +rubbed his hands among the notes--three thousand dollars it was. It was +like a man with a pocketful of money chuckling over a coin he had found in +the street. Presently he heard a rustle of the inner tent-curtain and +swung round. He faced the man from the reedy lake. + +Instinctively he glanced round for a weapon, mechanically his hands firmly +grasped the chair in front of him. He had been in danger of his life many +times, and he had no fear. He had been threatened with assassination more +than once, and he had got used to the idea of danger; life to him was only +a game. + +He kept his nerve; he did not call out; he looked his visitor in the +eyes. + +"What are you doing here? Who are you?" he said. + +"Don't you know me?" answered Lygon, gazing intently at him. + +Face to face with the man who had tempted him to crime, Lygon had a new +sense of boldness, a sudden feeling of reprisal, a rushing desire to put +the screw upon him. At sight of this millionaire with the pile of notes +before him there vanished the sickening hesitation of the afternoon, of +the journey with Dupont. The look of the robust, healthy financier was +like acid in a wound; it maddened him. + +"You will know me better soon," Lygon added, his head twitching with +excitement. + +Henderley recognized him now. He gripped the armchair spasmodically, but +presently regained a complete composure. He knew the game that was forward +here, and he also thought that if once he yielded to blackmail there would +never be an end to it. He made no pretence, but came straight to the +point. + +"You can do nothing; there is no proof," he said, with firm assurance. + +"There is Dupont," answered Lygon, doggedly. + +"Who is Dupont?" + +"The French Canadian who helped me--I divided with him." + +"You said the man who helped you died. You wrote that to me. I suppose you +are lying now." + +Henderley coolly straightened the notes on the table, smoothing out the +wrinkles, arranging them according to their denominations with an +apparently interested eye; yet he was vigilantly watching the outcast +before him. To yield to blackmail would be fatal; not to yield to it--he +could not see his way. He had long ago forgotten the fire and blood and +shame. No Whisperer reminded him of that black page in the history of his +life; he had been immune of conscience. He could not understand this man +before him. It was as bad a case of human degradation as ever he had +seen--he remembered the stalwart, if dissipated, ranchman who had acted on +his instigation. He knew now that he had made a foolish blunder then, that +the scheme had been one of his failures; but he had never looked on it as +with eyes reproving crime. As a hundred thoughts tending toward the +solution of the problem by which he was faced flashed through his mind, +and he rejected them all, he repeated mechanically the phrase "I suppose +you are lying now." + +"Dupont is here--not a mile away," was the reply. "He will give proof. He +would go to jail or to the gallows to put you there, if you do not pay. He +is a devil--Dupont." + +Still the great man could not see his way out. He must temporize for a +little longer, for rashness might bring scandal or noise; and near by was +his daughter, the apple of his eye. + +"What do you want? How much did you figure you could get out of me, if I +let you bleed me?" he asked, sneeringly and coolly. "Come now, how much?" + +Lygon, in whom a blind hatred of the man still raged, was about to reply, +when he heard a voice calling, "Daddy, Daddy!" + +Suddenly the red, half-insane light died down in Lygon's eyes. He saw the +snake upon the ground by the reedy lake, the girl standing over it--the +girl with the tawny hair. This was her voice. + +Henderley had made a step toward a curtain opening into another room of +the great tent, but before he could reach it the curtain was pushed back +and the girl entered with a smile. + +"May I come in?" she said; then stood still, astonished, seeing Lygon. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh--you!" + +All at once a look came into her face which stirred it as a flying insect +stirs the water of a pool. On the instant she remembered that she had seen +the man before. + +It was ten years ago in Montana, on the night of her birthday. Her father +had been called away to talk with this man, and she had seen him from the +steps of the "special." It was only the caricature of the once strong, +erect ranchman that she saw; but there was no mistake, she recognized him +now. + +Lygon, dumfounded, looked from her to her father, and he saw now in +Henderley's eyes a fear that was not to be misunderstood. + +Here was where Henderley could be smitten, could be brought to his knees. +It was the vulnerable part of him. Lygon could see that he was stunned. +The great financier was in his power. He looked back again to the girl, +and her face was full of trouble. + +A sharp suspicion was in her heart that somehow or other her father was +responsible for this man's degradation and ruin. She looked Lygon in the +eyes. + +"Did you want to see me?" she asked. + +She scarcely knew why she said it; but she was sensible of trouble, maybe +of tragedy, somewhere; and she had a vague dread of she knew not what, +for, hide it, avoid it, as she had done so often, there was in her heart +an unhappy doubt concerning her father. + +A great change had come over Lygon. Her presence had