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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4702-h.zip b/4702-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0bc663d --- /dev/null +++ b/4702-h.zip diff --git a/4702-h/4702-h.htm b/4702-h/4702-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d722eb3 --- /dev/null +++ b/4702-h/4702-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10241 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Flaming Forest, by James Oliver Curwood +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.transnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flaming Forest, by James Oliver Curwood + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Flaming Forest + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Posting Date: September 6, 2009 [EBook #4702] +Release Date: December, 2003 +First Posted: March 3, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLAMING FOREST *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE FLAMING FOREST +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR OF THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN,<BR> +THE COUNTRY BEYOND, THE ALASKAN, ETC. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">I</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap02">II</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap03">III</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap04">IV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap05">V</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap06">VI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap07">VII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap08">VIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap09">IX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap10">X</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">XI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">XII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">XIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">XIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">XV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">XVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">XVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">XVIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">XIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">XX</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">XXI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">XXII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">XXIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">XXIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">XXV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap26">XXVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE FLAMING FOREST +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +I +</H3> + +<P> +An hour ago, under the marvelous canopy of the blue northern sky, David +Carrigan, Sergeant in His Most Excellent Majesty's Royal Northwest +Mounted Police, had hummed softly to himself, and had thanked God that +he was alive. He had blessed McVane, superintendent of "N" Division at +Athabasca Landing, for detailing him to the mission on which he was +bent. He was glad that he was traveling alone, and in the deep forest, +and that for many weeks his adventure would carry him deeper and deeper +into his beloved north. Making his noonday tea over a fire at the edge +of the river, with the green forest crowding like an inundation on +three sides of him, he had come to the conclusion—for the hundredth +time, perhaps—that it was a nice thing to be alone in the world, for +he was on what his comrades at the Landing called a "bad assignment." +</P> + +<P> +"If anything happens to me," Carrigan had said to McVane, "there isn't +anybody in particular to notify. I lost out in the matter of family a +long time ago." +</P> + +<P> +He was not a man who talked much about himself, even to the +superintendent of "N" Division, yet there were a thousand who loved +Dave Carrigan, and many who placed their confidences in him. +Superintendent Me Vane had one story which he might have told, but he +kept it to himself, instinctively sensing the sacredness of it. Even +Carrigan did not know that the one thing which never passed his lips +was known to McVane. +</P> + +<P> +Of that, too, he had been thinking an hour ago. It was the thing which, +first of all, had driven him into the north. And though it had twisted +and disrupted the earth under his feet for a time, it had brought its +compensation. For he had come to love the north with a passionate +devotion. It was, in a way, his God. It seemed to him that the time had +never been when he had lived any other life than this under the open +skies. He was thirty-seven now. A bit of a philosopher, as philosophy +comes to one in a sun-cleaned and unpolluted air, A good-humored +brother of humanity, even when he put manacles on other men's wrists; +graying a little over the temples—and a lover of life. Above all else +he was that. A lover of life. A worshiper at the shrine of God's +Country. +</P> + +<P> +So he sat, that hour ago, deep in the wilderness eighty miles north of +Athabasca Landing, congratulating himself on the present conditions of +his existence. A hundred and eighty miles farther on was Fort McMurray, +and another two hundred beyond that was Chipewyan, and still beyond +that the Mackenzie and its fifteen-hundred-mile trail to the northern +sea. He was glad there was no end to this world of his. He was glad +there were few people in it. But these people he loved. That hour ago +he had looked out on the river as two York boats had forged up against +the stream, craft like the long, slim galleys of old, brought over +through the Churchill and Clearwater countries from Hudson's Bay. There +were eight rowers in each boat. They were singing. Their voices rolled +between the walls of the forests. Their naked arms and shoulders +glistened in the sun. They rowed like Vikings, and to him they were +symbols of the freedom of the world. He had watched them until they +were gone up-stream, but it was a long time before the chanting of +their voices had died away. And then he had risen from beside his tiny +fire, and had stretched himself until his muscles cracked. It was good +to feel the blood running red and strong in one's veins at the age of +thirty-seven. For Carrigan felt the thrill of these days when strong +men were coming out of the north—days when the glory of June hung over +the land, when out of the deep wilderness threaded by the Three Rivers +came romance and courage and red-blooded men and women of an almost +forgotten people to laugh and sing and barter for a time with the +outpost guardians of a younger and more progressive world. It was north +of Fifty-Four, and the waters of a continent flowed toward the Arctic +Sea. Yet soon would the strawberries be crushing red underfoot; the +forest road was in bloom, scarlet fire-flowers reddened the trail, wild +hyacinths and golden-freckled violets played hide-and-seek with the +forget-me-nots in the meadows, and the sky was a great splash of +velvety blue. It was the north triumphant—at the edge of civilization; +the north triumphant, and yet paying its tribute. For at the other end +were waiting the royal Upper Ten Thousand and the smart Four Hundred +with all the beau monde behind them, coveting and demanding that +tribute to their sex—the silken furs of a far country, the life's +blood and labor of a land infinitely beyond the pale of drawing-rooms +and the whims of fashion. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan had thought of these things that hour ago, as he sat at the +edge of the first of the Three Rivers, the great Athabasca. From down +the other two, the Slave and the Mackenzie, the fur fleets of the +unmapped country had been toiling since the first breakups of ice. +Steadily, week after week, the north had been emptying itself of its +picturesque tide of life and voice, of muscle and brawn, of laughter +and song—and wealth. Through, long months of deep winter, in ten +thousand shacks and tepees and cabins, the story of this June had been +written as fate had written it each winter for a hundred years or more. +A story of the triumph of the fittest. A story of tears, of happiness +here and there, of hunger and plenty, of new life and quick death; a +story of strong men and strong women, living in the faith of their +forefathers, with the best blood of old England and France still +surviving in their veins. +</P> + +<P> +Through those same months of winter, the great captains of trade in the +city of Edmonton had been preparing for the coming of the river +brigades. The hundred and fifty miles of trail between that last city +outpost of civilization and Athabasca Landing, the door that opened +into the North, were packed hard by team and dog-sledge and packer +bringing up the freight that for another year was to last the forest +people of the Three River country—a domain reaching from the Landing +to the Arctic Ocean. In competition fought the drivers of Revillon +Brothers and Hudson's Bay, of free trader and independent adventurer. +Freight that grew more precious with each mile it advanced must reach +the beginning of the waterway. It started with the early snows. The +tide was at full by midwinter. In temperature that nipped men's lungs +it did not cease. There was no let-up in the whip-hands of the masters +of trade at Edmonton, Winnipeg, Montreal, and London across the sea. It +was not a work of philanthropy. These men cared not whether Jean and +Jacqueline and Pierre and Marie were well-fed or hungry, whether they +lived or died, so far as humanity was concerned. But Paris, Vienna, +London, and the great capitals of the earth must have their furs—and +unless that freight went north, there would be no velvety offerings for +the white shoulders of the world. Christmas windows two years hence +would be bare. A feminine wail of grief would rise to the skies. For +woman must have her furs, and in return for those furs Jean and +Jacqueline and Pierre and Marie must have their freight. So the +pendulum swung, as it had swung for a century or two, touching, on the +one side, luxury, warmth, wealth, and beauty; on the other, cold and +hardship, deep snows and open skies—with that precious freight the +thing between. +</P> + +<P> +And now, in this year before rail and steamboat, the glory of early +summer was at hand, and the wilderness people were coming up to meet +the freight. The Three Rivers—the Athabasca, the Slave, and the +Mackenzie, all joining in one great two-thousand-mile waterway to the +northern sea—were athrill with the wild impulse and beat of life as +the forest people lived it. The Great Father had sent in his treaty +money, and Cree song and Chipewyan chant joined the age-old melodies of +French and half-breed. Countless canoes drove past the slower and +mightier scow brigades; huge York boats with two rows of oars heaved up +and down like the ancient galleys of Rome; tightly woven cribs of +timber, and giant rafts made tip of many cribs were ready for their +long drift into a timberless country. On this two-thousand-mile +waterway a world had gathered. It was the Nile of the northland, and +each post and gathering place along its length was turned into a +metropolis, half savage, archaic, splendid with the strength of red +blood, clear eyes, and souls that read the word of God in wind and tree. +</P> + +<P> +And up and down this mighty waterway of wilderness trade ran the +whispering spirit of song, like the voice of a mighty god heard under +the stars and in the winds. +</P> + +<P> +But it was an hour ago that David Carrigan had vividly pictured these +things to himself close to the big river, and many things may happen in +the sixty minutes that follow any given minute in a man's life. That +hour ago his one great purpose had been to bring in Black Roger +Audemard, alive or dead—Black Roger, the forest fiend who had +destroyed half a dozen lives in a blind passion of vengeance nearly +fifteen years ago. For ten of those fifteen years it had been thought +that Black Roger was dead. But mysterious rumors had lately come out of +the North. He was alive. People had seen him. Fact followed rumor. His +existence became certainty. The Law took up once more his hazardous +trail, and David Carrigan was the messenger it sent. +</P> + +<P> +"Bring him back, alive or dead," were Superintendent McVane's last +words. +</P> + +<P> +And now, thinking of that parting injunction, Carrigan grinned, even as +the sweat of death dampened his face in the heat of the afternoon sun. +For at the end of those sixty minutes that had passed since his midday +pot of tea, the grimly, atrociously unexpected had happened, like a +thunderbolt out of the azure of the sky. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +II +</H3> + +<P> +Huddled behind a rock which was scarcely larger than his body, +groveling in the white, soft sand like a turtle making a nest for its +eggs, Carrigan told himself this without any reservation. He was, as he +kept repeating to himself for the comfort of his soul, in a deuce of a +fix. His head was bare—simply because a bullet had taken his hat away. +His blond hair was filled with sand. His face was sweating. But his +blue eyes were alight with a grim sort of humor, though he knew that +unless the other fellow's ammunition ran out he was going to die. +</P> + +<P> +For the twentieth time in as many minutes he looked about him. He was +in the center of a flat area of sand. Fifty feet from him the river +murmured gently over yellow bars and a carpet of pebbles. Fifty feet on +the opposite side of him was the cool, green wall of the forest. The +sunshine playing in it seemed like laughter to him now, a whimsical +sort of merriment roused by the sheer effrontery of the joke which fate +had inflicted upon him. +</P> + +<P> +Between the river and the balsam and spruce was only the rock behind +which he was cringing like a rabbit afraid to take to the open. And his +rock was a mere up-jutting of the solid floor of shale that was under +him. The wash sand that covered it like a carpet was not more than four +or five inches deep. He could not dig in. There was not enough of it +within reach to scrape up as a protection. And his enemy, a hundred +yards or so away, was a determined wretch—and the deadliest shot he +had ever known. +</P> + +<P> +Three times Carrigan had made experiments to prove this, for he had in +mind a sudden rush to the shelter of the timber. Three times he had +raised the crown of his hat slightly above the top of the rock, and +three times the marksmanship of the other had perforated it with +neatness and dispatch. The third bullet had carried his hat a dozen +feet away. Whenever he showed a patch of his clothing, a bullet replied +with unerring precision. Twice they had drawn blood. And the humor +faded out of Carrigan's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Not long ago he had exulted in the bigness and glory of this country of +his, where strong men met hand to hand and eye to eye. There were the +other kind in it, the sort that made his profession of manhunting a +thing of reality and danger, but he expected these—forgot them—when +the wilderness itself filled his vision. But his present situation was +something unlike anything that had ever happened in his previous +experience with the outlawed. He had faced dangers. He had fought. +There were times when he had almost died. Fanchet, the half-breed who +had robbed a dozen wilderness mail sledges, had come nearest to +trapping him and putting him out of business. Fanchet was a desperate +man and had few scruples. But even Fanchet—before he was caught—would +not have cornered a man with such bloodthirsty unfairness as Carrigan +found himself cornered now. He no longer had a doubt as to what was in +the other's mind. It was not to wound and make merely helpless. It was +to kill. It was not difficult to prove this. Careful not to expose a +part of his arm or shoulder, he drew a white handkerchief from his +pocket, fastened it to the end of his rifle, and held the flag of +surrender three feet above the rock. And then, with equal caution, he +slowly thrust up a flat piece of shale, which at a distance of a +hundred yards might appear as his shoulder or even his head. Scarcely +was it four inches above the top of the rock before there came the +report of a rifle, and the shale was splintered into a hundred bits. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan lowered his flag and gathered himself in tighter. The accuracy +of the other's marksmanship was appalling. He knew that if he exposed +himself for an instant to use his own rifle or the heavy automatic in +his holster, he would be a dead man before he could press a trigger. +And that time, he felt equally sure, would come sooner or later. His +muscles were growing cramped. He could not forever double himself up +like a four-bladed jackknife behind the altogether inefficient shelter +of the rock. +</P> + +<P> +His executioner was hidden in the edge of the timber, not directly +opposite him, but nearly a hundred yards down stream. Twenty times he +had wondered why the fiend with the rifle did not creep up through that +timber and take a good, open pot-shot at him from the vantage point +which lay at the end of a straight line between his rock and the +nearest spruce and balsam. From that angle he could not completely +shelter himself. But the man a hundred yards below had not moved a foot +from his ambush since he had fired his first shot. That had come when +Carrigan was crossing the open space of soft, white sand. It had left a +burning sensation at his temple—half an inch to the right and it would +have killed him. Swift as the shot itself, he dropped behind the one +protection at hand, the up-jutting shoulder of shale. +</P> + +<P> +For a quarter of an hour he had been making efforts to wriggle himself +free from his bulky shoulder-pack without exposing himself to a +coup-de-grace. At last he had the thing off. It was a tremendous relief +when he thrust it out beside the rock, almost doubling the size of his +shelter. Instantly there came the crash of a bullet in it, and then +another. He heard the rattle of pans, and wondered if his skillet would +be any good after today. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time he could wipe the sweat from his face and stretch +himself. And also he could think. Carrigan possessed an unalterable +faith in the infallibility of the mind. "You can do anything with the +mind," was his code. "It is better than a good gun." +</P> + +<P> +Now that he was physically more at ease, he began reassembling his +scattered mental faculties. Who was this stranger who was pot-shotting +at him with such deadly animosity from the ambush below? Who— +</P> + +<P> +Another crash of lead in tinware and steel put an unpleasant emphasis +to the question. It was so close to his head that it made him wince, +and now—with a wide area within reach about him—he began scraping up +the sand for an added protection. There came a long silence after that +third clatter of distress from his cooking utensils. To David Carrigan, +even in his hour of deadly peril, there was something about it that for +an instant brought back the glow of humor in his eyes. It was hot, +swelteringly hot, in that packet of sand with the unclouded sun almost +straight overhead. He could have tossed a pebble to where a bright-eyed +sandpiper was cocking itself backward and forward, its jerky movements +accompanied by friendly little tittering noises. Everything about him +seemed friendly. The river rippled and murmured in cooling song just +beyond the sandpiper. On the other side the still cooler forest was a +paradise of shade and contentment, astir with subdued and hidden life. +It was nesting season. He heard the twitter of birds. A tiny, brown +wood warbler fluttered out to the end of a silvery birch limb, and it +seemed to David that its throat must surely burst with the burden of +its song. The little fellow's brown body, scarcely larger than a +butternut, was swelling up like a round ball in his effort to vanquish +all other song. +</P> + +<P> +"Go to it, old man," chuckled Carrigan. "Go to it!" +</P> + +<P> +The little warbler, that he might have crushed between thumb and +forefinger, gave him a lot of courage. +</P> + +<P> +Then the tiny chorister stopped for breath. In that interval Carrigan +listened to the wrangling of two vivid-colored Canada jays deeper in +the timber. Chronic scolds they were, never without a grouch. They were +like some people Carrigan had known, born pessimists, always finding +something to complain about, even in their love days. +</P> + +<P> +And these were love days. That was the odd thought that came to +Carrigan as he lay half on his face, his fingers slowly and cautiously +working a loophole between his shoulder-pack and the rock. They were +love days all up and down the big rivers, where men and women sang for +joy, and children played, forgetful of the long, hard days of winter. +And in forest, plain, and swamp was this spirit of love also triumphant +over the land. It was the mating season of all feathered things. In +countless nests were the peeps and twitters of new life; mothers of +first-born were teaching their children to swim and fly; from end to +end of the forest world the little children of the silent places, +furred and feathered, clawed and hoofed, were learning the ways of +life. Nature's yearly birthday was half-way gone, and the doors of +nature's school wide open. And the tiny brown songster at the end of +his birch twig proclaimed the joy of it again, and challenged all the +world to beat him in his adulation. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan found that he could peer between his pack and the rock to +where the other warbler was singing—and where his enemy lay watching +for the opportunity to kill. It was taking a chance. If a movement +betrayed his loophole, his minutes were numbered. But he had worked +cautiously, an inch at a time, and was confident that the beginning of +his effort to fight back was, up to the present moment, undiscovered. +He believed that he knew about where the ambushed man was concealed. In +the edge of a low-hanging mass of balsam was a fallen cedar. From +behind the butt of that cedar he was sure the shots had come. +</P> + +<P> +And now, even more cautiously than he had made the tiny opening, he +began to work the muzzle of his rifle through the loophole. As he did +this he was thinking of Black Roger Audemard. And yet, almost as +quickly as suspicion leaped into his mind, he told himself that the +thing was impossible. It could not be Black Roger, or one of Black +Roger's friends, behind the cedar log. The idea was inconceivable, when +he considered how carefully the secret of his mission had been kept at +the Landing. He had not even said goodby to his best friends. And +because Black Roger had won through all the preceding years, Carrigan +was stalking his prey out of uniform. There had been nothing to betray +him. Besides, Black Roger Audemard must be at least a thousand miles +north, unless something had tempted him to come up the rivers with the +spring brigades. If he used logic at all, there was but one conclusion +for him to arrive at. The man in ambush was some rascally half-breed +who coveted his outfit and whatever valuables he might have about his +person. +</P> + +<P> +A fourth smashing eruption among his comestibles and culinary +possessions came to drive home the fact that even that analysis of the +situation was absurd. Whoever was behind the rifle fire had small +respect for the contents of his pack, and he was surely not in grievous +need of a good gun or ammunition. A sticky mess of condensed cream was +running over Carrigan's hand. He doubted if there was a whole tin in +his kit. +</P> + +<P> +For a few moments he lay quietly on his face after the fourth shot. His +eyes were turned toward the river, and on the far side, a quarter of a +mile away, three canoes were moving swiftly up the slow current of the +stream. The sunlight flashed on their wet sides. The gleam of dripping +paddles was like the flutter of silvery birds' wings, and across the +water came an unintelligible shout in response to the rifle shot. It +occurred to David that he might make a trumpet of his hands and shout +back, but the distance was too great for his voice to carry its message +for help. Besides, now that he had the added protection of the pack, he +felt a certain sense of humiliation at the thought of showing the white +feather. A few minutes more, if all went well, and he would settle for +the man behind the log. +</P> + +<P> +He continued again the slow operation of worming his rifle barrel +between the pack and the rock. The near-sighted little sandpiper had +discovered him and seemed interested in the operation. It had come a +dozen feet nearer, and was perking its head and seesawing on its long +legs as it watched with inquisitive inspection the unusual +manifestation of life behind the rock. Its twittering note had changed +to an occasional sharp and querulous cry. Carrigan wanted to wring its +neck. That cry told the other fellow that he was still alive and moving. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed an age before his rifle was through, and every moment he +expected another shot. He flattened himself out, Indian fashion, and +sighted along the barrel. He was positive that his enemy was watching, +yet he could make out nothing that looked like a head anywhere along +the log. At one end was a clump of deeper foliage. He was sure he saw a +sudden slight movement there, and in the thrill of the moment was +tempted to send a bullet into the heart of it. But he saved his +cartridge. He felt the mighty importance of certainty. If he fired +once—and missed—the advantage of his unsuspected loophole would be +gone. It would be transformed into a deadly menace. Even as it was, if +his enemy's next bullet should enter that way— +</P> + +<P> +He felt the discomfort of the thought, and in spite of himself a tremor +of apprehension ran up his spine. He felt an even greater desire to +wring the neck of the inquisitive little sandpiper. The creature had +circled round squarely in front of him and stood there tilting its tail +and bobbing its head as if its one insane desire was to look down the +length of his rifle barrel. The bird was giving him away. If the other +fellow was only half as clever as his marksmanship was good— +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly every nerve in Carrigan's body tightened. He was positive that +he had caught the outline of a human head and shoulders in the foliage. +His finger pressed gently against the trigger of his Winchester. Before +he breathed again he would have fired. But a shot from the foliage beat +him out by the fraction of a second. In that precious time lost, his +enemy's bullet entered the edge of his kit—and came through. He felt +the shock of it, and in the infinitesimal space between the physical +impact and the mental effect of shock his brain told him the horrible +thing had happened. It was his head—his face. It was as if he had +plunged them suddenly into hot water, and what was left of his skull +was filled with the rushing and roaring of a flood. He staggered up, +clutching his face with both hands. The world about him was twisted and +black, a dizzily revolving thing—yet his still fighting mental vision +pictured clearly for him a monstrous, bulging-eyed sandpiper as big as +a house. Then he toppled back on the white sand, his arms flung out +limply, his face turned to the ambush wherein his murderer lay. +</P> + +<P> +His body was clear of the rock and the pack, but there came no other +shot from the thick clump of balsam. Nor, for a time, was there +movement. The wood warbler was cheeping inquiringly at this sudden +change in the deportment of his friend behind the shoulder of shale. +The sandpiper, a bit startled, had gone back to the edge of the river +and was running a race with himself along the wet sand. And the two +quarrelsome jays had brought their family squabble to the edge of the +timber. +</P> + +<P> +It was their wrangling that roused Carrigan to the fact that he was not +dead. It was a thrilling discovery—that and the fact that he made out +clearly a patch of sunlight in the sand. He did not move, but opened +his eyes wider. He could see the timber. On a straight line with his +vision was the thick clump of balsam. And as he looked, the boughs +parted and a figure came out. Carrigan drew a deep breath. He found +that it did not hurt him. He gripped the fingers of the hand that was +under his body, and they closed on the butt of his service automatic. +He would win yet, if God gave him life a few minutes longer. +</P> + +<P> +His enemy advanced. As he drew nearer, Carrigan closed his eyes more +and more. They must be shut, and he must appear as if dead, when the +other came up. Then, when the scoundrel put down his gun, as he +naturally would—his chance would be at hand. If a quiver of his eyes +betrayed him— +</P> + +<P> +He closed them tight. Dizziness began to creep over him, and the fire +in his brain grew hot again. He heard footsteps, and they stopped in +the sand close beside him. Then he heard a human voice. It did not +speak in words, but gave utterance to a strange and unnatural cry. With +a mighty effort Carrigan assembled his last strength. It seemed to him +that he brought himself up quickly, but his movement was slow, +painful—the effort of a man who might be dying. The automatic hung +limply in his hand, its muzzle pointing to the sand. He looked up, +trying to swing into action that mighty weight of his weapon. And then +from his own lips, even in his utter physical impotence, fell a cry of +wonder and amazement. +</P> + +<P> +His enemy stood there in the sunlight, staring down at him with big, +dark eyes that were filled with horror. They were not the eyes of a +man. David Carrigan, in this most astounding moment of his life, found +himself looking up into the face of a woman. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +III +</H3> + +<P> +For a matter of twenty seconds—even longer it seemed to Carrigan—the +life of these two was expressed in a vivid and unforgettable tableau. +One half of it David saw—the blue sky, the dazzling sun, the girl in +between. The pistol dropped from his limp hand, and the weight of his +body tottered on the crook of his under-elbow. Mentally and physically +he was on the point of collapse, and yet in those few moments every +detail of the picture was painted with a brush of fire in his brain. +The girl was bareheaded. Her face was as white as any face he had ever +seen, living or dead; her eyes were like pools that had caught the +reflection of fire; he saw the sheen of her hair, the poise of her +slender body—its shock, stupefaction, horror. He sensed these things +even as his brain wobbled dizzily, and the larger part of the picture +began to fade out of his vision. But her face remained to the last. It +grew clearer, like a cameo framed in an iris—a beautiful, staring, +horrified face with shimmering tresses of jet-black hair blowing about +it like a veil. He noticed the hair, that was partly undone as if she +had been in a struggle of some sort, or had been running fast against +the breeze that came up the river. +</P> + +<P> +He fought with himself to hold that picture of her, to utter some word, +make some movement. But the power to see and to live died out of him. +He sank back with a queer sound in his throat. He did not hear the +answering cry from the girl as she flung herself, with a quick little +prayer for help, on her knees in the soft, white sand beside him. He +felt no movement when she raised his head in her arm and with her bare +hand brushed back his sand-littered hair, revealing where the bullet +had struck him. He did not know when she ran back to the river. +</P> + +<P> +His first sensation was of a cool and comforting something trickling +over his burning temples and his face. It was water. Subconsciously he +knew that, and in the same way he began to think. But it was hard to +pull his thoughts together. They persisted in hopping about, like a lot +of sand-fleas in a dance, and just as he got hold of one and reached +for another, the first would slip away from him. He began to get the +best of them after a time, and he had an uncontrollable desire to say +something. But his eyes and his lips were sealed tight, and to open +them, a little army of gnomes came out of the darkness in the back of +his head, each of them armed with a lever, and began prying with all +their might. After that came the beginning of light and a flash of +consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +The girl was working over him. He could feel her and hear her movement. +Water was trickling over his face. Then he heard a voice, close over +him, saying something in a sobbing monotone which he could not +understand. +</P> + +<P> +With a mighty effort he opened his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank LE BON DIEU, you live, m'sieu," he heard the voice say, as if +coming from a long distance away. "You live, you live—" +</P> + +<P> +"Tryin' to," he mumbled thickly, feeling suddenly a sense of great +elation. "Tryin'—" +</P> + +<P> +He wanted to curse the gnomes for deserting him, for as soon as they +were gone with their levers, his eyes and his lips shut tight again, or +at least he thought they did. But he began to sense things in a curious +sort of way. Some one was dragging him. He could feel the grind of sand +under his body. There were intervals when the dragging operation +paused. And then, after a long time, he seemed to hear more than one +voice. There were two—sometimes a murmur of them. And odd visions came +to him. He seemed to see the girl with shining black hair and dark +eyes, and then swiftly she would change into a girl with hair like +blazing gold. This was a different girl. She was not like Pretty Eyes, +as his twisted mind called the other. This second vision that he saw +was like a radiant bit of the sun, her hair all aflame with the fire of +it and her face a different sort of face. He was always glad when she +went away and Pretty Eyes came back. +</P> + +<P> +To David Carrigan this interesting experience in his life might have +covered an hour, a day, or a month. Or a year for that matter, for he +seemed to have had an indefinite association with Pretty Eyes. He had +known her for a long time and very intimately, it seemed. Yet he had no +memory of the long fight in the hot sun, or of the river, or of the +singing warblers, or of the inquisitive sandpiper that had marked out +the line which his enemy's last bullet had traveled. He had entered +into a new world in which everything was vague and unreal except that +vision of dark hair, dark eyes, and pale, beautiful face. Several times +he saw it with marvelous clearness, and each time he drifted away into +darkness again with the sound of a voice growing fainter and fainter in +his ears. +</P> + +<P> +Then came a time of utter chaos and soundless gloom. He was in a pit, +where even his subconscious self was almost dead under a crushing +oppression. At last a star began to glimmer in this pit, a star pale +and indistinct and a vast distance away. But it crept steadily up +through the eternity of darkness, and the nearer it came, the less +there was of the blackness of night. From a star it grew into a sun, +and with the sun came dawn. In that dawn he heard the singing of a +bird, and the bird was just over his head. When Carrigan opened his +eyes, and understanding came to him, he found himself under the silver +birch that belonged to the wood warbler. +</P> + +<P> +For a space he did not ask himself how he had come there. He was +looking at the river and the white strip of sand. Out there were the +rock and his dunnage pack. Also his rifle. Instinctively his eyes +turned to the balsam ambush farther down. That, too, was in a blaze of +sunlight now. But where he lay, or sat, or stood—he was not sure what +he was doing at that moment—it was shady and deliciously cool. The +green of the cedar and spruce and balsam was close about him, inset +with the silver and gold of the thickly-leaved birch. He discovered +that he was bolstered up partly against the trunk of this birch and +partly against a spruce sapling. Between these two, where his head +rested, was a pile of soft moss freshly torn from the earth. And within +reach of him was his own kit pail filled with water. +</P> + +<P> +He moved himself cautiously and raised a hand to his head. His fingers +came in contact with a bandage. +</P> + +<P> +For a minute or two after that he sat without moving while his amazed +senses seized upon the significance of it all. In the first place he +was alive. But even this fact of living was less remarkable than the +other things that had happened. He remembered the final moments of the +unequal duel. His enemy had got him. And that enemy was a woman! +Moreover, after she had blown away a part of his head and had him +helpless in the sand, she had—in place of finishing him there—dragged +him to this cool nook and tied up his wound. It was hard for him to +believe, but the pail of water, the moss behind his shoulders, the +bandage, and certain visions that were reforming themselves in his +brain convinced him. A woman had shot him. She had worked like the very +devil to kill him. And afterward she had saved him! He grinned. It was +final proof that his mind hadn't been playing tricks on him. No one but +a woman would have been quite so unreasonable. A man would have +completed the job. +</P> + +<P> +He began to look for her up and down the white strip of sand. And in +looking he saw the gray and silver flash of the hard-working sandpiper. +He chuckled, for he was exceedingly comfortable, and also +exhilaratingly happy to know that the thing was over and he was not +dead. If the sandpiper had been a man, he would have called him up to +shake hands with him. For if it hadn't been for the bird getting +squarely in front of him and giving him away, there might have been a +more horrible end to it all. He shuddered as he thought of the mighty +effort he had made to fire a shot into the heart of the balsam +ambush—and perhaps into the heart of a woman! +</P> + +<P> +He reached for the pail and drank deeply of the water in it. He felt no +pain. His dizziness was gone. His mind had grown suddenly clear and +alert. The warmth of the water told him almost instantly that it had +been taken from the river some time ago. He observed the change in sun +and shadows. With the instinct of a man trained to note details, he +pulled out his watch. It was almost six o'clock. More than three hours +had passed since the sandpiper had got in front of his gun. He did not +attempt to rise to his feet, but scanned with slower and more careful +scrutiny the edge of the forest and the river. He had been mystified +while cringing for his life behind the rock, but he was infinitely more +so now. Greater desire he had never had than this which thrilled him in +these present minutes of his readjustment—desire to look upon the +woman again. And then, all at once, there came back to him a mental +flash of the other. He remembered, as if something was coming back to +him out of a dream, how the whimsical twistings of his sick brain had +made him see two faces instead of one. Yet he knew that the first +picture of his mysterious assailant, the picture painted in his brain +when he had tried to raise his pistol, was the right one. He had seen +her dark eyes aglow; he had seen the sunlit sheen of her black hair +rippling in the wind; he had seen the white pallor in her face, the +slimness of her as she stood over him in horror—he remembered even the +clutch of her white hand at her throat. A moment before she had tried +to kill him. And then he had looked up and had seen her like that! It +must have been some unaccountable trick in his brain that had flooded +her hair with golden fire at times. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes followed a furrow in the white sand which led from where he +sat bolstered against the tree down to his pack and the rock. It was +the trail made by his body when she had dragged him up to the shelter +and coolness of the timber. One of his laws of physical care was to +keep himself trained down to a hundred and sixty, but he wondered how +she had dragged up even so much as that of dead weight. It had taken a +great deal of effort. He could see distinctly three different places in +the sand where she had stopped to rest. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan had earned a reputation as the expert analyst of "N" Division. +In delicate matters it was seldom that McVane did not take him into +consultation. He possessed an almost uncanny grip on the working +processes of a criminal mind, and the first rule he had set down for +himself was to regard the acts of omission rather than the one +outstanding act of commission. But when he proved to himself that the +chief actor in a drama possessed a normal rather than a criminal mind, +he found himself in the position of checkmate. It was a thrilling game. +And he was frankly puzzled now, until—one after another—he added up +the sum total of what had been omitted in this instance of his own +personal adventure. Hidden in her ambush, the woman who had shot him +had been in both purpose and act an assassin. Her determination had +been to kill him. She had disregarded the white flag with which he had +pleaded for mercy. Her marksmanship was of fiendish cleverness. Up to +her last shot she had been, to all intent and purpose, a murderess. +</P> + +<P> +The change had come when she looked down upon him, bleeding and +helpless, in the sand. Undoubtedly she had thought he was dying. But +why, when she saw his eyes open a little later, had she cried out her +gratitude to God? What had worked the sudden transformation in her? Why +had she labored to save the life she had so atrociously coveted a +minute before? +</P> + +<P> +If his assailant had been a man, Carrigan would have found an answer. +For he was not robbed, and therefore robbery was not a motif. "A case +of mistaken identity," he would have told himself. "An error in visual +judgment." +</P> + +<P> +But the fact that in his analysis he was dealing with a woman made his +answer only partly satisfying. He could not disassociate himself from +her eyes—their beauty, their horror, the way they had looked at him. +It was as if a sudden revulsion had come over her; as if, looking down +upon her bleeding handiwork, the woman's soul in her had revolted, and +with that revulsion had come repentance—repentance and pity. +</P> + +<P> +"That," thought Carrigan, "would be just like a woman—and especially a +woman with eyes like hers." +</P> + +<P> +This left him but two conclusions to choose from. Either there had been +a mistake, and the woman had shown both horror and desire to amend when +she discovered it, or a too tender-hearted agent of Black Roger +Audemard had waylaid him in the heart of the white strip of sand. +</P> + +<P> +The sun was another hour lower in the sky when Carrigan assured himself +in a series of cautious experiments that he was not in a condition to +stand upon his feet. In his pack were a number of things he wanted—his +blankets, for instance, a steel mirror, and the thermometer in his +medical kit. He was beginning to feel a bit anxious about himself. +There were sharp pains back of his eyes. His face was hot, and he was +developing an unhealthy appetite for water. It was fever and he knew +what fever meant in this sort of thing, when one was alone. He had +given up hope of the woman's return. It was not reasonable to expect +her to come back after her furious attempt to kill him. She had +bandaged him, bolstered him up, placed water beside him, and had then +left him to work out the rest of his salvation alone. But why the deuce +hadn't she brought up his pack? +</P> + +<P> +On his hands and knees he began to work himself toward it slowly. He +found that the movement caused him pain, and that with this pain, if he +persisted in movement, there was a synchronous rise of nausea. The two +seemed to work in a sort of unity. But his medicine case was important +now, and his blankets, and his rifle if he hoped to signal help that +might chance to pass on the river. A foot at a time, a yard at a time, +he made his way down into the sand. His fingers dug into the footprints +of the mysterious gun-woman. He approved of their size. They were small +and narrow, scarcely longer than the palm and fingers of his hand—and +they were made by shoes instead of moccasins. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed an interminable time to him before he reached his pack. When +he got there, a pendulum seemed swinging back and forth inside his +head, beating against his skull. He lay down with his pack for a +pillow, intending to rest for a spell. But the minutes added themselves +one on top of another. The sun slipped behind clouds banking in the +west. It grew cooler, while within him he was consumed by a burning +thirst. He could hear the ripple of running water, the laughter of it +among pebbles a few yards away. And the river itself became even more +desirable than his medicine case, or his blankets, or his rifle. The +song of it, inviting and tempting him, blotted thought of the other +things out of his mind. And he continued his journey, the swing of the +pendulum in his head becoming harder, but the sound of the river +growing nearer. At last he came to the wet sand, and fell on his face, +and drank. +</P> + +<P> +After this he had no great desire to go back. He rolled himself over, +so that his face was turned up to the sky. Under him the wet sand was +soft, and it was comfortingly cool. The fire in his head died out. He +could hear new sounds in the edge of the forest evening sounds. Only +weak little twitters came from the wood warblers, driven to silence by +thickening gloom in the densely canopied balsams and cedars, and +frightened by the first low hoots of the owls. There was a crash not +far distant, probably a porcupine waddling through brush on his way for +a drink; or perhaps it was a thirsty deer, or a bear coming out in the +hope of finding a dead fish. Carrigan loved that sort of sound, even +when a pendulum was beating back and forth in his head. It was like +medicine to him, and he lay with wide-open eyes, his ears picking up +one after another the voices that marked the change from day to night. +He heard the cry of a loon, its softer, chuckling note of honeymoon +days. From across the river came a cry that was half howl, half bark. +Carrigan knew that it was coyote, and not wolf, a coyote whose breed +had wandered hundreds of miles north of the prairie country. +</P> + +<P> +The gloom gathered in, and yet it was not darkness as the darkness of +night is known a thousand miles south. It was the dusky twilight of day +where the sun rises at three o'clock in the morning and still throws +its ruddy light in the western sky at nine o'clock at night; where the +poplar buds unfold themselves into leaf before one's very eyes; where +strawberries are green in the morning and red in the afternoon; where, +a little later, one could read newspaper print until midnight by the +glow of the sun—and between the rising and the setting of that sun +there would be from eighteen to twenty hours of day. It was evening +time in the wonderland of the north, a wonderland hard and frozen and +ridden by pain and death in winter, but a paradise upon earth in this +month of June. +</P> + +<P> +The beauty of it filled Carrigan's soul, even as he lay on his back in +the damp sand. Far south of him steam and steel were coming, and the +world would soon know that it was easy to grow wheat at the Arctic +Circle, that cucumbers grew to half the size of a man's arm, that +flowers smothered the land and berries turned it scarlet and black. He +had dreaded these days—days of what he called "the great +discovery"—the time when a crowded civilization would at last +understand how the fruits of the earth leaped up to the call of twenty +hours of sun each day, even though that earth itself was eternally +frozen if one went down under its surface four feet with a pick and +shovel. +</P> + +<P> +Tonight the gloom came earlier because of the clouds in the west. It +was very still. Even the breeze had ceased to come from up the river. +And as Carrigan listened, exulting in the thought that the coolness of +the wet sand was drawing the fever from him, he heard another sound. At +first he thought it was the splashing of a fish. But after that it came +again, and still again, and he knew that it was the steady and rhythmic +dip of paddles. +</P> + +<P> +A thrill shot through him, and he raised himself to his elbow. Dusk +covered the river, and he could not see. But he heard low voices as the +paddles dipped. And after a little he knew that one of these was the +voice of a woman. +</P> + +<P> +His heart gave a big jump. "She is coming back," he whispered to +himself. "She is coming back!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IV +</H3> + +<P> +Carrigan's first impulse, sudden as the thrill that leaped through him, +was to cry out to the occupants of the unseen canoe. Words were on his +lips, but he forced them back. They could not miss him, could not get +beyond the reach of his voice—and he waited. After all, there might be +profit in a reasonable degree of caution. He crept back toward his +rifle, sensing the fact that movement no longer gave him very great +distress. At the same time he lost no sound from the river. The voices +were silent, and the dip, dip, dip of paddles was approaching softly +and with extreme caution. At last he could barely hear the trickle of +them, yet he knew the canoe was coming steadily nearer. There was a +suspicious secretiveness in its approach. Perhaps the lady with the +beautiful eyes and the glistening hair had changed her mind again and +was returning to put an end to him. +</P> + +<P> +The thought sharpened his vision. He saw a thin shadow a little darker +than the gloom of the river; it grew into shape; something grated +lightly upon sand and pebbles, and then he heard the guarded plash of +feet in shallow water and saw some one pulling the canoe up higher. A +second figure joined the first. They advanced a few paces and stopped. +In a moment a voice called softly, +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu! M'sieu Carrigan!" +</P> + +<P> +There was an anxious note in the voice, but Carrigan held his tongue. +And then he heard the woman say, +</P> + +<P> +"It was here, Bateese! I am sure of it!" +</P> + +<P> +There was more than anxiety in her voice now. Her words trembled with +distress. "Bateese—if he is dead—he is up there close to the trees." +</P> + +<P> +"But he isn't dead," said Carrigan, raising himself a little. "He is +here, behind the rock again!" +</P> + +<P> +In a moment she had run to where he was lying, his hand clutching the +cold barrel of the pistol which he had found in the sand, his white +face looking up at her. Again he found himself staring into the glow of +her eyes, and in that pale light which precedes the coming of stars and +moon the fancy struck him that she was lovelier than in the full +radiance of the sun. He heard a throbbing note in her throat. And then +she was down on her knees at his side, leaning close over him, her +hands groping at his shoulders, her quick breath betraying how swiftly +her heart was beating. +</P> + +<P> +"You are not hurt—badly?" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," replied David. "You made a perfect shot. I think a part +of my head is gone. At least you've shot away my balance, because I +can't stand on my feet!" +</P> + +<P> +Her hand touched his face, remaining there for an instant, and the palm +of it pressed his forehead. It was like the touch of cool velvet, he +thought. Then she called to the man named Bateese. He made Carrigan +think of a huge chimpanzee as he came near, because of the shortness of +his body and the length of his arms. In the half light he might have +been a huge animal, a hulking creature of some sort walking upright. +Carrigan's fingers closed more tightly on the butt of his automatic. +The woman began to talk swiftly in a patois of French and Cree. David +caught the gist of it. She was telling Bateese to carry him to the +canoe, and to be very careful, because m'sieu was badly hurt. It was +his head, she emphasized. Bateese must be careful of his head. +</P> + +<P> +David slipped his pistol into its holster as Bateese bent over him. He +tried to smile at the woman to thank her for her solicitude—after +having nearly killed him. There was an increasing glow in the night, +and he began to see her more plainly. Out on the middle of the river +was a silvery bar of light. The moon was coming up, a little pale as +yet, but triumphant in the fact that clouds had blotted out the sun an +hour before his time. Between this bar of light and himself he saw the +head of Bateese. It was a wild, savage-looking head, bound +pirate-fashion round the forehead with a huge Hudson's Bay kerchief. +Bateese might have been old Jack Ketch himself bending over to give the +final twist to a victim's neck. His long arms slipped under David. +Gently and without effort he raised him to his feet. And then, as +easily as he might have lifted a child, he trundled him up in his arms +and walked off with him over the sand. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan had not expected this. He was a little shocked and felt also +the impropriety of the thing. The idea of being lugged off like a baby +was embarrassing, even in the presence of the one who had deliberately +put him in his present condition. Bateese did the thing with such +beastly ease. It was as if he was no more than a small boy, a runt with +no weight whatever, and Bateese was a man. He would have preferred to +stagger along on his own feet or creep on his hands and knees, and he +grunted as much to Bateese on the way to the canoe. He felt, at the +same time, that the situation owed him something more of discussion and +explanation. Even now, after half killing him, the woman was taking a +rather high-handed advantage of him. She might at least have assured +him that she had made a mistake and was sorry. But she did not speak to +him again. She said nothing more to Bateese, and when the half-breed +deposited him in the midship part of the canoe, facing the bow, she +stood back in silence. Then Bateese brought his pack and rifle, and +wedged the pack in behind him so that he could sit upright. After that, +without pausing to ask permission, he picked up the woman and carried +her through the shallow water to the bow, saving her the wetting of her +feet. +</P> + +<P> +As she turned to find her paddle her face was toward David, and for a +moment she was looking at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mind telling me who you are, and where we are going?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I am Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain," she said. "My brigade is down the +river, M'sieu Carrigan." +</P> + +<P> +He was amazed at the promptness of her confession, for as one of the +working factors of the long arm of the police he accepted it as that. +He had scarcely expected her to divulge her name after the cold-blooded +way in which she had attempted to kill him. And she had spoken quite +calmly of "my brigade." He had heard of the Boulain Brigade. It was a +name associated with Chipewyan, as he remembered it—or Fort McMurray. +He was not sure just where the Boulain scows had traded freight with +the upper-river craft. Until this year he was positive they had not +come as far south as Athabasca Landing. Boulain—Boulain—The name +repeated itself over and over in his mind. Bateese shoved off the +canoe, and the woman's paddle dipped in and out of the water beginning +to shimmer in moonlight. But he could not, for a time, get himself +beyond the pounding of that name in his brain. It was not merely that +he had heard the name before. There was something significant about it. +Something that made him grope back in his memory of things. Boulain! He +whispered it to himself, his eyes on the slender figure of the woman +ahead of him, swaying gently to the steady sweep of the paddle in her +hands. Yet he could think of nothing. A feeling of irritation swept +over him, disgust at his own mental impotency. And the dizzying +sickness was brewing in his head again. +</P> + +<P> +"I have heard that name—somewhere—before," he said. There was a space +of only five or six feet between them, and he spoke with studied +distinctness. +</P> + +<P> +"Possibly you have, m'sieu." +</P> + +<P> +Her voice was exquisite, clear as the note of a bird, yet so soft and +low that she seemed scarcely to have spoken. And it was, Carrigan +thought, criminally evasive—under the circumstances. He wanted her to +turn round and say something. He wanted, first of all, to ask her why +she had tried to kill him. It was his right to demand an explanation. +And it was his duty to get her back to the Landing, where the law would +ask an accounting of her. She must know that. There was only one way in +which she could have learned his name, and that was by prying into his +identification papers while he was unconscious. Therefore she not only +knew his name, but also that he was Sergeant Carrigan of the Royal +Northwest Mounted Police. In spite of all this she was apparently not +very deeply concerned. She was not frightened, and she did not appear +to be even slightly excited. +</P> + +<P> +He leaned nearer to her, the movement sending a sharp pain between his +eyes. It almost drew a cry from him, but he forced himself to speak +without betraying it. +</P> + +<P> +"You tried to murder me—and almost succeeded. Haven't you anything to +say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not now, m'sieu—except that it was a mistake, and I am sorry. But you +must not talk. You must remain quiet. I am afraid your skull is +fractured." +</P> + +<P> +Afraid his skull was fractured! And she expressed her fear in the +casual way she might have spoken of a toothache. He leaned back against +his dunnage sack and closed his eyes. Probably she was right. These +fits of dizziness and nausea were suspicious. They made him top-heavy +and filled him with a desire to crumple up somewhere. He was +clear-mindedly conscious of this and of his fight against the weakness. +But in those moments when he felt better and his head was clear of +pain, he had not seriously thought of a fractured skull. If she +believed it, why did she not treat him a bit more considerately? +Bateese, with that strength of an ox in his arms, had no use for her +assistance with the paddle. She might at least have sat facing him, +even if she refused to explain matters more definitely. +</P> + +<P> +A mistake, she called it. And she was sorry for him! She had made those +statements in a matter-of-fact way, but with a voice that was like +music. She had spoken perfect English, but in her words were the +inflection and velvety softness of the French blood which must be +running red in her veins. And her name was Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain! +</P> + +<P> +With eyes closed, Carrigan called himself an idiot for thinking of +these things at the present time. Primarily he was a man-hunter out on +important duty, and here was duty right at hand, a thousand miles south +of Black Roger Audemard, the wholesale murderer he was after. He would +have sworn on his life that Black Roger had never gone at a killing +more deliberately than this same Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain had gone +after him behind the rock! +</P> + +<P> +Now that it was all over, and he was alive, she was taking him +somewhere as coolly and as unexcitedly as though they were returning +from a picnic. Carrigan shut his eyes tighter and wondered if he was +thinking straight. He believed he was badly hurt, but he was as +strongly convinced that his mind was clear. And he lay quietly with his +head against the pack, his eyes closed, waiting for the coolness of the +river to drive his nausea away again. +</P> + +<P> +He sensed rather than felt the swift movement of the canoe. There was +no perceptible tremor to its progress. The current and a perfect +craftsmanship with the paddles were carrying it along at six or seven +miles an hour. He heard the rippling of water that at times was almost +like the tinkling of tiny bells, and more and more bell-like became +that sound as he listened to it. It struck a certain note for him. And +to that note another added itself, until in the purling rhythm of the +river he caught the murmuring monotone of a name +Boulain—Boulain—Boulain. The name became an obsession. It meant +something. And he knew what it meant—if he could only whip his memory +back into harness again. But that was impossible now. When he tried to +concentrate his mental faculties, his head ached terrifically. +</P> + +<P> +He dipped his hand into the water and held it over his eyes. For half +an hour after that he did not raise his head. In that time not a word +was spoken by Bateese or Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. For the forest +people it was not an hour in which to talk. The moon had risen swiftly, +and the stars were out. Where there had been gloom, the world was now a +flood of gold and silver light. At first Carrigan allowed this to +filter between his fingers; then he opened his eyes. He felt more +evenly balanced again. +</P> + +<P> +Straight in front of him was Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. The curtain of +dusk had risen from between them, and she was full in the radiance of +the moon. She was no longer paddling, but was looking straight ahead. +To Cardigan her figure was exquisitely girlish as he saw it now. She +was bareheaded, as he had seen tier first, and her hair hung down her +back like a shimmering mass of velvety sable in the star-and-moon glow. +Something told Carrigan she was going to turn her face in his +direction, and he dropped his hand over his eyes again, leaving a space +between the fingers. He was right in his guess. She fronted the moon, +looking at him closely—rather anxiously, he thought. She even leaned a +little toward him that she might see more clearly. Then she turned and +resumed her paddling. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan was a bit elated. Probably she had looked at him a number of +times like that during the past half-hour. And she was disturbed. She +was worrying about him. The thought of being a murderess was beginning +to frighten her. In spite of the beauty of her eyes and hair and the +slim witchery of her body he had no sympathy for her. He told himself +that he would give a year of his life to have her down at Barracks this +minute. He would never forget that three-quarters of an hour behind the +rock, not if he lived to be a hundred. And if he did live, she was +going to pay, even if she was lovelier than Venus and all the Graces +combined. He felt irritated with himself that he should have observed +in such a silly way the sable glow of her hair in the moonlight. And +her eyes. What the deuce did prettiness matter in the present +situation? The sister of Fanchet, the mail robber, was beautiful, but +her beauty had failed to save Fanchet. The Law had taken him in spite +of the tears in Carmin Fanchet's big black eyes, and in that particular +instance he was the Law. And Carmin Fanchet was pretty—deucedly +pretty. Even the Old Man's heart had been stirred by her loveliness. +</P> + +<P> +"A shame!" he had said to Carrigan. "A shame!" But the rascally Fanchet +was hung by the neck until he was dead. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan drew himself up slowly until he was sitting erect. He wondered +what Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain would say if he told her about Carmin. +But there was a big gulf between the names Fanchet and Boulain. The +Fanchets had come from the dance halls of Alaska. They were bad, both +of them. At least, so they had judged Carmin Fanchet—along with her +brother. And Boulain— +</P> + +<P> +His hand, in dropping to his side, fell upon the butt of his pistol. +Neither Bateese nor the girl had thought of disarming him. It was +careless of them, unless Bateese was keeping a good eye on him from +behind. +</P> + +<P> +A new sort of thrill crept into Carrigan's blood. He began to see where +he had made a huge error in not playing his part more cleverly. It was +this girl Jeanne who had shot him. It was Jeanne who had stood over him +in that last moment when he had made an effort to use his pistol. It +was she who had tried to murder him and who had turned faint-hearted +when it came to finishing the job. But his knowledge of these things he +should have kept from her. Then, when the proper moment came, he would +have been in a position to act. Even now it might be possible to cover +his blunder. He leaned toward her again, determined to make the effort. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to ask your pardon," he said. "May I?" +</P> + +<P> +His voice startled her. It was as if the stinging tip of a whip-lash +had touched her bare neck. He was smiling when she turned. In her face +and eyes was a relief which she made no effort to repress. +</P> + +<P> +"You thought I might be dead," he laughed softly. "I'm not, Miss +Jeanne. I'm very much alive again. It was that accursed fever—and I +want to ask your pardon! I think—I know—that I accused you of +shooting me. It's impossible. I couldn't think of it—In my clear mind. +I am quite sure that I know the rascally half-breed who pot-shotted me +like that. And it was you who came in time, and frightened him away, +and saved my life. Will you forgive me—and accept my gratitude?" +</P> + +<P> +There came into the glowing eyes of the girl a reflection of his own +smile. It seemed to him that he saw the corners of her mouth tremble a +little before she answered him. +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad you are feeling better, m'sieu." +</P> + +<P> +"And you will forgive me for—for saying such beastly things to you?" +</P> + +<P> +She was lovely when she smiled, and she was smiling at him now. "If you +want to be forgiven for lying, yes," she said. "I forgive you that, +because it is sometimes your business to lie. It was I who tried to +kill you, m'sieu. And you know it." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"You must not talk, m'sieu. It is not good for you: Bateese, will you +tell m'sieu not to talk?" +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan heard a movement behind him. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu, you will stop ze talk or I brak hees head wit' ze paddle in my +han'!" came the voice of Bateese close to his shoulder. "Do I mak' ze +word plain so m'sieu compren'?" +</P> + +<P> +"I get you, old man," grunted Carrigan. "I get you—both!" +</P> + +<P> +And he leaned back against his dunnage-sack, staring again at the +witching slimness of the lovely Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain as she calmly +resumed her paddling in the bow of the canoe. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +V +</H3> + +<P> +In the few minutes following the efficient and unexpected warning of +Bateese an entirely new element of interest entered into the situation +for David Carrigan. He had more than once assured himself that he had +made a success of his profession of man-hunting not because he was +brighter than the other fellow, but largely because he possessed a +sense of humor and no vanities to prick. He was in the game because he +loved the adventure of it. He was loyal to his duty, but he was not a +worshipper of the law, nor did he covet the small monthly stipend of +dollars and cents that came of his allegiance to it. As a member of the +Scarlet Police, and especially of "N" Division, he felt the pulse and +thrill of life as he loved to live it. And the greatest of all thrills +came when he was after a man as clever as himself, or cleverer. +</P> + +<P> +This time it was a woman—or a girl! He had not yet made up his mind +which she was. Her voice, low and musical, her poise, and the tranquil +and unexcitable loveliness of her face had made him, at first, register +her as a woman. Yet as he looked at the slim girlishness of her figure +in the bow of the canoe, accentuated by the soft sheen of her partly +unbraided hair, he wondered if she were eighteen or thirty. It would +take the clear light of day to tell him. But whether a girl or a woman, +she had handled him so cleverly that the unpleasantness of his earlier +experience began to give way slowly to an admiration for her capability. +</P> + +<P> +He wondered what the superintendent of "N" Division would say if he +could see Black Roger Audemard's latest trailer propped up here in the +center of the canoe, the prisoner of a velvety-haired but dangerously +efficient bit of feminine loveliness—and a bull-necked, +chimpanzee-armed half-breed! +</P> + +<P> +Bateese had confirmed the suspicion that he was a prisoner, even though +this mysterious pair were bent on saving his life. Why it was their +desire to keep life in him when only a few hours ago one of them had +tried to kill him was a. question which only the future could answer. +He did not bother himself with that problem now. The present was +altogether too interesting, and there was but little doubt that other +developments equally important were close at hand. The attitude of both +Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain and her piratical-looking henchman was +sufficient evidence of that. Bateese had threatened to knock his head +off, and he could have sworn that the girl—or woman—had smiled her +approbation of the threat. Yet he held no grudge against Bateese. An +odd sort of liking for the man began to possess him, just as he found +himself powerless to resist an ingrowing admiration for Marie-Anne. The +existence of Black Roger Audemard became with him a sort of indefinite +reality. Black Roger was a long way off. Marie-Anne and Bateese were +very near. He began thinking of her as Marie-Anne. He liked the name. +It was the Boulain part of it that worked in him with an irritating +insistence. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time since the canoe journey had begun, he looked beyond +the darkly glowing head and the slender figure in the bow. It was a +splendid night. Ahead of him the river was like a rippling sheet of +molten silver. On both sides, a quarter of a mile apart, rose the walls +of the forest, like low-hung, oriental tapestries. The sky seemed near, +loaded with stars, and the moon, rising with almost perceptible +movement toward the zenith, had changed from red to a mellow gold. +Carrigan's soul always rose to this glory of the northern light. Youth +and vigor, he told himself, must always exist under those unpolluted +lights of the upper worlds, the unspeaking things which had told him +more than he had ever learned from the mouths of other men. They stood +for his religion, his faith, his belief in the existence of things +greater than the insignificant spark which animated his own body. He +appreciated them most when there was stillness. And tonight it was +still. It was so quiet that the trickling of the paddles was like +subdued music. From the forest there came no sound. Yet he knew there +was life there, wide-eyed, questing life, life that moved on velvety +wing and padded foot, just as he and Marie-Anne and the half-breed +Bateese were moving in the canoe. To have called out in this hour would +have taken an effort, for a supreme and invisible Hand seemed to have +commanded stillness upon the earth. +</P> + +<P> +And then there came droning upon his ears a break in the stillness, and +as he listened, the shores closed slowly in, narrowing the channel +until he saw giant masses of gray rock replacing the thick verdure of +balsam, spruce, and cedar. The moaning grew louder, and the rocks +climbed skyward until they hung in great cliffs. There could be but one +meaning to this sudden change. They were close to LE SAINT-ESPRIT +RAPIDE—the Holy Ghost Rapids. Carrigan was astonished. That day at +noon he had believed the Holy Ghost to be twenty or thirty miles below +him. Now they were at its mouth, and he saw that Bateese and Jeanne +Marie-Anne Boulain were quietly and unexcitedly preparing to run that +vicious stretch of water. Unconsciously he gripped the gunwales of the +canoe with both hands as the sound of the rapids grew into low and +sullen thunder. In the moonlight ahead he could see the rock walls +closing in until the channel was crushed between two precipitous +ramparts, and the moon and stars, sending their glow between those +walls, lighted up a frothing path of water that made Carrigan hold his +breath. He would have portaged this place even in broad day. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at the girl in the bow. The slender figure Was a little more +erect, the glowing head held a little higher. In those moments he would +have liked to see her face, the wonderful something that must be in her +eyes as she rode fearlessly into the teeth of the menace ahead. For he +could see that she was not afraid, that she was facing this thing with +a sort of exultation, that there was something about it which thrilled +her until every drop of blood in her body was racing with the impetus +of the stream itself. Eddies of wind puffing out from between the chasm +walls tossed her loose hair about her back in a glistening veil. He saw +a long strand of it trailing over the edge of the canoe into the water. +It made him shiver, and he wanted to cry out to Bateese that he was a +fool for risking her life like this. He forgot that he was the one +helpless individual in the canoe, and that an upset would mean the end +for him, while Bateese and his companion might still fight on. His +thought and his vision were focused on the girl—and what lay straight +ahead. A mass of froth, like a windrow of snow, rose up before them, +and the canoe plunged into it with the swiftness of a shot. It +spattered in his face, and blinded him for an instant. Then they were +out of it, and he fancied he heard a note of laughter from the girl in +the bow. In the next breath he called himself a fool for imagining +that. For the run was dead ahead, and the girl became vibrant with +life, her paddle flashing in and out, while from her lips came sharp, +clear cries which brought from Eateese frog-like bellows of response. +The walls shot past; inundations rose and plunged under them; black +rocks whipped with caps of foam raced up-stream with the speed of +living things; the roar became a drowning voice, and then—as if +outreached by the wings of a swifter thing—dropped suddenly behind +them. Smoother water lay ahead. The channel broadened. Moonlight filled +it with a clearer radiance, and Carrigan saw the girl's hair glistening +wet, and her arms dripping. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time he turned about and faced Bateese. The half-breed +was grinning like a Cheshire cat! +</P> + +<P> +"You're a confoundedly queer pair!" grunted Carrigan, and he turned +about again to find Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain as unconcerned as though +running the Holy Ghost Rapids in the glow of the moon was nothing more +than a matter of play. +</P> + +<P> +It was impossible for him to keep his heart from beating a little +faster as he watched her, even though he was trying to regard her in a +most professional sort of way. He reminded himself that she was an +iniquitous little Jezebel who had almost murdered him. Carmin Fanchet +had been like her, an AME DAMNEE—a fallen angel—but his business was +not sympathy in such matters as these. At the same time he could not +resist the lure of both her audacity and her courage, and he found +himself all at once asking himself the amazing question as to what her +relationship might be to Bateese. It occurred to him rather +unpleasantly that there had been something distinctly proprietary in +the way the half-breed had picked her up on the sand, and that Bateese +had shown no hesitation a little later in threatening to knock his head +off unless he stopped talking to her. He wondered if Bateese was a +Boulain. +</P> + +<P> +The two or three minutes of excitement in the boiling waters of the +Holy Ghost had acted like medicine on Carrigan. It seemed to him that +something had given way in his head, relieving him of an oppression +that had been like an iron hoop drawn tightly about his skull. He did +not want Bateese to suspect this change in him, and he slouched lower +against the dunnage-pack with his eyes still on the girl. He was +finding it increasingly difficult to keep from looking at her. She had +resumed her paddling, and Bateese was putting mighty efforts in his +strokes now, so that the narrow, birchbark canoe shot like an arrow +with the down-sweeping current of the river. A few hundred yards below +was a twist in the channel, and as the canoe rounded this, taking the +shoreward curve with dizzying swiftness, a wide, still straight-water +lay ahead. And far down this Carrigan saw the glow of fires. +</P> + +<P> +The forest had drawn back from the river, leaving in its place a broken +tundra of rock and shale and a wide strip of black sand along the edge +of the stream itself. Carrigan knew what it was—an upheaval of the +tar-sand country so common still farther north, the beginning of that +treasure of the earth which would some day make the top of the American +continent one of the Eldorados of the world. The fires drew nearer, and +suddenly the still night was broken by the wild chanting of men. David +heard behind him a choking note in the throat of Bateese. A soft word +came from the lips of the girl, and it seemed to Carrigan that her head +was held higher in the moon glow. The chant increased in volume, a +rhythmic, throbbing, savage music that for a hundred and fifty years +had come from the throats of men along the Three Rivers. It thrilled +Carrigan as they bore down upon it. It was not song as civilization +would have counted song. It was like an explosion, an exultation of +human voice unchained, ebullient with the love of life, savage in its +good-humor. It was LE GAITE DE COEUR of the rivermen, who thought and +sang as their forefathers did in the days of Radisson and good Prince +Rupert; it was their merriment, their exhilaration, their freedom and +optimism, reaching up to the farthest stars. In that song men were +straining their vocal muscles, shouting to beat out their nearest +neighbor, bellowing like bulls in a frenzy of sudden fun. And then, as +suddenly as it had risen in the night, the clamor of voices died away. +A single shout came up the river. Carrigan thought he heard a low +rumble of laughter. A tin pan banged against another. A dog howled. The +flat of an oar played a tattoo for a moment on the bottom of a boat. +Then one last yell from a single throat—and the night was silent again. +</P> + +<P> +And that was the Boulain Brigade—singing at this hour of the night, +when men should have been sleeping if they expected to be up with the +sun. Carrigan stared ahead. Shortly his adventure would take a new +twist. Something was bound to happen when they got ashore. The peculiar +glow of the fires had puzzled him. Now he began to understand. Jeanne +Marie-Anne Boulain's men were camped in the edge of the tar-sands and +had lighted a number of natural gas-jets that came up out of the earth. +Many times he had seen fires like these burning up and down the Three +Rivers. He had lighted fires of his own; he had cooked over them and +had afterward had the fun and excitement of extinguishing them with +pails of water. But he had never seen anything quite like this that was +unfolding itself before his eyes now. There were seven of the fires +over an area of half an acre—spouts of yellowish flame burning like +giant torches ten or fifteen feet in the air. And between them he very +soon made out great bustle and activity. Many figures were moving +about. They looked like dwarfs at first, gnomes at play in a little +world made out of witchcraft. But Bateese was sending the canoe nearer +with powerful strokes, and the figures grew taller, and the spouts of +flame higher. Then he knew what was happening. The Boulain men were +taking advantage of the cool hours of the night and were tarring up. +</P> + +<P> +He could smell the tar, and he could see the big York boats drawn up in +the circle of yellowish light. There were half a dozen of them, and men +stripped to the waist were smearing the bottoms of the boats with +boiling tar and pitch. In the center was a big, black cauldron steaming +over a gas-jet, and between this cauldron and the boats men were +running back and forth with pails. Still nearer to the huge kettle +other men were filling a row of kegs with the precious black GOUDRON +that oozed up from the bowels of the earth, forming here and there +jet-black pools that Carrigan could see glistening in the flare of the +gas-lamps. He figured there were thirty men at work. Six big York boats +were turned keel up in the black sand. Close inshore, just outside the +circle of light, was a single scow. +</P> + +<P> +Toward this scow Bateese sent the canoe. And as they drew nearer, until +the laboring men ashore were scarcely a stone's throw away, the +weirdness of the scene impressed itself more upon Carrigan. Never had +he seen such a crew. There were no Indians among them. Lithe, +quick-moving, bare-headed, their naked arms and shoulders gleaming in +the ghostly illumination, they were racing against time with the +boiling tar and pitch in the cauldron. They did not see the approach of +the canoe, and Bateese did not draw their attention to it. Quietly he +drove the birchbark under the shadow of the big bateau. Hands were +waiting to seize and steady it. Carrigan caught but a glimpse of the +faces. In another instant the girl was aboard the scow, and Bateese was +bending over him. A second time he was picked up like a child in the +chimpanzee-like arms of the half-breed. The moonlight showed him a scow +bigger than he had ever seen on the upper river, and two-thirds of it +seemed to be cabin. Into this cabin Bateese carried him, and in +darkness laid him upon what Carrigan thought must be a cot built +against the wall. He made no sound, but let himself fall limply upon +it. He listened to Bateese as he moved about, and closed his eyes when +Bateese struck a match. A moment later he heard the door of the cabin +close behind the half-breed. Not until then did he open his eyes and +sit up. +</P> + +<P> +He was alone. And what he saw in the next few moments drew an +exclamation of amazement from him. Never had he seen a cabin like this +on the Three Rivers. It was thirty feet long if an inch, and at least +eight feet wide. The walls and ceiling were of polished cedar; the +floor was of cedar closely matched. It was the exquisite finish and +craftsmanship of the woodwork that caught his eyes first. Then his +astonished senses seized upon the other things. Under his feet was a +soft rug of dark green velvet. Two magnificent white bearskins lay +between him and the end of the room. The walls were hung with pictures, +and at the four windows were curtains of ivory lace draped with damask. +The lamp which Bateese had lighted was fastened to the wall close to +him. It was of polished silver and threw a brilliant light softened by +a shade of old gold. There were three other lamps like this, unlighted. +The far end of the room was in deep shadow, but Carrigan made out the +thing he was staring at—a piano. He rose to his feet, disbelieving his +eyes, and made his way toward it. He passed between chairs. Near the +piano was another door, and a wide divan of the same soft, green +upholstery. Looking back, he saw that what he had been lying upon was +another divan. And dose to this were book-shelves, and a table on which +were magazines and papers and a woman's workbasket, and in the +workbasket—sound asleep—a cat! +</P> + +<P> +And then, over the table and the sleeping cat, his eyes rested upon a +triangular banner fastened to the wall. In white against a background +of black was a mighty polar bear holding at bay a horde of Arctic +wolves. And suddenly the thing he had been fighting to recall came to +Carrigan—the great bear—the fighting wolves—the crest of St. Pierre +Boulain! +</P> + +<P> +He took a quick step toward the table—then caught at the back of a +chair. Confound his head! Or was it the big bateau rocking under his +feet? The cat seemed to be turning round in its basket. There were half +a dozen banners instead of one; the lamp was shaking in its bracket; +the floor was tilting, everything was becoming hideously contorted and +out of place. A shroud of darkness gathered about him, and through that +darkness Carrigan staggered blindly toward the divan. He reached it +just in time to fall upon it like a dead man. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VI +</H3> + +<P> +For what seemed to be an interminable time after the final breakdown of +his physical strength David Carrigan lived in a black world where a +horde of unseen little devils were shooting red-hot arrows into his +brain. He did not sense the fact of human presence; nor that the divan +had been changed into a bed and the four lamps lighted, and that +wrinkled, brown hands with talon-like fingers were performing a miracle +of wilderness surgery upon him. He did not see the age-old face of +Nepapinas—"The Wandering Bolt of Lightning"—as the bent and tottering +Cree called upon all his eighty years of experience to bring him back +to life. And he did not see Bateese, stolid-faced, silent, nor the +dead-white face and wide-open, staring eyes of Jeanne Marie-Anne +Boulain as her slim, white fingers worked with the old medicine man's. +He was in a gulf of blackness that writhed with the spirits of torment. +He fought them and cried out against them, and his fighting and his +cries brought the look of death itself into the eyes of the girl who +was over him. He did not hear her voice nor feel the soothing of her +hands, nor the powerful grip of Bateese as he held him when the +critical moments came. And Nepapinas, like a machine that had looked +upon death a thousand times, gave no rest to his claw-like fingers +until the work was done—and it was then that something came to drive +the arrow-shooting devils out of the darkness that was smothering +Carrigan. +</P> + +<P> +After that Carrigan lived through an eternity of unrest, a life in +which he seemed powerless and yet was always struggling for supremacy +over things that were holding him down. There were lapses in it, like +the hours of oblivion that come with sleep, and there were other times +when he seemed keenly alive, yet unable to move or act. The darkness +gave way to flashes of light, and in these flashes he began to see +things, curiously twisted, fleeting, and yet fighting themselves +insistently upon his senses. He was back in the hot sand again, and +this time he heard the voices of Jeanne Marie-Anne and Golden-Hair, and +Golden-Hair flaunted a banner in his face, a triangular pennon of black +on which a huge bear was fighting white Arctic wolves, and then she +would run away from him, crying out—"St. Pierre Boulain—St. Pierre +Boulain—" and the last he could see of her was her hair flaming like +fire in the sun. But it was always the other—the dark hair and dark +eyes—that came to him when the little devils returned to assault him +with their arrows. From somewhere she would come out of darkness and +frighten them away. He could hear her voice like a whisper in his ears, +and the touch of her hands comforted him and quieted his pain. After a +time he grew to be afraid when the darkness swallowed her up, and in +that darkness he would call for her, and always he heard her voice in +answer. +</P> + +<P> +Then came a long oblivion. He floated through cool space away from the +imps of torment; his bed was of downy clouds, and on these clouds he +drifted with a great shining river under him; and at last the cloud he +was in began to shape itself into walls and on these walls were +pictures, and a window through which the sun was shining, and a black +pennon—and he heard a soft, wonderful music that seemed to come to him +faintly from another world. Other creatures were at work in his brain +now. They were building up and putting together the loose ends of +things. Carrigan became one of them, working so hard that frequently a +pair of dark eyes came out of the dawning of things to stop him, and +quieting hands and a voice soothed him to rest. The hands and the voice +became very intimate. He missed them when they were not near, +especially the hands, and he was always groping for them to make sure +they had not gone away. +</P> + +<P> +Only once after the floating cloud transformed itself into the walls of +the bateau cabin did the chaotic darkness of the sands fully possess +him again. In that darkness he heard a voice. It was not the voice of +Golden-Hair, or of Bateese, or of Jeanne Marie-Anne. It was close to +his ears. And in that darkness that smothered him there was something +terrible about it as it droned slowly the +words—"HAS-ANY-ONE-SEEN-BLACK-ROGER-AUDEMARD?" He tried to answer, to +call back to it, and the voice came again, repeating the words, +emotionless, hollow, as if echoing up out of a grave. And still harder +he struggled to reply to it, to say that he was David Carrigan, and +that he was out on the trail of Black Roger Audemard, and that Black +Roger was far north. And suddenly it seemed to him that the voice +changed into the flesh and blood of Black Roger himself, though he +could not see in the darkness—and he reached out, gripping fiercely at +the warm substance of flesh, until he heard another voice, the voice of +Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain, entreating him to let his victim go. It was +this time that his eyes shot open, wide and seeing, and straight over +him was the face of Jeanne Marie-Anne, nearer him than it had been even +in the visionings of his feverish mind. His fingers were clutching her +shoulders, gripping like steel hooks. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu—M'sieu David!" she was crying. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment he stared; then his hands and fingers relaxed, and his +arms dropped limply. "Pardon—I—I was dreaming," he struggled weakly. +"I thought—" +</P> + +<P> +He had seen the pain in her face. Now, changing swiftly, it lighted up +with relief and gladness. His vision, cleared by long darkness, saw the +change come in an instant like a flash of sunshine. And then—so near +that he could have touched her—she was smiling down into his eyes. He +smiled back. It took an effort, for his face felt stiff and unnatural. +</P> + +<P> +"I was dreaming—of a man—named Roger Audemard," he continued to +apologize. "Did I—hurt you?" +</P> + +<P> +The smile on her lips was gone as swiftly as it had come. "A little, +m'sieu. I am glad you are better. You have been very sick." +</P> + +<P> +He raised a hand to his face. The bandage was there, and also a stubble +of beard on his cheeks. He was puzzled. This morning he had fastened +his steel mirror to the side of a tree and shaved. +</P> + +<P> +"It was three days ago you were hurt," she said quietly. "This is the +afternoon of the third day. You have been in a great fever. Nepapinas, +my Indian doctor, saved your life. You must lie quietly now. You have +been talking a great deal." +</P> + +<P> +"About—Black Roger?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"And—Golden—Hair?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, of Golden—Hair." +</P> + +<P> +"And—some one else—with dark hair—and dark eyes—" +</P> + +<P> +"It may be, m'sieu." +</P> + +<P> +"And of little devils with bows and arrows, and of polar bears, and +white wolves, and of a great lord of the north who calls himself St. +Pierre Boulain?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, of all those." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I haven't anything more to tell you," grunted David. "I guess +I've told you all I know. You shot me, back there. And here I am. What +are you going to do next?" +</P> + +<P> +"Call Bateese," she answered promptly, and she rose swiftly from beside +him and moved toward the door. +</P> + +<P> +He made no effort to call her back. His wits were working slowly, +readjusting themselves after a carnival in chaos, and he scarcely +sensed that she was gone until the cabin door closed behind her. Then +again he raised a hand to his face and felt his beard. Three days! He +turned his head so that he could take in the length of the cabin. It +was filled with subdued sunlight now, a western sun that glowed softly, +giving depth and richness to the colors on the floor and walls, +lighting up the piano keys, suffusing the pictures with a warmth of +life. David's eyes traveled slowly to his own feet. The divan had been +opened and transformed into a bed. He was undressed. He had on +somebody's white nightgown. And there was a big bunch of wild roses on +the table where three days ago the cat had been sleeping in the +work-basket. His head cleared swiftly, and he raised himself a little +on one elbow, with extreme caution, and listened. The big bateau was +not moving. It was still tied up, but he could hear no voices out where +the tar-sands were. +</P> + +<P> +He dropped back on his pillow, and his eyes rested on the black pennon. +His blood stirred again as he looked at the white bear and the fighting +wolves. Wherever men rode the waters of the Three Rivers that pennon +was known. Yet it was not common. Seldom was it seen, and never had it +come south of Chipewyan. Many things came to Carrigan now, things that +he had heard at the Landing and up and down the rivers. Once he had +read the tail-end of a report the Superintendent of "N" Division had +sent in to headquarters. +</P> + +<P> +"We do not know this St. Pierre. Few men have seen him out of his own +country, the far headwaters of the Yellowknife, where he rules like a +great overlord. Both the Yellowknives and the Dog Ribs call him KICHEOO +KIMOW, or King, and the same rumors say there is never starvation or +plague in his regions; and it is fact that neither the Hudson's Bay nor +Revillon Brothers in their cleverest generalship and trade have been +able to uproot his almost dynastic jurisdiction. The Police have had no +reason to investigate or interfere." +</P> + +<P> +At least that was the gist of what Carrigan had read in McVane's +report. But he had never associated it with the name of Boulain. It was +of St. Pierre that he had heard stories, St. Pierre and his black +pennon with its white bear and fighting wolves. And so—it was St. +Pierre BOULAIN! +</P> + +<P> +He closed his eyes and thought of the long winter weeks he had passed +at Hay River Post, watching for Fanchet, the mail robber. It was there +he had heard most about this St. Pierre, and yet no one he had talked +with had ever seen him; no one knew whether he was old or young, a +pigmy or a giant. Some stories said that he was strong, that he could +twist a gun-barrel double in his hands; others said that he was old, +very old, so that he never set forth with his brigades that brought +down each year a treasure of furs to be exchanged for freight. And +never did a Dog Rib or a Yellowknife open his mouth about KICHEOO KIMOW +St. Pierre, the master of their unmapped domains. In that great country +north and west of the Great Slave he remained an enigma and a sphinx. +If he ever came out with his brigades, he did not disclose his +identity, so that if one saw a fleet of boats or canoes with the St. +Pierre pennon, one had to make his own guess whether St. Pierre himself +was there or not. But these things were known—that the keenest, +quickest, and strongest men in the northland ran the St. Pierre +brigades, that they brought out the richest cargoes of furs, and that +they carried back with them into the secret fastnesses of their +wilderness the greatest cargoes of freight that treasure could buy. So +much the name St. Pierre dragged out of Carrigan's memory. It came to +him now why the name "Boulain" had pounded so insistently in his brain. +He had seen this pennon with its white bear and fighting wolves only +once before, and that had been over a Boulain scow at Chipewyan. But +his memory had lost its grip on that incident while retaining vividly +its hold on the stories and rumors of the mystery-man, St. Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan pulled himself a little higher on his pillow and with a new +interest scanned the cabin. He had never heard of Boulain women. Yet +here was the proof of their existence and of the greatness that ran in +the red blood of their veins. The history of the great northland, +hidden in the dust-dry tomes and guarded documents of the great +company, had always been of absorbing interest to him. He wondered why +it was that the outside world knew so little about it and believed so +little of what it heard. A long time ago he had penned an article +telling briefly the story of this half of a great continent in which +for two hundred years romance and tragedy and strife for mastery had +gone on in a way to thrill the hearts of men. He had told of huge forts +with thirty-foot stone bastions, of fierce wars, of great warships that +had fired their broadsides in battle in the ice-filled waters of +Hudson's Bay. He had described the coming into this northern world of +thousands and tens of thousands of the bravest and best-blooded men of +England and France, and how these thousands had continued to come, +bringing with them the names of kings, of princes, and of great lords, +until out of the savagery of the north rose an aristocracy of race +built up of the strongest men of the earth. And these men of later days +he had called Lords of the North—men who had held power of life and +death in the hollow of their hands until the great company yielded up +its suzerainty to the Government of the Dominion in 1870; men who were +kings in their domains, whose word was law, who were more powerful in +their wilderness castles than their mistress over the sea, the Queen of +Britain. +</P> + +<P> +And Carrigan, after writing of these things, had stuffed his manuscript +away in the bottom of his chest at barracks, for he believed that it +was not in his power to do justice to the people of this wilderness +world that he loved. The powerful old lords were gone. Like dethroned +monarchs, stripped to the level of other men, they lived in the +memories of what had been. Their might now lay in trade. No more could +they set out to wage war upon their rivals with powder and ball. Keen +wit, swift dogs, and the politics of barter had taken the place of +deadlier things. LE FACTEUR could no longer slay or command that others +be slain. A mightier hand than his now ruled the destinies of the +northern people—the hand of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. +</P> + +<P> +It was this thought, the thought that Law and one of the powerful +forces of the wilderness had met in this cabin of the big bateau, that +came to Carrigan as he drew himself still higher against his pillow. A +greater thrill possessed him than the thrill of his hunt for Black +Roger Audemard. Black Roger was a murderer, a wholesale murderer and a +fiend, a Moloch for whom there could be no pity. Of all men the Law +wanted Black Roger most, and he, David Carrigan, was the chosen one to +consummate its desire. Yet in spite of that he felt upon him the +strange unrest of a greater adventure than the quest for Black Roger. +It was like an impending thing that could not be seen, urging him, +rousing his faculties from the slough into which they had fallen +because of his wound and sickness. It was, after all, the most vital of +all things, a matter of his own life. Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain had +tried to kill him deliberately, with malice and intent. That she had +saved him afterward only added to the necessity of an explanation, and +he was determined that he would have that explanation and settle the +present matter before he allowed another thought of Black Roger to +enter his head. +</P> + +<P> +This resolution reiterated itself in his mind as the machine-like voice +of duty. He was not thinking of the Law, and yet the consciousness of +his accountability to that Law kept repeating itself. In the very face +of it Carrigan knew that something besides the moral obligation of the +thing was urging him, something that was becoming deeply and +dangerously personal. At least—he tried to think of it as dangerous. +And that danger was his unbecoming interest in the girl herself. It was +an interest distinctly removed from any ethical code that might have +governed him in his experience with Carmin Fanchet, for instance. +Comparatively, if they had stood together, Carmin would have been the +lovelier. But he would have looked longer at Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. +</P> + +<P> +He conceded the point, smiling a bit grimly as he continued to study +that part of the cabin which he could see from his pillow. He had lost +interest—temporarily at least—in Black Roger Audemard. Not long ago +the one question to which, above all others, he had desired an answer +was, why had Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain worked so desperately to kill +him and so hard to save him afterward? Now, as he looked about him, the +question which repeated itself insistently was, what relationship did +she bear to this mysterious lord of the north, St. Pierre? +</P> + +<P> +Undoubtedly she was his daughter, for whom St. Pierre had built this +luxurious barge of state. A fierce-blooded offspring, he thought, one +like Cleopatra herself, not afraid to kill—and equally quick to make +amends when there was a mistake. +</P> + +<P> +There came the quiet opening of the cabin door to break in upon his +thought. He hoped it was Jeanne Marie-Anne returning to him. It was +Nepapinas. The old Indian stood over him for a moment and put a cold, +claw-like hand to his forehead. He grunted and nodded his head, his +little sunken eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Then he put his hands +under David's arms and lifted him until he was sitting upright, with +three or four pillows at his back. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," said Carrigan. "That makes me feel better. And—if you don't +mind—my last lunch was three days ago, boiled prunes and a piece of +bannock—" +</P> + +<P> +"I have brought you something to eat, M'sieu David," broke in a soft +voice behind him. +</P> + +<P> +Nepapinas slipped away, and Jeanne Marie-Anne stood in his place. David +stared up at her, speechless. He heard the door close behind the old +Indian. Then Jeanne Marie-Anne drew up a chair, so that for the first +time he could see her clear eyes with the light of day full upon her. +</P> + +<P> +He forgot that a few days ago she had been his deadliest enemy. He +forgot the existence of a man named Black Roger Audemard. Her slimness +was as it had pictured itself to him in the hot sands. Her hair was as +he had seen it there. It was coiled upon her head like ropes of spun +silk, jet-black, glowing softly. But it was her eyes he stared at, and +so fixed was his look that the red lips trembled a bit on the verge of +a smile. She was not embarrassed. There was no color in the clear +whiteness of her skin, except that redness of her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you had black eyes," he said bluntly. "I'm glad you haven't. +I don't like them. Yours are as brown as—as—" +</P> + +<P> +"Please, m'sieu," she interrupted him, sitting down close beside him. +"Will you eat—now?" +</P> + +<P> +A spoon was at his mouth, and he was forced to take it in or have its +contents spilled over him. The spoon continued to move quickly between +the bowl and his mouth. He was robbed of speech. And the girl's eyes, +as surely as he was alive, were beginning to laugh at him. They were a +wonderful brown, with little, golden specks in them, like the freckles +he had seen in wood-violets. Her lips parted. Between their bewitching +redness he saw the gleam of her white teeth. In a crowd, with her +glorious hair covered and her eyes looking straight ahead, one would +not have picked her out. But close, like this, with her eyes smiling at +him, she was adorable. +</P> + +<P> +Something of Carrigan's thoughts must have shown in his face, for +suddenly the girl's lips tightened a little, and the warmth went out of +her eyes, leaving them cold and distant. He finished the soup, and she +rose again to her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't go," he said. "If you do, I think I shall get up and +follow. I am quite sure I am entitled to a little something more than +soup." +</P> + +<P> +"Nepapinas says that you may have a bit of boiled fish for supper," she +assured him. +</P> + +<P> +"You know I don't mean that. I want to know why you shot me, and what +you think you are going to do with me." +</P> + +<P> +"I shot you by mistake—and—I don't know just what to do with you," +she said, looking at him tranquilly, but with what he thought was a +growing shadow of perplexity in her eyes. "Bateese says to fasten a big +stone to your neck and throw you in the river. But Bateese doesn't +always mean what he says. I don't think he is quite as bloodthirsty—" +</P> + +<P> +"—As the young lady who tried to murder me behind the rock," Carrigan +interjected. +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly, m'sieu. I don't think he would throw you into the +river—unless I told him to. And I don't believe I am going to ask him +to do that," she added, the soft glow flashing back into her eyes for +an instant. "Not after the splendid work Nepapinas has done on your +head. St. Pierre must see that. And then, if St. Pierre wishes to +finish you, why—" She shrugged her slim shoulders and made a little +gesture with her hands. +</P> + +<P> +In that same moment there came over her a change as sudden as the +passing of light itself. It was as if a thing she was hiding had broken +beyond her control for an instant and had betrayed her. The gesture +died. The glow went out of her eyes, and in its place came a light that +was almost fear—or pain. She came nearer to Carrigan again, and +somehow, looking up at her, he thought of the little brush warbler +singing at the end of its birch twig to give him courage. It must have +been because of her throat, white and soft, which he saw pulsing like a +beating heart before she spoke to him. +</P> + +<P> +"I have made a terrible mistake, m'sieu David," she said, her voice +barely rising above a whisper. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I thought it was +some one else behind the rock. But I can not tell you more than +that—ever. And I know it is impossible for us to be friends." She +paused, one of her hands creeping to her bare throat, as if to cover +the throbbing he had seen there. +</P> + +<P> +"Why is it impossible?" he demanded, leaning away from his pillows so +that he might bring himself nearer to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Because—you are of the police, m'sieu." +</P> + +<P> +"The police, yes," he said, his heart thrumming inside his breast. "I +am Sergeant Carrigan. I am out after Roger Audemard, a murderer. But my +commission has nothing to do with the daughter of St. Pierre Boulain. +Please—let's be friends—" +</P> + +<P> +He held out his hand; and in that moment David Carrigan placed another +thing higher than duty—and in his eyes was the confession of it, like +the glow of a subdued fire. The girl's fingers drew more closely at her +throat, and she made no movement to accept his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Friends," he repeated. "Friends—in spite of the police." +</P> + +<P> +Slowly the girl's eyes had widened, as if she saw that new-born thing +riding over all other things in his swiftly beating heart. And afraid +of it, she drew a step away from him. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not St. Pierre Boulain's daughter," she said, forcing the words +out one by one. "I am—his wife." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VII +</H3> + +<P> +Afterward Carrigan wondered to what depths he had fallen in the first +moments of his disillusionment. Something like shock, perhaps even more +than that, must have betrayed itself in his face. He did not speak. +Slowly his outstretched arm dropped to the white counterpane. Later he +called himself a fool for allowing it to happen, for it was as if he +had measured his proffered friendship by what its future might hold for +him. In a low, quiet voice Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain was saying again +that she was St. Pierre's wife. She was not excited, yet he understood +now why it was he had thought her eyes were very dark. They had changed +swiftly. The violet freckles in them were like little flecks of gold. +They were almost liquid in their glow, neither brown nor black now, and +with that threat of gathering lightning in them. For the first time he +saw the slightest flush of color in her cheeks. It deepened even as he +held out his hand again. He knew that it was not embarrassment. It was +the heat of the fire back of her eyes. "It's—funny," he said, making +an effort to redeem himself with a lie and smiling. "You rather amaze +me. You see, I have been told this St. Pierre is an old, old man—so +old that he can't stand on his feet or go with his brigades, and if +that is the truth, it is hard for me to picture you as his wife. But +that isn't a reason why we should not be friends. Is it?" +</P> + +<P> +He felt that he was himself again, except for the three days' growth of +beard on his face. He tried to laugh, but it was rather a poor attempt. +And St. Pierre's wife did not seem to hear him. She was looking at him, +looking into and through him with those wide-open glowing eyes. Then +she sat down, out of reach of the hand which he had held toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a sergeant of the police," she said, the softness gone +suddenly out of her voice. "You are an honorable man, m'sieu. Your hand +is against all wrong. Is it not so?" It was the voice of an inquisitor. +She was demanding an answer of him. +</P> + +<P> +He nodded. "Yes, it is so." +</P> + +<P> +The fire in her eyes deepened. "And yet you say you want to be the +friend of a stranger who has tried to kill you. WHY, m'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +He was cornered. He sensed the humiliation of it, the impossibility of +confessing to her the wild impulse that had moved him before he knew +she was St. Pierre's wife. And she did not wait for him to answer. +</P> + +<P> +"This—this Roger Audemard—if you catch him—what will you do with +him?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"He will be hanged," said David. "He is a murderer." +</P> + +<P> +"And one who tries to kill—who almost succeeds—what is the penalty +for that?" She leaned toward him, waiting. Her hands were clasped +tightly in her lap, the spots were brighter in her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"From ten to twenty years," he acknowledged. "But, of course, there may +be circumstances—" +</P> + +<P> +"If so, you do not know them," she interrupted him. "You say Roger +Audemard is a murderer. You know I tried to kill you. Then why is it +you would be my friend and Roger Audemard's enemy? Why, m'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. "I shouldn't," he +confessed. "I guess you are proving I was wrong in what I said. I ought +to arrest you and take you back to the Landing as soon as I can. But, +you see, it strikes me there is a big personal element in this. I was +the man almost killed. There was a mistake,—must have been, for as +soon as you put me out of business you began nursing me back to life +again. And—" +</P> + +<P> +"But that doesn't change it," insisted St. Pierre's wife. "If there had +been no mistake, there would have been a murder. Do you understand, +m'sieu? If it had been some one else behind that rock, I am quite +certain he would have died. The Law, at least, would have called it +murder. If Roger Audemard is a criminal, then I also am a criminal. And +an honorable man would not make a distinction because one of them is a +woman!" +</P> + +<P> +"But—Black Roger was a fiend. He deserves no mercy. He—" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps, m'sieu!" +</P> + +<P> +She was on her feet, her eyes flaming down upon him. In that moment her +beauty was like the beauty of Carmin Fanchet. The poise of her slender +body, her glowing cheeks, her lustrous hair, her gold-flecked eyes with +the light of diamonds in them, held him speechless. +</P> + +<P> +"I was sorry and went back for you," she said. "I wanted you to live, +after I saw you like that on the sand. Bateese says I was indiscreet, +that I should have left you there to die. Perhaps he is right. And +yet—even Roger Audemard might have had that pity for you." +</P> + +<P> +She turned quickly, and he heard her moving away from him. Then, from +the door, she said, +</P> + +<P> +"Bateese will make you comfortable, m'sieu." +</P> + +<P> +The door opened and closed. She was gone. And he was alone in the cabin +again. +</P> + +<P> +The swiftness of the change in her amazed him. It was as if he had +suddenly touched fire to an explosive. There had been the flare, but no +violence. She had not raised her voice, yet he heard in it the tremble +of an emotion that was consuming her. He had seen the flame of it in +her face and eyes. Something he had said, or had done, had tremendously +upset her, changing in an instant her attitude toward him. The thought +that came to him made his face burn under its scrub of beard. Did she +think he was a scoundrel? The dropping of his hand, the shock that must +have betrayed itself in his face when she said she was St. Pierre's +wife—had those things warned her against him? The heat went slowly out +of his face. It was impossible. She could not think that of him. It +must have been a sudden giving way under terrific strain. She had +compared herself to Roger Audemard, and she was beginning to realize +her peril—that Bateese was right—that she should have left him to die +in the sand! +</P> + +<P> +The thought pressed itself heavily upon Carrigan. It brought him +suddenly back to a realization of how small a part he had played in +this last half hour in the cabin. He had offered to Pierre's wife a +friendship which he had no right to offer and which she knew he had no +right to offer. He was the Law. And she, like Roger Audemard, was a +criminal. Her quick woman's instinct had told her there could be no +distinction between them, unless there was a reason. And now Carrigan +confessed to himself that there had been a reason. That reason had come +to him with the first glimpse of her as he lay in the hot sand. He had +fought against it in the canoe; it had mastered him in those thrilling +moments when he had beheld this slim, beautiful creature riding +fearlessly into the boiling waters of the Holy Ghost. Her eyes, her +hair, the sweet, low voice that had been with him in his fever, had +become a definite and unalterable part of him. And this must have shown +in his eyes and face when he dropped his hand—when she told him she +was St. Pierre's wife. +</P> + +<P> +And now she was afraid of him! She was regretting that she had not left +him to die. She had misunderstood what she had seen betraying itself +during those few seconds of his proffered friendship. She saw only a +man whom she had nearly killed, a man who represented the Law, a man +whose power held her in the hollow of his hand. And she had stepped +back from him, startled, and had told him that she was not St. Pierre's +daughter, but his wife! +</P> + +<P> +In the science of criminal analysis Carrigan always placed himself in +the position of the other man. And he was beginning to see the present +situation from the view-point of Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. He was +satisfied that she had made a desperate mistake and that until the last +moment she had believed it was another man behind the rock. Yet she had +shown no inclination to explain away her error. She had definitely +refused to make an explanation. And it was simply a matter of common +sense to concede that there must be a powerful motive for her refusal. +There was but one conclusion for him to arrive at—the error which St. +Pierre's wife had made in shooting the wrong man was less important to +her than keeping the secret of why she had wanted to kill some other +man. +</P> + +<P> +David was not unconscious of the breach in his own armor. He had +weakened, just as the Superintendent of "N" Division had weakened that +day four years ago when they had almost quarreled over Carmin Fanchet. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll swear to Heaven she isn't bad, no matter what her brother has +been," McVane had said. "I'll gamble my life on that, Carrigan!" +</P> + +<P> +And because the Chief of Division with sixty years of experience behind +him, had believed that, Carmin Fanchet had not been held as an +accomplice in her brother's evildoing, but had gone back into her +wilderness uncrucified by the law that had demanded the life of her +brother. He would never forget the last time he had seen Carmin +Fanchet's eyes—great, black, glorious pools of gratitude as they +looked at grizzled old McVane; blazing fires of venomous hatred when +they turned on him. And he had said to McVane, +</P> + +<P> +"The man pays, the woman goes—justice indeed is blind!" +</P> + +<P> +McVane, not being a stickler on regulations when it came to Carrigan, +had made no answer. +</P> + +<P> +The incident came back vividly to David as he waited for the promised +coming of Bateese. He began to appreciate McVane's point of view, and +it was comforting, because he realized that his own logic was +assailable. If McVane had been comparing the two women now, he knew +what his argument would be. There had been no absolute proof of crime +against Carmin Fanchet, unless to fight desperately for the life of her +brother was a crime. In the case of Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain there was +proof. She had tried to kill. Therefore, of the two, Carmin Fanchet +would have been the better woman in the eyes of McVane. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the legal force of the argument which he was bringing +against himself, David felt unconvinced. Carmin Fanchet, had she been +in the place of St. Pierre's wife, would have finished him there in the +sand. She would have realized the menace of letting him live and would +probably have commanded Bateese to dump him in the river. St. Pierre's +wife had gone to the other extreme. She was not only repentant, but was +making restitution, for her mistake, and in making that restitution had +crossed far beyond the dead-line of caution. She had frankly told him +who she was; she had brought him into the privacy of what was +undeniably her own home; in her desire to undo what she had done she +had hopelessly enmeshed herself in the net of the Law—if that Law saw +fit to act. She had done these things with courage and conviction. And +of such a woman, Carrigan thought, St. Pierre must be very proud. +</P> + +<P> +He looked slowly about the cabin again and each thing that he saw was a +living voice breaking up a dream for him. These voices told him that he +was in a temple built because of a man's worship for a woman—and that +man was St. Pierre. Through the two western windows came the last glow +of the western sun, like a golden benediction finding its way into a +sacred place. Here there was—or had been—a great happiness, for only +a great pride and a great happiness could have made it as it was. +Nothing that wealth and toil could drag up out of a civilization a +thousand miles away had been too good for St. Pierre's wife. And about +him, looking more closely, David saw the undisturbed evidences of a +woman's contentment. On the table were embroidery materials with which +she had been working, and a lamp-shade half finished. A woman's +magazine printed in a city four thousand miles away lay open at the +fashion plates. There were other magazines, and many books, and open +music above the white keyboard of the piano, and vases glowing red and +yellow with wild-flowers and silver birch leaves. He could smell the +faint perfume of the fireglow blossoms, red as blood. In a pool of +sunlight on one of the big white bear rugs lay the sleeping cat. And +then, at the far end of the cabin, an ivory-white Cross of Christ +glowed for a few moments in a last homage of the sinking sun. +</P> + +<P> +Uneasiness stole upon him. This was the woman's holy ground, her +sanctuary and her home, and for three days his presence had driven her +from it. There was no other room. In making restitution she had given +up to him her most sacred of all things. And again there rose up in him +that new-born thing which had set strange fires stirring in his heart, +and which from this hour on he knew he must fight until it was dead. +</P> + +<P> +For an hour after the last of the sun was obliterated by the western +mountains he lay in the gloom of coming darkness. Only the lapping of +water under the bateau broke the strange stillness of the evening. He +heard no sound of life, no voice, no tread of feet, and he wondered +where the woman and her men had gone and if the scow was still tied up +at the edge of the tar-sands. And for the first time he asked himself +another question, Where was the man, St. Pierre? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VIII +</H3> + +<P> +It was utterly dark in the cabin, when the stillness was broken by low +voices outside. The door opened, and some one came in. A moment later a +match flared up, and in the shifting glow of it Carrigan saw the dark +face of Bateese, the half-breed. One after another he lighted the four +lamps. Not until he had finished did he turn toward the bed. It was +then that David had his first good impression of the man. He was not +tall, but built with the strength of a giant. His arms were long. His +shoulders were stooped. His head was like the head of a stone gargoyle +come to life. Wide-eyed, heavy-lipped, with the high cheek-bones of an +Indian and uncut black hair bound with the knotted red MOUCHOIR, he +looked more than ever like a pirate and a cutthroat to David. Such a +man, he thought, might make play out of the business of murder. And +yet, in spite of his ugliness, David felt again the mysterious +inclination to like the man. +</P> + +<P> +Bateese grinned. It was a huge grin, for his mouth was big. "You ver' +lucky fellow," he announced. "You sleep lak that in nice sof' bed an' +not back on san'-bar, dead lak ze feesh I bring you, m'sieu. That ees +wan beeg mistake. Bateese say, 'Tie ze stone roun' hees neck an' mak' +heem wan ANGE DE MER. Chuck heem in ze river, MA BELLE Jeanne!' An' she +say no, mak heem well, an' feed heem feesh. So I bring ze feesh which +she promise, an' when you have eat, I tell you somet'ing!" +</P> + +<P> +He returned to the door and brought back with him a wicker basket. Then +he drew up the table beside Carrigan and proceeded to lay out before +him the boiled fish which St. Pierre's wife had promised him. With it +was bread and an earthen pot of hot tea. +</P> + +<P> +"She say that ees all you have because of ze fever. Bateese say, 'Stuff +heem wit' much so that he die queek!'" +</P> + +<P> +"You want to see me dead. Is that it, Bateese?" +</P> + +<P> +"OUI. You mak' wan ver' good dead man, m'sieu!" Bateese was no longer +grinning. He stood back and pointed at the food. "You eat—queek. An' +when you have finish' I tell you somet'ing!" +</P> + +<P> +Now that he saw the luscious bit of whitefish before him, Carrigan was +possessed of the hungering emptiness of three days and nights. As he +ate, he observed that Bateese was performing curious duties. He +straightened a couple of rugs, ran fresh water into the flower vases, +picked up half a dozen scattered magazines, and then, to David's +increasing interest, produced a dust-cloth from somewhere and began to +dust. David finished his fish, the one slice of bread, and his cup of +tea. He felt tremendously good. The hot tea was like a trickle of new +life through every vein in his body, and he had the desire to get up +and try out his legs. Suddenly Bateese discovered that his patient was +laughing at him. +</P> + +<P> +"QUE DIABLE!" he demanded, coming up ferociously with the cloth in his +great hand. "You see somet'ing ver' fonny, m'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, nothing funny, Bateese," grinned Carrigan. "I was just thinking +what a handsome chambermaid you make. You are so gentle, so nice to +look at, so—" +</P> + +<P> +"DIABLE!" exploded Bateese, dropping his dust cloth and bringing his +huge hands down upon the table with a smash that almost wrecked the +dishes. "You have eat, an' now you lissen. You have never hear' before +of Concombre Bateese. An' zat ees me. See! Wit' these two hands I have +choke' ze polar bear to deat'. I am strongest man w'at ees in all nort' +countree. I pack four hundre' pound ovair portage. I crack ze caribou +bones wit' my teeth, lak a dog. I run sixt' or hundre' miles wit'out +stop for rest. I pull down trees w'at oder man cut wit' axe. I am not +'fraid of not'ing. You lissen? You hear w'at I say?" +</P> + +<P> +"I hear you." +</P> + +<P> +"BIEN! Then I tell you w'at Concombre Bateese ees goin' do wit' you, +M'sieu Sergent de Police! MA BELLE Jeanne she mak' wan gran' meestake. +She too much leetle bird heart, too much pity for want you to die. +Bateese say, 'Keel him, so no wan know w'at happen t'ree day ago behin' +ze rock.' But MA BELLE Jeanne, she say, 'No, Bateese, he ees meestake +for oder man, an' we mus' let heem live.' An' then she tell me to come +an' bring you feesh, an' tell you w'at is goin' happen if you try go +away from thees bateau. You COMPREN'? If you try run away, Bateese ees +goin' keel you! See—wit' thees han's I br'ak your neck an' t'row you +in river. MA BELLE Jeanne say do zat, an' she tell oder mans-twent', +thirt', almos' hundre' GARCONS—to keel you if you try run away. She +tell me bring zat word to you wit' ze feesh. You listen hard w'at I +say?" +</P> + +<P> +If ever a worker of iniquity lived on earth, Carrigan might have judged +Bateese as that man in these moments. The half-breed had worked himself +up to a ferocious pitch. His eyes rolled. His wide mouth snarled in the +virulence of its speech. His thick neck grew corded, and his huge hands +clenched menacingly upon the table. Yet David had no fear. He wanted to +laugh, but he knew laughter would be the deadliest of insults to +Bateese just now. He remembered that the half-breed, fierce as a +pirate, had a touch as gentle as a woman's. This man, who could choke +an ox with his monstrous hands, had a moment before petted a cat, +straightened out rugs, watered the woman's flowers, and had dusted. He +was harmless—now. And yet in the same breath David sensed the fact +that a single word from St. Pierre's wife would be sufficient to fire +his brute strength into a blazing volcano of action. Such a henchman +was priceless—under certain conditions! And he had brought a warning +straight from the woman. +</P> + +<P> +"I think I understand what you mean, Bateese," he said. "She says that +I am to make no effort to leave this bateau—that I am to be killed if +I try to escape? Are you sure she said that?" +</P> + +<P> +"PAR LES MILLE CORNES DU DIABLE, you t'ink Bateese lie, m'sieu? +Concombre Bateese, who choke ze w'ite bear wit' hees two ban', who pull +down ze tree—" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, I don't think you lie. But I am wondering why she didn't tell +me that when she was here." +</P> + +<P> +"Becaus' she have too much leetle bird heart, zat ees w'y. She say: +'Bateese, you tell heem he mus' wait for St. Pierre. An' you tell heem +good an' hard, lak you choke ze w'ite bear an' lak you pull down ze +tree, so he mak' no meestake an' try get away.' An' she tell zat before +all ze BATELIERS—all ze St. Pierre mans gathered 'bout a beeg +fire—an' they shout up lak wan gargon that they watch an' keel you if +you try get away." +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan reached out a hand. "Let's shake, Bateese. I'll give you my +word that I won't try to escape—not until you and I have a good +stand-up fight with the earth under our feet, and I've whipped you. Is +it a go?" +</P> + +<P> +Bateese stared for a moment, and then his face broke into a wide grin. +"You lak ze fight, m'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I love a scrap with a good man like you." +</P> + +<P> +One of Bateese's huge hands crawled slowly over the table and engulfed +David's. Joy shone on his face. +</P> + +<P> +"An' you promise give me zat fight, w'en you are strong?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I don't, I'll let you tie a stone around my neck and drop me into +the river." +</P> + +<P> +"You are brave GARCON," cried the delighted Bateese. "Up an' down ze +rivers ees no man w'at can whip Concombre Bateese!" Suddenly his face +grew clouded. "But ze head, m'sieu?" he added anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"It will get well quickly if you will help me, Bateese. Right now I +want to get up. I want to stretch my legs. Was my head bad?" +</P> + +<P> +"NON. Ze bullet scrape ze ha'r off—so—so—an' turn ze brain seek. I +t'ink you be good fighting man in week!" +</P> + +<P> +"And you will help me up?" +</P> + +<P> +Bateese was a changed man. Again David felt that mighty but gentle +strength of his arms as he helped him to his feet. He was a trifle +unsteady for a moment. Then, with the half-breed close at his side, +ready to catch him if his legs gave way, he walked to one of the +windows and looked out. Across the river, fully half a mile away, he +saw the glow of fires. +</P> + +<P> +"Her camp?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"OUI, m'sieu." +</P> + +<P> +"We have moved from the tar-sands?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, two days down ze river." +</P> + +<P> +"Why are they not camping over here with us?" +</P> + +<P> +Bateese gave a disgusted grunt. "Becaus' MA BELLE Jeanne have such +leetle bird heart, m'sieu. She say you mus' not have noise near, lak ze +talk an' laugh an' ZE CHANSONS. She say it disturb, an' zat it mak you +worse wit' ze fever. She ees mak you lak de baby, Bateese say to her. +But she on'y laugh at zat an' snap her leetle w'ite finger. Wait St. +Pierre come! He brak yo'r head wit' hees two fists. I hope we have ze +fight before then, m'sieu!" +</P> + +<P> +"We'll have it anyway, Bateese. Where is St. Pierre, and when shall we +see him?" +</P> + +<P> +Bateese shrugged his shoulders. "Mebby week, mebby more. He long way +off." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he an old man?" +</P> + +<P> +Slowly Bateese turned David about until he was facing him. "You ask +not'ing more about St. Pierre," he warned. "No mans talk 'bout St. +Pierre. Only wan—MA BELLE Jeanne. You ask her, an' she tell you shut +up. W'en you don't shut up she call Bateese to brak your head." +</P> + +<P> +"You're a—a sort of all-round head-breaker, as I understand it," +grunted David, walking slowly back to his bed. "Will you bring me my +pack and clothes in the morning? I want to shave and dress." +</P> + +<P> +Bateese was ahead of him, smoothing the pillows and straightening out +the rumpled bed-clothes. His huge hands were quick and capable as a +woman's, and David could not keep himself from chuckling at this +feminine ingeniousness of the powerful half-breed. Once in the crush of +those gorilla-like arms that were working over his bed now, he thought, +and it would be all over with the strongest man in "N" Division. +Bateese heard the chuckle and looked up. +</P> + +<P> +"Somet'ing ver' funny once more, is eet—w'at?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking, Bateese—what will happen to me if you get me in those +arms when we fight? But it isn't going to happen. I fight with my +fists, and I'm going to batter you up so badly that nobody will +recognize you for a long time." +</P> + +<P> +"You wait!" exploded Bateese, making a horrible grimace. "I choke you +lak w'ite bear, I t'row you ovair my should'r, I mash you lak leetle +strawberr', I—" He paused in his task to advance with a formidable +gesture. +</P> + +<P> +"Not now," warned Carrigan. "I'm still a bit groggy, Bateese." He +pointed down at the bed. "I'm driving HER from that," he said. "I don't +like it. Is she sleepin' over there—in the camp?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby—an' mebby not, m'sieu," growled Bateese. "You mak' guess, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +He began extinguishing the lights, until only the one nearest the door +was left burning. He did not turn toward Carrigan or speak to him +again. When he Went out, David heard the click of a lock in the door. +Bateese had not exaggerated. It was the intention of St. Pierre's wife +that he should consider himself a prisoner—at least for tonight. +</P> + +<P> +He had no desire to lie down again. There was an unsteadiness in his +legs, but outside of that the evil of his sickness no longer oppressed +him. The staff doctor at the Landing would probably have called him a +fool for not convalescing in the usual prescribed way, but Carrigan was +already beginning to feel the demand for action. In spite of what +physical effort he had made, his head did not hurt him, and his mind +was keenly alive. He returned to the window through which he could see +the fires on the western shore, and found no difficulty in opening it. +A strong screen netting kept him from thrusting out his head and +shoulders. Through it came the cool night breeze of the river. It +seemed good to fill his lungs with it again and smell the fresh aroma +of the forest. It was very dark, and the fires across the river were +brighter because of the deep gloom. There was no promise of the moon in +the sky. He could not see a star. From far in the west he caught the +low intonation of thunder. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan turned from the window to the end of the cabin in which the +piano stood. Here, too, was the second divan, and he saw the meaning +now of two close-tied curtains, one at each side of the cabin. Drawn +together on a taut wire stretched two inches under the ceiling, they +shut off this end of the bateau and turned at least a third of the +cabin into the privacy of the woman's bedroom. With growing uneasiness +David saw the evidences that this had been her sleeping apartment. At +each side of the piano was a small door, and he opened one of these +just enough to discover that it was a wardrobe closet. A third door +opened on the shore side of the bateau, but this was locked. Shut out +from the view of the lower end of the cabin by a Japanese screen were a +small dresser and a mirror. In the dim illumination that came from the +distant lamp David bent over the open sheet of music on the piano. It +was Mascagni's AVE MARIA. +</P> + +<P> +His blood tingled. His brain was stirred by a new emotion, a growing +thing that made him uneasy and filled him with a strange restlessness. +He felt as though he had come suddenly to the edge of a great danger; +somewhere within him an intelligence seized upon it and understood. Yet +it was not physical enough for him to fight. It was a danger which +crept up and about him, something which he could not see or touch and +yet which made his heart beat faster and the blood come into his face. +It drew him, triumphed over him, dragged his hand forth until his +fingers closed upon a lacy, crumpled bit of a handkerchief that lay on +the edge of the piano keys. It was the woman's handkerchief, and like a +thief he raised it slowly. It smelled faintly of crushed violets; it +was as if she were bending over him in his sickness again, and it was +her breath that came to him. He was not thinking of her as St. Pierre's +wife. And then sharply he caught himself and placed the handkerchief +back on the piano keys. He tried to laugh at himself, but there was an +emptiness where a moment before there had been that thrill of which he +was now ashamed. +</P> + +<P> +He turned back to the window. The thunder had come nearer. It was +coming up fast out of the west, and with it a darkness that was like +the blackness of a pit. A dead stillness was preceding it now, and in +that stillness it seemed to Carrigan that he could hear the soapy, +slitting sound of the streaming flashes of electrical fire that +blazoned the advance of the storm. The camp-fires across the river were +dying down. One of them went out as he looked at it, and he stared into +the darkness as if trying to pierce distance and gloom to see what sort +of a shelter it was that St. Pierre's wife had over there. And there +came over him in these moments a desire that was almost cowardly. It +was the desire to escape, to leave behind him the memory of the rock +and of St. Pierre's wife, and to pursue once more his own great +adventure, the quest of Black Roger Audemard. +</P> + +<P> +He heard the rain coming. At first the sound of it was like the +pattering of ten million tiny feet in dry leaves; then, suddenly, it +was like the roar of an avalanche. It was an inundation, and with it +came crash after crash of thunder, and the black skies were illumined +by an almost uninterrupted glare of lightning. It had been a long time +since Carrigan had felt the shock of such a storm. He closed the window +to keep the rain out, and after that stood with his face flattened +against the glass, staring over the river. The camp-fires were all gone +now, blotted out like so many candles snuffed between thumb and +forefinger, and he shuddered. No canvas ever made would keep that +deluge out. And now there was growing up a wind with it. The tents on +the other side would be beaten down like pegged sheets of paper, ripped +up and torn to pieces. He imagined St. Pierre's wife in that tumult and +distress—the breath blown out of her, half drowned, blinded by deluge +and lightning, broken and beaten because of him. Thought of her +companions did not ease his mind. Human hands were entirely inadequate +to cope with a storm like this that was rocking the earth about him. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he went to the door, determined that if Bateese was outside he +would get some satisfaction out of him or challenge him to a fight +right there. He beat against it, first with one fist and then with +both. He shouted. There was no response. Then he exerted his strength +and his weight against the door. It was solid. +</P> + +<P> +He was half turned when his eyes discovered, in a corner where the +lamplight struck dimly, his pack and clothes. In thirty seconds he had +his pipe and tobacco. After that for half an hour he paced up and down +the cabin, while the storm crashed and thundered as if bent upon +destroying all life off the face of the earth. +</P> + +<P> +Comforted by the company of his pipe, Carrigan did not beat at the door +again. He waited, and at the end of another half-hour the storm had +softened down into a steady patter of rain. The thunder had traveled +east, and the lightning had gone with it. David opened the window +again. The air that came in was rain-sweet, soft, and warm. He puffed +out a cloud of smoke and smiled. His pipe always brought his good humor +to the surface, even in the worst places. St. Pierre's wife had +certainly had a good soaking. And in a way the whole thing was a bit +funny. He was thinking now of a poor little golden-plumaged partridge, +soaked to the skin, with its tail-feathers dragging pathetically. +Grinning, he told himself that it was an insult to think of her and a +half-drowned partridge in the same breath. But the simile still +remained, and he chuckled. Probably she was wringing out her clothes +now, and the men were cursing under their breath while trying to light +a fire. He watched for the fire. It failed to appear. Probably she was +hating him for bringing all this discomfort and humiliation upon her. +It was not impossible that tomorrow she would give Bateese permission +to brain him. And St. Pierre? What would this man, her husband, think +and do if he knew that his wife had given up her bedroom to this +stranger? What complications might arise IF HE KNEW! +</P> + +<P> +It was late—past midnight—when Carrigan went to bed. Even then he did +not sleep for a long time. The patter of the rain grew less and less on +the roof of the bateau, and as the sound of it droned itself off into +nothingness, slumber came. David was conscious of the moment when the +rain ceased entirely. Then he slept. At least he must have been very +close to sleep, or had been asleep and was returning for a moment close +to consciousness, when he heard a voice. It came several times before +he was roused enough to realize that it was a voice. And then, +suddenly, piercing his slowly wakening brain almost with the shock of +one of the thunder crashes, it came to him so distinctly that he found +himself sitting up straight, his hands clenched, eyes staring in the +darkness, waiting for it to come again. +</P> + +<P> +Somewhere very near him, in his room, within the reach of his hands, a +strange and indescribable voice had cried out in the darkness the words +which twice before had beat themselves mysteriously into David +Carrigan's brain—"HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD? HAS ANY ONE +SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD?" +</P> + +<P> +And David, holding his breath, listened for the sound of another breath +which he knew was in that room. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IX +</H3> + +<P> +For perhaps a minute Carrigan made no sound that could have been heard +three feet away from him. It was not fear that held him quiet. It was +something which he could not explain afterward, the sensation, perhaps, +of one who feels himself confronted for a moment by a presence more +potent than that of flesh and blood. BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD! Three times, +twice in his sickness, some one had cried out that name in his ears +since the hour when St. Pierre's wife had ambushed him on the white +carpet of sand. And the voice was now in his room! +</P> + +<P> +Was it Bateese, inspired by some sort of malformed humor? Carrigan +listened. Another minute passed. He reached out a hand and groped about +him, very careful not to make a sound, urged by the feeling that some +one was almost within reach of him. He flung back his blanket and stood +out in the middle of the floor. +</P> + +<P> +Still he heard no movement, no soft footfalls of retreat or advance. He +lighted a match and held it high above his head. In its yellow +illumination he could see nothing alive. He lighted a lamp. The cabin +was empty. He drew a deep breath and went to the window. It was still +open. The voice had undoubtedly come to him through that window, and he +fancied he could see where the screen netting was crushed a bit inward, +as though a face had pressed heavily against it. Outside the night was +beautifully calm. The sky, washed by storm, was bright with stars. But +there was not a ripple of movement that he could hear. +</P> + +<P> +After that he looked at his watch. He must have been sleeping for some +time when the voice roused him, for it was nearly three o'clock. In +spite of the stars, dawn was close at hand. When he looked out of the +window again they were paler and more distant. He had no intention of +going back to bed. He was restless and felt himself surrendering more +and more to the grip of presentiment. +</P> + +<P> +It was still early, not later than six o'clock, when Bateese came in +with his breakfast. He was surprised, as he had heard no movement or +sound of voices to give evidence of life anywhere near the bateau. +Instantly he made up his mind that it was not Bateese who had uttered +the mysterious words of a few hours ago, for the half-breed had +evidently experienced a most uncomfortable night. He was like a rat +recently pulled out of water. His clothes hung upon him sodden and +heavy, his head kerchief dripped, and his lank hair was wet. He slammed +the breakfast things down on the table and went out again without so +much as nodding at his prisoner. +</P> + +<P> +Again a sense of discomfort and shame swept over David, as he sat down +to breakfast. Here he was comfortably, even luxuriously, housed, while +out there somewhere St. Pierre's lovely wife was drenched and even more +miserable than Bateese. And the breakfast amazed him. It was not so +much the caribou tenderloin, rich in its own red juice, or the potato, +or the pot of coffee that was filling the cabin with its aroma, that +roused his wonder, but the hot, brown muffins that accompanied the +other things. Muffins! And after a deluge that had drowned every square +inch of the earth! How had Bateese turned the trick? +</P> + +<P> +Bateese did not return immediately for the dishes, and for half an hour +after he had finished breakfast Carrigan smoked his pipe and watched +the blue haze of fires on the far side of the river. The world was a +blaze of sunlit glory. His imagination carried him across the river. +Somewhere over there, in an open spot where the sun was blazing, Jeanne +Marie-Anne was probably drying herself after the night of storm. There +was but little doubt in his mind that she was already heaping the +ignominy of blame upon him. That was the woman of it. +</P> + +<P> +A knock at his door drew him about. It was a light, quick TAP, TAP, +TAP—not like the fist of either Bateese or Nepapinas. In another +moment the door swung open, and in the flood of sunlight that poured +into the cabin stood St. Pierre's wife! +</P> + +<P> +It was not her presence, but the beauty of her, that held him +spellbound. It was a sort of shock after the vivid imaginings of his +mind in which he had seen her beaten and tortured by storm. Her hair, +glowing in the sun and piled up in shining coils on the crown of her +head, was not wet. She was not the rain-beaten little partridge that +had passed in tragic bedragglement through his mind. Storm had not +touched her. Her cheeks were soft with the warm flush of long hours of +sleep. When she came in, her lips greeting him with a little smile, all +that he had built up for himself in the hours of the night crumbled +away in dust. Again he forgot for a moment that she was St. Pierre's +wife. She was woman, and as he looked upon her now, the most adorable +woman in all the world. +</P> + +<P> +"You are better this morning," she said. Real pleasure shone in her +eyes. She had left the door open, so that the sun filled the room. "I +think the storm helped you. Wasn't it splendid?" +</P> + +<P> +David swallowed hard. "Quite splendid," he managed to say. "Have you +seen Bateese this morning?" +</P> + +<P> +A little note of laughter came into her throat. "Yes. I don't think he +liked it. He doesn't understand why I love storms. Did you sleep well, +M'sieu Carrigan?" +</P> + +<P> +"An hour or two, I think. I was worrying about you. I didn't like the +thought that I had turned you out into the storm. But it doesn't seem +to have touched you." +</P> + +<P> +"No. I was there—quite comfortable." She nodded to the forward +bulkhead of the cabin, beyond the wardrobe closets and the piano. +"There is a little dining-room and kitchenette ahead," she explained. +"Didn't Bateese tell you that?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, he didn't. I asked him where you were, and I think he told me to +shut up." +</P> + +<P> +"Bateese is very odd," said St. Pierre's wife. "He is exceedingly +jealous of me, M'sieu David. Even when I was a baby and he carried me +about in his arms, he was just that way. Bateese, you know, is older +than he appears. He is fifty-one." +</P> + +<P> +She was moving about, quite as if his presence was in no way going to +disturb her usual duties of the day. She rearranged the damask curtains +which he had crumpled with his hands, placed two or three chairs in +their usual places, and moved from this to that with the air of a +housewife who is in the habit of brushing up a bit in the morning. +</P> + +<P> +She seemed not at all embarrassed because he was her prisoner, nor +uncomfortably restrained because of the message she had sent to him by +Bateese. She was warmly and gloriously human. In her apparent unconcern +at his presence he found himself sweating inwardly. A bit nervously he +struck a match to light his pipe, then extinguished it. +</P> + +<P> +She noticed what he had done. "You may smoke," she said, with that +little note in her throat which he loved to hear, like the faintest +melody of laughter that did not quite reach her lips. "St. Pierre +smokes a great deal, and I like it." +</P> + +<P> +She opened a drawer in the dressing-table and came to him with a box +half filled with cigars. +</P> + +<P> +"St. Pierre prefers these—on occasions," she said, "Do you?" +</P> + +<P> +His fingers seemed all thumbs as he took a cigar from the proffered +box. He cursed himself because his tongue felt thick. Perhaps it was +his silence, betraying something of his mental clumsiness, that brought +a faint flush of color into her cheeks. He noted that; and also that +the top of her shining head came just about to his chin, and that her +mouth and throat, looking down on them, were bewitchingly soft and +sweet. +</P> + +<P> +And what she said, when her eyes opened wide and beautiful on him +again, was like a knife cutting suddenly into the heart of his thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"In the evening I love to sit at St. Pierre's feet and watch him +smoke," she said. "I am glad it doesn't annoy you, because—I like to +smoke," he replied lamely. +</P> + +<P> +She placed the box on the little reading table and looked at his +breakfast things. "You like muffins, too. I was up early this morning, +making them for you!" +</P> + +<P> +"You made them?" he demanded, as if her words were a most amazing +revelation to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely, M'sieu David. I make them every morning for St. Pierre. He is +very fond of them. He says the third nicest thing about me is my +muffins!" +</P> + +<P> +"And the other two?" asked David. +</P> + +<P> +"Are St. Pierre's little secrets, m'sieu," she laughed softly, the +color deepening in her cheeks. "It wouldn't be fair to tell you, would +it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps it wouldn't," he said slowly. "But there are one or two other +things, Mrs.—Mrs. Boulain—" +</P> + +<P> +"You may call me Jeanne, or Marie-Anne, if you care to," she +interrupted him. "It will be quite all right." +</P> + +<P> +She was picking up the breakfast dishes, not at all perturbed by the +fact that she was offering him a privilege which had the effect of +quickening his pulse for a moment or two. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," he said. "I don't mind telling you it is going to be +difficult for me to do that—because—well, this is a most unusual +situation, isn't it? In spite of all your kindness, including what was +probably your good-intentioned endeavor to put an end to my earthly +miseries behind the rock, I believe it is necessary for you to give me +some kind of explanation. Don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't Bateese explain to you last night?" she asked, facing him. +</P> + +<P> +"He brought a message from you to the effect that I was a prisoner, +that I must make no attempt to escape, and that if I did try to escape, +you had given your men instructions to kill me." +</P> + +<P> +She nodded, quite seriously. "That is right, M'sieu David." +</P> + +<P> +His face flamed. "Then I am a prisoner? You threaten me with death?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall treat you very nicely if you make no attempt to escape, M'sieu +David. Isn't that fair?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fair!" he cried, choking back an explosion that would have vented +itself on a man. "Don't you realize what has happened? Don't you know +that according to every law of God and man I should arrest you and give +you over to the Law? Is it possible that you don't comprehend my own +duty? What I must do?" +</P> + +<P> +If he had noticed, he would have seen that there was no longer the +flush of color in her cheeks. But her eyes, looking straight at him, +were tranquil and unexcited. She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"That is why you must remain a prisoner, M'sieu David, It is because I +do realize, I shall not tell you why that happened behind the rock, and +if you ask me, I shall refuse to talk to you. If I let you go now, you +would probably have me arrested and put in jail. So I must keep you +until St. Pierre comes. I don't know what to do—except to keep you, +and not let you escape until then. What would you do?" +</P> + +<P> +The question was so honest, so like a question that might have been +asked by a puzzled child, that his argument for the Law was struck +dead. He stared into the pale face, the beautiful, waiting eyes, saw +the pathetic intertwining of her slim fingers, and suddenly he was +grinning in that big, honest way which made people love Dave Carrigan. +</P> + +<P> +"You're—doing—absolutely—right," he said. +</P> + +<P> +A swift change came in her face. Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes filled +with a sudden glow that made the little violet-freckles in them dance +like tiny flecks of gold. +</P> + +<P> +"From your point of view you are right," he repeated, "and I shall make +no attempt to escape until I have talked with St. Pierre. But I can't +quite see—just now—how he is going to help the situation." +</P> + +<P> +"He will," she assured him confidently. +</P> + +<P> +"You seem to have an unlimited faith in St. Pierre," he replied a +little grimly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, M'sieu David. He is the most wonderful man in the world. And he +will know what to do." +</P> + +<P> +David shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps, in some nice, quiet place, he +will follow the advice Bateese gave you—tie a stone round my neck and +sink me to the bottom of the river." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps. But I don't think he will do that I should object to it." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you would!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. St. Pierre is big and strong, afraid of nothing in the world, but +he will do anything for me. I don't think he would kill you if I asked +him not to." She turned to resume her task of cleaning up the breakfast +things. +</P> + +<P> +With a sudden movement David swung one of the' big chairs close to her. +"Please sit down," he commanded. "I can talk to you better that way. As +an officer of the law it is my duty to ask you a few questions. It +rests in your power to answer all of them or none of them. I have given +you my word not to act until I have seen St. Pierre, and I shall keep +that promise. But when we do meet I shall act largely on the strength +of what you tell me during the next tea minutes. Please sit down!