altered him. He was +again where she had left him in the afternoon. + +He heard her say to her father: "This was the man I told you of--at the +reedy lake. Did you come to see me?" she repeated. + +"I did not know you were here," he answered. "I came"--he was conscious of +Henderley's staring eyes fixed upon his helplessly--"I came to ask your +father if he would not buy my shack. There is good shooting at the lake; +the ducks come plenty, sometimes. I want to get away, to start again +somewhere. I've been a failure. I want to get away, right away south. If +he would buy it, I could start again. I've had no luck." + +He had invented it on the moment, but the girl understood better than +Lygon or Henderley could have dreamed. She had seen the change pass over +Lygon. + +Henderley had a hand on himself again, and the startled look went out of +his eyes. + +"What do you want for your shack and the lake?" he asked, with restored +confidence. The fellow no doubt was grateful that his daughter had saved +his life, he thought. + +"Five hundred dollars," answered Lygon, quickly. + +Henderley would have handed over all that lay on the table before him, +but he thought it better not to do so. "I'll buy it," he said. "You seem +to have been hit hard. Here is the money. Bring me the deed +to-morrow--to-morrow." + +"I'll not take the money till I give you the deed," said Lygon. "It will +do to-morrow. It's doing me a good turn. I'll get away and start again +somewhere. I've done no good up here. Thank you, sir--thank you." + +Before they realized it, the tent-curtain rose and fell, and he was gone +into the night. + +The trouble was still deep in the girl's eyes as she kissed her father, +and he, with an overdone cheerfulness, wished her a good-night. + +The man of iron had been changed into a man of straw once at least in his +lifetime. + + * * * * * + +Lygon found Dupont at the Forks. + +"_Eh_, _ben_, it is all right--yes?" Dupont asked, eagerly, as Lygon +joined him. + +"Yes, it is all right," answered Lygon. + +With an exulting laugh and an obscene oath, Dupont pushed out the canoe, +and they got away into the moonlight. No word was spoken for some +distance, but Dupont kept giving grunts of satisfaction. + +"You got the ten t'ousan' each--in cash or check, eh? The check or the +money--_hein_?" + +"I've got nothing," answered Lygon. + +Dupont dropped his paddle with a curse. + +"You got not'ing! You said eet was all right!" he growled. + +"It is all right. I got nothing. I asked for nothing. I have had enough. I +have finished." + +With a roar of rage Dupont sprang on him, and caught him by the throat as +the canoe swayed and dipped. He was blind with fury. + +Lygon tried with one hand for his knife, and got it, but the pressure on +his throat was growing terrible. + +For minutes the struggle continued, for Lygon was fighting with the +desperation of one who makes his last awful onset against fate and doom. + +Dupont also had his knife at work. At last it drank blood, but as he got +it home he suddenly reeled blindly, lost his balance, and lurched into the +water with a groan. + +Lygon, weapon in hand and bleeding freely, waited for him to rise and make +for the canoe again. + +Ten, twenty, fifty seconds passed. Dupont did not rise. A minute went by, +and still there was no stir, no sign. Dupont would never rise again. In +his wild rage he had burst a blood-vessel on the brain. + +Lygon bound up his reeking wound as best he could. He did it calmly, +whispering to himself the while. + +"I must do it. I must get there if I can. I will not be afraid to die +then," he muttered to himself. + +Presently he grasped an oar and paddled feebly. + +A slight wind had risen, and, as he turned the boat in to face the Forks +again, it helped to carry the canoe to the landing-place. + +Lygon dragged himself out. He did not try to draw the canoe up, but began +this journey of a mile back to the tent he had left so recently. First, +step by step, leaning against trees, drawing himself forward, a journey as +long to his determined mind as from youth to age. Would it never end? It +seemed a terrible climbing-up the sides of a cliff, and, as he struggled +fainting on, all sorts of sounds were in his ears, but he realized that +the Whisperer was no longer there. The sounds he heard did not torture, +they helped his stumbling feet. They were like the murmur of waters, like +the sounds of the forest and soft, booming bells. But the bells were only +the beatings of his heart--so loud, so swift. + +[Illustration: FOR MINUTES THE STRUGGLE CONTINUED] + +He was on his knees now, crawling on--on--on. At last there came a light, +suddenly bursting on him from a tent he was so near. Then he called, and +called again, and fell forward on his face. But now he heard a voice above +him. It was _her_ voice. He had blindly struggled on to die near her, near +where she was, she was so pitiful and good. + +He had accomplished his journey, and her voice was speaking above him. +There were other voices, but it was only hers that he heard. + +"God help him--oh, God help him!" she was saying. + +He drew a long, quiet breath. "I will sleep now," he said, clearly. + +He would hear the Whisperer no more. + + + + +AS DEEP AS THE SEA + + +"What can I do, Dan? I'm broke, too. My last dollar went to pay my last +debt to-day. I've nothing but what I stand in. I've got prospects, but I +can't discount prospects at the banks." The speaker laughed bitterly. +"I've reaped and I'm sowing, the same as you, Dan." + +The other made a nervous motion of protest. "No; not the same as me, +Flood--not the same. It's sink or swim with me, and if you can't help +me--oh, I'd take my gruel without whining, if it wasn't for Di! It's that +that knocks me over. It's the shame to her. Oh, what a cursed ass and +fool--and thief, I've been!" + +"Thief?--thief?" + +Flood Rawley dropped the flaming match with which he was about to light a +cheroot, and stood staring, his dark-blue eyes growing wider, his worn, +handsome face becoming drawn, as swift conviction mastered him. He felt +that the black words which had fallen from his friend's lips--from the +lips of Diana Welldon's brother--were the truth. He looked at the plump +face, the full, amiable eyes, now misty with fright, at the characterless +hand nervously feeling the golden mustache, at the well-fed, inert body; +and he knew that, whatever the trouble or the peril, Dan Welldon could not +surmount it alone. + +"What is it?" Rawley asked, rather sharply, his fingers running through +his slightly grizzled black hair, but not excitedly, for he wanted no +scenes; and if this thing could hurt Di Welldon, and action was necessary, +he must remain cool. What she was to do, Heaven and he only knew; what she +had done for him, perhaps neither understood fully as yet. "What is +it--quick?" he added, and his words were like a sharp grip upon Dan +Welldon's shoulder. "Racing?--cards?" + +Dan nodded. "Yes, over at Askatoon; five hundred on Jibway, the +favorite--he fell at the last fence; five hundred at poker with Nick +Fison; and a thousand in land speculation at Edmonton, on margin. +Everything went wrong." + +"And so you put your hand in the railway company's money-chest?" + +"It seemed such a dead certainty--Jibway; and the Edmonton corner-blocks, +too. I'd had luck with Nick before; but--well, there it is, Flood." + +"They know--the railway people--Shaughnessy knows?" + +"Yes, the president knows. He's at Calgary now. They telegraphed him, and +he wired to give me till midnight to pay up or go to jail. They're +watching me now. I can't stir. There's no escape, and there's no one I can +ask for help but you. That's why I've come, Flood." + +"Lord, what a fool! Couldn't you see what the end would be if your +plunging didn't come off? You--you oughtn't to bet, or speculate, or play +cards, you're not clever enough. You've got blind rashness, and so you +think you're bold. And Di--oh, you idiot! And on a salary of a thousand +dollars a year!" + +"I suppose Di would help me; but I couldn't explain." The weak face +puckered, a lifeless kind of tear gathered in the ox-like eyes. + +"Yes, she probably would help you. She'd probably give you all she's saved +to go to Europe with and study, saved from her pictures sold at twenty per +cent. of their value; and she'd mortgage the little income she's got to +keep her brother out of jail. Of course she would, and of course you ought +to be ashamed of yourself for thinking of it." Rawley lighted his cigar +and smoked fiercely. + +"It would be better for her than my going to jail," stubbornly replied the +other. "But I don't want to tell her, or to ask her for money. That's why +I've come to you. You needn't be so hard, Flood; you've not been a saint; +and Di knows it." + +Rawley took the cheroot from his mouth, threw back his head, and laughed +mirthlessly, ironically. Then suddenly he stopped and looked round the +room till his eyes rested on a portrait-drawing which hung on the wall +opposite the window, through which the sun poured. It was the face of a +girl with beautiful bronzed hair, and full, fine, beautifully modelled +face, with brown eyes deep and brooding, which seemed to have time and +space behind them--not before them. The lips were delicate and full, and +had the look suggesting a smile which the inward thought has stayed. It +was like one of the Titian women--like a Titian that hangs on the wall of +the Gallery at Munich. The head and neck, the whole personality, had an +air of distinction and destiny. The drawing had been done by a wandering +duchess who had seen the girl sketching in the foothills when on a visit +to that "Wild West" which has such power to refine and inspire minds not +superior to Nature. Its replica was carried to a castle in Scotland. It +had been the gift of Diana Welldon on a certain day not long ago, when +Flood Rawley had made a pledge to her, which was as vital to him and to +his future as two thousand dollars were vital to Dan Welldon now. + +"You've not been a saint, and Di knows it," repeated the weak brother of a +girl whose fame belonged to the West; whose name was a signal for cheerful +looks; whose buoyant humor and impartial friendliness gained her +innumerable friends; and whose talent, understood by few, gave her a +certain protection, lifting her a little away from the outwardly crude and +provincial life around her. + +When Rawley spoke, it was with quiet deliberation, and even gentleness. "I +haven't been a saint, and she knows it, as you say, Dan; but the law is on +my side as yet, it isn't on yours. There's the difference." + +"You used to gamble yourself; you were pretty tough, and you oughtn't to +walk up my back with hobnailed boots." + +"Yes, I gambled, Dan, and I drank, and I raised a dust out here. My record +was writ pretty