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +X +</H3> + +<P> +In that big, deep chair which must have been St. Pierre's own, +Marie-Anne sat facing Carrigan. Between its great arms her slim little +figure seemed diminutive and out of place. Her brown eyes were level +and clear, waiting. They were not warm or nervous, but so coolly and +calmly beautiful that they disturbed Carrigan. She raised her hands, +her slim fingers crumpling for a moment in the soft, thick coils of her +hair. That little movement, the unconscious feminism of it, the way she +folded her hands in her lap afterward, disturbed Carrigan even more. +What a glory on earth it must be to possess a woman like that! The +thought made him uneasy. And she sat waiting, a vivid, softly-breathing +question-mark against the warm coloring of the upholstered chair. +</P> + +<P> +"When you shot me," he began, "I saw you, first, standing over me. I +thought you had come to finish me. It was then that I saw something in +your face—horror, amazement, as though you had done something you did +not know you were doing. You see, I want to be charitable. I want to +understand. I want to excuse you if I can. Won't you tell me why you +shot me, and why that change came over you when you saw me lying there?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, M'sieu David, I shall not tell." She was not antagonistic or +defiant. Her voice was not raised, nor did it betray an unusual +emotion. It was simply decisive, and the unflinching steadiness of her +eyes and the way in which she sat with her hands folded gave to it an +unqualified definiteness. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that I must make my own guess?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Or get it out of St. Pierre?" +</P> + +<P> +"If St. Pierre wishes to tell you, yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Well—" He leaned a little toward her. "After that you dragged me up +into the shade, dressed my wound and made me comfortable. In a hazy +sort of way I knew what was going on. And a curious thing happened. At +times—" he leaned still a little nearer to her—"at times—there +seemed to be two of you!" +</P> + +<P> +He was not looking at her hands, or he would have seen her fingers +slowly tighten in her lap. +</P> + +<P> +"You were badly hurt," she said. "It is not strange that you should +have imagined things, M'sieu David." +</P> + +<P> +"And I seemed to hear two voices," he went on. +</P> + +<P> +She made no answer, but continued to look at him steadily. +</P> + +<P> +"And the other had hair that was like copper and gold fire in the sun. +I would see your face and then hers, again and again—and—since +then—I have thought I was a heavy load for your hands to drag up +through that sand to the shade alone." +</P> + +<P> +She held up her two hands, looking at them. "They are strong," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"They are small," he insisted, "and I doubt if they could drag me +across this floor." +</P> + +<P> +For the first time the quiet of her eyes gave way to a warm fire. "It +was hard work," she said, and the note in her voice gave him warning +that he was approaching the dead-line again. "Bateese says I was a fool +for doing it. And if you saw two of me, or three or four, it doesn't +matter. Are you through questioning me, M'sieu David? If so, I have a +number of things to do." +</P> + +<P> +He made a gesture of despair. "No, I am not through. But why ask you +questions if you won't answer them?" +</P> + +<P> +"I simply can not. You must wait." +</P> + +<P> +"For your husband?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, for St. Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +He was silent for a moment, then said, "I raved about a number of +things when I was sick, didn't I?" +</P> + +<P> +"You did, and especially about what you thought happened in the sand. +You called this—this other person—the Fire Goddess. You were so near +dying that of course it wasn't amusing. Otherwise it would have been. +You see MY hair is black, almost!" Again, in a quick movement, her +fingers were crumpling the lustrous coils on the crown of her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you say 'almost'?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Because St. Pierre has often told me that when I am in the sun there +are red fires in it. And the sun was very bright that afternoon in the +sand, M'sieu David." +</P> + +<P> +"I think I understand," he nodded. "And I'm rather glad, too. I like to +know that it was you who dragged me up into the shade after trying to +kill me. It proves you aren't quite so savage as—" +</P> + +<P> +"Carmin Fanchet," she interrupted him softly. "You talked about her in +your sickness, M'sieu David. It made me terribly afraid of you—so much +so that at times I almost wondered if Bateese wasn't right. It made me +understand what would happen to me if I should let you go. What +terrible thing did she do to you? What could she have done more +terrible than I have done?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is that why you have given your men orders to kill me if I try to +escape?" he asked. "Because I talked about this woman, Carmin Fanchet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is because of Carmin Fanchet that I am keeping you for St. +Pierre," she acknowledged. "If you had no mercy for her, you could have +none for me. What terrible thing did she do to you, M'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing—to me," he said, feeling that she was putting him where the +earth was unsteady under his feet again. "But her brother was a +criminal of the worst sort. And I was convinced then, and am convinced +now, that his sister was a partner in his crimes. She was very +beautiful. And that, I think, was what saved her." +</P> + +<P> +He was fingering his unlighted cigar as he spoke. When he looked up, he +was surprised at the swift change that had come into the face of St. +Pierre's wife. Her cheeks were flaming, and there were burning fires +screened behind the long lashes of her eyes. But her voice was +unchanged. It was without a quiver that betrayed the emotion which had +sent the hot flush into her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Then—you judged her without absolute knowledge of fact? You judged +her—as you hinted in your fever—because she fought so desperately to +save a brother who had gone wrong?" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe she was bad." +</P> + +<P> +The long lashes fell lower, like fringes of velvet closing over the +fires in her eyes. "But you didn't know!" +</P> + +<P> +"Not absolutely," he conceded. "But investigations—" +</P> + +<P> +"Might have shown her to be one of the most wonderful women that ever +lived, M'sieu David. It is not hard to fight for a good brother—but if +he is bad, it may take an angel to do it!" +</P> + +<P> +He stared, thoughts tangling themselves in his head. A slow shame crept +over him. She had cornered him. She had convicted him of unfairness to +the one creature on earth his strength and his manhood were bound to +protect—a woman. She had convicted him of judging without fact. And in +his head a voice seemed to cry out to him, "What did Carmin Fanchet +ever do to you?" +</P> + +<P> +He rose suddenly to his feet and stood at the back of his chair, his +hands gripping the top of it. "Maybe you are right," he said. "Maybe I +was wrong. I remember now that when I got Fanchet I manacled him, and +she sat beside him all through that first night. I didn't intend to +sleep, but I was tired—and did. I must have slept for an hour, and SHE +roused me—trying to get the key to the handcuffs. She had the +opportunity then—to kill me." +</P> + +<P> +Triumph swept over the face that was looking up at him. "Yes, she could +have killed you—while you slept. But she didn't. WHY?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. Perhaps she had the idea of getting the key and letting +her brother do the job. Two or three days later I am convinced she +would not have hesitated. I caught her twice trying to steal my gun. +And a third time, late at night, when we were within a day or two of +Athabasca Landing, she almost got me with a club. So I concede that she +never did anything very terrible to me. But I am sure that she tried, +especially toward the last." +</P> + +<P> +"And because she failed, she hated you; and because she hated you, +something was warped inside you, and you made up your mind she should +be punished along with her brother. You didn't look at it from a +woman's viewpoint. A woman will fight, and kill, to save one she loves. +She tried, perhaps, and failed. The result was that her brother was +killed by the Law. Was not that enough? Was it fair or honest to +destroy her simply because you thought she might be a partner in her +brother's crimes?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is rather strange," he replied, a moment of indecision in his +voice. "McVane, the superintendent, asked me that same question. I +thought he was touched by her beauty. And I'm sorry—very sorry—that I +talked about her when I was sick. I don't want you to think I am a bad +sort—that way. I'm going to think about it. I'm going over the whole +thing again, from the time I manacled Fanchet, and if I find that I was +wrong—and I ever meet Carmin Fanchet again—I shall not be ashamed to +get down on my knees and ask her pardon, Marie-Anne!" +</P> + +<P> +For the first time he spoke the name which she had given him permission +to use. And she noticed it. He could not help seeing that—a flashing +instant in which the indefinable confession of it was in her face, as +though his use of it had surprised her, or pleased her, or both. Then +it was gone. +</P> + +<P> +She did not answer, but rose from the big chair, and went to the +window, and stood with her back toward him, looking out over the river. +And then, suddenly, they heard a voice. It was the voice he had heard +twice in his sickness, the voice that had roused him from his sleep +last night, crying out in his room for Black Roger Audemard. It came to +him distinctly through the open door in a low and moaning monotone. He +had not taken his eyes from the slim figure of St. Pierre's wife, and +he saw a little tremor pass through her now. +</P> + +<P> +"I heard that voice—again—last night," said David. "It was in this +cabin, asking for Black Roger Audemard." +</P> + +<P> +She did not seem to hear him, and he also turned so that he was looking +at the open door of the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +The sun, pouring through in a golden flood, was all at once darkened, +and in the doorway—framed vividly against the day—was the figure of a +man. A tense breath came to Carrigan's lips. At first he felt a shock, +then an overwhelming sense of curiosity and of pity. The man was +terribly deformed. His back and massive shoulders were so twisted and +bent that he stood no higher than a twelve-year-old boy; yet standing +straight, he would have been six feet tall if an inch, and splendidly +proportioned. And in that same breath with which shock and pity came to +him, David knew that it was accident and not birth that had malformed +the great body that stood like a crouching animal in the open door. At +first he saw only the grotesqueness of it—the long arms that almost +touched the floor, the broken back, the twisted shoulders—and then, +with a deeper thrill, he saw nothing of these things but only the face +and the head of the man. There was something god-like about them, +fastened there between the crippled shoulders. It was not beauty, but +strength—the strength of rock, of carven granite, as if each feature +had been chiseled out of something imperishable and everlasting, yet +lacking strangely and mysteriously the warm illumination that comes +from a living soul. The man was not old, nor was he young. And he did +not seem to see Carrigan, who stood nearest to him. He was looking at +St. Pierre's wife. +</P> + +<P> +The look which David saw in her face was infinitely tender. She was +smiling at the misshapen hulk in the door as she might have smiled at a +little child. And David, looking back at the wide, deep-set eyes of the +man, saw the slumbering fire of a dog-like worship in them. They +shifted slowly, taking in the cabin, questing, seeking, searching for +something which they could not find. The lips moved, and again he heard +that weird and mysterious monotone, as if the plaintive voice of a +child were coming out of the huge frame of the man, crying out as it +had cried last night, "HAS-ANY-ONE-SEEN-BLACK-ROGER-AUDEMARD?" +</P> + +<P> +In another moment St. Pierre's wife was at the deformed giant's side. +She seemed tall beside him. She put her hands to his head and brushed +back the grizzled black hair, laughing softly into his upturned face, +her eyes shining and a strange glow in her cheeks. Carrigan, looking at +them, felt his heart stand still. WAS THIS MAN ST. PIERRE? The thought +came like a lightning flash—and went as quickly; it was impossible and +inconceivable. And yet there was something more than pity in the voice +of the woman who was speaking now. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, we have not seen him, Andre—we have not seen Black Roger +Audemard. If he comes, I will call you. I promise, Michiwan. I will +call you!" +</P> + +<P> +She was stroking his bearded cheek, and then she put an arm about his +twisted shoulders, and slowly she turned so that in a moment or two +they were facing the sun—and it seemed to Carrigan that she was +talking and sobbing and laughing in the same breath, as that great, +broken hulk of a man moved out slowly from under the caress of her arm +and went on his way. For a space she looked after him. Then in a swift +movement she closed the door and faced Carrigan. She did not speak, but +waited. Her head was high. She was breathing quickly. The tenderness +that a moment before had filled her face was gone, and in her eyes was +the blaze of fighting fires as she waited for him to speak—to give +voice to what she knew was passing in his mind. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XI +</H3> + +<P> +For a space there was silence between Carrigan and St. Pierre's wife. +He knew what she was thinking as she stood with her back to the door, +waiting half defiantly, her cheeks still flushed, her eyes bright with +the anticipation of battle. She was ready to fight for the broken +creature on the other side of the door. She expected him to give no +quarter in his questioning of her, to corner her if he could, to demand +of her why the deformed giant had spoken the name of the man he was +after, Black Roger Audemard. The truth hammered in David's brain. It +had not been a delusion of his fevered mind after all; it was not a +possible deception of the half-breed's, as he had thought last night. +Chance had brought him face to face with the mystery of Black Roger. +St. Pierre's wife, waiting for him to speak, was in some way associated +with that mystery, and the cripple was asking for the man McVane had +told him to bring in dead or alive! Yet he did not question her. He +turned to the window and looked out from where Marie-Anne had stood a +few moments before. +</P> + +<P> +The day was glorious. On the far shore he saw life where last night's +camp had been. Men were moving about close to the water, and a York +boat was putting out slowly into the stream. Close under the window +moved a canoe with a single occupant. It was Andre, the Broken Man. +With powerful strokes he was paddling across the river. His deformity +was scarcely noticeable in the canoe. His bare head and black beard +shone in the sun, and between his great shoulders his head looked more +than ever to Carrigan like the head of a carven god. And this man, like +a mighty tree stricken by lightning, his mind gone, was yet a thing +that was more than mere flesh and blood to Marie-Anne Boulain! +</P> + +<P> +David turned toward her. Her attitude was changed. It was no longer one +of proud defiance. She had expected to defend herself from something, +and he had given her no occasion for defense. She did not try to hide +the fact from him, and he nodded toward the window. +</P> + +<P> +"He is going away in a canoe. I am afraid you didn't want me to see +him, and I am sorry I happened to be here when he came." +</P> + +<P> +"I made no effort to keep him away, M'sieu David. Perhaps I wanted you +to see him. And I thought, when you did—" She hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"You expected me to crucify you, if necessary, to learn the truth of +what he knows about Roger Audemard," he said. "And you were ready to +fight back. But I am not going to question you unless you give me +permission." +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad," she said in a low voice. "I am beginning to have faith in +you, M'sieu David. You have promised not to try to escape, and I +believe you. Will you also promise not to ask me questions, which I can +not answer—until St. Pierre comes?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will try." +</P> + +<P> +She came up to him slowly and stood facing him, so near that she could +have reached out and put her hands on his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"St. Pierre has told me a great deal about the Scarlet Police," she +said, looking at him quietly and steadily. "He says that the men who +wear the red jackets never play low tricks, and that they come after a +man squarely and openly. He says they are men, and many times he has +told me wonderful stories of the things they have done. He calls it +'playing the game.' And I'm going to ask you, M'sieu David, will you +play square with me? If I give you the freedom of the bateau, of the +boats, even of the shore, will you wait for St. Pierre and play the +rest of the game out with him, man to man?" +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan bowed his head slightly. "Yes, I will wait and finish the game +with St. Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +He saw a quick throb come and go in her white throat, and with a +sudden, impulsive movement she held out her hand to him. For a moment +he held it close. Her little fingers tightened about his own, and the +warm thrill of them set his blood leaping with the thing he was +fighting down. She was so near that he could feel the throb of her +body. For an instant she bowed her head, and the sweet perfume of her +hair was in his nostrils, the lustrous beauty of it close under his +lips. +</P> + +<P> +Gently she withdrew her hand and stood back from him. To Carrigan she +was like a young girl now. It was the loveliness of girlhood he saw in +the flush of her face and in the gladness that was flaming unashamed in +her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not frightened any more," she exclaimed, her voice trembling a +bit. "When St. Pierre comes, I shall tell him everything. And then you +may ask the questions, and he will answer. And he will not cheat! He +will play square. You will love St. Pierre, and you will forgive me for +what happened behind the rock!" +</P> + +<P> +She made a little gesture toward the door. "Everything is free to you +out there now," she added. "I shall tell Bateese and the others. When +we are tied up, you may go ashore. And we will forget all that has +happened, M'sieu David. We will forget until St. Pierre comes." +</P> + +<P> +"St. Pierre!" he groaned. "If there were no St. Pierre!" +</P> + +<P> +"I should be lost," she broke in quickly. "I should want to die!" +</P> + +<P> +Through the open window came the sound of a voice. It was the weird +monotone of Andre, the Broken Man. Marie-Anne went to the window. And +David, following her, looked over her head, again so near that his lips +almost touched her hair. Andre had come back. He was watching two York +boats that were heading for the bateau. +</P> + +<P> +"You heard him asking for Black Roger Audemard," she said. "It is +strange. I know how it must have shocked you when he stood like that in +the door. His mind, like his body, is a wreck, M'sieu David. Years ago, +after a great storm, St. Pierre found him in the forest. A tree had +fallen on him. St. Pierre carried him in on his shoulders. He lived, +but he has always been like that. St. Pierre loves him, and poor Andre +worships St. Pierre and follows him about like a dog. His brain is +gone. He does not know what his name is, and we call him Andre. And +always, day and night, he is asking that same question, 'Has any one +seen Black Roger Audemard?' Sometime—if you will, M'sieu David—I +should like to have you tell me what it is so terrible that you know +about Roger Audemard." +</P> + +<P> +The York boats were half-way across the river, and from them came a +sudden burst of wild song. David could make out six men in each boat, +their oars flashing in the morning sun to the rhythm of their chant. +Marie-Anne looked up at him suddenly, and in her face and eyes he saw +what the starry gloom of evening had half hidden from him in those +thrilling moments when they shot through the rapids of the Holy Ghost. +She was girl now. He did not think of her as woman. He did not think of +her as St. Pierre's wife. In that upward glance of her eyes was +something that thrilled him to the depth of his soul. She seemed, for a +moment, to have dropped a curtain from between herself and him. +</P> + +<P> +Her red lips trembled, she smiled at him, and then she faced the river +again, and he leaned a little forward, so that a breath of wind floated +a shimmering tress of her hair against his cheek. An irresistible +impulse seized upon him. He leaned still nearer to her, holding his +breath, until his lips softly touched one of the velvety coils of her +hair. And then he stepped back. Shame swept over him. His heart rose +and choked him, and his fists were clenched at his side. She had not +noticed what he had done, and she seemed to him like a bird yearning to +fly out through the window, throbbing with the desire to answer the +chanting song that came over the water. And then she was smiling up +again into his face hardened with the struggle which he was making with +himself. +</P> + +<P> +"My people are happy," she cried. "Even in storm they laugh and sing. +Listen, m'sieu. They are singing La Derniere Domaine. That is our song. +It is what we call our home, away up there in the lost wilderness where +people never come—the Last Domain. Their wives and sweethearts and +families are up there, and they are happy in knowing that today we +shall travel a few miles nearer to them. They are not like your people +in Montreal and Ottawa and Quebec, M'sieu David. They are like +children. And yet they are glorious children!" +</P> + +<P> +She ran to the wall and took down the banner of St. Pierre Boulain. +"St. Pierre is behind us," she explained. "He is coming down with a +raft of timber such as we can not get in our country, and we are +waiting for him. But each day we must float down with the stream a few +miles nearer the homes of my people. It makes them happier, even though +it is but a few miles. They are coming now for my bateau. We shall +travel slowly, and it will be wonderful on a day like this. It will do +you good to come outside, M'sieu David—with me. Would you care for +that? Or would you rather be alone?" +</P> + +<P> +In her face there was no longer the old restraint. On her lips was the +witchery of a half-smile; in her eyes a glow that flamed the blood in +his veins. It was not a flash of coquetry. It was something deeper and +warmer than that, something real—a new Marie-Anne Boulain telling him +plainly that she wanted him to come. He did not know that his hands +were still clenched at his side. Perhaps she knew. But her eyes did not +leave his face, eyes that were repeating the invitation of her lips, +openly asking him not to refuse. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be happy to come," he said. +</P> + +<P> +The words fell out of him numbly. He scarcely heard them or knew what +he was saying, yet he was conscious of the unnatural note in his voice. +He did not know he was betraying himself beyond that, did not see the +deepening of the wild-rose flush in the cheeks of St. Pierre's wife. He +picked up his pipe from the table and moved to accompany her. +</P> + +<P> +"You must wait a little while," she said, and her hand rested for an +instant upon his arm. Its touch was as light as the touch of his lips +had been against her shining hair, but he felt it in every nerve of his +body. "Nepapinas is making a special lotion for your hurt. I will send +him in, and then you may come." +</P> + +<P> +The wild chant of the rivermen was near as she turned to the door. From +it she looked back at him swiftly. +</P> + +<P> +"They are happy, M'sieu David," she repeated softly. "And I, too, am +happy. I am no longer afraid. And the world is beautiful again. Can you +guess why? It is because you have given me your promise, M'sieu David, +and because I believe you!" +</P> + +<P> +And then she was gone. +</P> + +<P> +For many minutes he did not move. The chanting of the rivermen, a +sudden wilder shout, the voices of men, and after that the grating of +something alongside the bateau came to him like sounds from another +world. Within himself there was a crash greater than that of physical +things. It was the truth breaking upon him, truth surging over him like +the waves of a sea, breaking down the barriers he had set up, +inundating him with a force that was mightier than his own will. A +voice in his soul was crying out the truth—that above all else in the +world he wanted to reach out his arms to this glorious creature who was +the wife of St. Pierre, this woman who had tried to kill him and was +sorry. He knew that it was not desire for beauty. It was the worship +which St. Pierre himself must have for this woman who was his wife. And +the shock of it was like a conflagration sweeping through him, leaving +him dead and shriven, like the crucified trees standing in the wake of +a fire. A breath that was almost a cry came from him, and his fists +knotted until they were purple. She was St. Pierre's wife! And he, +David Carrigan, proud of his honor, proud of the strength that made him +man, had dared covet her in this hour when her husband was gone! He +stared at the closed door, beginning to cry out against himself, and +over him there swept slowly and terribly another thing—the shame of +his weakness, the hopelessness of the thing that for a space had eaten +into him and consumed him. +</P> + +<P> +And as he stared, the door opened, and Nepapinas came in. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XII +</H3> + +<P> +During the next quarter of an hour David was as silent as the old +Indian doctor. He was conscious of no pain when Nepapinas took off his +bandage and bathed his head in the lotion he had brought. Before a +fresh bandage was put on, he looked at himself for a moment in the +mirror. It was the first time he had seen his wound, and he expected to +find himself marked with a disfiguring scar. To his surprise there was +no sign of his hurt except a slightly inflamed spot above his temple. +He stared at Nepapinas, and there was no need of the question that was +in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +The old Indian understood, and his dried-up face cracked and crinkled +in a grin. "Bullet hit a piece of rock, an' rock, not bullet, hit um +head," he explained. "Make skull almost break—bend um in—but +Nepapinas straighten again with fingers, so-so." He shrugged his thin +shoulders with a cackling laugh of pride as he worked his claw-like +fingers to show how the operation had been done. +</P> + +<P> +David shook hands with him in silence; then Nepapinas put on the fresh +bandage, and after that went out, chuckling again in his weird way, as +though he had played a great joke on the white man whom his wizardry +had snatched out of the jaws of death. +</P> + +<P> +For some time there had been a subdued activity outside. The singing of +the boatmen had ceased, a low voice was giving commands, and looking +through the window, David saw that the bateau was slowly swinging away +from the shore. He turned from the window to the table and lighted the +cigar St. Pierre's wife had given him. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the mental struggle he had made during the presence of +Nepapinas, he had failed to get a grip on himself. For a time he had +ceased to be David Carrigan, the man-hunter. A few days ago his blood +had run to that almost savage thrill of the great game of one against +one, the game in which Law sat on one side of the board and Lawlessness +on the other, with the cards between. It was the great gamble. The +cards meant life or death; there was never a checkmate—one or the +other had to lose. Had some one told him then that soon he would meet +the broken and twisted hulk of a man who had known Black Roger +Audemard, every nerve in him would have thrilled in anticipation of +that hour. He realized this as he paced back and forth over the thick +rugs of the bateau floor. And he knew, even as he struggled to bring +them back, that the old thrill and the old desire were gone. It was +impossible to lie to himself. St. Pierre, in this moment, was of more +importance to him than Roger Audemard. And St. Pierre's wife, +Marie-Anne— +</P> + +<P> +His eyes fell on the crumpled handkerchief on the piano keys. Again he +was crushing it in the palm of his hand, and again the flood of +humiliation and shame swept over him. He dropped the handkerchief, and +the great law of his own life seemed to rise up in his face and taunt +him. He was clean. That had been his greatest pride. He hated the man +who was unclean. It was his instinct to kill the man who desecrated +another man's home. And here, in the sacredness of St. Pierre's +paradise, he found himself at last face to face with that greatest +fight of all the ages. +</P> + +<P> +He faced the door. He threw back his shoulders until they snapped, and +he laughed, as if at the thing that had risen up to point its finger at +him. After all, it did not hurt a man to go through a bit of fire—if +he came out of it unburned. And deep in his heart he knew it was not a +sin to love, even as he loved, if he kept that love to himself. What he +had done when Marie-Anne stood at the window he could not undo. St. +Pierre would probably have killed him for touching her hair with his +lips, and he would not have blamed St. Pierre. But she had not felt +that stolen caress. No one knew—but himself. And he was happier +because of it. It was a sort of sacred thing, even though it brought +the heat of shame into his face. +</P> + +<P> +He went to the door, opened it, and stood out in the sunshine. It was +good to feel the warmth of the sun in his face again and the sweet air +of the open day in his lungs. The bateau was free of the shore and +drifting steadily towards midstream. Bateese was at the great birchwood +rudder sweep, and to David's surprise he nodded in a friendly way, and +his wide mouth broke into a grin. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, it is coming soon, that fight of ours, little coq de bruyere!" he +chuckled gloatingly. "An' ze fight will be jus' lak that, m'sieu—you +ze little fool-hen's rooster, ze partridge, an' I, Concombre Bateese, +ze eagle!" +</P> + +<P> +The anticipation in the half-breed's eyes reflected itself for an +instant in David's. He turned back into the cabin, bent over his pack, +and found among his clothes two pairs of boxing gloves. He fondled them +with the loving touch of a brother and comrade, and their velvety +smoothness was more soothing to his nerves than the cigar he was +smoking. His one passion above all others was boxing, and wherever he +went, either on pleasure or adventure, the gloves went with him. In +many a cabin and shack of the far hinterland he had taught white men +and Indians how to use them, so that he might have the pleasure of +feeling the thrill of them on his hands. And now here was Concombre +Bateese inviting him on, waiting for him to get well! +</P> + +<P> +He went out and dangled the clumsy-looking mittens under the +half-breed's nose. +</P> + +<P> +Bateese looked at them curiously. "Mitaines," he nodded. "Does ze +little partridge rooster keep his claws warm in those in ze winter? +They are clumsy, m'sieu. I can make a better mitten of caribou skin." +Putting on one of the gloves, David doubled up his fist. "Do you see +that, Concombre Bateese?" he asked. "Well, I will tell you this, that +they are not mittens to keep your hands warm. I am going to fight you +in them when our time comes. With these mittens I will fight you and +your naked fists. Why? Because I do not want to hurt you too badly, +friend Bateese! I do not want to break your face all to pieces, which I +would surely do if I did not put on these soft mittens. Then, when you +have really learned to fight—" +</P> + +<P> +The bull neck of Concombre Bateese looked as if it were about to burst. +His eyes seemed ready to pop out of their sockets, and suddenly he let +out a roar. "What!—You dare talk lak that to Concombre Bateese, w'at +is great'st fightin' man on all T'ree River? You talk lak that to me, +Concombre Bateese, who will kill ze bear wit' hees ban's, who pull down +ze tree, who—who—" +</P> + +<P> +The word-flood of his outraged dignity sprang to his lips; emotion +choked him, and then, looking suddenly over Carrigan's shoulder—he +stopped. Something in his look made David turn. Three paces behind him +stood Marie-Anne, and he knew that from the corner of the cabin she had +heard what had passed between them. She was biting her lips, and behind +the flash of her eyes he saw laughter. +</P> + +<P> +"You must not quarrel, children," she said. "Bateese, you are steering +badly." +</P> + +<P> +She reached out her hands, and without a word David gave her the +gloves. With her palm and fingers she caressed them softly, yet David +saw little lines of doubt come into her white forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"They are pretty—and soft, M'sieu David. Surely they can not hurt +much! Some day when St. Pierre comes, will you teach me how to use +them?" +</P> + +<P> +"Always it is 'When St. Pierre comes,'" he replied. "Shall we be +waiting long?" +</P> + +<P> +"Two or three days, perhaps a little longer. Are you coming with me to +the proue, m'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +She did not wait for his answer, but went ahead of him, dangling the +two pairs of gloves at her side. David caught a last glimpse of the +half-breed's face as he followed Marie-Anne around the end of the +cabin. Bateese was making a frightful grimace and shaking his huge +fist, but scarcely were they out of sight on the narrow footway that +ran between the cabin and the outer timbers of the scow when a huge +roar of laughter followed them. Bateese had not done laughing when they +reached the proue, or bow-nest, a deck fully ten feet in length by +eight in width, sheltered above by an awning, and comfortably arranged +with chairs, several rugs, a small table, and, to David's amazement, a +hammock. He had never seen anything like this on the Three Rivers, nor +had he ever heard of a scow so large or so luxuriously appointed. Over +his head, at the tip of a flagstaff attached to the forward end of the +cabin, floated the black and white pennant of St. Pierre Boulain. And +under this staff was a screened door which undoubtedly opened into the +kitchenette which Marie-Anne had told him about. He made no effort to +hide his surprise. But St. Pierre's wife seemed not to notice it. The +puckery little lines were still in her forehead, and the laughter had +faded out of her eyes. The tiny lines deepened as there came another +wild roar of laughter from Bateese in the stern. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it true that you have given your word to fight Bateese?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"It is true, Marie-Anne. And I feel that Bateese is looking ahead +joyously to the occasion." +</P> + +<P> +"He is," she affirmed. "Last night he spread the news among all my +people. Those who left to join St. Pierre this morning have taken the +news with them, and there is a great deal of excitement and much +betting. I am afraid you have made a bad promise. No man has offered to +fight Bateese in three years—not even my great St. Pierre, who says +that Concombre is more than a match for him." +</P> + +<P> +"And yet they must have a little doubt, as there is betting, and it +takes two to make a bet," chuckled David. +</P> + +<P> +The lines went out of Marie-Anne's forehead, and a half-smile trembled +on her red lips. "Yes, there is betting. But those who are for you are +offering next autumn's muskrat skins and frozen fish against lynx and +fisher and marten. The odds are about thirty to one against you, M'sieu +David!" +</P> + +<P> +The look of pity which was clearly in her eyes brought a rush of blood +to David's face. "If only I had something to wager!" he groaned. +</P> + +<P> +"You must not fight. I shall forbid it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Then Bateese and I will steal off into the forest and have it out by +ourselves." +</P> + +<P> +"He will hurt you badly. He is terrible, like a great beast, when he +fights. He loves to fight and is always asking if there is not some one +who will stand up to him. I think he would desert even me for a good +fight. But you, M'sieu David—" +</P> + +<P> +"I also love a fight," he admitted, unashamed. +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre's wife studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "With these?" +she asked then, holding up the gloves. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, with those. Bateese may use his fists, but I shall use those, so +that I shall not disfigure him permanently. His face is none too +handsome as it is." +</P> + +<P> +For another flash her lips trembled on the edge of a smile. Then she +gave him the gloves, a bit troubled, and nodded to a chair with a deep, +cushioned seat and wide arms. "Please make yourself comfortable, M'sieu +David. I have something to do in the cabin and will return in a little +while." +</P> + +<P> +He wondered if she had gone back to settle the matter with Bateese at +once, for it was clear that she did not regard with favor the promised +bout between himself and the half-breed. It was on the spur of a +careless moment that he had promised to fight Bateese, and with little +thought that it was likely to be carried out or that it would become a +matter of importance with all of St. Pierre's brigade. He was evidently +in for it, he told himself, and as a fighting man it looked as though +Concombre Bateese was at least the equal of his braggadocio. He was +glad of that. He grinned as he watched the bending backs of St. +Pierre's men. So they were betting thirty to one against him! Even St. +Pierre might be induced to bet—with HIM. And if he did— +</P> + +<P> +The hot blood leaped for a moment in Carrigan's veins. The thrill went +to the tips of his fingers. He stared out over the river, unseeing, as +the possibilities of the thing that had come into his mind made him for +a moment oblivious of the world. He possessed one thing against which +St. Pierre and St. Pierre's wife would wager a half of all they owned +in the world! And if he should gamble that one thing, which had come to +him like an inspiration, and should whip Bateese— +</P> + +<P> +He began to pace back and forth over the narrow deck, no longer +watching the rowers or the shore. The thought grew, and his mind was +consumed by it. Thus far, from the moment the first shot was fired at +him from the ambush, he had been playing with adventure in the dark. +But fate had at last dealt him a trump card. That something which he +possessed was more precious than furs or gold to St. Pierre, and St. +Pierre would not refuse the wager when it was offered. He would not +dare refuse. More than that, he would accept eagerly, strong in the +faith that Bateese would whip him as he had whipped all other fighters +who had come up against him along the Three Rivers. And when Marie-Anne +knew what that wager was to be, she, too, would pray for the gods of +chance to be with Concombre Bateese! +</P> + +<P> +He did not hear the light footsteps behind him, and when he turned +suddenly in his pacing, he found himself facing Marie-Anne, who carried +in her hands the little basket he had seen on the cabin table. She +seated herself in the hammock and took from the basket a bit of lace +work. For a moment he watched her fingers flashing in and out with the +needles. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps his thought went to her. He was almost frightened as he saw her +cheeks coloring under the long, dark lashes. He faced the rivermen +again, and while he gripped at his own weakness, he tried to count the +flashings of their oars. And behind him, the beautiful eyes of St. +Pierre's wife were looking at him with a strange glow in their depths. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know," he said, speaking slowly and still looking toward the +flashing of the oars, "something tells me that unexpected things are +going to happen when St. Pierre returns. I am going to make a bet with +him that I can whip Bateese. He will not refuse. He will accept. And +St. Pierre will lose, because I shall whip Bateese. It is then that +these unexpected things will begin to happen. And I am wondering—after +they do happen—if you will care so very much?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a moment of silence. And then, "I don't want you to fight +Bateese," she said. +</P> + +<P> +The needles were working swiftly when he turned toward her again, and a +second time the long lashes shadowed what a moment before he might have +seen in her eyes. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIII +</H3> + +<P> +The morning passed like a dream to Carrigan. He permitted himself to +live and breathe it as one who finds himself for a space in the heart +of a golden mirage. He was sitting so near Marie-Anne that now and then +the faint perfume of her came to him like the delicate scent of a +flower. It was a breath of crushed violets, sweet as the air he was +breathing, violets gathered in the deep cool of the forest, a whisper +of sweetness about her, as if on her bosom she wore always the living +flowers. He fancied her gathering them last bloom-time, a year ago, +alone, her feet seeking out the damp mosses, her little fingers +plucking the smiling and laughing faces of the violet flowers to be +treasured away in fragrant sachets, as gentle as the wood-thrush's +note, compared with the bottled aromas fifteen hundred miles south. It +seemed to be a physical part of her, a thing born of the glow in her +cheeks, a living exhalation of her soft red lips—and yet only when he +was near, very near, did the life of it reach him. +</P> + +<P> +She did not know he was thinking these things. There was nothing in his +voice, he thought, to betray him. He was sure she was unconscious of +the fight he was making. Her eyes smiled and laughed with him, she +counted her stitches, her fingers worked, and she talked to him as she +might have talked to a friend of St. Pierre's. She told him how St. +Pierre had made the barge, the largest that had ever been on the river, +and that he had built it entirely of dry cedar, so that it floated like +a feather wherever there was water enough to run a York boat. She told +him how St. Pierre had brought the piano down from Edmonton, and how he +had saved it from pitching in the river by carrying the full weight of +it on his shoulders when they met with an accident in running through a +dangerous rapids bringing it down. St. Pierre was a very strong man, +she said, a note of pride in her voice. And then she added, +</P> + +<P> +"Sometimes, when he picks me up in his arms, I feel that he is going to +squeeze the life out of me!" +</P> + +<P> +Her words were like a sharp thrust into his heart. For an instant they +painted a vision for him, a picture of that slim and adorable creature +crushed close in the great arms of St. Pierre, so close that she could +not breathe. In that mad moment of his hurt it was almost a living, +breathing reality for him there on the golden fore-deck of the scow. He +turned his face toward the far shore, where the wilderness seemed to +reach off into eternity. What a glory it was—the green seas of spruce +and cedar and balsam, the ridges of poplar and birch rising like +silvery spume above the darker billows, and afar off, mellowed in the +sun-mists, the guardian crests of Trout Mountains sentineling the +country beyond! Into that mystery-land on the farther side of the +Wabiskaw waterways Carrigan would have loved to set his foot four days +ago. It was that mystery of the unpeopled places that he most desired, +their silence, the comradeship of spaces untrod by the feet of man. And +now, what a fool he was! Through vast distances the forests he loved +seemed to whisper it to him, and ahead of him the river seemed to look +back, nodding over its shoulder, beckoning to him, telling him the word +of the forests was true. It streamed on lazily, half a mile wide, as if +resting for the splashing and roaring rush it would make among the +rocks of the next rapids, and in its indolence it sang the low and +everlasting song of deep and slowly passing water. In that song David +heard the same whisper, that he was a fool! And the lure of the +wilderness shores crept in on him and gripped him as of old. He looked +at the rowers in the two York boats, and then his eyes came back to the +end of the barge and to St. Pierre's wife. +</P> + +<P> +Her little toes were tapping the floor of the deck. She, too, was +looking out over the wilderness. And again it seemed to him that she +was like a bird that wanted to fly. +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to go into those hills," she said, without looking at +him. "Away off yonder!" +</P> + +<P> +"And I—I should like to go with you." +</P> + +<P> +"You love all that, m'sieu?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, madame!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why 'madame,' when I have given you permission to call me +'Marie-Anne'?" she demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"Because you call me 'm'sieu'." +</P> + +<P> +"But you—you have not given me permission—" +</P> + +<P> +"Then I do now," he interrupted quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Merci! I have wondered why you did not return the courtesy," she +laughed softly. "I do not like the m'sieu. I shall call you 'David'!" +</P> + +<P> +She rose out of the hammock suddenly and dropped her needles and lace +work into the little basket. "I have forgotten something. It is for you +to eat when it comes dinner-time, m'sieu—I mean David. So I must turn +fille de cuisine for a little while. That is what St. Pierre sometimes +calls me, because I love to play at cooking. I am going to bake a pie!" +</P> + +<P> +The dark-screened door of the kitchenette closed behind her, and +Carrigan walked out from under the awning, so that the sun beat down +upon him. There was no longer a doubt in his mind. He was more than +fool. He envied St. Pierre, and he coveted that which St. Pierre +possessed. And yet, before he would take what did not belong to him, he +knew he would put a pistol to his head and blow his life out. He was +confident of himself there. Yet he had fallen, and out of the mire into +which he had sunk he knew also that he must drag himself, and quickly, +or be everlastingly lowered in his own esteem. He stripped himself +naked and did not lie to that other and greater thing of life that was +in him. +</P> + +<P> +He was not only a fool, but a coward. Only a coward would have touched +the hair of St. Pierre's wife with his lips; only a coward would have +let live the thoughts that burned in his brain. She was St. Pierre's +wife—and he was anxious now for the quick homecoming of the chief of +the Boulains. After that everything would happen quickly. He thanked +God that the inspiration of the wager had come to him. After the fight, +after he had won, then once more would he be the old Dave Carrigan, +holding the trump hand in a thrilling game. +</P> + +<P> +Loud voices from the York boats ahead and answering cries from Bateese +in the stern drew him to the open deck. The bateau was close to shore, +and the half-breed was working the long stern sweep as if the power of +a steam-engine was in his mighty arms. The York boats had shortened +their towline and were pulling at right angles within a few yards of a +gravelly beach. A few strokes more, and men who were bare to the knees +jumped out into shallow water and began tugging at the tow rope with +their hands. David looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock. Never in +his life had time passed so swiftly as that morning on the forward deck +of the barge. And now they were tying up, after a drop of six or eight +miles down the river, and he wondered how swiftly St. Pierre was +overtaking them with his raft. +</P> + +<P> +He was filled with the desire to feel the soft crush of the earth under +his feet again, and not waiting for the long plank that Bateese was +already swinging from the scow to the shore, he made a leap that put +him on the sandy beach, St. Pierre's wife had given him this +permission, and he looked to see what effect his act had on the +half-breed. The face of Concombre Bateese was like sullen stone. Not a +sound came from his thick lips, but in his eyes was a deep and +dangerous fire as he looked at Carrigan. There was no need for words. +In them were suspicion, warning, the deadly threat of what would happen +if he did not come back when it was time to return. David nodded. He +understood. Even though St. Pierre's wife had faith in him, Bateese had +not. He passed between the men, and to a man their faces turned on him, +and in their quiet and watchful eyes he saw again that warning and +suspicion, the unspoken threat of what would happen if he forgot his +promise to Marie-Anne Boulain. Never, in a single outfit, had he seen +such splendid men. They were not a mongrel assortment of the lower +country. Slim, tall, clean-cut, sinewy—they were stock of the old +voyageurs of a hundred years ago, and all of them were young. The older +men had gone to St. Pierre. The reason for this dawned upon Carrigan. +Not one of these twelve but could beat him in a race through the +forest; not one that could not outrun him and cut him off though he had +hours the start! +</P> + +<P> +Passing beyond them, he paused and looked back at the bateau. On the +forward deck stood Marie-Anne, and she, too, was looking at him now. +Even at that distance he saw that her face was quiet and troubled with +anxiety. She did not smile when he lifted his hat to her, but gave only +a little nod. Then he turned and buried himself in the green balsams +that grew within fifty paces of the river. The old joy of life leaped +into him as his feet crushed in the soft moss of the shaded places +where the sun did not break through. He went on, passing through a vast +and silent cathedral of spruce and cedar so dense that the sky was +hidden, and came then to higher ground, where the evergreen was +sprinkled with birch and poplar. About him was an invisible choir of +voices, the low twittering of timid little gray-backs, the song of +hidden—warblers, the scolding of distant jays. Big-eyed moose-birds +stared at him as he passed, fluttering so close to his face that they +almost touched his shoulders in their foolish inquisitiveness. A +porcupine crashed within a dozen feet of his trail. And then he came to +a beaten path, and other paths worn deep in the cool, damp earth by the +hoofs of moose and caribou. Half a mile from the bateau he sat down on +a rotting log and filled his pipe with fresh tobacco, while he listened +to catch the subdued voice of the life in this land that he loved. +</P> + +<P> +It was then that the curious feeling came over him that he was not +alone, that other eyes than those of beast and bird were watching him. +It was an impression that grew on him. He seemed to feel their stare, +seeking him out from the darkest coverts, waiting for him to shove on, +dogging him like a ghost. Within him the hound-like instincts of the +man-hunter rose swiftly to the suspicion of invisible presence. +</P> + +<P> +He began to note the changes in the cries of certain birds. A hundred +yards on his right a jay, most talkative of all the forest things, was +screeching with a new note in its voice. On the other side of him, in a +dense pocket of poplar and spruce, a warbler suddenly brought its song +to a jerky end. He heard the excited Pe-wee—Pe-wee—Pe-wee of a +startled little gray-back giving warning of an unwelcome intruder near +its nest. And he rose to his feet, laughing softly as he thumbed down +the tobacco in his pipe. Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain might believe in +him, but Bateese and her wary henchmen had ways of their own of +strengthening their faith. +</P> + +<P> +It was close to noon when he turned back, and he did not return by the +moose path. Deliberately he struck out a hundred yards on either side +of it, traveling where the moss grew thick and the earth was damp and +soft. And five times he found the moccasin-prints of men. +</P> + +<P> +Bateese, with his sleeves up, was scrubbing the deck of the bateau when +David came over the plank. +</P> + +<P> +"There are moose and caribou in there, but I fear I disturbed your +hunters," said Carrigan, grinning at the half-breed. "They are too +clumsy to hunt well, so clumsy that even the birds give them away. I am +afraid we shall go without fresh meat tomorrow!" +</P> + +<P> +Concombre Bateese stared as if some one had stunned him with a blow, +and he spoke no word as David went on to the forward deck. Marie-Anne +had come out under the awning. She gave a little cry of relief and +pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad you have come back, M'sieu David!" +</P> + +<P> +"So am I, madame," he replied. "I think the woods are unhealthful to +travel in!" +</P> + +<P> +Out of the earth he felt that a part of the old strength had returned +to him. Alone they sat at dinner, and Marie-Anne waited on him and +called him David again—and he found it easier now to call her +Marie-Anne and look into her eyes without fear that he was betraying +himself. A part of the afternoon he spent in her company, and it was +not difficult for him to tell her something of his adventuring in the +north, and how, body and soul, the northland had claimed him, and that +he hoped to die in it when his time came. Her eyes glowed at that. She +told him of two years she had spent in Montreal and Quebec, of her +homesickness, her joy when she returned to her forests. It seemed, for +a time, that they had forgotten St. Pierre. They did not speak of him. +Twice they saw Andre, the Broken Man, but the name of Roger Audemard +was not spoken. And a little at a time she told him of the hidden +paradise of the Boulains away up in the unmapped wildernesses of the +Yellowknife beyond the Great Bear, and of the great log chateau that +was her home. +</P> + +<P> +A part of the afternoon he spent on shore. He filled a moosehide bag +full of sand and suspended it from the limb of a tree, and for +three-quarters of an hour pommeled it with his fists, much to the +curiosity and amusement of St. Pierre's men, who could see nothing of +man-fighting in these antics. But the exercise assured David that he +had lost but little of his strength and that he would be in form to +meet Bateese when the time came. Toward evening Marie-Anne joined him, +and they walked for half an hour up and down the beach. It was Bateese +who got supper. And after that Carrigan sat with Marie-Anne on the +foredeck of the barge and smoked another of St. Pierre's cigars. +</P> + +<P> +The camp of the rivermen was two hundred yards below the bateau, +screened between by a finger of hardwood, so that except when they +broke into a chorus of laughter or strengthened their throats with +snatches of song, there was no sound of their voices. But Bateese was +in the stern, and Nepapinas was forever flitting in and out among the +shadows on the shore, like a shadow himself, and Andre, the Broken Man, +hovered near as night came on. At last he sat down in the edge of the +white sand of the beach, and there he remained, a silent and lonely +figure, as the twilight deepened. Over the world hovered a sleepy +quiet. Out of the forest came the droning of the wood-crickets, the +last twitterings of the day birds, and the beginning of night sounds. A +great shadow floated out over the river close to the bateau, the first +of the questing, blood-seeking owls adventuring out like pirates from +their hiding-places of the day. One after another, as the darkness +thickened, the different tribes of the people of the night answered the +summons of the first stars. A mile down the river a loon gave its harsh +love-cry; far out of the west came the faint trail-song of a wolf; in +the river the night-feeding trout splashed like the tails of beaver; +over the roof of the wilderness came the coughing, moaning challenge of +a bull moose that yearned for battle. And over these same forest tops +rose the moon, the stars grew thicker and brighter, and through the +finger of hardwood glowed the fire of St. Pierre Boulain's men—while +close beside him, silent in these hours of silence, David felt growing +nearer and still nearer to him the presence of St. Pierre's wife. +</P> + +<P> +On the strip of sand Andre, the Broken Man, rose and stood like the +stub of a misshapen tree. And then slowly he moved on and was swallowed +up in the mellow glow of the night. +</P> + +<P> +"It is at night that he seeks," said St. Pierre's wife, for it was as +if David had spoken the thought that was in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +David, for a moment, was silent. And then he said, "You asked me to +tell you about Black Roger Audemard. I will, if you care to have me. Do +you?" +</P> + +<P> +He saw the nodding of her head, though the moon and star-mist veiled +her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. What do the Police say about Roger Audemard?" +</P> + +<P> +He told her. And not once in the telling of the story did she speak or +move. It was a terrible story at best, he thought, but he did not +weaken it by smoothing over the details. This was his opportunity. He +wanted her to know why he must possess the body of Roger Audemard, if +not alive, then dead, and he wanted her to understand how important it +was that he learn more about Andre, the Broken Man. +</P> + +<P> +"He was a fiend, this Roger Audemard," he began. "A devil in man shape, +afterward called 'Black Roger' because of the color of his soul." +</P> + +<P> +Then he went on. He described Hatchet River Post, where the tragedy had +happened; then told of the fight that came about one day between Roger +Audemard and the factor of the post and his two sons. It was an unfair +fight; he conceded that—three to one was cowardly in a fight. But it +could not excuse what happened afterward. Audemard was beaten. He crept +off into the forest, almost dead. Then he came back one stormy night in +the winter with three strange friends. Who the friends were the Police +never learned. There was a fight, but all through the fight Black Roger +Audemard cried out not to kill the factor and his sons. In spite of +that one of the sons was killed. Then the terrible thing happened. The +father and his remaining son were bound hand and foot and fastened in +the ancient dungeon room under the Post building. Then Black Roger set +the building on fire, and stood outside in the storm and laughed like a +madman at the dying shrieks of his victims. It was the season when the +trappers were on their lines, and there were but few people at the +post. The company clerk and one other attempted to interfere, and Black +Roger killed them with his own hands. Five deaths that night—two of +them horrible beyond description! +</P> + +<P> +Resting for a moment, Carrigan went on to tell of the long years of +unavailing search made by the Police after that; how Black Roger was +caught once and killed his captor. Then came the rumor that he was +dead, and rumor grew into official belief, and the Police no longer +hunted for his trails. Then, not long ago, came the discovery that +Black Roger was still living, and he, Dave Carrigan, was after him. +</P> + +<P> +For a time there was silence after he had finished. Then St. Pierre's +wife rose to her feet. "I wonder," she said in a low voice, "what Roger +Audemard's own story might be if he were here to tell it?" +</P> + +<P> +She stepped out from under the awning, and in the full radiance of the +moon he saw the pale beauty of her face and the crowning luster of her +hair. +</P> + +<P> +"Good night!" she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Good night!" said David. +</P> + +<P> +He listened until her retreating footsteps died away, and for hours +after that he had no thought of sleep. He had insisted that she take +possession of her cabin again, and Bateese had brought out a bundle of +blankets. These he spread under the awning, and when he drowsed off, it +was to dream of the lovely face he had seen last in the glow of the +moon. +</P> + +<P> +It was in the afternoon of the fourth day that two things happened—one +that he had prepared himself for, and another so unexpected that for a +space it sent his world crashing out of its orbit. With St. Pierre's +wife he had gone again to the ridge-line for flowers, half a mile back +from the river. Returning a new way, they came to a shallow stream, and +Marie-Anne stood at the edge of it, and there was laughter in her +shining eyes as she looked to the other side of it. She had twined +flowers into her hair. Her cheeks were rich with color. Her slim figure +was exquisite in its wild pulse of life. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly she turned on him, her red lips smiling their witchery in his +face. "You must carry me across," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He did not answer. He was a-tremble as he drew near her. She raised her +arms a little, waiting. And then he picked her up. She was against his +breast. Her two hands went to his shoulders as he waded into the +stream; he slipped, and they clung a little tighter. The soft note of +laughter was in her throat when the current came to his knees out in +the middle of the stream. He held her tighter; and then stupidly, he +slipped again, and the movement brought her lower in his arms, so that +for a space her head was against his breast and his face was crushed in +the soft masses of her hair. He came with her that way to the opposite +shore and stood her on her feet again, standing back quickly so that +she would not hear the pounding of his heart. Her face was radiantly +beautiful, and she did not look at David, but away from him. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," she said. +</P> + +<P> +And then, suddenly, they heard running feet behind them, and in another +moment one of the brigade men came dashing through the stream. At the +same time there came from the river a quarter of a mile away a +thunderous burst of voice. It was not the voice of a dozen men, but of +half a hundred, and Marie-Anne grew tense, listening, her eyes on fire +even before the messenger could get the words out of his mouth. +</P> + +<P> +"It is St. Pierre!" he cried then. "He has come with the great raft, +and you must hurry if you would reach the bateau before he lands!" +</P> + +<P> +In that moment it seemed to David that Marie-Anne forgot he was alive. +A little cry came to her lips, and then she left him, running swiftly, +saying no word to him, flying with the speed of a fawn to St. Pierre +Boulain! And when David turned to the man who had come up behind them, +there was a strange smile on the lips of the lithe-limbed forest-runner +as his eyes followed the hurrying figure of St. Pierre's wife. +</P> + +<P> +Until she was out of sight he stood in silence and then he said: +</P> + +<P> +"Come, m'sieu. We, also, must meet St. Pierre!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIV +</H3> + +<P> +David moved slowly behind the brigade man. He had no desire to hurry. +He did not wish to see what happened when Marie-Anne met St. Pierre +Boulain. Only a moment ago she had been in his arms; her hair had +smothered his face; her hands had clung to his shoulders; her flushed +cheeks and long lashes had for an instant lain close against his +breast. And now, swiftly, without a word of apology, she was running +away from him to meet her husband. +</P> + +<P> +He almost spoke that word aloud as he saw the last of her slim figure +among the silver birches. She was going to the man to whom she +belonged, and there was no hesitation in the manner of her going. She +was glad. And she was entirely forgetful of him, Dave Carrigan, in that +gladness. +</P> + +<P> +He quickened his steps, narrowing the distance between him and the +hurrying brigade man. Only the diseased thoughts in his brain had made +the happening in the creek anything but an accident. It was all an +accident, he told himself. Marie-Anne had asked him to carry her across +just as she would have asked any one of her rivermen. It was his fault, +and not hers, that he had slipped in mid-stream, and that his arms had +closed tighter about her, and that her hair had brushed his face. He +remembered she had laughed, when it seemed for a moment that they were +going to fall into the stream together. Probably she would tell St. +Pierre all about it. Surely she would never guess it had been nearer +tragedy than comedy for him. +</P> + +<P> +Once more he was convinced he had proved himself a weakling and a fool. +His business now was with St. Pierre, and the hour was at hand when the +game had ceased to be a woman's game. He had looked ahead to this hour. +He had prepared himself for it and had promised himself action that +would be both quick and decisive. And yet, as he went on, his heart was +still thumping unsteadily, and in his arms and against his face +remained still the sweet, warm thrill of his contact with Marie-Anne. +He could not drive that from him. It would never completely go. As long +as he lived, what had happened in the creek would live with him. He did +not deny that crying voice inside him. It was easy for his mouth to +make words. He could call himself a fool and a weakling, but those +words were purely mechanical, hollow, meaningless. The truth remained. +It was a blazing fire in his breast, a conflagration that might easily +get the best of him, a thing which he must fight and triumph over for +his own salvation. He did not think of danger for Marie-Anne, for such +a thought was inconceivable. The tragedy was one-sided. It was his own +folly, his own danger. For just as he loved Marie-Anne, so did she love +her husband, St. Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +He came to the low ridge close to the river and climbed up through the +thick birches and poplars. At the top was a bald knob of sandstone, +over which the riverman had already passed. David paused there and +looked down on the broad sweep of the Athabasca. +</P> + +<P> +What he saw was like a picture spread out on the great breast of the +river and the white strip of shoreline. Still a quarter of a mile +upstream, floating down slowly with the current, was a mighty raft, and +for a space his eyes took in nothing else. On the Mackenzie, the +Athabasca, the Saskatchewan, and the Peace he had seen many rafts, but +never a raft like this of St. Pierre Boulain. It was a hundred feet in +width and twice and a half times as long, and with the sun blazing down +upon it from out of a cloudless sky it looked to him like a little city +swept up from out of some archaic and savage desert land to be +transplanted to the river. It was dotted with tents and canvas +shelters. Some of these were gray, and some were white, and two or +three were striped with broad bands of yellow and red. Behind all these +was a cabin, and over this there rose a slender staff from which +floated the black and white pennant of St. Pierre. The raft was alive. +Men were running between the tents. The long rudder sweeps were +flashing in the sun. Rowers with naked arms and shoulders were +straining their muscles in four York boats that were pulling like ants +at the giant mass of timber. And to David's ears came a deep monotone +of human voices, the chanting of the men as they worked. +</P> + +<P> +Nearer to him a louder response suddenly made answer to it. A dozen +steps carried him round a projecting thumb of brush, and he could see +the open shore where the bateau was tied. Marie-Anne had crossed the +strip of sand, and Bateese was helping her into a waiting York boat. +Then Bateese shoved it off, and the four men in it began to row. Two +canoes were already half-way to the raft, and David recognized the +occupant of one of them as Andre, the Broken Man. Then he saw +Marie-Anne rise in the York boat and wave something white in her hand. +</P> + +<P> +He looked again toward the raft. The current and the sweeps and the +tugging boats were drawing it steadily nearer. Standing at the very +edge of it he saw now a solitary figure, and in the clear sunlight the +man stood out clean-cut as a carven statue. He was a giant in size. His +head and arms were bare, and he was looking steadily toward the bateau +and the approaching York boat. He raised an arm, and a moment later the +movement was followed by a voice that rose above all other voices. It +boomed over the river like the rumble of a gun. In response to it +Marie-Anne waved the white thing in her hand, and David thought he +heard her voice in an answering cry. He stared again at the solitary +figure of the man, seeing nothing else, hearing no other sound but the +booming of the deep cry that came again over the river. His heart was +thumping. In his eyes was a gathering fire. His body grew tense. For he +knew that at last he was looking at St. Pierre, chief of the Boulains, +and husband of the woman he loved. +</P> + +<P> +As the significance of the situation grew upon him, a flash of his old +humor returned. It was the same grim humor that had possessed him +behind the rock, when he had thought he was going to die. Fate had +played him a dishonest turn then, and it was doing the same thing by +him now. Unless he deliberately turned his face away, he was going to +see the reunion of Marie-Anne and St. Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +Yesterday he had strapped his binoculars to his belt. Today Marie-Anne +had looked through them a dozen times. They had been a source of +pleasure and thrill to her. Now, David thought, they would be good +medicine for him. He would see the whole thing through, and at close +range. He would leave himself no room for doubt. He had laughed behind +the rock, when bullets were zipping close to his head, and the same +grim smile came to his lips now as he focused his glasses on the +solitary figure at the head of the raft. +</P> + +<P> +The smile died away when he saw St. Pierre. It was as if he could reach +out and touch him with his hand. And never, he thought, had he seen +such a man. A moment before, a flashing vision had come to him from out +of an Arabian desert; the multitude of colored tents, the half-naked +men, the great raft floating almost without perceptible motion on the +placid breast of the river had stirred his imagination until he saw a +strange picture. But there was nothing Arabic, nothing desert-like, in +this man his binoculars brought within a few feet of his eyes. He was +more like a viking pirate who had roved the sea a few centuries ago. +One great, bare arm was raised as David looked, and his booming voice +was rolling over the river again. His hair was shaggy, and untrimmed, +and red; he wore a short beard that glistened in the sun—he was +laughing as he waved and shouted to Marie-Anne—a joyous, splendid +giant of a man who seemed almost on the point of leaping into the water +in his eagerness to clasp in his naked arms the woman who was coming to +him. +</P> + +<P> +David drew a deep breath, and there came an unconscious tightening at +his heart as he turned his glasses upon Marie-Anne. She was still +standing in the bow of the York boat, and her back was toward him. He +could see the glisten of the sun in her hair. She was waving her +handkerchief, and the poise of her slim body told him that in her +eagerness she would have darted from the bow of the boat had she +possessed wings. +</P> + +<P> +Again he looked at St. Pierre. And this was the man who was no match +for Concombre Bateese! It was inconceivable. Yet he heard Marie-Anne's +voice repeating those very words in his ear. But she had surely been +joking with him. She had been storing up this little surprise for him. +She had wanted him to discover with his own eyes what a splendid man +was this chief of the Boulains. And yet, as David stared, there came to +him an unpleasant thought of the incongruity of this thing he was +looking upon. It struck upon him like a clashing discord, the fact of +matehood between these two—a condition inconsistent and out of tune +with the beautiful things he had built up in his mind about the woman. +In his soul he had enshrined her as a lovely wildflower, easily +crushed, easily destroyed, a sweet treasure to be guarded from all that +was rough and savage, a little violet-goddess as fragile as she was +brave and loyal. And St. Pierre, standing there at the edge of his +raft, looked as if he had come up out of the caves of a million years +ago! There was something barbaric about him. He needed only a club and +a shield and the skin of a beast about his loins to transform him into +prehistoric man. At least these were his first impressions—impressions +roused by thought of Marie-Anne's slim, beautiful body crushed close in +the embrace of that laughing, powerful-lunged giant. Then the reaction +swept over him. St. Pierre was not a monster, even though his disturbed +mind unconsciously made an effort to conceive him as such. There were +gladness and laughter in his face. There was the contagion of joy and +good cheer in the voice that boomed over the water. Laughter and shouts +answered it from the shore. The rowers in Marie-Anne's York boat burst +into a wild and exultant snatch of song and made their oars fairly +crack. There came a solitary yell from Andre, the Broken Man, who was +close to the head of the raft now. And from the raft itself came a +slowly swelling volume of sound, the urge and voice and exultation of +red-blooded men a-thrill with the glory of this day and the wild +freedom of their world. The truth came to David. St. Pierre Boulain was +the beloved Big Brother of his people. +</P> + +<P> +He waited, his muscles tense, his jaws set tight. Good medicine, he +called it again, a righteous sort of punishment set upon him for the +moral cowardice he had betrayed in falling down in worship at the feet +of another man's wife. The York boat was very close to the head of the +raft now. He saw Marie-Anne herself fling a rope to St. Pierre. Then +the boat swung alongside. In another moment St. Pierre had leaned over, +and Marie-Anne was with him on the raft. For a space everything else in +the world was obliterated for David. He saw St. Pierre's arms gather +the slim form into their embrace. He saw Marie-Anne's hands go up +fondly to the bearded face. And then— +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan cut the picture there. He turned his shoulder to the raft and +snapped the binoculars in the case at his belt. Some one was coming in +his direction from the bateau. It was the riverman who had brought to +Marie-Anne the news of St. Pierre's arrival. David went down to meet +him. From the foot of the ridge he again turned his eyes in the +direction of the raft. St. Pierre and Marie-Anne were just about to +enter the little cabin built in the center of the drifting mass of +timber. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XV +</H3> + +<P> +It was easy for Carrigan to guess why the riverman had turned back for +him. Men were busy about the bateau, and Concombre Bateese stood in the +stern, a long pole in his hands, giving commands to the others. The +bateau was beginning to swing out into the stream when he leaped +aboard. A wide grin spread over the half-breed's face. He eyed David +keenly and laughed in his deep chest, an unmistakable suggestiveness in +the note of it. +</P> + +<P> +"You look seek, m'sieu," he said in an undertone, for David's ears +alone, "You look ver' unhappy, an' pale lak leetle boy! Wat happen w'en +you look t'rough ze glass up there, eh? Or ees it zat you grow frighten +because ver' soon you stan' up an' fight Concombre Bateese? Eh, coq de +bruyere? Ees it zat?" +</P> + +<P> +A quick thought came to David. "Is it true that St. Pierre can not whip +you, Bateese?" +</P> + +<P> +Bateese threw out his chest with a mighty intake of breath. Then he +exploded: "No man on all T'ree River can w'ip Concombre Bateese." +</P> + +<P> +"And St. Pierre is a powerful man," mused David, letting his eyes +travel slowly from the half-breed's moccasined feet to the top of his +head. "I measured him well through the glasses, Bateese. It will be a +great fight. But I shall whip you!" +</P> + +<P> +He did not wait for the half-breed to reply, but went into the cabin +and closed the door behind him. He did not like the taunting note of +suggestiveness in the other's words. Was it possible that Bateese +suspected the true state of his mind, that he was in love with the wife +of St. Pierre, and that his heart was sick because of what he had seen +aboard the raft? He flushed hotly. It made him uncomfortable to feel +that even the half-breed might have guessed his humiliation. +</P> + +<P> +David looked through the window toward the raft. The bateau was +drifting downstream, possibly a hundred feet from the shore, but it was +quite evident that Concombre Bateese was making no effort to bring it +close to the floating mass of timber, which had made no change in its +course down the river. David's mind painted swiftly what was happening +in the cabin into which Marie-Anne and St. Pierre had disappeared. At +this moment Marie-Anne was telling of him, of the adventure in the hot +patch of sand. He fancied the suppressed excitement in her voice as she +unburdened herself. He saw St. Pierre's face darken, his muscles +tighten—and crouching in silence, he seemed to see the misshapen hulk +of Andre, the Broken Man, listening to what was passing between the +other two. And he heard again the mad monotone of Andre's voice, crying +plaintively, "HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD?" +</P> + +<P> +His blood ran a little faster, and his old craft was a dominantly +living thing within him once more. Love had dulled both his ingenuity +and his desire. For a space a thing had risen before him that was +mightier than the majesty of the Law, and he had TRIED to miss the +bull's-eye—because of his love for the wife of St. Pierre Boulain. Now +he shot squarely for it, and the bell rang in his brain. Two times two +again made four. Facts assembled themselves like arguments in flesh and +blood. Those facts would have convinced Superintendent McVane, and they +now convinced David. He had set out to get Black Roger Audemard, alive +or dead. And Black Roger, wholesale murderer, a monster who had painted +the blackest page of crime known in the history of Canadian law, was +closely and vitally associated with Marie-Anne and St. Pierre Boulain! +</P> + +<P> +The thing was a shock, but Carrigan no longer tried to evade the point. +His business was no longer with a man supposed to be a thousand or +fifteen hundred miles farther north. It was with Marie-Anne, St. +Pierre, and Andre, the Broken Man. And also with Concombre Bateese. +</P> + +<P> +He smiled a little grimly as he thought of his approaching battle with +the half-breed. St. Pierre would be astounded at the proposition he had +in store for him. But he was sure that St. Pierre would accept. And +then, if he won the fight with Bateese— +</P> + +<P> +The smile faded from his lips. His face grew older as he looked slowly +about the bateau cabin, with its sweet and lingering whispers of a +woman's presence. It was a part of her. It breathed of her fragrance +and her beauty; it seemed to be waiting for her, crying softly for her +return. Yet once had there been another woman even lovelier than the +wife of St. Pierre. He had not hesitated then. Without great effort he +had triumphed over the loveliness of Carmin Fanchet and had sent her +brother to the hangman. And now, as he recalled those days, the truth +came to him that even in the darkest hour Carmin Fanchet had made not +the slightest effort to buy him off with her beauty. She had not tried +to lure him. She had fought proudly and defiantly. And had Marie-Anne +done that? His fingers clenched slowly, and a thickening came in his +throat. Would she tell St. Pierre of the many hours they had spent +together? Would she confess to him the secret of that precious moment +when she had lain close against his breast, her arms about him, her +face pressed to his? Would she speak to him of secret hours, of warm +flushes that had come to her face, of glowing fires that at times had +burned in her eyes when he had been very near to her? Would she reveal +EVERYTHING to St. Pierre—her husband? He was powerless to combat the +voice that told him no. Carmin Fanchet had fought him openly as an +enemy and had not employed her beauty as a weapon. Marie-Anne had put +in his way a great temptation. What he was thinking seemed to him like +a sacrilege, yet he knew there could be no discriminating distinctions +between weapons, now that he was determined to play the game to the +end, for the Law. +</P> + +<P> +When Carrigan went out on deck, the half-breed was sweating from his +exertion at the stern sweep. He looked at the agent de police who was +going to fight him, perhaps tomorrow or the next day. There was a +change in Carrigan. He was not the same man who had gone into the cabin +an hour before, and the fact impressed itself upon Bateese. There was +something in his appearance that held back the loose talk at the end of +Concombre's tongue. And so it was Carrigan himself who spoke first. +</P> + +<P> +"When will this man St. Pierre come to see me?" he demanded. "If he +doesn't come soon, I shall go to him." +</P> + +<P> +For an instant Concombre's face darkened. Then, as he bent over the +sweep with his great back to David, he chuckled audibly, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Would you go, m'sieu? Ah—it is le malade d'amour over there in the +cabin. Surely you would not break in upon their love-making?" +</P> + +<P> +Bateese did not look over his shoulder, and so he did not see the hot +flush that gathered in David's face. But David was sure he knew it was +there and that Concombre had guessed the truth of matters. There was a +sly note in his voice, as if he could not quite keep to himself his +exultation that beauty and bright eyes had played a clever trick on +this man who, if his own judgment had been followed, would now be +resting peacefully at the bottom of the river. It was the final stab to +Carrigan. His muscles tensed. For the first time he felt the desire to +shoot a naked fist into the grinning mouth of Concombre Bateese. He +laid a hand on the half-breed's shoulder, and Bateese turned about +slowly. He saw what was in the other's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Until this moment I have not known what a great pleasure it will be to +fight you, Bateese," said David quietly. "Make it tomorrow—in the +morning, if you wish. Take word to St. Pierre that I will make him a +great wager that I win, a gamble so large that I think he will be +afraid to cover it. For I don't think much of this St. Pierre of yours, +Bateese. I believe him to be a big-winded bluff, like yourself. And +also a coward. Mark my word, he will be so much afraid that he will not +accept my wager!" +</P> + +<P> +Bateese did not answer. He was looking over David's shoulder. He seemed +not to have heard what the other had said, yet there had come a sudden +gleam of exultation in his eyes, and he replied, still gazing toward +the raft, +</P> + +<P> +"Diantre, m'sieu coq de bruyere may keep ze beeg word in hees mout'! +See!—St. Pierre, he ees comin' to answer for himself. Mon Dieu, I hope +he does not wring ze leetle rooster's neck, for zat would spoil wan +great, gran' fight tomorrow!" +</P> + +<P> +David turned toward the big raft. At the distance which separated them +he could make out the giant figure of St. Pierre Boulain getting into a +canoe. The humped-up form already in that canoe he knew was the Broken +Man. He could not see Marie-Anne. +</P> + +<P> +Very lightly Bateese touched his arm. "M'sieu will go into ze cabin," +he suggested softly. "If somet'ing happens, it ees bes' too many eyes +do not see it. You understan', m'sieu agent de police?" +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan nodded. "I understand," he said. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XVI +</H3> + +<P> +In the cabin David waited. He did not look through the window to watch +St. Pierre's approach. He sat down and picked up a magazine from the +table upon which Marie-Anne's work-basket lay. He was cool as ice now. +His blood flowed evenly and his pulse beat unhurriedly. Never had he +felt himself more his own master, more like grappling with a situation. +St. Pierre was coming to fight. He had no doubt of that. Perhaps not +physically, at first. But, one way or another, something dynamic was +bound to happen in the bateau cabin within the next half-hour. Now that +the impending drama was close at hand, Carrigan's scheme of luring St. +Pierre into the making of a stupendous wager seemed to him rather +ridiculous. With calculating coldness he was forced to concede that St. +Pierre would be somewhat of a fool to accept the wager he had in mind, +when he was so completely in St. Pierre's power. For Marie-Anne and the +chief of the Boulains, the bottom of the river would undoubtedly be the +best and easiest solution, and the half-breed's suggestion might be +acted upon after all. +</P> + +<P> +As his mind charged itself for the approaching struggle, David found +himself staring at a double page in the magazine, given up entirely to +impossibly slim young creatures exhibiting certain bits of illusive and +mysterious feminine apparel. Marie-Anne had expressed her approbation +in the form of pencil notes under several of them. Under a cobwebby +affair that wreathed one of the slim figures he read, "St. Pierre will +love this!" There were two exclamation points after that particular +notation! +</P> + +<P> +David replaced the magazine on the table and looked toward the door. +No, St. Pierre would not hesitate to put him at the bottom of the +river, for her. Not if he, Dave Carrigan, made the solution of the +matter a necessity. There were times, he told himself, when it was +confoundedly embarrassing to force the letter of the law. And this was +one of them. He was not afraid of the river bottom. He was thinking +again of Marie-Anne. +</P> + +<P> +The scraping of a canoe against the side of the bateau recalled him +suddenly to the moment at hand. He heard low voices, and one of them, +he knew, was St. Pierre's. For an interval the voices continued, +frequently so low that he could not distinguish them at all. For ten +minutes he waited impatiently. Then the door swung open, and St. Pierre +came in. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly and coolly David rose to meet him, and at the same moment the +chief of the Boulains closed the door behind him. There was no greeting +in Carrigan's manner. He was the Law, waiting, unexcited, sure of +himself, impassive as a thing of steel. He was ready to fight. He +expected to fight. It only remained for St. Pierre to show what sort of +fight it was to be. And he was amazed at St. Pierre, without betraying +that amazement. In the vivid light that shot through the western +windows the chief of the Boulains stood looking at David. He wore a +gray flannel shirt open at the throat, and it was a splendid throat +David saw, and a splendid head above it, with its reddish beard and +hair. But what he saw chiefly were St. Pierre's eyes. They were the +sort of eyes he disliked to find in an enemy—a grayish, steely blue +that reflected sunlight like polished flint. But there was no flash of +battle-glow in them now. St. Pierre was neither excited nor in a bad +humor. Nor did Carrigan's attitude appear to disturb him in the least. +He was smiling; his eyes glowed with almost boyish curiosity as he +stared appraisingly at David—and then, slowly, a low chuckle of +laughter rose in his deep chest, and he advanced with an outstretched +hand. +</P> + +<P> +"I am St. Pierre Boulain," he said. "I have heard a great deal about +you, Sergeant Carrigan. You have had an unfortunate time!" +</P> + +<P> +Had the man advanced menacingly, David would have felt more +comfortable. It was disturbing to have this giant come to him with an +extended hand of apparent friendship when he had anticipated an +entirely different sort of meeting. And St. Pierre was laughing at him! +There was no doubt of that. And he had the colossal nerve to tell him +that he had been unfortunate, as though being shot up by somebody's +wife was a fairly decent joke! +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan's attitude did not change. He did not reach out a hand to meet +the other. There was no responsive glimmer of humor in his eyes or on +his lips. And seeing these things, St. Pierre turned his extended hand +to the open box of cigars, so that he stood for a moment with his back +toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"It's funny," he said, as if speaking to himself, and with only a +drawling note of the French patois in his voice. "I come home, find my +Jeanne in a terrible mix-up, a stranger in her room—and the stranger +refuses to let me laugh or shake hands with him. Tonnerre, I say it is +funny! And my Jeanne saved his life, and made him muffins, and gave him +my own bed, and walked with him in the forest! Ah, the ungrateful +cochon!" +</P> + +<P> +He turned, laughing openly, so that his deep voice filled the cabin. +"Vous aves de la corde de pendu, m'sieu—yes, you are a lucky dog! For +only one other man in the world would my Jeanne have done that. You are +lucky because you were not ended behind the rock; you are lucky because +you are not at the bottom of the river; you are lucky—" +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged his big shoulders hopelessly. "And now, after all our +kindness and your good luck, you wait for me like an enemy, m'sieu. +Diable, I can not understand!" +</P> + +<P> +For the life of him Carrigan could not, in these few moments, measure +up his man. He had said nothing. He had let St. Pierre talk. And now +St. Pierre stood there, one of the finest men he had ever looked upon, +as if honestly overcome by a great wonder. And yet behind that apparent +incredulity in his voice and manner David sensed the deep underflow of +another thing. St. Pierre was all that Marie-Anne had claimed for him, +and more. She had given him assurance of her unlimited confidence that +her husband could adjust any situation in the world, and Carrigan +conceded that St. Pierre measured up splendidly to that particular type +of man. The smile had not left his face; the good humor was still in +his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +David smiled back at him coldly. He recognized the cleverness of the +other's play. St. Pierre was a man who would smile like that even as he +fought, and Carrigan loved a smiling fighter, even when he had to slip +steel bracelets over his wrists. +</P> + +<P> +"I am Sergeant Carrigan, of 'N' Division, Royal Northwest Mounted +Police," he said, repeating the formula of the law. "Sit down, St. +Pierre, and I will tell you a few things that have happened. And then—" +</P> + +<P> +"Non, non, it is not necessary, m'sieu. I have already listened for an +hour, and I do not like to hear a story twice. You are of the Police. I +love the Police. They are brave men, and brave men are my brothers. You +are out after Roger Audemard, the rascal! Is it not so? And you were +shot at behind the rock back there. You were almost killed. Ma foi, and +it was my Jeanne who did the shooting! Yes, she thought you were +another man." The chuckling, drum-like note of laughter came again out +of St. Pierre's great chest. "It was bad shooting. I have taught her +better, but the sun was blinding there in the hot, white sand. And +after that—I know everything that has happened. Bateese was wrong. I +shall scold him for wanting to put you at the bottom of the +river—perhaps. Oui, ce que femme veut, Dieu le veut—that is it. A +woman must have her way, and my Jeanne's gentle heart was touched +because you were a brave and handsome man, M'sieu Carrigan. But I am +not jealous. Jealousy is a worm that does not make friendship! And we +shall be friends. Only as a friend could I take you to the Chateau +Boulain, far up on the Yellowknife. And we are going there." +</P> + +<P> +In spite of what might have been the entirely proper thing to do at +this particular moment, Carrigan's face broke into a smile as he drew a +second chair up close to the table. He was swift to readjust himself. +It came suddenly back to him how he had grinned behind the rock, when +death seemed close at hand. And St. Pierre was like that now. David +measured him again as the chief of the Boulains sat down opposite him. +Such a man could not be afraid of anything on the face of the earth, +even of the Law. The gleam that lay in his eyes told David that as they +met his own over the table. "We are smiling now because it happens to +please us," David read in them. "But in a moment, if it is necessary, +we shall fight." +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan leaned a little over the table. "You know we are not going to +the Chateau Boulain, St. Pierre," he said. "We are going to stop at +Fort McMurray, and there you and your wife must answer for a number of +things that have happened. There is one way out—possibly. That is +largely up to you. Why did your wife try to kill me behind the rock? +And what did you know about Black Roger Audemard?" +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre's eyes did not for an instant leave Carrigan's face. Slowly +a change came into them; the smile faded, the blue went out, and up +from behind seemed to come another pair of eyes that were hard as steel +and cold as ice. Yet they were not eyes that threatened, nor eyes that +betrayed excitement or passion. And St. Pierre's voice, when he spoke, +lacked the deep and vibrant note that had been in it. It was as if he +had placed upon it the force of a mighty will, chaining it back, just +as something hidden and terrible lay chained behind his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Why play like little children, M'sieu Carrigan?" he asked. "Why not +come out squarely, honestly, like men? I know what has happened. Mon +Dieu, it was bad! You were almost killed, and you heard that poor +wreck, Andre, call for Roger Audemard. My Jeanne has told you about +that—how I found him in the forest with his broken mind and body. And +about my Jeanne—" St. Pierre's fists grew into knotted lumps on the +table. "Non, I will die—I will kill you—before I will tell you why +she shot at you behind the rock! We are men, both of us. We are not +afraid. And you—in my place—what would YOU do, m'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +In the moment's silence each man looked steadily at the other. +</P> + +<P> +"I would—fight," said David slowly. "If it was for her, I am pretty +sure I would fight." +</P> + +<P> +He believed that he was drawing the net in now, that it would catch St. +Pierre. He leaned a little farther over the table. +</P> + +<P> +"And I, too, must fight," he added. "You know our law, St. Pierre. We +don't go back without our man—unless we happen to die. And I would be +stupid if I did not understand the situation here. It would be quite +easy for you to get rid of me. But I don't believe you are a murderer, +even if your Jeanne tried to be." A flicker of a smile crossed his +lips. "And Marie-Anne—I beg pardon!—your wife—" +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre interrupted him. "It will please me to have you call her +Marie-Anne. And it will please her also, m'sieu. Dieu, if we only had +eyes that could see what is in a woman's heart! Life is funny, m'sieu. +It is a great joke, I swear it on my soul!" +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged his shoulders, smiling again straight into David's eyes. +"See what has happened! You set out for a murderer. My Jeanne makes a +great mistake and shoots you. Then she pities you, saves your life, +brings you here, and—ma foi! it is true—learns to care for you more +than she should! But that does not make me want to kill you. Non, her +happiness is mine. Dead men tell no tales, m'sieu, but there are times +when living men also keep tales to themselves. And that is what you are +going to do, M'sieu Carrigan. You are going to keep to yourself the +thing that happened behind the rock. You are going to keep to yourself +the mumblings of our poor mad Andre. Never will they pass your lips. I +know. I swear it. I stake my life on it!" St. Pierre was talking slowly +and unexcitedly. There was an immeasurable confidence in his deep +voice. It did not imply a threat or a warning. He was sure of himself. +And his eyes had deepened into blue again and were almost friendly. +</P> + +<P> +"You would stake your life?" repeated Carrigan questioningly. "You +would do that?" +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre rose to his feet and looked about the cabin with a shining +light in his eyes that was both pride and exaltation. He moved toward +the end of the room, where the piano stood, and for a moment his big +fingers touched the keys; then, seeing the lacy bit of handkerchief +that lay there, he picked it up—and placed it back again. Carrigan did +not urge his question, but waited. In spite of his effort to fight it +down he found himself in the grip of a mysterious and growing thrill as +he watched St. Pierre. Never had the presence of another man had the +same effect upon him, and strangely the thought came to him that he was +matched—even overmatched. It was as if St. Pierre had brought with him +into the cabin something more than the splendid strength of his body, a +thing that reached out in the interval of silence between them, warning +Carrigan that all the law in the world would not swerve the chief of +the Boulains from what was already in his mind. For a moment the +thought passed from David that fate had placed him up against the +hazard of enmity with St. Pierre. His vision centered in the man alone. +And as he, too, rose to his feet, an unconscious smile came to his lips +as he recalled the boastings of Bateese. +</P> + +<P> +"I ask you," said he, "if you would really stake your life in a matter +such as that? Of course, if your words were merely accidental, and +meant nothing—" +</P> + +<P> +"If I had a dozen lives, I would stake them, one on top of the other, +as I have said," interrupted St. Pierre. Suddenly his laugh boomed out +and his voice became louder. "M'sieu Carrigan, I have come to offer you +just that test! Oui, I could kill you now. I could put you at the +bottom of the river, as Bateese thinks is right. Mon Dieu, how +completely I could make you disappear! And then my Jeanne would be +safe. She would not go behind prison bars. She would go on living, and +laughing, and singing in the big forests, where she belongs. And Black +Roger Audemard, the rascal, would be safe for a time! But that would be +like destroying a little child. You are so helpless now. So you are +going on to the Chateau Boulain with us, and if at the end of the +second month from today you do not willingly say I have won my +wager—why—m'sieu—I will go with you into the forest, and you may +shoot out of me the life which is my end of the gamble. Is that not +fair? Can you suggest a better way—between men like you and me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can at least suggest a way that has the virtue of saving time," +replied David. "First, however, I must understand my position here. I +am, I take it, a prisoner." +</P> + +<P> +"A guest, with certain restrictions placed upon you, m'sieu," corrected +St. Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of the two men met on a dead level. +</P> + +<P> +"Tomorrow morning I am going to fight Bateese," said David. "It is a +little sporting event we have fixed up between us for the amusement +of—your men. I have heard that Bateese is the best fighting man along +the Three Rivers. And I—I do not like to have any other man claim that +distinction when I am around." +</P> + +<P> +For the first time St. Pierre's placidity seemed to leave him. His brow +became clouded, a moment's frown grew in his face, and there was a +certain disconsolate hopelessness in the shrug of his shoulders. It was +as if Carrigan's words had suddenly robbed the day of all its sunshine +for the chief of the Boulains. His voice, too, carried an unhappy and +disappointed note as he made a gesture toward the window. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu, on that raft out there are many of my men, and they have +scarcely rested or slept since word was brought to them that a stranger +was to fight Concombre Bateese. Tonnerre, they have gambled without +ever seeing you until the clothes on their backs are in the hazard, and +they have cracked their muscles in labor to overtake you! They have +prayed away their very souls that it would be a good fight, and that +Bateese would not eat you up too quickly. It has been a long time since +we have seen a good fight, a long time since the last man dared to +stand up against the half-breed. Ugh, it tears out my heart to tell you +that the fight can not be!" +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre made no effort to suppress his emotion. He was like a huge, +disappointed boy. He walked to the window, peered forth at the raft, +and as he shrugged his big shoulders again something like a groan came +from him. +</P> + +<P> +The thrill of approaching triumph swept through David's blood. The +flame of it was in his eyes when St. Pierre turned from the window. +</P> + +<P> +"And you are disappointed, St. Pierre? You would like to see that +fight!" +</P> + +<P> +The blue steel in St. Pierre's eyes flashed back. "If the price were a +year of my life, I would give it—if Bateese did not eat you up too +quickly. I love to look upon a good fight, where there is no venom of +hatred in the blows!" +</P> + +<P> +"Then you shall see a good fight, St. Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +"Bateese would kill you, m'sieu. You are not big. You are not his +match." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall whip him, St. Pierre—whip him until he avows me his master." +</P> + +<P> +"You do not know the half-breed, m'sieu. Twice I have tried him in +friendly combat myself and have been beaten." +</P> + +<P> +"But I shall whip him," repeated Carrigan. "I will wager you +anything—anything in the world—even life against life—that I whip +him!" +</P> + +<P> +The gloom had faded from the face of St. Pierre Boulain. But in a +moment it clouded again. +</P> + +<P> +"My Jeanne has made me promise that I will stop the fight," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"And why—why should she insist in a matter such as this, which +properly should be settled among men?" asked David. +</P> + +<P> +Again St. Pierre laughed; with an effort, it seemed, "She is +gentle-hearted, m'sieu. She laughed and thought it quite a joke when +Bateese humbled me. 'What! My great St. Pierre, with the blood of old +France in his veins, beaten by a man who has been named after a +vegetable!' she cried. I tell you she was merry over it, m'sieu! She +laughed until the tears came into her eyes. But with you it is +different. She was white when she entreated me not to let you fight +Bateese. Yes, she is afraid you will be badly hurt. And she does not +want to see you hurt again. But I tell you that I am not jealous, +m'sieu! She does not try to hide things from me. She tells me +everything, like a little child. And so—" +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to fight Bateese," said David. He wondered if St. Pierre +could hear the thumping of his heart, or if his face gave betrayal of +the hot flood it was pumping through his body. "Bateese and I have +pledged ourselves. We shall fight, unless you tie one of us hand and +foot. And as for a wager—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—what have you to wager?" demanded St. Pierre eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"You know the odds are great," temporized Carrigan. +</P> + +<P> +"That I concede, m'sieu." +</P> + +<P> +"But a fight without a wager would be like a pipe without tobacco, St. +Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +"You speak truly, m'sieu." +</P> + +<P> +David came nearer and laid a hand on the other's arm. "St. Pierre, I +hope you—and your Jeanne—will understand what I am about to offer. It +is this. If Bateese whips me, I will disappear into the forests, and no +word shall ever pass my lips of what has passed since that hour behind +the rock—and this. No whisper of it will ever reach the Law. I will +forget the attempted murder and the suspicious mumblings of your Broken +Man. You will be safe. Your Jeanne will be safe—if Bateese whips me." +</P> + +<P> +He paused, and waited. St. Pierre made no answer, but amazement came +into his face, and after that a slow and burning fire in his eyes which +told how deeply and vitally Carrigan's words had struck into his soul. +</P> + +<P> +"And if I should happen to win," continued David, turning a bit +carelessly toward the window, "why, I should expect as large a payment +from you. If I win, your fulfillment of the wager will be to tell me in +every detail why your wife tried to kill me behind the rock, and you +will also tell me all that you know about the man I am after, Black +Roger Audemard. That is all. I am asking for no odds, though you +concede the handicap is great." +</P> + +<P> +He did not look at St. Pierre. Behind him he heard the other's deep +breathing. For a space neither spoke. Outside they could hear the soft +swish of water, the low voices of men in the stern, and a shout and the +barking of a dog coming from the raft far out on the river. For David +the moment was one of suspense. He turned again, a bit carelessly, as +if his proposition were a matter of but little significance to him. St. +Pierre was not looking at him. He was staring toward the door, as if +through it he could see the powerful form of Bateese bending over the +stern sweep. And Carrigan could see that his face was flaming with a +great desire, and that the blood in his body was pounding to the mighty +urge of it. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he faced Carrigan. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu, listen to me," he said. "You are a brave man. You are a man of +honor, and I know you will bury sacredly in your heart what I am going +to tell you now, and never let a word of it escape—even to my Jeanne. +I do not blame you for loving her. Non! You could not help that. You +have fought well to keep it within yourself, and for that I honor you. +How do I know? Mon Dieu, she has told me! A woman's heart understands, +and a woman's ears are quick to hear, m'sieu. When you were sick, and +your mind was wandering, you told her again and again that you loved +her—and when she brought you back to life, her eyes saw more than once +the truth of what your lips had betrayed, though you tried to keep it +to yourself. Even more, m'sieu—she felt the touch of your lips on her +hair that day. She understands. She has told me everything, openly, +innocently—yet her heart thrills with that sympathy of a woman who +knows she is loved. M'sieu, if you could have seen the light in her +eyes and the glow in her cheeks as she told me these secrets. But I am +not jealous! Non! It is only because you are a brave man, and one of +honor, that I tell you all this. She would die of shame did she know I +had betrayed her confidence. Yet it is necessary that I tell you, +because if we make the big wager we must drop my Jeanne from the +gamble. Do you comprehend me, m'sieu? +</P> + +<P> +"We are two men, strong men, fighting men. I—Pierre Boulain—can not +feel the shame of jealousy where a woman's heart is pure and sweet, and +where a man has fought against love with honor as you have fought. And +you, m'sieu—David Carrigan, of the Police—can not strike with your +hard man's hand that tender heart, that is like a flower, and which +this moment is beating faster than it should with the fear that some +harm is going to befall you. Is it not so, m'sieu? We will make the +wager, yes. But if you whip Bateese—and you can not do that in a +hundred years of fighting—I will not tell you why my Jeanne shot at +you behind the rock. Non, never! Yet I swear I will tell you the other. +If you win, I will tell you all I know about Roger Audemard, and that +is considerable, m'sieu. Do you agree?" +</P> + +<P> +Slowly David held out a hand. St. Pierre's gripped it. The fingers of +the two men met like bands of steel. +</P> + +<P> +"Tomorrow you will fight," said St. Pierre. "You will fight and be +beaten so terribly that you may always show the marks of it. I am +sorry. Such a man as you I would rather have as a brother than an +enemy. And she will never forgive me. She will always remember it. The +thought will never die out of her heart that I was a beast to let you +fight Bateese. But it is best for all. And my men? Ah! Diable, but it +will be great sport for them, m'sieu!" +</P> + +<P> +His hand unclasped. He turned to the door. A moment later it closed +behind him, and David was alone. He had not spoken. He had not replied +to the engulfing truths that had fallen quietly and without a betrayal +of passion from St. Pierre's lips. Inwardly he was crushed. Yet his +face was like stone, hiding his shame. And then, suddenly, there came a +sound from outside that sent the blood through his cold veins again. It +was laughter, the great, booming laughter of St. Pierre! It was not the +merriment of a man whose heart was bleeding, or into whose life had +come an unexpected pain or grief. It was wild and free, and filled with +the joy of the sun-filled day. +</P> + +<P> +And David, listening to it, felt something that was more than +admiration for this man growing within him. And unconsciously his lips +repeated St. Pierre's words. +</P> + +<P> +"Tomorrow—you will fight." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XVII +</H3> + +<P> +For many minutes David stood at the bateau window and watched the canoe +that carried St. Pierre Boulain and the Broken Man back to the raft. It +moved slowly, as if St. Pierre was loitering with a purpose and was +thinking deeply of what had passed. Carrigan's fingers tightened, and +his face grew tense, as he gazed out into the glow of the western sun. +Now that the stress of nerve-breaking moments in the cabin was over, he +no longer made an effort to preserve the veneer of coolness and +decision with which he had encountered the chief of the Boulains. Deep +in his soul he was crushed and humiliated. Every nerve in his body was +bleeding. +</P> + +<P> +He had heard St. Pierre's big laugh a moment before, but it must have +been the laugh of a man who was stabbed to the heart. And he was going +back to Marie-Anne like that—drifting scarcely faster than the current +that he might steal time to strengthen himself before he looked into +her eyes again. David could see him, motionless, his giant shoulders +hunched forward a little, his head bowed, and in the stern the Broken +Man paddled listlessly, his eyes on the face of his master. Without +voice David cursed himself. In his egoism he had told himself that he +had made a splendid fight in resisting the temptation of a great love +for the wife of St. Pierre. But what was his own struggle compared with +this tragedy which St. Pierre was now facing? +</P> + +<P> +He turned from the window and looked about the cabin room again—the +woman's room and St. Pierre's—and his face burned in its silent +accusation. Like a living thing it painted another picture for him. For +a space he lost his own identity. He saw himself in the place of St. +Pierre. He was the husband of Marie-Anne, worshipping her even as St. +Pierre must worship her, and he came, as St. Pierre had come, to find a +stranger in his home, a stranger who had lain in his bed, a stranger +whom his wife had nursed back to life, a stranger who had fallen in +love with his most inviolable possession, who had told her of his love, +who had kissed her, who had held her close, in his arms, whose presence +had brought a warmer flush and a brighter glow into eyes and cheeks +that until this stranger's coming had belonged only to him. And he +heard her, as St. Pierre had heard her, pleading with him to keep this +man from harm; he heard her soft voice, telling of the things that had +passed between them, and he saw in her eyes— +</P> + +<P> +With almost a cry he swept the thought and the picture from him. It was +an atrocious thing to conceive, impossible of reality. And yet the +truth would not go. What would he have done in St. Pierre's place? +</P> + +<P> +He went to the window again. Yes, St. Pierre was a bigger man than he. +For St. Pierre had come quietly and calmly, offering a hand of +friendship, generous, smiling, keeping his hurt to himself, while he, +Dave Carrigan, would have come with the murder of man in his heart. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes passed from the canoe to the raft, and from the big raft to +the hazy billows of green and golden forest that melted off into +interminable miles of distance beyond the river. He knew that on the +other side of him lay that same distance, north, east, south, and west, +vast spaces in an unpeopled world, the same green and golden forests, +ten thousand plains and rivers and lakes, a million hiding-places where +romance and tragedy might remain forever undisturbed. The thought came +to him that it would not be difficult to slip out into that world and +disappear. He almost owed it to St. Pierre. It was the voice of Bateese +in a snatch of wild and discordant song that brought him back into grim +reality. There was, after all, that embarrassing matter of justice—and +the accursed Law! +</P> + +<P> +After a little he observed that the canoe was moving faster, and that +Andre's paddle was working steadily and with force. St. Pierre no +longer sat hunched in the bow. His head was erect, and he was waving a +hand in the direction of the raft. A figure had come from the cabin on +the huge mass of floating timber. David caught the shimmer of a woman's +dress, something white fluttering over her head, waving back at St. +Pierre. It was Marie-Anne, and he moved away from the window. +</P> + +<P> +He wondered what was passing between St. Pierre and his wife in the +hour that followed. The bateau kept abreast of the raft, moving neither +faster nor slower than it did, and twice he surrendered to the desire +to scan the deck of the floating timbers through his binoculars. But +the cabin held St. Pierre and Marie-Anne, and he saw neither of them +again until the sun was setting. Then St. Pierre came out—alone. +</P> + +<P> +Even at that distance over the broad river he heard the booming voice +of the chief of the Boulains. Life sprang up where there had been the +drowse of inactivity aboard the raft. A dozen more of the great sweeps +were swiftly manned by men who appeared suddenly from the shaded places +of canvas shelters and striped tents. A murmur of voices rose over the +water, and then the murmur was broken by howls and shouts as the +rivermen ran to their places at the command of St. Pierre's voice, and +as the sweeps began to flash in the setting sun, it gave way entirely +to the evening chant of the Paddling Song. +</P> + +<P> +David gripped himself as he listened and watched the slowly drifting +glory of the world that came down to the shores of the river. He could +see St. Pierre clearly, for the bateau had worked its way nearer. He +could see the bare heads and naked arms of the rivermen at the sweeps. +The sweet breath of the forests filled his lungs, as that picture lay +before him, and there came into his soul a covetousness and a yearning +where before there had been humiliation and the grim urge of duty. He +could breathe the air of that world, he could look at its beauty, he +could worship it—and yet he knew that he was not a part of it as those +others were a part of it. He envied the men at the sweeps; he felt his +heart swelling at the exultation and joy in their song. They were going +home—home down the big rivers, home to the heart of God's Country, +where wives and sweethearts and happiness were waiting for them, and +their visions were his visions as he stared wide-eyed and motionless +over the river. And yet he was irrevocably an alien. He was more than +that—an enemy, a man-hound sent out on a trail to destroy, an agent of +a powerful and merciless force that carried with it punishment and +death. +</P> + +<P> +The crew of the bateau had joined in the evening song of the rivermen +on the raft, and over the ridges and hollows of the forest tops, red +and green and gold in the last warm glory of the sun, echoed that +chanting voice of men. David understood now what St. Pierre's command +had been. The huge raft with its tented city of life was preparing to +tie up for the night. A quarter of a mile ahead the river widened, so +that on the far side was a low, clean shore toward which the efforts of +the men at the sweeps were slowly edging the raft. York boats shot out +on the shore side and dropped anchors that helped drag the big craft +in. Two others tugged at tow-lines fastened to the shoreside bow, and +within twenty minutes the first men were plunging up out of the water +on the white strip of beach and were whipping the tie-lines about the +nearest trees. David unconsciously was smiling in the thrill and +triumph of these last moments, and not until they were over did he +sense the fact that Bateese and his crew were bringing the bateau in to +the opposite shore. Before the sun was quite down, both raft and +house-boat were anchored for the night. +</P> + +<P> +As the shadows of the distant forests deepened, Carrigan felt impending +about him an oppression of emptiness and loneliness which he had not +experienced before. He was disappointed that the bateau had not tied up +with the raft. Already he could see men building fires. Spirals of +smoke began to rise from the shore, and he knew that the riverman's +happiest of all hours, supper time, was close at hand. He looked at his +watch. It was after seven o'clock. Then he watched the fading away of +the sun until only the red glow of it remained in the west, and against +the still thicker shadows the fires of the rivermen threw up yellow +flames. On his own side, Bateese and the bateau crew were preparing +their meal. It was eight o'clock when a man he had not seen before +brought in his supper. He ate, scarcely sensing the taste of his food, +and half an hour later the man reappeared for the dishes. +</P> + +<P> +It was not quite dark when he returned to his window, but the far shore +was only an indistinct blur of gloom. The fires were brighter. One of +them, built solely because of the rivermen's inherent love of light and +cheer, threw the blaze of its flaming logs twenty feet into the air. +</P> + +<P> +He wondered what Marie-Anne was doing in this hour. Last night they had +been together. He had marveled at the witchery of the moonlight in her +hair and eyes, he had told her of the beauty of it, she had smiled, she +had laughed softly with him—for hours they had sat in the spell of the +golden night and the glory of the river. And tonight—now—was she with +St. Pierre, waiting as they had waited last night for the rising of the +moon? Had she forgotten? COULD she forget? Or was she, as he thought +St. Pierre had painfully tried to make him believe, innocent of all the +thoughts and desires that had come to him, as he sat worshipping her in +their stolen hours? He could think of them only as stolen, for he did +not believe Marie-Anne had revealed to her husband all she might have +told him. +</P> + +<P> +He was sure he would never see her again as he had seen her then, and +something of bitterness rose in him as he thought of that. St. Pierre, +could he have seen her face and eyes when he told her that her hair in +the moonlight was lovelier than anything he had ever seen, would have +throttled him with his naked hands in that meeting in the cabin. For +St. Pierre's code would not have had her eyes droop under their long +lashes or her cheeks flush so warmly at the words of another man—and +he could not take vengeance on the woman herself. No, she had not told +St. Pierre all she might have told! There were things which she must +have kept to herself, which she dared not reveal even to this +great-hearted man who was her husband. Shame, if nothing more, had kept +her silent. +</P> + +<P> +Did she feel that shame as he was feeling it? It was inconceivable to +think otherwise. And for that reason, more than all others, he knew +that she would not meet him face to face again—unless he forced that +meeting. And there was little chance of that, for his pledge with St. +Pierre had eliminated her from the aftermath of tomorrow's drama, his +fight with Bateese. Only when St. Pierre might stand in a court of law +would there be a possibility of her eyes meeting his own again, and +then they would flame with the hatred that at another time had been in +the eyes of Carmin Fanchet. +</P> + +<P> +With the dull stab of a thing that of late had been growing inside him, +he wondered what had happened to Carmin Fanchet in the years that had +gone since he had brought about the hanging of her brother. Last night +and the night before, strange dreams of her had come to him in restless +slumber. It was disturbing to him that he should wake up in the middle +of the night dreaming of her, when he had gone to his bed with a mind +filled to overflowing with the sweet presence of Marie-Anne Boulain. +And now his mind reached out poignantly into mysterious darkness and +doubt, even as the darkness of night spread itself in a thickening +canopy over the river. +</P> + +<P> +Gray clouds had followed the sun of a faultless day, and the stars were +veiled overhead. When David turned from the window, it was so dark in +the cabin that he could not see. He did not light the lamps, but made +his way to St. Pierre's couch and sat down in the silence and gloom. +</P> + +<P> +Through the open windows came to him the cadence of the river and the +forests. There was silence of human voice ashore, but under him he +heard the lapping murmur of water as it rustled under the stern and +side of the bateau, and from the deep timber came the never-ceasing +whisper of the spruce and cedar tops, and the subdued voice of +creatures whose hours of activity had come with the dying out of the +sun. +</P> + +<P> +For a long time he sat in this darkness. And then there came to him a +sound that was different than the other sounds—a low monotone of +voices, the dipping of a paddle—and a canoe passed close under his +windows and up the shore. He paid small attention to it until, a little +later, the canoe returned, and its occupants boarded the bateau. It +would have roused little interest in him then had he not heard a voice +that was thrillingly like the voice of a woman. +</P> + +<P> +He drew his hunched shoulders erect and stared through the darkness +toward the door. A moment more and there was no doubt. It was almost +shock that sent the blood leaping suddenly through his veins. The +inconceivable had happened. It was Marie-Anne out there, talking in a +low voice to Bateese! +</P> + +<P> +Then there came a heavy knock at his door, and he heard the door open. +Through it he saw the grayer gloom of the outside night partly shut out +a heavy shadow. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu!" called the voice of Bateese. +</P> + +<P> +"I am here," said David. +</P> + +<P> +"You have not gone to bed, m'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +The heavy shadow seemed to fade away, and yet there still remained a +shadow there. David's heart thumped as he noted the slenderness of it. +For a space there was silence. And then, +</P> + +<P> +"Will you light the lamps, M'sieu David?" a soft voice came to him. "I +want to come in, and I am afraid of this terrible darkness!" +</P> + +<P> +He rose to his feet, fumbling in his pocket for matches. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XVIII +</H3> + +<P> +He did not turn toward Marie-Anne when he had lighted the first of the +great brass lamps hanging at the side of the bateau. He went to the +second, and struck another match, and flooded the cabin with light. +</P> + +<P> +She still stood silhouetted against the darkness beyond the cabin door +when he faced her. She was watching him, her eyes intent, her face a +little pale, he thought. Then he smiled and nodded. He could not see a +great change in her since this afternoon, except that there seemed to +be a little more fire in the glow of her eyes. They were looking at him +steadily as she smiled and nodded, wide, beautiful eyes in which there +was surely no revelation of shame or regret, and no very clear evidence +of unhappiness. David stared, and his tongue clove to the roof of his +mouth. +</P> + +<P> +"Why is it that you sit in darkness?" she asked, stepping within and +closing the door. "Did you not expect me to return and apologize for +leaving you so suddenly this afternoon? It was impolite. Afterward I +was ashamed. But I was excited, M'sieu David. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," he hurried to interrupt her. "I understand. St. Pierre is +a lucky man. I congratulate you—as well as him. He is splendid, a man +in whom you can place great faith and confidence." +</P> + +<P> +"He scolded me for running away from you as I did, M'sieu David. He +said I should have shown better courtesy than to leave like that one +who was a guest in our—home. So I have returned, like a good child, to +make amends." +</P> + +<P> +"It was not necessary." +</P> + +<P> +"But you were lonesome and in darkness!" +</P> + +<P> +He nodded. "Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And besides," she added, so quietly and calmly that he was amazed, +"you know my sleeping apartment is also on the bateau. And St. Pierre +made me promise to say good night to you." +</P> + +<P> +"It is an imposition," cried David, the blood rushing to his face. "You +have given up all this to me! Why not let me go into that little room +forward, or sleep on the raft and you and St. Pierre—" +</P> + +<P> +"St. Pierre would not leave the raft," replied Marie-Anne, turning from +him toward the table on which were the books and magazines and her +work-basket. "And I like my little room forward." +</P> + +<P> +"St. Pierre—" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped himself. He could see a sudden color deepening in the cheek +of St. Pierre's wife as she made pretense of looking for something in +her basket. He felt that if he went on he would blunder, if he had not +already blundered. He was uncomfortable, for he believed he had guessed +the truth. It was not quite reasonable to expect that Marie-Anne would +come to him like this on the first night of St. Pierre's homecoming. +Something had happened over in the little cabin on the raft, he told +himself. Perhaps there had been a quarrel—at least ironical +implications on St. Pierre's part. And his sympathy was with St. Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +He caught suddenly a little tremble at the corner of Marie-Anne's mouth +as her face was turned partly from him, and he stepped to the opposite +side of the table so he could look at her fairly. If there had been +unpleasantness in the cabin on the raft, St. Pierre's wife in no way +gave evidence of it. The color had deepened to almost a blush in her +cheeks, but it was not on account of embarrassment, for one who is +embarrassed is not usually amused, and as she looked up at him her eyes +were filled with the flash of laughter which he had caught her lips +struggling to restrain. Then, finding a bit of lace work with the +needles meshed in it, she seated herself, and again he was looking down +on the droop of her long lashes and the seductive glow of her lustrous +hair. Yesterday, in a moment of irresistible impulse, he had told her +how lovely it was as she had dressed it, a bewitching crown of +interwoven coils, not drawn tightly, but crumpled and soft, as if the +mass of tresses were openly rebelling at closer confinement. She had +told him the effect was entirely accidental, largely due to +carelessness and haste in dressing it. Accidental or otherwise, it was +the same tonight, and in the heart of it were the drooping red petals +of a flower she had gathered with him early that afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +"St. Pierre brought me over," she said in a calmly matter-of-fact +voice, as though she had expected David to know that from the +beginning. "He is ashore talking over important matters with Bateese. I +am sure he will drop in and say good night before he returns to the +raft. He asked me to wait for him—here." She raised her eyes, so clear +and untroubled, so quietly unembarrassed under his gaze, that he would +have staked his life she had no suspicion of the confessions which St. +Pierre had revealed to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you care? Would you rather put out the lights and go to bed?" +</P> + +<P> +He shook his head. "No. I am glad. I was beastly lonesome. I had an +idea—" +</P> + +<P> +He was on the point of blundering again when he caught himself. The +effect of her so near him was more than ever disturbing, in spite of +St. Pierre. Her eyes, clear and steady, yet soft as velvet when they +looked at him, made his tongue and his thoughts dangerously uncertain. +</P> + +<P> +"You had an idea, M'sieu David?" +</P> + +<P> +"That you would have no desire to see me again after my talk with St. +Pierre," he said. "Did he tell you about it?" +</P> + +<P> +"He said you were very fine, M'sieu David—and that he liked you." +</P> + +<P> +"And he told you it is determined that I shall fight Bateese in the +morning?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +The one word was spoken with a quiet lack of excitement, even of +interest—it seemed to belie some of the things St. Pierre had told +him, and he could scarcely believe, looking at her now, that she had +entreated her husband to prevent the encounter, or that she had +betrayed any unusual emotion in the matter at all. +</P> + +<P> +"I was afraid you would object," he could not keep from saying. "It +does not seem nice to pull off such a thing as that, when there is a +lady about—" +</P> + +<P> +"Or LADIES." She caught him up quickly, and he saw a sudden little +tightening of her pretty mouth as she turned her eyes to the bit of +lace work again. "But I do not object, because what St. Pierre says is +right—must be right." +</P> + +<P> +And the softness, he thought, went altogether out of the curve of her +lips for an instant. In a flash their momentary betrayal of vexation +was gone, and St. Pierre's wife had replaced the work-basket on the +table and was on her feet, smiling at him. There was something of wild +daring in her eyes, something that made him think of the glory of +adventure he had seen flaming in her face the night they had run the +rapids of the Holy Ghost. +</P> + +<P> +"Tomorrow will be very unpleasant, M'sieu David," she cried softly. +"Bateese will beat you—terribly. Tonight we must think of things more +agreeable." +</P> + +<P> +He had never seen her more radiant than when she turned toward the +piano. What the deuce did it mean? Had St. Pierre been making a fool of +him? She actually appeared unable to restrain her elation at the +thought that Bateese would surely beat him up! He stood without moving +and made no effort to answer her. Just before they had started on that +thrilling adventure into the forest, which had ended with his carrying +her in his arms, she had gone to the piano and had played for him. Now +her fingers touched softly the same notes. A little humming trill came +in her throat, and it seemed to David that she was deliberately +recalling his thoughts to the things that had happened before the +coming of St. Pierre. He had not lighted the lamp over the piano, and +for a flash her dark eyes smiled at him out of the half shadow. After a +moment she began to sing. +</P> + +<P> +Her voice was low and without effort, untrained, and subdued as if +conscious and afraid of its limitations, yet so exquisitely sweet that +to David it was a new and still more wonderful revelation of St. +Pierre's wife. He drew nearer, until he stood close at her side, the +dark luster of her hair almost touching his arm, her partly upturned +face a bewitching profile in the shadows. +</P> + +<P> +Her voice grew lower, almost a whisper in its melody, as if meant for +him alone. Many times he had heard the Canadian Boat Song, but never as +its words came now from the lips of Marie-Anne Boulain. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Faintly as tolls the evening chime,<BR> + Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time.<BR> + Soon as the woods on shore look dim,<BR> + We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn;<BR> + Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,<BR> + The rapids are near, and the daylight's past."<BR> +</P> + +<P> +She paused. And David, staring down at her shining head, did not speak. +Her fingers trembled over the keys, he could see dimly the shadow of +her long lashes, and the spirit-like scent of crushed violets rose to +him from the soft lace about her throat and her hair. +</P> + +<P> +"It is your music," he whispered. "I have never heard the Boat Song +like that!" +</P> + +<P> +He tried to drag his eyes from her face and hair, sensing that he was a +near-criminal, fighting a mighty impulse. The notes under her fingers +changed, and again—by chance or design—she was stabbing at him; +bringing him face to face with the weakness of his flesh, the iniquity +of his desire to reach out his arms and crumple her in them. Yet she +did not look up, she did not see him, as she began to sing "Ave Maria." +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Ave, Maria, hear my cry!<BR> + O, guide my path where no harm, no harm is nigh—"<BR> +</P> + +<P> +As she went on, he knew she had forgotten to think of him. With the +reverence of a prayer the holy words came from her lips, slowly, +softly, trembling with a pathos and sweetness that told David they came +not alone from the lips, but from the very soul of St. Pierre's wife. +And then— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Oh, Mother, hear me where thou art,<BR> + And guard and guide my aching heart, my aching heart!"<BR> +</P> + +<P> +The last words drifted away into a whisper, and David was glad that he +was not looking into the face of St. Pierre's wife, for there must have +been something there now which it would have been sacrilege for him to +stare at, as he was staring at her hair. +</P> + +<P> +No sound of opening door had come from behind them. Yet St. Pierre had +opened it and stood there, watching them with a curious humor in eyes +that seemed still to hold a glitter of the fire that had leaped from +the half-breed's flaming birch logs. His voice was a shock to Carrigan. +</P> + +<P> +"PESTE, but you are a gloomy pair!" he boomed. "Why no light over there +in the corner, and why sing that death-song to chase away the devil +when there is no devil near?" +</P> + +<P> +Guilt was in David's heart, but there was no sting of venom in St. +Pierre's words, and he was laughing at them now, as though what he saw +were a pretty joke and amused him. +</P> + +<P> +"Late hours and shady bowers! I say it should be a love song or +something livelier," he cried, closing the door behind him and coming +toward them. "Why not En Roulant ma Boule, my sweet Jeanne? You know +that is my favorite." +</P> + +<P> +He suddenly interrupted himself, and his voice rolled out in a wild +chant that rocked the cabin. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "The wind is fresh, the wind is free,<BR> + En roulant ma boule! The wind is fresh—my love waits me,<BR> + Rouli, roulant, ma boule roulant!<BR> + Behind our house a spring you see,<BR> + In it three ducks swim merrily,<BR> + And hunting, the Prince's son went he,<BR> + With a silver gun right fair to see—"<BR> +</P> + +<P> +David was conscious that St. Pierre's wife had risen to her feet, and +now she came out of shadow into light, and he was amazed to see that +she was laughing back at St. Pierre, and that her two fore-fingers were +thrust in her ears to keep out the bellow of her husband's voice. She +was not at all discomfited by his unexpected appearance, but rather +seemed to join in the humor of the thing with St. Pierre, though he +fancied he could see something in her face that was forced and uneasy. +He believed that under the surface of her composure she was suffering a +distress which she did not reveal. +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre advanced and carelessly patted her shoulder with one of his +big hands, while he spoke to David. +</P> + +<P> +"Has she not the sweetest voice in the world, m'sieu? Did you ever hear +a sweeter or as sweet? I say it is enough to get down into the soul of +a man, unless he is already half dead! That voice—" +</P> + +<P> +He caught Marie-Anne's eyes. Her cheeks were flaming. Her look, for an +instant, flashed lightning as she halted him. +</P> + +<P> +"Ma foi, I speak it from the heart," he persisted, with a shrug of his +shoulders. "Am I not right, M'sieu Carrigan? Did you ever hear a +sweeter voice?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is wonderful," agreed David, wondering if he was hazarding too much. +</P> + +<P> +"Good! It fills me with happiness to know I am right. And now, cherie, +good-night! I must return to the raft." +</P> + +<P> +A shadow of vexation crossed Marie-Anne's face. "You seem in great +haste." +</P> + +<P> +"Plagues and pests! You are right, Pretty Voice! I am most anxious to +get back to my troubles there, and you—" +</P> + +<P> +"Will also bid M'sieu Carrigan good-night," she quickly interrupted +him. "You will at least see me to my room, St. Pierre, and safely put +away for the night." +</P> + +<P> +She held out her hand to David. There was not a tremor in it as it lay +for an instant soft and warm in his own. She made no effort to withdraw +it quickly, nor did her eyes hide their softness as they looked into +his own. +</P> + +<P> +Mutely David stood as they went out. He heard St. Pierre's loud voice +rumbling about the darkness of the night. He heard them pass along the +side of the bateau forward, and half a minute later he knew that St. +Pierre was getting into his canoe. The dip of a paddle came to him. +</P> + +<P> +For a space there was silence, and then, from far out in the black +shadow of the river, rolled back the great voice of St. Pierre Boulain +singing the wild river chant, "En Roulant ma Boule." +</P> + +<P> +At the open window he listened. It seemed to him that from far over the +river, where the giant raft lay, there came a faint answer to the words +of the song, +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIX +</H3> + +<P> +With the slow approach of the storm which was advancing over the +wilderness, Carrigan felt more poignantly the growing unrest that was +in him. He heard the last of St. Pierre's voice, and after that the +fires on the distant shore died out slowly, giving way to utter +blackness. Faintly there came to him the far-away rumbling of thunder. +The air grew heavy and thick, and there was no sound of night-bird over +the breast of the river, and out of the thick cedar and spruce and +balsam there came no cry or whisper of the nocturnal life waiting in +silence for the storm to break. In that stillness David put out the +lights in the cabin and sat close to the window in darkness. +</P> + +<P> +He was more than sleepless. Every nerve in his body demanded action, +and his brain was fired by strange thoughts until their vividness +seemed to bring him face to face with a reality that set his blood +stirring with an irresistible thrill. He believed he had made a +discovery, that St. Pierre had betrayed himself. What he had visioned, +the conclusion he had arrived at, seemed inconceivable, yet what his +own eyes had seen and his ears had heard pointed to the truth of it +all. The least he could say was that St. Pierre's love for Marie-Anne +Boulain was a strange sort of love. His attitude toward her seemed more +like that of a man in the presence of a child of whom he was fond in a +fatherly sort of way. His affection, as he had expressed it, was +parental and careless. Not for an instant had there been in it a +betrayal of the lover, no suggestion of the husband who cared deeply or +who might be made jealous by another man. +</P> + +<P> +Sitting in darkness thickening with the nearer approach of storm, David +recalled the stab of pain mingled with humiliation that had come into +the eyes of St. Pierre's wife when she had stood facing her husband. He +heard again, with a new understanding, the low note of pathos in her +voice as in song she had called upon the Mother of Christ to hear +her—and help her. He had not guessed at the tragedy of it then. Now he +knew, and he thought of her lying awake in the gloom beyond the +bulkhead, her eyes were with tears. And St. Pierre had gone back to his +raft, singing in the night! Where before there had been sympathy for +him, there rose a sincere revulsion. There had been a reason for St. +Pierre's masterly possession of himself, and it had not been, as he had +thought, because of his bigness of soul. It was because he had not +cared. He was a splendid hypocrite, playing his game well at the +beginning, but betraying the lie at the end. He did not love Marie-Anne +as he, Dave Carrigan, loved her. He had spoken of her as a child, and +he had treated her as a child, and was serenely dispassionate in the +face of a situation which would have roused the spirit in most men. And +suddenly, recalling that thrilling hour in the white strip of sand and +all that had happened since, it flashed upon David that St. Pierre was +using his wife as the vital moving force in a game of his own—that +under the masquerade of his apparent faith and bigness of character he +was sacrificing her to achieve a certain mysterious something it the +scheme of his own affairs. +</P> + +<P> +Yet he could not forget the infinite faith Marie-Anne Boulain had +expressed in her husband. There had been no hypocrisy in her waiting +and her watching for him, or in her belief that he would straighten out +the tangles of the dilemma in which she had become involved. Nor had +there been make-believe in the manner she had left him that day in her +eagerness to go to St. Pierre. Adding these facts as he had added the +others, he fancied he saw the truth staring at him out of the darkness +of his cabin room. Marie-Anne loved her husband. And St. Pierre was +merely the possessor, careless and indifferent, almost brutally +dispassionate in his consideration of her. +</P> + +<P> +A heavy crash of thunder brought Carrigan back to a realization of the +impending storm. He rose to his feet in the chaotic gloom, facing the +bulkhead beyond which he was certain St. Pierre's wife lay wide awake. +He tried to laugh. It was inexcusable, he told himself, to let his +thoughts become involved in the family affairs of St. Pierre and +Marie-Anne. That was not his business. Marie-Anne, in the final +analysis, did not appear to be especially abused, and her mind was not +a child's mind. Probably she would not thank him for his interest in +the matter. She would tell him, like any other woman with pride, that +it was none of his business and that he was presuming upon forbidden +ground. +</P> + +<P> +He went to the window. There was scarcely a breath of air, and +unfastening the screen, he thrust out his head and shoulders into the +night. It was so black that he could not see the shadow of the water +almost within reach of his hands, but through the chaos of gloom that +lay between him and the opposite shore he made out a single point of +yellow light. He was positive the light was in the cabin on the raft. +And St. Pierre was probably in that cabin. +</P> + +<P> +A huge drop of rain splashed on his hand, and behind him he heard +sweeping over the forest tops the quickening march of the deluge. There +was no crash of thunder or flash of lightning when it broke. Straight +down, in an inundation, it came out of a sky thick enough to slit with +a knife. Carrigan drew in his head and shoulders and sniffed the sweet +freshness of it. He tried again to make out the light on the raft, but +it was obliterated. +</P> + +<P> +Mechanically he began taking off his clothes, and in a few moments he +stood again at the window, naked. Thunder and lightning had caught up +with the rain, and in the flashes of fire Carrigan's ghost-white face +stared in the direction of the raft. In his veins was at work an +insistent and impelling desire. Over there was St. Pierre, he was +undoubtedly in the cabin, and something might happen if he, Dave +Carrigan, took advantage of storm and gloom to go to the raft. +</P> + +<P> +It was almost a presentiment that drew his bare head and shoulders out +through the window, and every hunting instinct in him urged him to the +adventure. The stygian darkness was torn again by a flash of fire. In +it he saw the river and the vivid silhouette of the distant shore. It +would not be a difficult swim, and it would be good training for +tomorrow. +</P> + +<P> +Like a badger worming his way out of a hole a bit too small for him, +Carrigan drew himself through the window. A lightning flash caught him +at the edge of the bateau, and he slunk back quickly against the cabin, +with the thought that other eyes might be staring out into that same +darkness. In the pitch gloom that followed he lowered himself quietly +into the river, thrust himself under water, and struck out for the +opposite shore. +</P> + +<P> +When he came to the surface again it was in the glare of another +lightning flash. He flung the water from his face, chose a point +several hundred yards above the raft, and with quick, powerful strokes +set out in its direction. For ten minutes he quartered the current +without raising his head. Then he paused, floating unresistingly with +the slow sweep of the river, and waited for another illumination. When +it came, he made out the tented raft scarcely a hundred yards away and +a little below him. In the next darkness he found the edge of it and +dragged himself up on the mass of timbers. +</P> + +<P> +The thunder had been rolling steadily westward, and David crouched low, +hoping for one more flash to illumine the raft. It came at last from a +mass of inky cloud far to the west, so indistinct that it made only dim +shadows out of the tents and shelters, but it was sufficient to give +him direction. Before its faint glare died out, he saw the deeper +shadow of the cabin forward. +</P> + +<P> +For many minutes he lay where he had dragged himself, without making a +movement in its direction. Nowhere about him could he see a sign of +light, nor could he hear any sound of life. St. Pierre's people were +evidently deep in slumber. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan had no very definite idea of the next step in his adventure. +He had swum from the bateau largely under impulse, with no preconceived +scheme of action, urged chiefly by the hope that he would find St. +Pierre in the cabin and that something might come of it. As for +knocking at the door and rousing the chief of the Boulains from +sleep—he had at the present moment no very good excuse for that. No +sooner had the thought and its objection come to him than a broad shaft +of light shot with startling suddenness athwart the blackness of the +raft, darkened in another instant by an obscuring shadow. Swift as the +light itself David's eyes turned to the source of the unexpected +illumination. The door of St. Pierre's cabin was wide open. The +interior was flooded with lampglow, and in the doorway stood St. Pierre +himself. +</P> + +<P> +The chief of the Boulains seemed to be measuring the weather +possibilities of the night. His subdued voice reached David, chuckling +with satisfaction, as he spoke to some one who was behind him in the +cabin. +</P> + +<P> +"Pitch and brimstone, but it's black!" he cried. "You could carve it +with a knife, and stand it on end, AMANTE. But it's going west. In a +few hours the stars will be out." +</P> + +<P> +He drew back into the cabin, and the door closed. David held his breath +in amazement, staring at the blackness where a moment before the light +had been. Who was it St. Pierre had called sweetheart? AMANTE! He could +not have been mistaken. The word had come to him clearly, and there was +but one guess to make. Marie-Anne was not on the bateau. She had played +him for a fool, had completely hoodwinked him in her plot with St. +Pierre. They were cleverer than he had supposed, and in darkness she +had rejoined her husband on the raft! But why that senseless play of +falsehood? What could be their object in wanting him to believe she was +still aboard the bateau? +</P> + +<P> +He stood up on his feet and mopped the warm rain from his face, while +the gloom hid the grim smile that came slowly to his lips. Close upon +the thrill of his astonishment he felt a new stir in his blood which +added impetus to his determination and his action. He was not disgusted +with himself, nor was he embittered by what he had thought of a moment +ago as the lying hypocrisy of his captors. To be beaten in his game of +man-hunting was sometimes to be expected, and Carrigan always gave +proper credit to the winners. It was also "good medicine" to know that +Marie-Anne, instead of being an unhappy and neglected wife, had blinded +him with an exquisitely clever simulation. Just why she had done it, +and why St. Pierre had played his masquerade, it was his duty now to +find out. +</P> + +<P> +An hour ago he would have cut off a hand before spying upon St. +Pierre's wife or eavesdropping under her window. Now he felt no +uneasiness of conscience as he approached the cabin, for Marie-Anne +herself had destroyed all reason for any delicate discrimination on his +part. +</P> + +<P> +The rain had almost stopped, and in one of the near tents he heard a +sleepy voice. But he had no fear of chance discovery. The night would +remain dark for a long time, and in his bare feet he made no sound the +sharpest ears of a dog ten feet away might have heard. Close to the +cabin door, yet in such a way that the sudden opening of it would not +reveal him, he paused and listened. +</P> + +<P> +Distinctly he heard St. Pierre's voice, but not the words. A moment +later came the soft, joyous laughter of a woman, and for an instant a +hand seemed to grip David's heart, filling it with pain. There was no +unhappiness in that laughter. It seemed, instead, to tremble in an +exultation of gladness. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly St. Pierre came nearer the door, and his voice was more +distinct. "Chere-coeur, I tell you it is the greatest joke of my life," +he heard him say. "We are safe. If it should come to the worst, we can +settle the matter in another way. I can not but sing and laugh, even in +the face of it all. And she, in that very innocence which amuses me so, +has no suspicion—" +</P> + +<P> +He turned, and vainly David keyed his ears to catch the final words. +The voices in the cabin grew lower. Twice he heard the soft laughter of +the woman. St. Pierre's voice, when he spoke, was unintelligible. +</P> + +<P> +The thought that his random adventure was bringing him to an important +discovery possessed Carrigan. St. Pierre, he believed, had been on the +very edge of disclosing something which he would have given a great +deal to know. Surely in this cabin there must be a window, and the +window would be open— +</P> + +<P> +Quietly he felt his way through the darkness to the shore side of the +cabin. A narrow bar of light at least partly confirmed his judgment. +There was a window. But it was almost entirely curtained, and it was +closed. Had the curtain been drawn two inches lower, the thin stream of +light would have been shut entirely out from the night. +</P> + +<P> +Under this window David crouched for several minutes, hoping that in +the calm which was succeeding the storm it might be opened. The voices +were still more indistinct inside. He scarcely heard St. Pierre, but +twice again he heard the low and musical laughter of the woman. She had +laughed differently with HIM—and the grim smile settled on his lips as +he looked up at the narrow slit of light over his head. He had an +overwhelming desire to look in. After all, it was a matter of +professional business—and his duty. +</P> + +<P> +He was glad the curtain was drawn so low. From experiments of his own +he knew there was small chance of those inside seeing him through the +two-inch slit, and he raised himself boldly until his eyes were on a +level with the aperture. +</P> + +<P> +Directly in the line of his vision was St. Pierre's wife. She was +seated, and her back was toward him, so he could not see her face. She +was partly disrobed, and her hair was streaming loose about her. Once, +he remembered, she had spoken of fiery lights that came into her hair +under certain illumination. He had seen them in the sun, but never as +they revealed themselves now in that cabin lamp glow. He scarcely +looked at St. Pierre, who was on his feet, looking down upon her—not +until St. Pierre reached out and crumpled the smothering mass of +glowing tresses in his big hands, and laughed. It was a laugh filled +with the unutterable joy of possession. The woman rose to her feet. Up +through her hair went her two white, bare arms, encircling St. Pierre's +neck. The giant drew her close. Her slim form seemed to melt in his, +and their lips met. +</P> + +<P> +And then the woman threw back her head, laughing, so that her glory of +hair fell straight down, and she was out of reach of St. Pierre's lips. +They turned. Her face fronted the window, and out in the night Carrigan +stifled a cry that almost broke from his lips. For a flash he was +looking straight into her eyes. Her parted lips seemed smiling at him; +her white throat and bosom were bared to him. He dropped down, his +heart choking him as he stumbled through the darkness to the edge of +the raft. There, with the lap of the water at his feet, he paused. It +was hard for him to get Breath. He stared through the gloom in the +direction of the bateau. Marie-Anne Boulain, the woman he loved, was +there! In her little cabin, alone, on the bateau, was St. Pierre's +wife, her heart crushed. +</P> + +<P> +And in this cabin on the raft, forgetful of her degradation and her +grief, was the vilest wretch he had ever known—St. Pierre Boulain. And +with him, giving herself into his arms, caressing him with her lips and +hair, was the sister of the man he had helped to hang—CARMIN FANCHET! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XX +</H3> + +<P> +The shock of the amazing discovery which Carrigan had made was as +complete as it was unexpected. His eyes had looked upon the last thing +in the world he might have guessed at or anticipated when they beheld +through the window of St. Pierre's cabin the beautiful face and partly +disrobed figure of Carmin Fanchet. The first effect of that shock had +been to drive him away. His action had been involuntary, almost without +the benefit of reason, as if Carmin had been Marie-Anne herself +receiving the caresses which were rightfully hers, and upon which it +was both insult and dishonor for him to spy. He realized now that he +had made a mistake in leaving the window too quickly. +</P> + +<P> +But he did not move back through the gloom, for there was something too +revolting in what he had seen, and with the revulsion of it a swift +understanding of the truth which made his hands clench as he sat down +on the edge of the raft with his feet and legs submerged in the +slow-moving current of the river. The thing was not uncommon. It was +the same monstrous story, as old as the river itself, but in this +instance it filled him with a sickening sort of horror which gripped +him at first even more than the strangeness of the fact that Carmin +Fanchet was the other woman. His vision and his soul were reaching out +to the bateau lying in darkness on the far side of the river, where St. +Pierre's wife was alone in her unhappiness. His first impulse was to +fling himself in the river and race to her—his second, to go back to +St. Pierre, even in his nakedness, and call him forth to a reckoning. +In his profession of man-hunting he had never had the misfortune to +kill, but he could kill St. Pierre—now. His fingers dug into the +slippery wood of the log under him, his blood ran hot, and in his eyes +blazed the fury of an animal as he stared into the wall of gloom +between him and Marie-Anne Boulain. +</P> + +<P> +How much did she know? That was the first question which pounded in his +brain. He suddenly recalled his reference to the fight, his apology to +Marie-Anne that it should happen so near to her presence, and he saw +again the queer little twist of her mouth as she let slip the hint that +she was not the only one of her sex who would know of tomorrow's fight. +He had not noticed the significance of it then. But now it struck home. +Marie-Anne was surely aware of Carmin Fanchet's presence on the raft. +</P> + +<P> +But did she know more than that? Did she know the truth, or was her +heart filled only with suspicion and fear, aggravated by St. Pierre's +neglect and his too-apparent haste to return to the raft that night? +Again David's mind flashed back, recalling her defense of Carmin +Fanchet when he had first told her his story of the woman whose brother +he had brought to the hangman's justice. There could be but one +conclusion. Marie-Anne knew Carmin Fanchet, and she also knew she was +on the raft with St. Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +As cooler judgment returned to him, Carrigan refused to concede more +than that. For any one of a dozen reasons Carmin Fanchet might be on +the raft going down the river, and it was also quite within reason that +Marie-Anne might have some apprehension of a woman as beautiful as +Carmin, and possibly intuition had begun to impinge upon her a +disturbing fear of a something that might happen. But until tonight he +was confident she had fought against this suspicion, and had overridden +it, even though she knew a woman more beautiful than herself was slowly +drifting down the stream with her husband. She had betrayed no anxiety +to him in the days that had passed; she had waited eagerly for St. +Pierre; like a bird she had gone to him when at last he came, and he +had seen her crushed close in St. Pierre's arms in their meeting. It +was this night, with its gloom and its storm, that had made the +shadowings of her unrest a torturing reality. For St. Pierre had +brought her back to the bateau and had played a pitiably weak part in +concealing his desire to return to the raft. +</P> + +<P> +So he told himself Marie-Anne did not know the truth, not as he had +seen it through the window of St. Pierre's cabin. She had been hurt, +for he had seen the sting of it, and in that same instant he had seen +her soul rise up and triumph. He saw again the sudden fire that came +into her eyes when St. Pierre urged the necessity of his haste, he saw +her slim body grow tense, her red lips curve in a flash of pride and +disdain. And as Carrigan thought of her in that way his muscles grew +tighter, and he cursed St. Pierre. Marie-Anne might be hurt, she might +guess that her husband's eyes and thoughts were too frequently upon +another's face—but in the glory of her womanhood it was impossible for +her to conceive of a crime such as he had witnessed through the cabin +window. Of that he was sure. +</P> + +<P> +And then, suddenly, like a blinding sheet of lightning out of a dark +sky, came back to him all that St. Pierre had said about Marie-Anne. He +had pitied St. Pierre then; he had pitied this great cool-eyed giant of +a man who was fighting gloriously, he had thought, in the face of a +situation that would have excited most men. Frankly St. Pierre had told +him Marie-Anne cared more for him than she should. With equal frankness +he had revealed his wife's confessions to him, that she knew of his +love for her, of his kiss upon her hair. +</P> + +<P> +In the blackness Carrigan's face burned hot. If he had in him the +desire to kill St. Pierre now, might not St. Pierre have had an equally +just desire to kill him? For he had known, even as he kissed her hair, +and as his arms held her close to his breast in crossing the creek, +that she was the wife of St. Pierre. And Marie-Anne— +</P> + +<P> +His muscles relaxed. Slowly he lowered himself into the cool wash of +the river, and struck out toward the bateau. He did not breast the +current with the same fierce determination with which he had crossed +through the storm to the raft, but drifted with it and reached the +opposite shore a quarter of a mile below the bateau. Here he waited for +a time, while the thickness of the clouds broke, and a gray light came +through them, revealing dimly the narrow path of pebbly wash along the +shore. Silently, a stark naked shadow in the night, he came back to the +bateau and crawled through his window. +</P> + +<P> +He lighted a lamp, and turned it very low, and in the dim glow of it +rubbed his muscles until they burned. He was fit for tomorrow, and the +knowledge of that fitness filled him with a savage elation. A +good-humored love of sport had induced him to fling his first +half-bantering challenge into the face of Concombre Bateese, but that +sentiment was gone. The approaching fight was no longer an incident, a +foolish error into which he had unwittingly plunged himself. In this +hour it was the biggest physical thing that had ever loomed up in his +life, and he yearned for the dawn with the eagerness of a beast that +waits for the kill which comes with the break of day. But it was not +the half-breed's face he saw under the hammering of his blows. He could +not hate the half-breed. He could not even dislike him now. He forced +himself to bed, and later he slept. In the dream that came to him it +was not Bateese who faced him in battle, but St. Pierre Boulain. +</P> + +<P> +He awoke with that dream a thing of fire in his brain. The sun was not +yet up, but the flush of it was painting the east, and he dressed +quietly and carefully, listening for some sound of awakening beyond the +bulkhead. If Marie-Anne was awake, she was very still. There was noise +ashore. Across the river he could hear the singing of men, and through +his window saw the white smoke of early fires rising above the +tree-tops. It was the Indian who unlocked the door and brought in his +breakfast, and it was the Indian who returned for the dishes half an +hour later. +</P> + +<P> +After that Carrigan waited, tense with the desire for action to begin. +He sensed no premonition of evil about to befall him. Every nerve and +sinew in his body was alive for the combat. He thrilled with an +overwhelming confidence, a conviction of his ability to win, an almost +dangerous, self-conviction of approaching triumph in spite of the odds +in weight and brute strength which were pitted against him. A dozen +times he listened at the bulkhead between him and Marie-Anne, and still +he heard no movement on the other side. +</P> + +<P> +It was eight o'clock when one of the bateau men appeared at the door +and asked if he was ready. Quickly David joined him. He forgot his +taunts to Concombre Bateese, forgot the softly padded gloves in his +pack with which he had promised to pommel the half-breed into oblivion. +He was thinking only of naked fists. +</P> + +<P> +Into a canoe he followed the bateau man, who turned his craft swiftly +in the direction of the opposite shore. And as they went, David was +sure he caught the slight movement of a curtain at the little window of +Marie-Anne's forward cabin. He smiled back and raised his hand, and at +that the curtain was drawn back entirely, and he knew that St. Pierre's +wife was watching him as he went to the fight. +</P> + +<P> +The raft was deserted, but a little below it, on a wide strip of beach +made hard and smooth by flood water, had gathered a crowd of men. It +seemed odd to David they should remain so quiet, when he knew the +natural instinct of the riverman was to voice his emotion at the top of +his lungs. He spoke of this to the bateau man, who shrugged his +shoulders and grinned. +</P> + +<P> +"Eet ees ze command of St. Pierre," he explained. "St. Pierre say no +man make beeg noise at—what you call heem—funeral? An' theese goin' +to be wan gran' fun-e-RAL, m'sieu!" +</P> + +<P> +"I see," David nodded. He did not grin back at the other's humor. +</P> + +<P> +He was looking at the crowd. A giant figure had appeared out of the +center of it and was coming slowly down to the river. It was St. +Pierre. Scarcely had the prow of the canoe touched shore when David +leaped out and hurried to meet him. Behind St. Pierre came Bateese, the +half-breed. He was stripped to the waist and naked from the knees down. +His gorilla-like arms hung huge and loose at his sides, and the muscles +of his hulking body stood out like carven mahogany in the glisten of +the morning sun. He was like a grizzly, a human beast of monstrous +power, something to look at, to back away from, to fear. +</P> + +<P> +Yet, David scarcely noticed him. He met St. Pierre, faced him, and +stopped—and he had gone swiftly to this meeting, so that the chief of +the Boulains was within earshot of all his men. +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre was smiling. He held out his hand as he had held it out once +before in the bateau cabin, and his big voice boomed out a greeting. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan did not answer, nor did he look at the extended hand. For an +instant the eyes of the two men met, and then, swift as lightning, +Carrigan's arm shot out, and with the flat of his hand he struck St. +Pierre a terrific blow squarely on the cheek. The sound of the blow was +like the smash of a paddle on smooth water. Not a riverman but heard +it, and as St. Pierre staggered back, flung almost from his feet by its +force, a subdued cry of amazement broke from the waiting men. Concombre +Bateese stood like one stupefied. And then, in another flash, St. +Pierre had caught himself and whirled like a wild beast. Every muscle +in his body was drawn for a gigantic, overwhelming leap; his eyes +blazed; the fury of a beast was in his face. Before all his people he +had suffered the deadliest insult that could be offered a man of the +Three River Country—a blow struck with the flat of another's hand. +Anything else one might forgive, but not that. Such a blow, if not +avenged, was a brand that passed down into the second and third +generations, and even children would call out +"Yellow-Back—Yellow-Back," to the one who was coward enough to receive +it without resentment. A rumbling growl rose in the throat of Concombre +Bateese in that moment when it seemed as though St. Pierre Boulain was +about to kill the man who had struck him. He saw the promise of his own +fight gone in a flash. For no man in all the northland could now fight +David Carrigan ahead of St. Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +David waited, prepared to meet the rush of a madman. And then, for a +second time, he saw a mighty struggle in the soul of St. Pierre. The +giant held himself back. The fury died out of his face, but his great +hands remained clenched as he said, for David alone, +</P> + +<P> +"That was a playful blow, m'sieu? It was—a joke?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was for you, St. Pierre," replied Carrigan, "You are a coward—and +a skunk. I swam to the raft last night, looked through your window, and +saw what happened there. You are not fit for a decent man to fight, yet +I will fight you, if you are not too great a coward—and dare to let +our wagers stand as they were made." +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre's eyes widened, and for a breath or two he stared at +Carrigan, as if looking into him and not at him. His big hands relaxed, +and slowly the panther-like readiness went out of his body. Those who +looked beheld the transformation in amazement, for of all who waited +only St. Pierre and the half-breed had heard Carrigan's words, though +they had seen and heard the blow of insult. +</P> + +<P> +"You swam to the raft," repeated St. Pierre in a low voice, as if +doubting what he had heard. "You looked through the window—and saw—" +</P> + +<P> +David nodded. He could not cover the sneering poison in his voice, his +contempt for the man who stood before him. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I looked through the window. And I saw you, and the lowest woman +on the Three Rivers—the sister of a man I helped to hang, I—" +</P> + +<P> +"STOP!" +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre's voice broke out of him like the sudden crash of thunder. +He came a step nearer, his face livid, his eyes shooting flame. With a +mighty effort he controlled himself again. And then, as if he saw +something which David could not see, he tried to smile, and in that +same instant David caught a grin cutting a great slash across the face +of Concombre Bateese. The change that came over St. Pierre now was +swift as sunlight coming out from shadowing cloud. A rumble grew in his +great chest. It broke in a low note of laughter from his lips, and he +faced the bateau across the river. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu, you are sorry for HER. Is that it? You would fight—" +</P> + +<P> +"For the cleanest, finest little girl who ever lived—your wife!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is funny," said St. Pierre, as if speaking to himself, and still +looking at the bateau. "Yes, it is very funny, ma belle Marie-Anne! He +has told you he loves you, and he has kissed your hair and held you in +his arms—yet he wants to fight me because he thinks I am steeped in +sin, and to make me fight in place of Bateese he has called my Carmin a +low woman! So what else can I do? I must fight. I must whip him until +he can not walk. And then I will send him back for you to nurse, +cherie, and for that blessing I think he will willingly take my +punishment! Is it not so, m'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +He was smiling and no longer excited when he turned to David. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu, I will fight you. And the wagers shall stand. And in this hour +let us be honest, like men, and make confession. You love ma belle +Jeanne—Marie-Anne? Is it not so? And I—I love my Carmin, whose +brother you hanged, as I love no other woman in the world. Now, if you +will have it so, let us fight!" +</P> + +<P> +He began stripping off his shirt, and with a bellow in his throat +Concombre Bateese slouched away like a beaten gorilla to explain to St. +Pierre's people the change in the plan of battle. And as that news +spread like fire in the fir-tops, there came but a single cry in +response—shrill and terrible—and that was from the throat of Andre, +the Broken Man. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXI +</H3> + +<P> +As Carrigan stripped off his shirt, he knew that at least in one way he +had met more than his match in St. Pierre Boulain. In the splendid +service of which he was a part he had known many men of iron and steel, +men whose nerve and coolness not even death could very greatly disturb. +Yet St. Pierre, he conceded, was their master—and his own. For a flash +he had transformed the chief of the Boulains into a volcano which had +threatened to break in savage fury, yet neither the crash nor +destruction had come. And now St. Pierre was smiling again, as Carrigan +faced him, stripped to the waist. He betrayed no sign of the tempest of +passion that had swept him a few minutes before. His cool, steely eyes +had in them a look that was positively friendly, as Concombre Bateese +marked in the hard sand the line of the circle within which no man +might come. And as he did this and St. Pierre's people crowded close +about it, St. Pierre himself spoke in a low voice to David. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu, it seems a shame that we should fight. I like you. I have +always loved a man who would fight to protect a woman, and I shall be +careful not to hurt you more than is necessary to make you see +reason—and to win the wagers. So you need not be afraid of my killing +you, as Bateese might have done. And I promise not to destroy your +beauty, for the sake of—the lady in the bateau. My Carmin, if she knew +you spied through her window last night, would say kill you with as +little loss of time as possible, for as regards you her sweet +disposition was spoiled when you hung her brother, m'sieu. Yet to me +she is an angel!" +</P> + +<P> +Contempt for the man who spoke of his wife and the infamous Carmin +Fanchet in the same breath drew a sneer to Carrigan's lips. He nodded +toward the waiting circle of men. +</P> + +<P> +"They are ready for the show, St. Pierre. You talk big. Now let us see +if you can fight." +</P> + +<P> +For another moment St. Pierre hesitated. "I am so sorry, m'sieu— +</P> + +<P> +"Are you ready, St. Pierre?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is not fair, and she will never forgive me. You are no match for +me. I am half again as heavy." +</P> + +<P> +"And as big a coward as you are a scoundrel, St. Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +"It is like a man fighting a boy." +</P> + +<P> +"Yet it is less dishonorable than betraying the woman who is your wife +for another who should have been hanged along with her brother, St. +Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +Boulain's face darkened. He drew back half a dozen steps and cried out +a word to Bateese. Instantly the circle of waiting men grew tense as +the half-breed jerked the big handkerchief from his head and held it +out at arm's length. Yet, with that eagerness for the fight there was +something else which Carrigan was swift to sense. The attitude of the +watchers was not one of uncertainty or of very great expectation, in +spite of the staring faces and the muscular tightening of the line. He +knew what was passing in their minds and in the low whispers from lip +to lip. They were pitying him. Now that he stood stripped, with only a +few paces between him and the giant figure of St. Pierre, the +unfairness of the fight struck home even to Concombre Bateese. Only +Carrigan himself knew how like tempered steel the sinews of his body +were built. But to the eye, in size alone, he stood like a boy before +St. Pierre. And St. Pierre's people, their voices stilled by the deadly +inequality of it, were waiting for a slaughter and not a fight. +</P> + +<P> +A smile came to Carrigan's lips as he saw Bateese hesitating to drop +the handkerchief, and with the swiftness of the trained fighter he made +his first plan for the battle before the cloth fell from the +half-breed's fingers, As the handkerchief fluttered to the ground, he +faced St. Pierre, the smile gone. +</P> + +<P> +"Never smile when you fight," the greatest of all masters of the ring +had told him. "Never show anger, Don't betray any emotion at all if you +can help it." +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan wondered what the old ring-master would say could he see him +now, backing away slowly from St. Pierre as the giant advanced upon +him, for he knew his face was betraying to St. Pierre and his people +the deadliest of all sins—anxiety and indecision. Very closely, yet +with eyes that seemed to shift uneasily, he watched the effect of his +trick on Boulain. Twice the huge riverman followed him about the ring +of sand, and the steely glitter in his eyes changed to laughter, and +the tense faces of the men about them relaxed. A subdued ripple of +merriment rose where there had been silence. A third time David +maneuvered his retreat, and his eyes shot furtively to Concombre +Bateese and the men at his back. They were grinning. The half-breed's +mouth was wide open, and his grotesque body hung limp and astonished. +This was not a fight! It was a comedy—like a rooster following a +sparrow around a barnyard! And then a still funnier thing happened, for +David began to trot in a circle around St. Pierre, dodging and +feinting, and keeping always at a safe distance. A howl of laughter +came from Bateese and broke in a roar from the men. St. Pierre stopped +in his tracks, a grin on his face, his big arms and shoulders limp and +unprepared as Carrigan dodged in close and out again. And then— +</P> + +<P> +A howl broke in the middle of the half-breed's throat. Where there had +been laughter, there came a sudden shutting off of sound, a great gasp, +as if made by choking men. Swifter than anything they had ever seen in +human action Carrigan had leaped in. They saw him strike. They heard +the blow. They saw St. Pierre's great head rock back, as if struck from +his shoulders by a club, and they saw and heard another blow, and a +third—like so many flashes of lightning—and St. Pierre went down as +if shot. The man they had laughed at was no longer like a hopping +sparrow. He was waiting, bent a little forward, every muscle in his +body ready for action. They watched for him to leap upon his fallen +enemy, kicking and gouging and choking in the riverman way. But David +waited, and St. Pierre staggered to his feet. His mouth was bleeding +and choked with sand, and a great lump was beginning to swell over his +eye. A deadly fire blazed in his face, as he rushed like a mad bull at +the insignificant opponent who had tricked and humiliated him. This +time Carrigan did not retreat, but held his ground, and a yell of joy +went up from Bateese as the mighty bulk of the giant descended upon his +victim. It was an avalanche of brute-force, crushing in its +destructiveness, and Carrigan seemed to reach for it as it came upon +him. Then his head went down, swifter than a diving grebe, and as St. +Pierre's arm swung like an oaken beam over his shoulder, his own shot +in straight for the pit of the other's stomach. It was a bull's-eye +blow with the force of a pile-driver behind it, and the groan that +forced its way out of St. Pierre's vitals was heard by every ear in the +cordon of watchers. His weight stopped, his arms opened, and through +that opening Carrigan's fist went a second time to the other's jaw, and +a second time the great St. Pierre Boulain sprawled out upon the sand. +And there he lay, and made no effort to rise. +</P> + +<P> +Concombre Bateese, with his great mouth agape, stood for an instant as +if the blow had stunned him in place of his master. Then, suddenly he +came to life, and leaped to David's side. +</P> + +<P> +"Diable! Tonnerre! You have not fight Concombre Bateese yet!" he +howled. "Non, you have cheat me, you have lie, you have run lak cat +from Concombre Bateese, ze stronges' man on all T'ree River! You are +wan' gran' coward, wan poltroon, an' you 'fraid to fight ME, who ees +greates' fightin' man in all dees countree! Sapristi! Why you no hit +Concombre Bateese, m'sieu? Why you no hit ze greates' fightin' man w'at +ees—" +</P> + +<P> +David did not hear the rest. The opportunity was too tempting. He +swung, and with a huge grunt the gorilla-like body of Concombre Bateese +rolled over that of the chief of the Boulains. This time Carrigan did +not wait, but followed up so closely that the half-breed had scarcely +gathered the crook out of his knees when another blow on the jaw sent +him into the sand again. Three times he tried the experiment of +regaining his feet, and three times he was knocked down. After the last +blow he raised himself groggily to a sitting posture, and there he +remained, blinking like a stunned pig, with his big hands clutching in +the sand. He stared up unseeingly at Carrigan, who waited over him, and +then stupidly at the transfixed cordon of men, whose eyes were bulging +and who were holding their breath in the astonishment of this miracle +which had descended upon them. They heard Bateese muttering something +incoherent as his head wobbled, and St. Pierre himself seemed to hear +it, for he stirred and raised himself slowly, until he also was sitting +in the sand, staring at Bateese. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan picked up his shirt, and the riverman who had brought him from +the bateau returned with him to the canoe. There was no demonstration +behind them. To David himself the whole thing had been an amazing +surprise, and he was not at all reluctant to leave as quickly as his +dignity would permit, before some other of St. Pierre's people offered +to put a further test upon his prowess. He wanted to laugh. He wanted +to thank God at the top of his voice for the absurd run of luck that +had made his triumph not only easy but utterly complete. He had +expected to win, but he had also expected a terrific fight before the +last blow was struck. And there had been no fight! He was returning to +the bateau without a scratch, his hair scarcely ruffled, and he had +defeated not only St. Pierre, but the giant half-breed as well! It was +inconceivable—and yet it had happened; a veritable burlesque, an +opera-bouffe affair that might turn quickly into a tragedy if either +St. Pierre or Concombre Bateese guessed the truth of it. For in that +event he might have to face them again, with the god of luck playing +fairly, and he was honest enough with himself to confess that the idea +no longer held either thrill or desire for him. Now that he had seen +both St. Pierre and Bateese stripped for battle, he had no further +appetite for fistic discussion with them. After all, there was a merit +in caution, and he had several lucky stars to bless just at the present +moment! +</P> + +<P> +Inwardly he was a bit suspicious of the ultimate ending of the affair. +St. Pierre had almost no cause for complaint, for it was his own +carelessness, coupled with his opponent's luck, that had been his +undoing—and luck and carelessness are legitimate factors of every +fight, Carrigan told himself. But with Bateese it was different. He had +held up his big jaw, uncovered and tempting, entreating some one to hit +him, and Carrigan had yielded to that temptation. The blow would have +stunned an ox. Three others like it had left the huge half-breed +sitting weak-mindedly in the sand, and no one of those three blows were +exactly according to the rules of the game. They had been mightily +efficacious, but the half-breed might demand a rehearing when he came +fully into his senses. +</P> + +<P> +Not until they were half-way to the bateau did Carrigan dare to glance +back over his shoulder at the man who was paddling, to see what effect +the fistic travesty had left on him. He was a big-mouthed, clear-eyed, +powerfully-muscled fellow, and he was grinning from ear to ear. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what did you think of it, comrade?" +</P> + +<P> +The other gave his shoulders a joyous shrug. +</P> + +<P> +"Mon Dieu! Have you heard of wan garcon named Joe Clamart, m'sieu? Non? +Well, I am Joe Clamart what was once great fightin' man. Bateese hav' +whip' me five times, m'sieu—so I say it was wan gr-r-r-a-n' fight! +Many years ago I have seen ze same t'ing in Montreal—ze boxeur de +profession. Oui, an' Rene Babin pays me fifteen prime martin against +which I put up three scrubby red fox that you would win. They were bad, +or I would not have gambled, m'sieu. It ees fonny!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is funny," agreed David. "I think it is a bit too funny. It is +a pity they did not stand up on their legs a little longer!" Suddenly +an inspiration hit him. "Joe, what do you say—shall you and I return +and put up a REAL fight for them?" +</P> + +<P> +Like a sprung trap Joe Clamart's grinning mouth dosed. "Non, non, non," +he grunted. "Dere has been plenty fight, an' Joe Clamart mus' save hees +face tor Antoinette Roland, who hate ze sign of fight lak she hate ze +devil, m'sieu! Non, non!" +</P> + +<P> +His paddle dug deeper into the water, and David's heart felt lighter. +If Joe was an average barometer, and he was a husky and +fearless-looking chap, it was probable that neither St. Pierre nor +Bateese would demand another chance at him, and St. Pierre would pay +his wager. +</P> + +<P> +He could see no one aboard the bateau when he climbed from the canoe. +Looking back, he saw that two other canoes had started from the +opposite shore. Then he went to his cabin door, opened it, and entered, +Scarcely had the door closed behind him when he stopped, staring toward +the window that opened on the river. +</P> + +<P> +Standing full in the morning glow of it was Marie-Anne Boulain. She was +facing him. Her cheeks were flushed. Her red lips were parted. Her eyes +were aglow with a fire which she made no effort to hide from him. In +her hand she still held the binoculars he had left on the cabin table. +He guessed the truth. Through the glasses she had watched the whole +miserable fiasco. +</P> + +<P> +He felt creeping over him a sickening shame, and his eyes fell slowly +from her to the table. What he saw there caught his breath in the +middle. It was the entire surgical outfit of Nepapinas, the old Indian +doctor. And there were basins of water, and white strips of linen ready +for use, and a pile of medicated cotton, and all sorts of odds and ends +that one might apply to ease the agonies of a dying man, And beyond the +table, huddled in so small a heap that he was almost hidden by it, was +Nepapinas himself, disappointment writ in his mummy-like face as his +beady eyes rested on David. +</P> + +<P> +The evidence could not be mistaken. They had expected him to come back +more nearly dead than alive, and St. Pierre's wife had prepared for the +thing she had thought inevitable. Even his bed was nicely turned down, +its fresh white sheets inviting an occupant! +</P> + +<P> +And David, looking at St. Pierre's wife again, felt his heart beating +hard in his breast at the look which was in her eyes. It was not the +scintillation of laughter, and the flame in her cheeks was not +embarrassment. She was not amused. The ludicrousness of her mislaid +plans had not struck her as they had struck him. She had placed the +binoculars on the table, and slowly she came to him. Her hands reached +out, and her fingers rested like the touch of velvet on his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"It was splendid!" she said softly, "It was splendid!" +</P> + +<P> +She was very near, her breast almost touching him, her hands creeping +up until the tips of her fingers rested on his shoulders, her scarlet +mouth so close he could feel the soft breath of it in his face. +</P> + +<P> +"It was splendid!" she whispered again. +</P> + +<P> +And then, suddenly, she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. So +swiftly was it done that she was gone before he sensed that wild touch +of her lips against his own. Like a swallow she was at the door, and +the door opened and closed behind her, and for a moment he heard the +quick running of her feet. Then he looked at the old Indian, and the +Indian, too, was staring at the door through which St. Pierre's wife +had flown. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXII +</H3> + +<P> +For many seconds that seemed like minutes David stood where she had +left him, while Nepapinas rose gruntingly to his feet, and gathered up +his belongings, and hobbled sullenly to the bateau door and out. He was +scarcely conscious of the Indian's movement, for his soul was aflame +with a red-hot fire. Deliberately—with that ravishing glory of +something in her eyes—St. Pierre's wife had kissed him! On her +tiptoes, her cheeks like crimson flowers, she had given her still +redder lips to him! And his own lips burned, and his heart pounded +hard, and he stared for a time like one struck dumb at the spot where +she had stood by the window. Then suddenly, he turned to the door and +flung it wide open, and on his lips was the reckless cry of +Marie-Anne's name. But St. Pierre's wife was gone, and Nepapinas was +gone, and at the tail of the big sweep sat only Joe Clamart, guarding +watchfully. +</P> + +<P> +The two canoes were drawing near, and in one of them were two men, and +in the other three, and David knew that—like Joe Clamart—they were +watchers set over him by St. Pierre. Then a fourth canoe left the far +shore, and when it had reached mid-stream, he recognized the figure in +the stern as that of Andre, the Broken Man. The other, he thought, must +be St. Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +He went back into the cabin and stood where Marie-Anne had stood—at +the window. Nepapinas had not taken away the basins of water, and the +bandages were still there, and the pile of medicated cotton, and the +suspiciously made-up bed. After all, he was losing something by not +occupying the bed—and yet if St. Pierre or Bateese had messed him up +badly, and a couple of fellows had lugged him in between them, it was +probable that Marie-Anne would not have kissed him. And that kiss of +St. Pierre's wife would remain with him until the day he died! +</P> + +<P> +He was thinking of it, the swift, warm thrill of her velvety lips, red +as strawberries and twice as sweet, when the door opened and St. Pierre +came in. The sight of him, in this richest moment of his life, gave +David no sense of humiliation or shame. Between him and St. Pierre rose +swiftly what he had seen last night—Carmin Fanchet in all the lure of +her disheveled beauty, crushed close in the arms of the man whose wife +only a moment before had pressed her lips close to his; and as the eyes +of the two met, there came over him a desire to tell the other what had +happened, that he might see him writhe with the sting of the two-edged +thing with which he was playing. Then he saw that even that would not +hurt St. Pierre, for the chief of the Boulains, standing there with the +big lump over his eye, had caught sight of the things on the table and +the nicely turned down bed, and his one good eye lit up with sudden +laughter, and his white teeth flashed in an understanding smile. +</P> + +<P> +"TONNERRE, I said she would nurse you with gentle hands," he rumbled. +"See what you have missed, M'sieu Carrigan!" +</P> + +<P> +"I received something which I shall remember longer than a fine +nursing," retorted David. "And yet right now I have a greater interest +in knowing what you think of the fight, St. Pierre—and if you have +come to pay your wager." +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre was chuckling mysteriously in his throat. "It was +splendid—splendid," he said, repeating Marie-Anne's words. "And Joe +Clamart says she ran out, blushing like a red rose in August, and that +she said no word, but flew like a bird into the white-birch ashore!" +</P> + +<P> +"She was dismayed because I beat you, St. Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +"Non, non—she was like a lark filled with joy." +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly his eyes rested on the binoculars. +</P> + +<P> +David nodded. "Yes, she saw it all through the glasses." +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre seated himself at the table and heaved out a groan as he +took one of the bandage strips between his fingers. "She saw my +disgrace. And she didn't wait to bandage ME up, did she?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps she thought Carmin Fanchet would do that, St. Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +"And I am ashamed to go to Carmin—with this great lump over my eye, +m'sieu. And on top of that disgrace—you insist that I pay the wager?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do." +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre's face hardened. +</P> + +<P> +"OUI, I am to pay. I am to tell you all I know about that BETE +NOIR—Black Roger Audemard. Is it not so?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is the wager." +</P> + +<P> +"But after I have told you—what then? Do you recall that I gave you +any other guarantee, M'sieu Carrigan? Did I say I would let you go? Did +I promise I would not kill you and sink your body to the bottom of the +river? If I did, I can not remember." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you a beast, St. Pierre—a murderer as well as—" +</P> + +<P> +"Stop! Do not tell me again what you saw through the window, for it has +nothing to do with this. I am not a beast, but a man. Had I been a +beast, I should have killed you the first day I saw you in this cabin. +I am not threatening to kill you, and yet it may be necessary if you +insist that I pay the wager. You understand, m'sieu. To refuse to pay a +wager is a greater crime among my people than the killing of a man, if +there is a good reason for the killing. I am helpless. I must pay, if +you insist. Before I pay it is fair that I give you warning." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean nothing, as yet. I can not say what it will be necessary for me +to do, after you have heard what I know about Roger Audemard. I am +quite settled on a plan just now, m'sieu, but the plan might change at +any moment. I am only warning you that it is a great hazard, and that +you are playing with a fire of which you know nothing, because it has +not burned you yet." +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan seated himself slowly in a chair opposite St. Pierre, with the +table between them. +</P> + +<P> +"You are wasting time in attempting to frighten me," he said. "I shall +insist on the payment of the wager, St Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment St. Pierre was clearly troubled. Then his lips tightened, +and he smiled grimly over the table at David. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry, M'sieu David. I like you. You are a fighting man and no +coward, and I should like to travel shoulder to shoulder with you in +many things. And such a thing might be, for you do not understand. I +tell you it would have been many times better for you had I whipped you +out there, and it had been you—and not me—to pay the wager!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is Roger Audemard I am interested in, St. Pierre. Why do you +hesitate?" +</P> + +<P> +"I? Hesitate? I am not hesitating, m'sieu. I am giving you a chance." +He leaned forward, his great arms bent on the table. "And you insist, +M'sieu David?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I insist." +</P> + +<P> +Slowly the fingers of St. Pierre's hands closed into knotted fists, and +he said in a low voice, "Then I will pay, m'sieu. <I>I</I> AM ROGER +AUDEMARD!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXIII +</H3> + +<P> +The astounding statement of the man who sat opposite him held David +speechless. He had guessed at some mysterious relationship between St. +Pierre and the criminal he was after, but not this, and Roger Audemard, +with his hands unclenching and a slow humor beginning to play about his +mouth, waited coolly for him to recover from his amazement. In those +moments, when his heart seemed to have stopped beating, Carrigan was +staring at the other, but his mind had shot beyond him—to the woman +who was his wife. Marie-Anne AUDEMARD—the wife of Black Roger! He +wanted to cry out against the possibility of such a fact, yet he sat +like one struck dumb, as the monstrous truth took possession of his +brain and a whirlwind of understanding swept upon him. He was thinking +quickly, and with a terrific lack of sentiment now. Opposite him sat +Black Roger, the wholesale murderer. Marie-Anne was his wife. Carmin +Fanchet, sister of a murderer, was simply one of his kind. And Bateese, +the man-gorilla, and the Broken Man, and all the dark-skinned pack +about them were of Black Roger's breed and kind. Love for a woman had +blinded him to the facts which crowded upon him now. Like a lamb he had +fallen among wolves, and he had tried to believe in them. No wonder +Bateese and the man he had known as St. Pierre had betrayed such +merriment at times! +</P> + +<P> +A fighting coolness possessed him as he spoke to Black Roger. +</P> + +<P> +"I will admit this is a surprise. And yet you have cleared up a number +of things very quickly. It proves to me again that comedy is not very +far removed from tragedy at times." +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad you see the humor of it, M'sieu David." Black Roger was +smiling as pleasantly as his swollen eye would permit. "We must not be +too serious when we die. If I were to die a-hanging, I would sing as +the rope choked me, just to show the world one need not be unhappy +because his life is coming to an end." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose you understand that ultimately I am going to give you that +opportunity," said David. +</P> + +<P> +Almost eagerly Black Roger leaned toward him over the table. "You +believe you are going to hang me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure of it." +</P> + +<P> +"And you are willing to wager the point, M'sieu David?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is impossible to gamble with a condemned man." +</P> + +<P> +Black Roger chuckled, rubbing his big hands together until they made a +rasping sound, and his one good eye glowed at Carrigan. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I will make a wager with myself, M'sieu David. MA FOI, I swear +that before the leaves fall from the trees, you will be pleading for +the friendship of Black Roger Audemard, and you will be as much in love +with Carmin Fanchet as I am! And as for Marie-Anne—" +</P> + +<P> +He thrust back his chair and rose to his feet, the old note of subdued +laughter rumbling in his chest. "And because I make this wager with +myself, I cannot kill you, M'sieu David—though that might be the best +thing to do. I am going to take you to the Chateau Boulain, which is in +the forests of the Yellowknife, beyond the Great Slave. Nothing will +happen to you if you make no effort to escape. If you do that, you will +surely die. And that would hurt me, M'sieu David, because I love you +like a brother, and in the end I know you are going to grip the hand of +Black Roger Audemard, and get down on your knees to Carmin Fanchet. And +as for Marie-Anne—" Again he interrupted himself, and went out of the +cabin, laughing. And there was no mistake in the metallic click of the +lock outside the door. +</P> + +<P> +For a time David did not move from his seat near the table. He had not +let Roger Audemard see how completely the confession had upset his +inner balance, but he made no pretense of concealing the thing from +himself now. He was in the power of a cut-throat, who in turn had an +army of cut-throats at his back, and both Marie-Anne and Carmin Fanchet +were a part of this ring. And he was not only a prisoner. It was +probable, under the circumstances, that Black Roger would make an end +of him when a convenient moment came. It was even more than a +probability. It was a grim necessity. To let him live and escape would +be fatal to Black Roger. +</P> + +<P> +From back of these convictions, riding over them as if to demoralize +any coherence and logic that might go with the evidence he was building +up, came question after question, pounding at him one after the other, +until his mind became more than ever a whirling chaos of uncertainty. +If St. Pierre was Black Roger, why would he confess to that fact simply +to pay a wager? What reason could he have for letting him live at all? +Why had not Bateese killed him? Why had Marie-Anne nursed him back to +life? His mind shot to the white strip of sand in which he had nearly +died. That, at least, was convincing. Learning in some way that he was +after Black Roger, they had attempted to do away with him there. But if +that were so, why was it Bateese and Black Roger's wife and the Indian +Nepapinas had risked so much to make him live, when if they had left +him where he had fallen he would have died and caused them no trouble? +</P> + +<P> +There was something exasperatingly uncertain and illogical about it +all. Was it possible that St. Pierre Boulain was playing a huge joke on +him? Even that was inconceivable. For there was Carmin Fanchet, a +fitting companion for a man like Black Roger, and there was Marie-Anne, +who, if it had been a joke, would not have played her part so well. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly his mind was filled only with her. Had she been his friend, +using all her influence to protect him, because her heart was sick of +the environment of which she was a part? His own heart jumped at the +thought. It was easy to believe. In Marie-Anne he had faith, and that +faith refused to be destroyed, but persisted—even clearer and stronger +as he thought again of Carmin Fanchet and Black Roger. In his heart +grew the conviction it was sacrilege to believe the kiss she had given +him that morning was a lie. It was something else—a spontaneous +gladness, a joyous exultation that he had returned unharmed, a thing +unplanned in the soul of the woman, leaping from her before she could +stop it. Then had come shame, and she had run away from him so swiftly +he had not seen her face again after the touch of her lips. If it had +been a subterfuge, a lie, she would not have done that. +</P> + +<P> +He rose to his feet and paced restlessly back and forth as he tried to +bring together a few tangled bits of the puzzle. He heard voices +outside, and very soon felt the movement of the bateau under his feet, +and through one of the shoreward windows he saw trees and sandy beach +slowly drifting away. On that shore, as far as his eyes could travel up +and down, he saw no sign of Marie-Anne, but there remained a canoe, and +near the canoe stood Black Roger Audemard, and beyond him, huddled like +a charred stump in the sand, was Andre, the Broken Man. On the opposite +shore the raft was getting under way. +</P> + +<P> +During the next half-hour several things happened which told him there +was no longer a sugar-coating to his imprisonment. On each side of the +bateau two men worked at his windows, and when they had finished, no +one of them could be opened more than a few inches. Then came the +rattle of the lock at the door, the grating of a key, and somewhat to +Carrigan's surprise it was Bateese who came in. The half-reed bore no +facial evidence of the paralyzing blows which had knocked him out a +short time before. His jaw, on which they had landed, was as aggressive +as ever, yet in his face and his attitude, as he stared curiously at +Carrigan, there was no sign of resentment or unfriendliness. Nor did he +seem to be ashamed. He merely stared, with the curious and rather +puzzled eyes of a small boy gazing at an inexplicable oddity. Carrigan, +standing before him, knew what was passing in the other's mind, and the +humor of it brought a smile to his lips. +</P> + +<P> +Instantly Concombre's face split into a wide grin. "MON DIEU, w'at if +you was on'y brother to Concombre Bateese, m'sieu. T'ink of +zat—you—me—FRERE D'ARMES! VENTRE SAINT GRIS, but we mak' all +fightin' men in nort' countree run lak rabbits ahead of ze fox! OUI, we +mak' gr-r-r-eat pair, m'sieu—you, w'at knock down Bateese—an' +Bateese, w'at keel polar bear wit hees naked hands, w'at pull down +trees, w'at chew flint w'en hees tobacco gone." +</P> + +<P> +His voice had risen, and suddenly there came a laugh from outside the +door, and Concombre cut himself short and his mouth closed with a snap. +It was Joe Clamart who had laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"I w'ip heem five time, an' now I w'ip heem seex!" hissed Bateese in an +undertone. "Two time each year I w'ip zat gargon Joe Clamart so he +understan' w'at good fightin' man ees. An' you will w'ip heem, eh, +m'sieu? Oui? An' I will breeng odder good fightin' mans for you to +w'ip—all w'at Concombre Bateese has w'ipped—ten, dozen, forty—an' +you w'ip se gran' bunch, m'sieu. Eh, shall we mak' ze bargain?