big. But I didn't lay my hands on the ark of the social +covenant, whose inscription is, _Thou shalt not steal_; and that's why I'm +poor but proud, and no one's watching for me round the corner, same as +you." + +Welldon's half-defiant petulance disappeared. "What's done can't be +undone." Then, with a sudden burst of anguish, "Oh, get me out of this +somehow!" + +"How? I've got no money. By speaking to your sister?" + +The other was silent. + +"Shall I do it?" Rawley peered anxiously into the other's face, and he +knew that there was no real security against the shameful trouble being +laid bare to her. + +"I want a chance to start straight again." + +The voice was fluttered, almost whining; it carried no conviction; but the +words had in them a reminder of words that Rawley himself had said to +Diana Welldon but a few months ago, and a new spirit stirred in him. He +stepped forward and, gripping Dan's shoulder with a hand of steel, said, +fiercely: + +"No, Dan. I'd rather take you to her in your coffin. She's never known +you, never seen what most of us have seen, that all you have--or nearly +all--is your lovely looks and what they call a kind heart. There's only +you two in your family, and she's got to live with you--awhile, anyhow. +She couldn't stand this business. She mustn't stand it. She's had enough +to put up with in me; but at the worst she could pass me by on the other +side, and there would be an end. It would have been said that Flood Rawley +had got his deserts. It's different with you." His voice changed, +softened. "Dan, I made a pledge to her that I'd never play cards again for +money while I lived, and it wasn't a thing to take on without some +cogitation. But I cogitated, and took it on, and started life over +again--me! Began practising law again--barrister, solicitor, notary +public--at forty. And at last I've got my chance in a big case against the +Canadian Pacific. It'll make me or break me, Dan.... There, I wanted you +to see where I stand with Di; and now I want you to promise me that you'll +not leave these rooms till I see you again. I'll get you clear; I'll save +you, Dan." + +"Flood! Oh, my God, Flood!" The voice was broken. + +"You've got to stay here, and you're to remember not to get the funk, even +if I don't come before midnight. I'll be here then, if I'm alive. If you +don't keep your word--but, there, you will." Both hands gripped the +graceful shoulders of the miscreant like a vise. + +"So help me, Flood," was the frightened, whispered reply. "I'll make it up +to you somehow, some day. I'll pay you back." + +Rawley caught up his cap from the table. + +"Steady!--steady! Don't go at a fence till you're sure of your seat, Dan," +he said. Then, with a long look at the portrait on the wall and an +exclamation which the other did not hear, he left the room with a set, +determined face. + + * * * * * + +"Who told you? What brought you, Flood?" the girl asked, her chin in her +long, white hands, her head turned from the easel to him, a book in her +lap, the sun breaking through the leaves upon her hat, touching the Titian +hair with splendor. + +"Fate brought me, and didn't tell me," he answered, with a whimsical quirk +of the mouth and his trouble lurking behind the sea-deep eyes. + +"Wouldn't you have come if you knew I was here?" she urged, archly. + +"Not for two thousand dollars," he answered, the look of trouble deepening +in his eyes, but his lips were smiling. He had a quaint sense of humor, +and at his last gasp would have noted the ridiculous thing. And surely it +was a droll malignity of Fate to bring him here to her whom, in this +moment of all moments in his life, he wished far away. Fate meant to try +him to the uttermost. This hurdle of trial was high, indeed. + +"Two thousand dollars--nothing less?" she inquired, gayly. "You are too +specific for a real lover." + +"Fate fixed the amount," he added, dryly. + +"Fate--you talk so much of Fate," she replied, gravely, and her eyes +looked into the distance. "You make me think of it, too, and I don't want +to do so. I don't want to feel helpless, to be the child of Accident and +Destiny." + +"Oh, you get the same thing in the 'fore-ordination' that old Minister +M'Gregor preaches every Sunday. 'Be elect or be damned,' he says to us +all. Names aren't important; but, anyhow, it was Fate that led me here." + +"Are you sure it wasn't me?" she asked, softly. "Are you sure I wasn't +calling you, and you had to come?" + +"Well, it was _en route_, anyhow; and you are always calling, if I must +tell you," he laughed. Suddenly he became grave. "I hear you call me in +the night sometimes, and I start up and say 'Yes, Di!' out of my sleep. +It's a queer hallucination. I've got you on the brain, certainly." + +"It seems to vex you--certainly," she said, opening the book that lay in +her lap, "and your eyes trouble me to-day. They've got a look that used to +be in them, Flood, before--before you promised; and another look I don't +understand and don't like. I suppose it's always so. The real business of +life is trying to understand each other." + +"You have wonderful thoughts for one that's had so little chance," he +said. "That's because you're a genius, I suppose. Teaching can't give that +sort of thing--the insight." + +"What is the matter, Flood?" she asked, suddenly, again, her breast +heaving, her delicate, rounded fingers interlacing. "I heard a man say +once that you were 'as deep as the sea.' He did not mean it kindly, but I +do. You are in trouble, and I want to share it if I can. Where were you +going when you came across me here?" + +"To see old Busby, the quack-doctor up there," he answered, nodding toward +a shrubbed and wooded hillock behind them. + +"Old Busby!" she rejoined, in amazement. "What do you want with him--not +medicine of that old quack, that dreadful man?" + +"He cures people sometimes. A good many out here owe him more than they'll +ever pay him." + +"Is he as rich an old miser as they say?" + +"He doesn't look rich, does he?" was the enigmatical answer. + +"Does any one know his real history? He didn't come from nowhere. He must +have had friends once. Some one must once have cared for him, though he +seems such a monster now." + +"Yet he cures people sometimes," he rejoined, abstractedly. "Probably +there's some good underneath. I'm going to try and see." + +"What is it? What is your business with him? Won't you tell me? Is it so +secret?" + +"I want him to help me in a case I've got in hand. A client of mine is in +trouble--you mustn't ask about it; and he can help, I think--I think so." +He got to his feet. "I must be going, Di," he added. Suddenly a flush +swept over his face, and he reached out and took both her hands. "Oh, you +are a million times too good for me!" he said. "But if all goes well, I'll +do my best to make you forget it." + +"Wait--wait one moment," she answered. "Before you go I want you to hear +what I've been reading over and over to myself just now. It is from a book +I got from Quebec, called _When Time Shall Pass_. It is a story of two +like you and me. The man is writing to the woman, and it has things that +you have said to me--in a different way." + +"No, I don't talk like a book, but I know a star in a dark night when I +see it," he answered, with a catch in his throat. + +"Hush!" she said, catching his hand in hers as she read, while all around +them the sounds of summer--the distant clack of a reaper, the crack of a +whip, the locusts droning, the whir of a young partridge, the squeak of a +chipmunk--were tuned to the harmony of the moment and her voice: + + "'Night and the sombre silence, oh, my love, and one star shining! + First, warm, velvety sleep, and then this quick, quiet waking to your + voice which seems to call me. Is it--_is_ it you that calls? Do you + sometimes, even in your dreams, speak to me? Far beneath + unconsciousness is there the summons of your spirit to me?... I like + to think so. I like to think that this thing which has come to us is + deeper, greater than we are. Sometimes day and night there flash + before my eyes--my mind's eyes--pictures of you and me in places + unfamiliar, landscapes never before seen, activities uncomprehended + and unknown, bright, alluring glimpses of some second being, some + possible, maybe never-to-be-realized future, alas! Yet these + swift-moving shutters of the soul, or imagination, _or_ reality--who + shall say which?--give me a joy never before felt in life. If I am + not a better man for this love of mine for you, I am _more_ than I + was, and shall be more than I am. Much of my life in the past was + mean and small, so much that I have said and done has been + unworthy--my love for you is too sharp a light for my gross + imperfections of the past! Come what will, be what must, I stake my + life, my heart, my soul on you--that beautiful, beloved face; those + deep eyes in which my being is drowned; those lucid, perfect hands + that have bound me to the mast of your destiny. I cannot go back, I + must go forward: now I must keep on loving you or be shipwrecked. I + did not know that this was in me, this tide of love, this current of + devotion. Destiny plays me beyond my ken, beyond my dreams. "_O + Cithoeron!_" Turn from me now--or never, O my love! Loose me from the + mast, and let the storm and wave wash me out into the sea of your + forgetfulness now--or never!... But keep me, keep me, if your love is + great enough, if I bring you any light or joy; for I am yours to my + uttermost note of life.'" + +"He knew!--he knew!" Rawley said, catching her wrists in his hands and +drawing her to him. "If I could write, that's what I should have said to +you, beautiful and beloved. How mean and small and ugly my life was till +you made me over! I was a bad lot." + +"So much hung on one little promise," she said, and drew closer to him. +"You were never bad," she added; then, with an arm sweeping the universe, +"Oh, isn't it all good, and isn't it all worth living?" + +[Illustration: "OH, ISN'T IT ALL WORTH LIVING?" SHE SAID] + +His face lost its glow. Over in the town her brother faced a ruined life, +and the girl beside him a dark humiliation and a shame which would poison +her life hereafter, unless--his look turned to the little house where the +quack-doctor lived. He loosed her hands. + +"Now for Caliban," he said. + +"I shall be Ariel and follow you--in my heart," she said. "Be sure and +make him tell you the story of his life," she added, with a laugh, as his +lips swept the hair behind her ears. + +As he moved swiftly away, watching his long strides, she said, proudly, +"As deep as the sea." + +After a moment she added: "And he was once a gambler, until, until" +she--glanced at the open book, then with sweet mockery looked at her +hands--"until 'those lucid, perfect hands bound me to the mast of your +destiny.' O vain Diana! But they are rather beautiful," she added, softly, +"and I am rather happy." There was something like a gay little chuckle in +her throat. + +"O vain Diana!" she repeated. + + * * * * * + +Rawley entered the door of the hut on the hill without ceremony. There was +no need for courtesy, and the work he had come to do could be easier done +without it. + +Old Busby was crouched over a table, his mouth lapping milk from a full +bowl on the table. He scarcely raised his head when Rawley +entered--through the open door he had seen his visitor coming. He sipped +on, his straggling beard dripping. There was silence for a time. + +"What do you want?" he growled at last. + +"Finish your swill, and then we can talk," said Rawley, carelessly. He +took a chair near the door, lighted a cheroot and smoked, watching the old +man, as he tipped the great bowl toward his face, as though it were some +wild animal feeding. The clothes were patched and worn, the coat-front was +spattered with stains of all kinds, the hair and beard were unkempt and +long, giving him what would have been the look of a mangy lion but that +the face had the expression of some beast less honorable. The eyes, +however, were malignantly intelligent; the hands, ill-cared for, were +long, well-shaped, and capable, but of a hateful yellow color like the +face. And through all was a sense of power, dark and almost mediæval. +Secret, evilly wise, and inhuman, he looked a being apart, whom men might +seek for help in dark purposes. + +"What do you want--medicine?" he muttered at last, wiping his beard and +mouth with the palm of his hand, and the palm on his knees. + +Rawley looked at the ominous-looking bottles on the shelves above the old +man's head, at the forceps, knives, and other surgical instruments on the +walls--they at least were bright and clean--and, taking the cheroot slowly +from his mouth, he said: + +"Shin-plasters are what I want. A friend of mine has caught his leg in a +trap." + +The old man gave an evil chuckle at the joke, for a "shin-plaster" was a +money-note worth a quarter of a dollar. + +"I've got some," he growled in reply, "but they cost twenty-five cents +each. You can have them for your friend at the price." + +"I want eight thousand of them from you. He's hurt pretty bad," was the +dogged, dry answer. + +The shaggy eyebrows of the quack drew together, and the eyes peered out +sharply through half-closed lids. "There's plenty of wanting and not much +getting in this world," he rejoined, with a leer of contempt, and spat on +the floor, while yet the furtive watchfulness of the eyes indicated a mind +ill at ease. + +Smoke came in placid puffs from the cheroot--Rawley was smoking very hard, +but with a judicial meditation, as it seemed. + +"Yes, but if you want a thing so bad that, to get it, you'll face the +devil or the Beast of Revelations, it's likely to come to you." + +"You call me a beast?" The reddish-brown face grew black like that of a +Bedouin in his rage. + +"I said the Beast of Revelations--don't you know the Scriptures?" + +"I know that a fool is to be answered according to his folly," was the +hoarse reply, and the great head wagged to and fro in its smarting rage. + +"Well, I'm doing my best; and perhaps when the folly is all out we'll come +to the revelations of the Beast." + +There was a silence, in which the gross impostor shifted heavily in his +seat, while a hand twitched across the mouth and then caught at the breast +of the threadbare black coat abstractedly. + +Rawley leaned forward, one elbow on a knee, the cheroot in his fingers. He +spoke almost confidentially, as to some ignorant and misguided savage--as +he had talked to Indian chiefs in his time when searching for the truth +regarding some crime. + +"I've had a lot of revelations in my time. A lawyer and a doctor always +do. And though there are folks who say I'm no lawyer, as there are those +who say with greater truth that you're no doctor, speaking technically, +we've both had 'revelations.' You've seen a lot that's seamy, and so have +I. You're pretty seamy yourself. In fact, you're as bad a man as ever +saved lives--and lost them. You've had a long tether, and you've swung on +it--swung wide. But you've had a lot of luck that you haven't swung high, +too." + +He paused and flicked away the ash from his cheroot, while the figure +before him swayed animal-like from side to side, muttering. + +"You've got brains, a great lot of brains of a kind--however you came by +them," Rawley continued; "and you've kept a lot of people in the West from +passing in their checks before their time. You've rooked 'em, chiselled +'em out of a lot of cash, too. There was old Lamson--fifteen hundred for +the goitre on his neck; and Mrs. Gilligan for the cancer--two thousand, +wasn't it? 'Tincture of Lebanon Leaves' you called the medicine, didn't +you? You must have made fifty thousand or so in the last ten years." + +"What I've made I'll keep," was the guttural answer, and the talon-like +fingers clawed the table. + +"You've made people pay high for curing them, saving them sometimes; but +you haven't paid me high for saving you in the courts; and there's one +case that you haven't paid me for at all. That was when the patient +died--and you didn't." + +The face of the old man became mottled with a sudden fear, but he jerked +it forward once or twice with an effort at self-control. Presently he +steadied to the ordeal of suspense, while he kept saying to himself, "What +does he know--what--which?" + +"Malpractice resulting in death--that was poor Jimmy Tearle; and something +else resulting in death--that was the switchman's wife. And the law is +hard in the West where a woman's in the case--quick and hard. Yes, you've +swung wide on your tether; look out that you don't swing high, old man." + +"You can prove nothing; it's bluff!" came the reply in a tone of malice +and of fear. + +"You forget. I was your lawyer in Jimmy Tearle's case, and a letter's been +found written by the switchman's wife to her husband. It reached me the +night he was killed by the avalanche. It was handed over to me by the +post-office, as the lawyer acting for the relatives. I've read it. I've +got it. It gives you away." + +"I wasn't alone." Fear had now disappeared, and the old man was fighting. + +"No, you weren't alone; and if the switchman and the switchman's wife +weren't dead and out of it all, and if the other man that didn't matter +any more than you wasn't alive and hadn't a family that does matter, I +wouldn't be asking you peaceably for two thousand dollars as my fee for +getting you off two cases that might have sent you to prison for twenty +years, or, maybe, hung you to the nearest tree." + +The heavy body pulled itself together, the hands clinched. "Blackmail--you +think I'll stand it?" + +"Yes, I think you will. I want two thousand dollars to help a friend in a +hole, and I mean to have it, if you think your neck's worth it." + +Teeth, wonderfully white, showed through the shaggy beard. "If I had to go +to prison--or swing, as you say--do you think I'd go with my mouth shut? +I'd not pay up alone. The West would crack--holy Heaven, I know enough to +make it sick. Go on and see! I've got the West in my hand." He opened and +shut his fingers with a grimace of cruelty which shook Rawley in spite of +himself. + +Rawley had trusted to the inspiration of the moment; he had had no clearly +defined plan; he had believed that he could frighten the old man, and by +force of will bend him to his purposes. It had all been more difficult +than he had expected. He kept cool, imperturbable, and determined, +however. He knew that what the old quack said was true--the West might +shake with scandal concerning a few who, no doubt, in remorse and secret +fear, had more than paid the penalty of their offences. But he thought of +Di Welldon and of her criminal brother, and every nerve, every faculty, +was screwed to its utmost limit of endurance and capacity. + +Suddenly the old man gave a new turn to the event. He got up and, +rummaging in an old box, drew out a dice-box. Rattling the dice, he threw +them out on the table before him, a strange, excited look crossing his +face. + +"Play for it," he said, in a harsh, croaking voice. "Play for the two +thousand. Win it, if you can. You want it bad. I want to keep it bad. It's +nice to have; it makes a man feel warm--money does. I'd sleep in +ten-dollar bills, I'd have my clothes made of them, if I could; I'd have +my house papered with them; I'd eat 'em. Oh, I know, I know about you--and +her--Diana Welldon! You've sworn off gambling, and you've kept your pledge +for near a year. Well, it's twenty years since I gambled--twenty years. I +gambled with these then." He shook the dice in the box. "I gambled +everything I had away--more than two thousand dollars--more than two +thousand dollars." He laughed a raw, mirthless laugh. "Well, you're the +greatest gambler in the West. So was I--in the East. It pulverized me at +last, when I'd nothing left--and drink, drink, drink. I gave up both one +night and came out West. I started doctoring here. I've got money, plenty +of money--medicine, mines, land got it for me. I've been lucky. Now you +come to bluff me--me! You don't know old Busby." He spat on the floor. +"I'm not to be bluffed. I know too much. Before they could lynch me I'd +talk. But to play you, the greatest gambler in the West, for two thousand +dollars--yes, I'd like the sting of it again. Twos, fours, +double-sixes--the gentleman's game!" He rattled the dice and threw them +with a flourish out on the table, his evil face lighting up. "Come! You +can't have something for nothing!" he growled. + +As he spoke, a change came over Rawley's face. It lost its cool +imperturbability, it grew paler, the veins on the fine forehead stood out, +a new, flaring light came into the eyes. The old gambler's spirit was +alive. But even as it rose, sweeping him into that area of fiery +abstraction where every nerve is strung to a fine tension and the +surrounding world disappears, he saw the face of Diana Welldon, he +remembered her words to him not an hour before, and the issue of the +conflict, other considerations apart, was without doubt. But there was her +brother and his certain fate if the two thousand dollars were not paid in +by midnight. He was desperate. It was in reality for Diana's sake. He +approached the table, and his old calm returned. + +"I have no money to play with," he said, quietly. + +With a gasp of satisfaction, the old man fumbled in the inside of his coat +and drew out layers of ten, fifty, and hundred dollar bills. It was lined +with them. He passed a pile over to Rawley--two thousand dollars. He +placed a similar pile before himself. + +As Rawley laid his hand on the bills, the thought rushed through his mind, +"You have it--keep it!" but he put it away from him. With a gentleman he +might have done it, with this man before him it was impossible. He must +take his chances; and it was the only chance in which he had hope now, +unless he appealed for humanity's sake, for the girl's sake, and told the +real truth. It might avail. Well, that would be the last resort. + +"For small stakes?" said the grimy quack, in a gloating voice. + +Rawley nodded, and then added: "We stop at eleven o'clock, unless I've +lost or won all before that." + +"And stake what's left on the last throw?" + +"Yes." + +There was silence for a moment, in which Rawley seemed to grow older, and +a set look came to his mouth--a broken pledge, no matter what the cause, +brings heavy penalties to the honest mind. He shut his eyes for an +instant, and, when he opened them, he saw that his fellow-gambler was +watching him with an enigmatical and furtive smile. Did this Caliban have +some understanding of what was at stake in his heart and soul? + +"Play!" Rawley said, sharply, and was himself again. + +For hour after hour there was scarce a sound, save the rattle of the dice +and an occasional exclamation from the old man as he threw a double-six. +As dusk fell, the door had been shut and a lighted lantern was hung over +their heads. + +Fortune had fluctuated. Once the old man's pile had diminished to two +notes, then the luck had changed and his pile grew larger; then fell +again; but, as the hands of the clock on the wall above the blue medicine +bottles reached a quarter to eleven, it increased steadily throw after +throw. + +Now the player's fever was in Rawley's eyes. His face was deadly pale, but +his hand threw steadily, calmly, almost negligently, as it might seem. All +at once, at eight minutes to eleven, the luck turned in his favor, and his +pile mounted again. Time after time he dropped double-sixes. It was almost +uncanny. He seemed to see the dice in the box, and his hand threw them out +with the precision of a machine. Long afterward he had this vivid illusion +that he could see the dice in the box. As the clock was about to strike +eleven he had before him three thousand eight hundred dollars. It was his +throw. + +"Two hundred," he said, in a whisper, and threw. He won. + +With a gasp of relief, he got to his feet, the money in his hand. He +stepped backward from the table, then staggered, and a faintness passed +over him. He had sat so long without moving that his legs bent under him. +There was a pail of water with a dipper in it on a bench. He caught up a +dipperful of water, drank it empty, and let it fall in the pail again with +a clatter. + +"Dan," he said, abstractedly--"Dan, you're all safe now." + +Then he seemed to wake, as from a dream, and looked at the man at the +table. Busby was leaning on it with both hands, and staring at Rawley like +some animal jaded and beaten from pursuit. Rawley walked back to the table +and laid down two thousand dollars. + +"I only wanted two thousand," he said, and put the other two thousand in +his pocket. + +The evil eyes gloated, the long fingers clutched the pile and swept it +into a great inside pocket. Then the shaggy head bent forward. + +"You said it was for Dan," he said--"Dan Welldon?" + +Rawley hesitated. "What is that to you?" he replied, at last. + +With a sudden impulse the old impostor lurched round, opened a box, drew +out a roll, and threw it on the table. + +"It's got to be known sometime," he said, "and you'll be my lawyer when +I'm put into the ground--you're clever. They call me a quack. +Malpractice--bah! There's my diploma--James Clifton Welldon. Right enough, +isn't it?" + +Rawley was petrified. He knew the forgotten story of James Clifton +Welldon, the specialist, turned gambler, who had almost ruined his own +brother--the father of Dan and Diana--at cards and dice, and had then +ruined himself and disappeared. Here, where his brother had died, he had +come years ago and practised medicine as a quack. + +"Oh, there's plenty of proof, if it's wanted!" he said. "I've got it +here." He tapped the box behind him. "Why did I do it? Because it's my +way. And you're going to marry my niece, and'll have it all some day. But +not till I've finished with it--not unless you win it from me at dice or +cards.... But no"--something human came into the old, degenerate face--"no +more gambling for the man that's to marry Diana. There's a wonder and a +beauty!" He chuckled to himself. "She'll be rich when I've done with it. +You're a lucky man--ay, you're lucky." + +Rawley was about to tell the old man what the two thousand dollars was +for, but a fresh wave of repugnance passed over him, and, hastily drinking +another dipperful of water, he opened the door. He looked back. The old +man was crouching forward, lapping milk from the great bowl, his beard +dripping. In disgust he swung round again. The fresh, clear air caught his +face. + +With a gasp of relief he stepped out into the night, closing the door +behind him. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Northern Lights, by Gilbert Parker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NORTHERN LIGHTS *** + +***** This file should be named 26905-8.txt or 26905-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/9/0/26905/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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