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are planning a pleasant time for me, Bateese," said Carrigan, "but +I am afraid it will be impossible. You see, this captain of yours, +Black Roger Audemard—" +</P> + +<P> +"W'at!" Bateese jumped as if stung. "W'at you say, m'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +"I said that Roger Audemard, Black Roger, the man I thought was St. +Pierre Boulain—" +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan said no more. What he had started to say was unimportant +compared with the effect of Roger Audernard's name on Concombre +Bateese. A deadly light glittered in the half-breed's eyes, and for the +first time David realized that in the grotesque head of the riverman +was a brain quick to grip at the significance of things. The fact was +evident that Black Roger had not confided in Bateese as to the price of +the wager and the confession of his identity, and for a moment after +the repetition of Audemard's name came from David's lips the half-breed +stood as if something had stunned him. Then slowly, as if forcing the +words in the face of a terrific desire that had transformed his body +into a hulk of quivering steel, he said: +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu—I come with message—from St. Pierre. You see windows—closed. +Outside door—she locked. On bot' sides de bateau, all de time, we +watch. You try get away, an' we keel you. Zat ees all. We shoot. We +five mans on ze bateau, all ze day, TOUTE LA NUIT. You unnerstan'?" +</P> + +<P> +He turned sullenly, waiting for no reply, and the door opened and +closed after him—and again came the snap of the lock outside. +</P> + +<P> +Steadily the bateau swept down the big river that day. There was no +let-up in the steady creaking of the long sweep. Even in the swifter +currents David could hear the working of it, and he knew he had seen +the last of the more slowly moving raft. Near one of the partly open +windows he heard two men talking just before the bateau shot into the +Brule Point rapids. They were strange voices. He learned that +Audemard's huge raft was made up of thirty-five cribs, seven abreast, +and that nine times between the Point Brule and the Yellowknife the +raft would be split up, so that each crib could be run through +dangerous rapids by itself. +</P> + +<P> +That would be a big job, David assured himself. It would be slow work +as well as hazardous, and as his own life was in no immediate jeopardy, +he would have ample time in which to formulate some plan of action for +himself. At the present moment, it seemed, the one thing for him to do +was to wait—and behave himself, according to the half-breed's +instructions. There was, when he came to think about it, a saving +element of humor about it all. He had always wanted to make a trip down +the Three Rivers in a bateau. And now—he was making it! +</P> + +<P> +At noon a guard brought in his dinner. He could not recall that he had +ever seen this man before, a tall, lithe fellow built to run like a +hound, and who wore a murderous-looking knife at his belt. As the door +opened, David caught a glimpse of two others. They were business-like +looking individuals, with muscles built for work or fight; one sitting +cross-legged on the bateau deck with a rifle over his knees, and the +other standing with a rifle in his hand. The man who brought his dinner +wasted no time or words. He merely nodded, murmured a curt bonjour, and +went out. And Carrigan, as he began to eat, did not have to tell +himself twice that Audemard had been particular in his selection of the +bateau's crew, and that the eyes of the men he had seen could be as +keen as a hawk's when leveled over the tip of a rifle barrel. They +meant business, and he felt no desire to smile in the face of them, as +he had smiled at Concombre Bateese. +</P> + +<P> +It was another man, and a stranger, who brought in his supper. And for +two hours after that, until the sun went down and gloom began to fall, +the bateau sped down the river. It had made forty miles that day, he +figured. +</P> + +<P> +It was still light when the bateau was run ashore and tied up, but +tonight there were no singing voices or wild laughter of men whose +hours of play-time and rest had come. To Carrigan, looking through his +window, there was an oppressive menace about it all. The shadowy +figures ashore were more like a death-watch than a guard, and to dispel +the gloom of it he lighted two of the lamps in the cabin, whistled, +drummed a simple chord he knew on the piano, and finally settled down +to smoking his pipe. He would have welcomed the company of Bateese, or +Joe Clamart, or one of the guards, and as his loneliness grew upon him +there was something of companionship even in the subdued voices he +heard occasionally outside. He tried to read, but the printed words +jumbled themselves and meant nothing. +</P> + +<P> +It was ten o'clock, and clouds had darkened the night, when through his +open windows he heard a shout coming from the river. Twice it came +before it was answered from the bateau, and the second time Carrigan +recognized it as the voice of Roger Audemard. A brief interval passed +between that and the scraping of a canoe alongside, and then there was +a low conversation in which even Audemard's great voice was subdued, +and after that the grating of a key in the lock, and the opening of the +door, and Black Roger came in, bearing an Indian reed basket under his +arm. Carrigan did not rise to meet him. It was not like the coming of +the old St. Pierre, and on Black Roger's lips there was no twist of a +smile, nor in his eyes the flash of good-natured greeting. His face was +darkly stern, as if he had traveled far and hard on an unpleasant +mission, but in it there was no shadow of menace, as there had been in +that of Concombre Bateese. It was rather the face of a tired man, and +yet David knew what he saw was not physical exhaustion. Black Roger +guessed something of his thought, and his mouth for an instant +repressed a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I have been having a rough time," he nodded, "This is for you!" +</P> + +<P> +He placed the basket on the table. It held half a bushel, and was +filled to the curve of the handle. What lay in it was hidden under a +cloth securely tied about it. +</P> + +<P> +"And you are responsible," he added, stretching himself in a chair with +a gesture of weariness. "I should kill you, Carrigan. And instead of +that I bring you good things to eat! Half the day she has been fussing +with the things in the basket, and then insisted that I bring them to +you. And I have brought them simply to tell you another thing. I am +sorry for her. I think, M'sieu Carrigan, you will find as many tears in +the basket as anything else, for her heart is crushed and sick because +of the humiliation she brought upon herself this morning." +</P> + +<P> +He was twisting his big, rough hands, and David's own heart went sick +as he saw the furrowed lines that had deepened in the other's face. +Black Roger did not look at him as he went on. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, she told me. She tells me everything. And if she knew I was +telling you this, I think she would kill herself. But I want you to +understand. She is not what you might think she is. That kiss came from +the lips of the best woman God ever made, M'sieu Carrigan!" +</P> + +<P> +David, with the blood in him running like fire, heard himself +answering, "I know it. She was excited, glad you had not stained your +hands with my life—" +</P> + +<P> +This time Audemard smiled, but it was the smile of a man ten years +older than he had appeared yesterday. "Don't try to answer, m'sieu. I +only want you to know she is as pure as the stars. It was unfortunate, +but to follow the impulse of one's heart can not be a sin. Everything +has been unfortunate since you came. But I blame no one, except—" +</P> + +<P> +"Carmin Fanchet?" +</P> + +<P> +Audemard nodded. "Yes. I have sent her away. Marie-Anne is in the cabin +on the raft now. But even Carmin I can not blame very greatly, m'sieu, +for it is impossible to hold anything against one you love. Tell me if +I am right? You must know. You love my Marie-Anne. Do you hold anything +against her?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is unfair," protested David. "She is your wife, Audemard, is it +possible you don't love her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I love her." +</P> + +<P> +"And Carmin Fanchet?" +</P> + +<P> +"I love her, too. They are so different. Yet I love them both. Is it +not possible for a big heart like mine to do that, m'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +With almost a snort David rose to his feet and stared through one of +the windows into the darkness of the river. "Black Roger," he said +without turning his head, "the evidence at Headquarters condemns you as +one of the blackest-hearted murderers that ever lived. But that crime, +to me, is less atrocious than the one you are committing against your +own wife. I am not ashamed to confess I love her, because to deny it +would be a lie. I love her so much that I would sacrifice myself—soul +and body—if that sacrifice could give you back to her, clean and +undefiled and with your hand unstained by the crime for which you must +hang!" +</P> + +<P> +He did not hear Roger Audemard as he rose from his chair. For a moment +the riverman stared at the back of David's head, and in that moment he +was fighting to keep back what wanted to come from his lips in words. +He turned before David faced him again, and did not pause until he +stood at the cabin door with his hand at the latch. There he was partly +in shadow. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall not see you again until you reach the Yellowknife," he said. +"Not until then will you know—or will I know—what is going to happen. +I think you will understand strange things then, but that is for the +hour to tell. Bateese has explained to you that you must not make an +effort to escape. You would regret it, and so would I. If you have red +blood in you, m'sieu—if you would understand all that you cannot +understand now—wait as patiently as you can. Bonne nuit, M'sieu +Carrigan!" +</P> + +<P> +"Good night!" nodded David. +</P> + +<P> +In the pale shadows he thought a mysterious light of gladness illumined +Black Roger's face before the door opened and closed, leaving him alone +again. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXIV +</H3> + +<P> +With the going of Black Roger also went the oppressive loneliness which +had gripped Carrigan, and as he stood listening to the low voices +outside, the undeniable truth came to him that he did not hate this man +as he wanted to hate him. He was a murderer, and a scoundrel in another +way, but he felt irresistibly the impulse to like him and to feel sorry +for him. He made an effort to shake off the feeling, but a small voice +which he could not quiet persisted in telling him that more than one +good man had committed what the law called murder, and that perhaps he +didn't fully understand what he had seen through the cabin window on +the raft. And yet, when unstirred by this impulse, he knew the evidence +was damning. +</P> + +<P> +But his loneliness was gone. With Audemard's visit had come an +unexpected thrill, the revival of an almost feverish anticipation, the +promise of impending things that stirred his blood as he thought of +them. "You will understand strange things then," Roger Audemard had +said, and something in his voice had been like a key unlocking +mysterious doors for the first time. And then, "Wait, as patiently as +you can!" Out of the basket on the table seemed to come to him a +whispering echo of that same word—wait! He laid his hands upon it, and +a pulse of life came with the imagined whispering. It was from +Marie-Anne. It seemed as though the warmth of her hands were still +there, and as he removed the cloth the sweet breath of her came to him. +And then, in the next instant, he was trying to laugh at himself and +trying equally hard to call himself a fool, for it was the breath of +newly-baked things which her fingers had made. +</P> + +<P> +Yet never had he felt the warmth of her presence more strangely in his +heart. He did not try to explain to himself why Roger Audemard's visit +had broken down things which had seemed insurmountable an hour ago. +Analysis was impossible, because he knew the transformation within +himself was without a shred of reason. But it had come, and with it his +imprisonment took on another form. Where before there had been thought +of escape and a scheming to jail Black Roger, there filled him now an +intense desire to reach the Yellowknife and the Chateau Boulain. +</P> + +<P> +It was after midnight when he went to bed, and he was up with the early +dawn. With the first break of day the bateau men were preparing their +breakfast. David was glad. He was eager for the day's work to begin, +and in that eagerness he pounded on the door and called out to Joe +Clamart that he was ready for his breakfast with the rest of them, but +that he wanted only hot coffee to go with what Black Roger had brought +to him in the basket. +</P> + +<P> +That afternoon the bateau passed Fort McMurray, and before the sun was +well down in the west Carrigan saw the green slopes of Thickwood Hills +and the rising peaks of Birch Mountains. He laughed outright as he +thought of Corporal Anderson and Constable Frazer at Fort McMurray, +whose chief duty was to watch the big waterway. How their eyes would +pop if they could see through the padlocked door of his prison! But he +had no inclination to be discovered now. He wanted to go on, and with a +growing exultation he saw there was no intention on the part of the +bateau's crew to loiter on the way. There was no stop at noon, and the +tie-up did not come until the last glow of day was darkening into the +gloom of night in the sky. For sixteen hours the bateau had traveled +steadily, and it could not have made less than sixty miles as the river +ran. The raft, David figured, had not traveled a third of the distance. +</P> + +<P> +The fact that the bateau's progress would bring him to Chateau Boulain +many days, and perhaps weeks, before Black Roger and Marie-Anne could +arrive on the raft did not check his enthusiasm. It was this interval +between their arrivals which held a great speculative promise for him. +In that time, if his efficiency had not entirely deserted him, he would +surely make discoveries of importance. +</P> + +<P> +Day after day the journey continued without rest. On the fourth day +after leaving Fort McMurray it was Joe Clamart who brought in David's +supper, and he grunted a protest at his long hours of muscle-breaking +labor at the sweeps. When David questioned him he shrugged his +shoulders, and his mouth closed tight as a clam. On the fifth, the +bateau crossed the narrow western neck of Lake Athabasca, slipping past +Chipewyan in the night, and on the sixth it entered the Slave River. It +was the fourteenth day when the bateau entered Great Slave Lake, and +the second night after that, as dusk gathered thickly between the +forest walls of the Yellowknife, David knew that at last they had +reached the mouth of the dark and mysterious stream which led to the +still more mysterious domain of Black Roger Audemard. +</P> + +<P> +That night the rejoicing of the bateau men ashore was that of men who +had come out from under a strain and were throwing off its tension for +the first time in many days. A great fire was built, and the men sang +and laughed and shouted as they piled wood upon it. In the flare of +this fire a smaller one was built, and kettles and pans were soon +bubbling and sizzling over it, and a great coffee pot that held two +gallons sent out its steam laden with an aroma that mingled joyously +with the balsam and cedar smells in the air. David could see the whole +thing from his window, and when Joe Clamart came in with supper, he +found the meat they were cooking over the fire was fresh moose steak. +As there had been no trading or firing of guns coming down, he was +puzzled and when he asked where the meat had come from Joe Clamart only +shrugged his shoulders and winked an eye, and went out singing about +the allouette bird that had everything plucked from it, one by one. But +David noticed there were never more than four men ashore at the same +time. At least one was always aboard the bateau, watching his door and +windows. +</P> + +<P> +And he, too, felt the thrill of an excitement working subtly within +him, and this thrill pounded in swifter running blood when he saw the +men about the fire jump to their feet suddenly and go to meet new and +shadowy figures that came up indistinctly just in the edge of the +forest gloom. There they mingled and were lost in identity for a long +time, and David wondered if the newcomers were of the people of Chateau +Boulain. After that, Bateese and Joe Clamart and two others stamped out +the fires and came over the plank to the bateau to sleep. David +followed their example and went to bed. +</P> + +<P> +The cook fires were burning again before the gray dawn was broken by a +tint of the sun, and when the voices of many men roused David, he went +to his window and saw a dozen figures where last night there had been +only four. When it grew lighter he recognized none of them. All were +strangers. Then he realized the significance of their presence. The +bateau had been traveling north, but downstream. Now it would still +travel north, but the water of the Yellow-knife flowed south into Great +Slave Lake, and the bateau must be towed. He caught a glimpse of the +two big York boats a little later, and six rowers to a boat, and after +that the bateau set out slowly but steadily upstream. +</P> + +<P> +For hours David was at one window or the other, with something of awe +working inside him as he saw what they were passing through—and +between. He fancied the water trail was like an entrance into a +forbidden land, a region of vast and unbroken mystery, a country of +enchantment, possibly of death, shut out from the world he had known. +For the stream narrowed, and the forest along the shores was so dense +he could not see into it. The tree-tops hung in a tangled canopy +overhead, and a gloom of twilight filled the channel below, so that +where the sun shot through, it was like filtered moonlight shining on +black oil. There was no sound except the dull, steady beat of the +rowers' oars, and the ripple of water along the sides of the bateau. +The men did not sing or laugh, and if they talked it must have been in +whispers. There was no cry of birds from ashore. And once David saw Joe +Clamart's face as he passed the window, and it was set and hard and +filled with the superstition of a man who was passing through a +devil-country. +</P> + +<P> +And then suddenly the end of it came. A flood of sunlight burst in at +the windows, and all at once voices came from ahead, a laugh, a shout, +and a yell of rejoicing from the bateau, and Joe Clamart started again +the everlasting song of the allouette bird that was plucked of +everything it had. Carrigan found himself grinning. They were a queer +people, these bred-in-the-blood northerners—still moved by the +superstitions of children. Yet he conceded that the awesome deadness of +the forest passage had put strange thoughts into his own heart. +</P> + +<P> +Before nightfall Bateese and Joe Clamart came in and tied his arms +behind him, and he was taken ashore with the rumble of a waterfall in +his ears. For two hours he watched the labors of the men as they +beached the bateau on long rollers of smooth birch and rolled it foot +by foot over a cleared trail until it was launched again above the +waterfall. Then he was led back into the cabin and his arms freed. That +night he went to sleep with the music of the waterfall in his ears. +</P> + +<P> +The second day the Yellowknife seemed to be no longer a river, but a +narrow lake, and the third day the rowers came into the Nine Lake +country at noon, and until another dusk the bateau threaded its way +through twisting channels and impenetrable forests, and beached at last +at the edge of a great open where the timber had been cut. There was +more excitement here, but it was too dark for David to understand the +meaning of it. There were many voices; dogs barked. Then voices were at +his door, a key rattled in the lock, and it opened. David saw Bateese +and Joe Clamart first. And then, to his amazement, Black Roger Audemard +stood there, smiling at him and nodding good-evening. +</P> + +<P> +It was impossible for David to repress his astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +"Welcome to Chateau Boulain," greeted Black Roger. "You are surprised? +Well, I beat you out by half a dozen hours—in a canoe, m'sieu. It is +only courtesy that I should be here to give you welcome!" +</P> + +<P> +Behind him Bateese and Joe Clamart were grinning widely, and then both +came in, and Joe Clamart picked up his dunnage-sack and threw it over +his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"If you will come with us, m'sieu—" +</P> + +<P> +David followed, and when he stepped ashore there were Bateese, and Joe +Clamart and one other behind him, and three or four shadowy figures +ahead, with Black Roger walking at his side. There were no more voices, +and the dog had ceased barking. Ahead was a wall of darkness, which was +the deep black forest beyond the clearing, and into it led a trail +which they followed. It was a path worn smooth by the travel of many +feet, and for a mile not a star broke through the tree-tops overhead, +nor did a flash of light break the utter chaos of the way but once, +when Joe Clamart lighted his pipe. No one spoke. Even Black Roger was +silent, and David found no word to say. +</P> + +<P> +At the end of the mile the trees began to open above their heads, and +they soon came to the edge of the timber. In the darkness David caught +his breath. Dead ahead, not a rifle shot away, was the Chateau Boulain. +He knew it before Black Roger had said a word. He guessed it by the +lighted windows, full a score of them, without a curtain drawn to shut +out their illumination from the night. He could see nothing but these +lights, yet they measured off a mighty place to be built of logs in the +heart of a wilderness, and at his side he heard Black Roger chuckling +in low exultation. +</P> + +<P> +"Our home, m'sieu," he said. "Tomorrow, when you see it in the light of +day, you will say it is the finest chateau in the north—all built of +sweet cedar where birch is not used, so that even in the deep snows it +gives us the perfume of springtime and flowers." +</P> + +<P> +David did not answer, and in a moment Audemard said: +</P> + +<P> +"Only on Christmas and New Year and at birthdays and wedding feasts is +it lighted up like that. Tonight it is in your honor, M'sieu David." +Again he laughed softly, and under his breath he added, "And there is +some one waiting for you there whom you will be surprised to see!" +</P> + +<P> +David's heart gave a jump. There was meaning in Black Roger's words and +no double twist to what he meant. Marie-Anne had come ahead with her +husband! +</P> + +<P> +Now, as they passed on to the brilliantly lighted chateau, David made +out the indistinct outlines of other buildings almost hidden in the +out-creeping shadows of the forest-edges, with now and then a ray of +light to show people were in them. But there was a brooding silence +over it all which made him wonder, for there was no voice, no bark of +dog, not even the opening or closing of a door. As they drew nearer, he +saw a great veranda reaching the length of the chateau, with screening +to keep out the summer pests of mosquitoes and flies and the night +prowling insects attracted by light. Into this they went, up wide birch +steps, and ahead of them was a door so heavy it looked like the postern +gate of a castle. Black Roger opened it, and in a moment David stood +beside him in a dimly lighted hall where the mounted heads of wild +beasts looked down like startled things from the gloom of the walls. +And then David heard the low, sweet notes of a piano coming to them +very faintly. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at Black Roger. A smile was on the lips of the chateau +master; his head was up, and his eyes glowed with pride and joy as the +music came to him. He spoke no word, but laid a hand on David's arm and +led him toward it, while Bateese and Joe Clamart remained standing at +the entrance to the hall. David's feet trod in thick rugs of fur; he +saw the dim luster of polished birch and cedar in the walls, and over +his head the ceiling was rich and matched, as in the bateau cabin. They +drew nearer to the music and came to a closed door. This Black Roger +opened very quietly, as if anxious not to disturb the one who was +playing. +</P> + +<P> +They entered, and David held his breath. It was a great room he stood +in, thirty feet or more from end to end, and scarcely less in width—a +room brilliant with light, sumptuous in its comfort, sweet with the +perfume of wild-flowers, and with a great black fireplace at the end of +it, from over which there stared at him the glass eyes of a monster +moose. Then he saw the figure at the piano, and something rose up +quickly and choked him when his eyes told him it was not Marie-Anne. It +was a slim, beautiful figure in a soft and shimmering white gown, and +its head was glowing gold in the lamplight. +</P> + +<P> +Roger Audemard spoke, "Carmin!" +</P> + +<P> +The woman at the piano turned about, a little startled at the +unexpectedness of the voice, and then rose quickly to her feet—and +David Carrigan found himself looking into the eyes of Carmin Fanchet! +</P> + +<P> +Never had he seen her more beautiful than in this moment, like an angel +in her shimmering dress of white, her hair a radiant glory, her eyes +wide and glowing—and, as she looked at him, a smile coming to her red +lips. Yes, SHE WAS SMILING AT HIM—this woman whose brother he had +brought to the hangman, this woman who had stolen Black Roger from +another! She knew him—he was sure of that; she knew him as the man who +had believed her a criminal along with her brother, and who had fought +to the last against her freedom. Yet from her lips and her eyes and her +face the old hatred was gone. She was coming toward him slowly; she was +reaching out her hand, and half blindly his own went out, and he felt +the warmth of her fingers for a moment, and he heard her voice saying +softly, +</P> + +<P> +"Welcome to Chateau Boulain, M'sieu Carrigan." +</P> + +<P> +He bowed and mumbled something, and Black Roger gently pressed his arm, +drawing him back to the door. As he went he saw again that Carmin +Fanchet was very beautiful as she stood there, and that her lips were +very red—but her face was white, whiter than he had ever seen the face +of a woman before. +</P> + +<P> +As they went up a winding stair to the second floor, Roger Audemard +said, "I am proud of my Carmin, M'sieu David. Would any other woman in +the world have given her hand like that to the man who had helped to +kill her brother?" +</P> + +<P> +They stopped at another door. Black Roger opened it. There were lights +within, and David knew it was to be his room. Audemard did not follow +him inside, but there was a flashing humor in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I say, is there another woman like her in the world, m'sieu?" +</P> + +<P> +"What have you done to Marie-Anne—your wife?" asked David. +</P> + +<P> +It was hard for him to get the words out. A terrible thing was gripping +at his throat, and the clutch of it grew tighter as he saw the wild +light in Black Roger's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Tomorrow you will know, m'sieu. But not to-night. You must wait until +tomorrow." +</P> + +<P> +He nodded and stepped back, and the door closed—and in the same +instant came the harsh grating of a key in the lock. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXV +</H3> + +<P> +Carrigan turned slowly and looked about his room. There was no other +door except one opening into a closet, and but two windows. Curtains +were drawn at these windows, and he raised them. A grim smile came to +his lips when he saw the white bars of tough birch nailed across each +of them, outside the glass. He could see the birch had been freshly +stripped of bark and had probably been nailed there that day. Carmin +Fanchet and Black Roger had welcomed him to Chateau Boulain, but they +were evidently taking no chances with their prisoner. And where was +Marie-Anne? +</P> + +<P> +The question was insistent, and with it remained that cold grip of +something in his heart that had come with the sight of Carmin Fanchet +below. Was it possible that Carmin's hatred still lived, deadlier than +ever, and that with Black Roger she had plotted to bring him here so +that her vengeance might be more complete—and a greater torture to +him? Were they smiling and offering him their hands, even as they knew +he was about to die? And if that was conceivable, what had they done +with Marie-Anne? +</P> + +<P> +He looked about the room. It was singularly bare, in an unusual sort of +way, he thought. There were rich rugs on the floor—three magnificent +black bearskins, and two wolf. The heads of two bucks and a splendid +caribou hung against the walls. He could see, from marks on the floor, +where a bed had stood, but this bed was now replaced by a couch made up +comfortably for one inclined to sleep. The significance of the thing +was clear—nowhere in the room could he lay his hand upon an object +that might be used as a weapon! +</P> + +<P> +His eyes again sought the white-birch bars of his prison, and he raised +the two windows so that the cool, sweet breath of the forests reached +in to him. It was then that he noticed the mosquito-proof screening +nailed outside the bars. It was rather odd, this thinking of his +comfort even as they planned to kill him! +</P> + +<P> +If there was truth to this new suspicion that Black Roger and his +mistress were plotting both vengeance and murder, their plans must also +involve Marie-Anne. Suddenly his mind shot back to the raft. Had Black +Roger turned a clever coup by leaving his wife there, while he came on +ahead of the bateau with Carmin Fanchet? It would be several weeks +before the raft reached the Yellowknife, and in that time many things +might happen. The thought worried him. He was not afraid for himself. +Danger, the combating of physical forces, was his business. His fear +was for Marie-Anne. He had seen enough to know that Black Roger was +hopelessly infatuated with Carmin Fanchet. And several things might +happen aboard the raft, planned by agents as black-souled as himself. +If they killed Marie-Anne— +</P> + +<P> +His hand gripped the knob of the door, and for a moment he was filled +with the impulse to shout for Black Roger and face him with what was in +his mind. And as he stood there, every muscle in his body ready to +fight, there came to him faintly the sound of music. He heard the piano +first, and then a woman's voice singing. Soon a man's voice joined the +woman's, and he knew it was Black Roger, singing with Carmin Fanchet. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the mad impulse in his heart went out, and he leaned his head +nearer to the crack of the door, and strained his ears to hear. He +could make out no word of the song, yet the singing came to him with a +thrill that set his lips apart and brought a staring wonder into his +eyes. In the room below him, fifteen hundred miles from civilization, +Black Roger and Carmin Fanchet were singing "Home, Sweet Home!" +</P> + +<P> +An hour later David looked through one of the barred windows upon a +world lighted by a splendid moon. He could see the dark edge of the +distant forest that rimmed in the chateau, and about him seemed to be a +level meadow, with here and there the shadow of a building in which the +lights were out. Stars were thick in the sky, and a strange quietness +hovered over the world he looked upon. From below him floated up now +and then a perfume of tobacco smoke. The guard under his window was +awake, but he made no sound. +</P> + +<P> +A little later he undressed, put out the two lights in his room, and +stretched himself between the cool, white sheets on the couch. After a +time he slept, but it was a restless slumber filled with troubled +dreams. Twice he was half awake, and the second time it seemed to him +his nostrils sensed a sharper tang of smoke than that of burning +tobacco, yet he did not fully rouse himself, and the hours passed, and +new sounds and smells that rose in the night impinged themselves upon +him only as a part of the troublous fabric of his dreams. But at last +there came a shock, something which beat over these things which +chained him, and seized upon his consciousness, demanding that he rouse +himself, open his eyes, and get up. +</P> + +<P> +He obeyed the command, and before he was fully awake, found himself on +his feet. It was still dark, but he heard voices, voices no longer +subdued, but filled with a wild note of excitement and command. And +what he smelled was not the smell of tobacco smoke! It was heavy in his +room. It filled his lungs. His eyes were smarting with the sting of it. +</P> + +<P> +Then came vision, and with a startled cry he leaped to a window. To the +north and east he looked out upon a flaming world! +</P> + +<P> +With his fist he rubbed his smarting eyes. The moon was gone. The gray +he saw outside must be the coming of dawn, ghostly with that mist of +smoke that had come into his room. He could see shadowy figures of men +running swiftly in and out and disappearing, and he could hear the +voices of women and children, and from beyond the edge of the forest to +the west came the howling of many dogs. One voice rose above the +others. It was Black Roger's, and at its commands little groups of +figures shot out into the gray smoke-gloom and did not appear again. +</P> + +<P> +North and east the sky was flaming sullen red, and a breath of air +blowing gently in David's face told him the direction of the wind. The +chateau lay almost in the center of the growing line of conflagration. +</P> + +<P> +He dressed himself and went again to the window. Quite distinctly now, +he could make out Joe Clamart under his window, running toward the edge +of the forest at the head of half a dozen men and boys who carried axes +and cross-cut saws over their shoulders. It was the last of Black +Roger's people that he saw for some time in the open meadow, but from +the front of the chateau he could hear many voices, chiefly of women +and children, and guessed it was from there that the final operations +against the fire were being directed. The wind was blowing stronger in +his face. With it came a sharper tang of smoke, and the widening light +of day was fighting to hold its own against the deepening pall of +flame-lit gloom advancing with the wind. +</P> + +<P> +There seemed to come a low and distant sound with that wind, so +indistinct that to David's ears it was like a murmur a thousand miles +away. He strained his ears to hear, and as he listened, there came +another sound—a moaning, sobbing voice below his window! It was grief +he heard now, something that went to his heart and held him cold and +still. The voice was sobbing like that of a child, yet he knew it was +not a child's. Nor was it a woman's. A figure came out slowly in his +view, humped over, twisted in its shape, and he recognized Andre, the +Broken Man. David could see that he was crying like a child, and he was +facing the flaming forests, with his arms reaching out to them in his +moaning. Then, of a sudden, he gave a strange cry, as if defiance had +taken the place of grief, and he hurried across the meadow and +disappeared into the timber where a great lightning-riven spruce +gleamed dully white through the settling veil of smoke-mist. +</P> + +<P> +For a space David looked after him, a strange beating in his heart. It +was as if he had seen a little child going into the face of a deadly +peril, and at last he shouted out for some one to bring back the Broken +Man. But there was no answer from under his window. The guard was gone. +Nothing lay between him and escape—if he could force the white birch +bars from the window. +</P> + +<P> +He thrust himself against them, using his shoulder as a battering-ram. +Not the thousandth part of an inch could he feel them give, yet he +worked until his shoulder was sore. Then he paused and studied the bars +more carefully. Only one thing would avail him, and that was some +object which he might use as a lever. +</P> + +<P> +He looked about him, and not a thing was there in the room to answer +the purpose. Then his eyes fell on the splendid horns of the caribou +head. Black Roger's discretion had failed him there, and eagerly David +pulled the head down from the wall. He knew the woodsman's trick of +breaking off a horn from the skull, yet in this room, without log or +root to help him, the task was difficult, and it was a quarter of an +hour after he had last seen the Broken Man before he stood again at the +window with the caribou horn in his hands. He no longer had to hold his +breath to hear the low moaning in the wind, and where there had been +smoke-gloom before there were now black clouds rolling and twisting up +over the tops of the north and eastern forests, as if mighty breaths +were playing with them from behind. +</P> + +<P> +David thrust the big end of the caribou horn between two of the +white-birch bars, but before he had put his weight to the lever he +heard a great voice coming round the end of the chateau, and it was +calling for Andre, the Broken Man. In a moment it was followed by Black +Roger Audemard, who ran under the window and faced the lightning-struck +spruce as he shouted Andre's name again. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly David called down to him, and Black Roger turned and looked up +through the smoke-gloom, his head bare, his arms naked, and his eyes +gleaming wildly as he listened. +</P> + +<P> +"He went that way twenty minutes ago," David shouted. "He disappeared +into the forest where you see the dead spruce yonder. And he was +crying, Black Roger—he was crying like a child." +</P> + +<P> +If there had been other words to finish, Black Roger would not have +heard them. He was running toward the old spruce, and David saw him +disappear where the Broken Man had gone. Then he put his weight on the +horn, and one of the tough birch bars gave way slowly, and after that a +second was wrenched loose, and a third, until the lower half of the +window was free of them entirely. He thrust out his head and found no +one within the range of his vision. Then he worked his way through the +window, feet first, and hanging the length of arms and body from the +lower sill, dropped to the ground. +</P> + +<P> +Instantly he faced the direction taken by Roger Audemard, it was HIS +turn now, and he felt a savage thrill in his blood. For an instant he +hesitated, held by the impulse to rush to Carmin Fanchet and with his +fingers at her throat, demand what she and her paramour had done with +Marie-Anne. But the mighty determination to settle it all with Black +Roger himself overwhelmed that impulse like an inundation. Black Roger +had gone into the forest. He was separated from his people, and the +opportunity was at hand. +</P> + +<P> +Positive that Marie-Anne had been left with the raft, the thought that +the Chateau Boulain might be devoured by the onrushing conflagration +did not appal David. The chateau held little interest for him now. It +was Black Roger he wanted. As he ran toward the old spruce, he picked +up a club that lay in the path. +</P> + +<P> +This path was a faintly-worn trail where it entered the forest beyond +the spruce, very narrow, and with brush hanging close to the sides of +it, so that David knew it was not in general use and that but few feet +had ever used it. He followed swiftly, and in five minutes came +suddenly out into a great open thick with smoke, and here he saw why +Chateau Boulain would not burn. The break in the forest was a clearing +a rifle-shot in width, free of brush and grass, and partly tilled; and +it ran in a semi-circle as far as he could see through the smoke in +both directions. Thus had Black Roger safeguarded his wilderness +castle, while providing tillable fields for his people; and as David +followed the faintly beaten path, he saw green stuffs growing on both +sides of him, and through the center of the clearing a long strip of +wheat, green and very thick. Up and down through the fog of smoke he +could hear voices, and he knew it was this great, circular +fire-clearing the people of Chateau Boulain were watching and guarding. +</P> + +<P> +But he saw no one as he trailed across the open. In soft patches of the +earth he found footprints deeply made and wide apart, the footprints of +hurrying men, telling him Black Roger and the Broken Man were both +ahead of him, and that Black Roger was running when he crossed the +clearing. +</P> + +<P> +The footprints led him to a still more indistinct trail in the farther +forest, a trail which went straight into the face of the fire ahead. He +followed it. The distant murmur had grown into a low moaning over the +tree-tops, and with it the wind was coming stronger, and the smoke +thicker. For a mile he continued along the path, and then he stopped, +knowing he had come to the dead-line. Over him was a swirling chaos. +The fire-wind had grown into a roar before which the tree-tops bent as +if struck by a gale, and in the air he breathed he could feel a swiftly +growing heat. For a space he stood there, breathing quickly in the face +of a mighty peril. Where had Black Roger and the Broken Man gone? What +mad impulse could it be that dragged them still farther into the path +of death? Or had they struck aside from the trail? Was he alone in +danger? +</P> + +<P> +As if in answer to the questions there came from far ahead of him a +loud cry. It was Black Roger's voice, and as he listened, it called +over and over again the Broken Man's name, +</P> + +<P> +"Andre—Andre—Andre—" +</P> + +<P> +Something in the cry held Carrigan. There was a note of terror in it, a +wild entreaty that was almost drowned in the trembling wind and the +moaning that was in the air. David was ready to turn back. He had +already approached too near to the red line of death, yet that cry of +Black Roger urged him on like the lash of a whip. He plunged ahead into +the chaos of smoke, no longer able to distinguish a trail under his +feet. Twice again in as many minutes he heard Black Roger's voice, and +ran straight toward it. The blood of the hunter rushed over all other +things in his veins. The man he wanted was ahead of him and the moment +had passed when danger or fear of death could drive him back. Where +Black Roger lived, he could live, and he gripped his club and ran +through the low brush that whipped in stinging lashes against his face +and hands. +</P> + +<P> +He came to the foot of a ridge, and from the top of this he knew Black +Roger had called. It was a huge hog's-back, rising a hundred feet up +out of the forest, and when he reached the top of it, he was panting +for breath. It was as if he had come suddenly within the blast of a hot +furnace. North and east the forest lay under him, and only the smoke +obstructed his vision. But through this smoke he could make out a thing +that made him rub his eyes in a fierce desire to see more clearly. A +mile away, perhaps two, the conflagration seemed to be splitting itself +against the tip of a mighty wedge. He could hear the roar of it to the +right of him and to the left, but dead ahead there was only a moaning +whirlpool of fire-heated wind and smoke. And out of this, as he looked, +came again the cry, +</P> + +<P> +"Andre—Andre—Andre!" +</P> + +<P> +Again he stared north and south through the smoke-gloom. Mountains of +resinous clouds, black as ink, were swirling skyward along the two +sides of the giant wedge. Under that death-pall the flames were +sweeping through the spruce and cedar tops like race-horses, hidden +from his eyes. If they closed in there could be no escape; in fifteen +minutes they would inundate him, and it would take him half an hour to +reach the safety of the clearing. +</P> + +<P> +His heart thumped against his ribs as he hurried down the ridge in the +direction of Black Roger's voice. The giant wedge of the forest was not +burning—yet, and Audemard was hurrying like mad toward the tip of that +wedge, crying out now and then the name of the Broken Man. And always +he kept ahead, until at last—a mile from the ridge—David came to the +edge of a wide stream and saw what it was that made the wedge of +forest. For under his eyes the stream split, and two arms of it widened +out, and along each shore of the two streams was a wide fire-clearing +made by the axes of Black Roger's people, who had foreseen this day +when fire might sweep their world. +</P> + +<P> +Carrigan dashed water into his eyes, and it was warm. Then he looked +across. The fire had passed, the pall of smoke was clearing away, and +what he saw was the black corpse of a world that had been green. It was +smoldering; the deep mold was afire. Little tongues of flame still +licked at ten thousand stubs charred by the fire-death—and there was +no wind here, and only the whisper of a distant moaning sweeping +farther and farther away. +</P> + +<P> +And then, out of that waste across the river, David heard a terrible +cry. It was Black Roger, still calling—even in that place of hopeless +death—for Andre, the Broken Man! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXVI +</H3> + +<P> +Into the stream Carrigan plunged and found it only waist-deep in +crossing. He saw where Black Roger had come out of the water and where +his feet had plowed deep in the ash and char and smoldering debris +ahead. This trail he followed. The air he breathed was hot and filled +with stifling clouds of ash and char-dust and smoke. His feet struck +red-hot embers under the ash, and he smelled burning leather. A forest +of spruce and cedar skeletons still crackled and snapped and burst out +into sudden tongues of flame about him, and the air he breathed grew +hotter, and his face burned, and into his eyes came a smarting +pain—when ahead of him he saw Black Roger. He was no longer calling +out the Broken Man's name, but was crashing through the smoking chaos +like a great beast that had gone both blind and mad. Twice David turned +aside where Black Roger had rushed through burning debris, and a third +time, following where Audemard had gone, his feet felt the sudden stab +of living coals. In another moment he would have shouted Black Roger's +name, but even as the words were on his lips, mingled with a gasp of +pain, the giant river-man stopped where the forest seemed suddenly to +end in a ghostly, smoke-filled space, and when David came up behind +him, he was standing at the black edge of a cliff which leaped off into +a smoldering valley below. +</P> + +<P> +Out of this narrow valley between two ridges, an hour ago choked with +living spruce and cedar, rose up a swirling, terrifying heat. Down into +this pit of death Black Roger stood looking, and David heard a strange +moaning coming in his breath. His great, bare arms were black and +scarred with heat; his hair was burned; his shirt was torn from his +shoulders. When David spoke—and Black Roger turned at the sound—his +eyes glared wildly out of a face that was like a black mask. And when +he saw it was David who had spoken, his great body seemed to sag, and +with an unintelligible cry he pointed down. +</P> + +<P> +David, staring, saw nothing with his half-blind eyes, but under his +feet he felt a sudden giving way, and the fire-eaten tangle of earth +and roots broke off like a rotten ledge, and with it both he and Black +Roger went crashing into the depths below, smothered in an avalanche of +ash and sizzling earth. At the bottom David lay for a moment, partly +stunned. Then his fingers clutched a bit of living fire, and with a +savage cry he staggered to his feet and looked to see Black Roger. For +a space his eyes were blinded, and when at last he could see, he made +out Black Roger, fifty feet away, dragging himself on his hands and +knees through the blistering muck of the fire. And then, as he stared, +the stricken giant came to the charred remnant of a stump and crumpled +over it with a great cry, moaning again that name— +</P> + +<P> +"Andre—Andre—" +</P> + +<P> +David hurried to him, and as he put his hands under Black Roger's arms +to help him to his feet, he saw that the charred stump was not a stump, +but the fire-shriveled corpse of Andre, the Broken Man! +</P> + +<P> +Horror choked back speech on his own lips. Black Roger looked up at +him, and a great breath came in a sob out of his body. Then, suddenly, +he seemed to get grip of himself, and his burned and bleeding fingers +closed about David's hand at his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew he was coming here," he said, the words forcing themselves with +an effort through his swollen lips. "He came home—to die." +</P> + +<P> +"Home—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. His mother and father were buried here nearly thirty years ago, +and he worshiped them. Look at him, Carrigan. Look at him closely. For +he is the man you have wanted all these years, the finest man God ever +made, Roger Audemard! When he saw the fire, he came to shield their +graves from the flames. And now he is dead!" +</P> + +<P> +A moan came to his lips, and the weight of his body grew so heavy that +David had to exert his strength to keep him from falling. +</P> + +<P> +"And YOU?" he cried. "For God's sake, Audemard—tell me—" +</P> + +<P> +"I, m'sieu? Why, I am only St. Pierre Audemard, his brother." +</P> + +<P> +And with that his head dropped heavily, and he was like a dead man in +David's arms. +</P> + +<P> +How at last David came to the edge of the stream again, with the weight +of St. Pierre Audemard on his shoulders, was a torturing nightmare +which would never be quite clear in his brain. The details were +obliterated in the vast agony of the thing. He knew that he fought as +he had never fought before; that he stumbled again and again in the +fire-muck; that he was burned, and blinded, and his brain was sick. But +he held to St. Pierre, with his twisted, broken leg, knowing that he +would die if he dropped him into the flesh-devouring heat of the +smoldering debris under his feet. Toward the end he was conscious of +St. Pierre's moaning, and then of his voice speaking to him. After that +he came to the water and fell down in the edge of it with St. Pierre, +and inside his head everything went as black as the world over which +the fire had swept. +</P> + +<P> +He did not know how terribly he was hurt. He did not feel pain after +the darkness came. Yet he sensed certain things. He knew that over him +St. Pierre was shouting. For days, it seemed, he could hear nothing but +that great voice bellowing away in the interminable distance. And then +came other voices, now near and now far, and after that he seemed to +rise up and float among the clouds, and for a long time he heard no +other sound and felt no movement, but was like one dead. +</P> + +<P> +Something soft and gentle and comforting roused him out of darkness. He +did not move, he did not open his eyes for a time, while reason came to +him. He heard a voice, and it was a woman's voice, speaking softly, and +another voice replied to it. Then he heard gentle movement, and some +one went away from him, and he heard the almost noiseless opening and +closing of a door. A very little he began to see. He was in a room, +with a patch of sunlight on the wall. Also, he was in a bed. And that +gentle, comforting hand was still stroking his forehead and hair, light +as thistledown. He opened his eyes wider and looked up. His heart gave +a great throb. Over him was a glorious, tender face smiling like an +angel into his widening eyes. And it was the face of Carmin Fanchet! +</P> + +<P> +He made an effort, as if to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush," she whispered, and he saw something shining in her eyes, and +something wet fell upon his face. "She is returning—and I will go. For +three days and nights she has not slept, and she must be the first to +see you open your eyes." +</P> + +<P> +She bent over him. Her soft lips touched his forehead, and he heard her +sobbing breath. +</P> + +<P> +"God bless you, David Carrigan!" +</P> + +<P> +Then she was going to the door, and his eyes dropped shut again. He +began to experience pain now, a hot, consuming pain all over him, and +he remembered the fight through the path of the fire. Then the door +opened very softly once more, and some one came in, and knelt down at +his side, and was so quiet that she scarcely seemed to breathe. He +wanted to open his eyes, to cry out a name, but he waited, and lips +soft as velvet touched his own. They lay there for a moment, then moved +to his closed eyes, his forehead, his hair—and after that something +rested gently against him. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes shot open. It was Marie-Anne, with her head nestled in the +crook of his arm as she knelt there beside him on the floor. He could +see only a bit of her face, but her hair was very near, crumpled +gloriously on his breast, and he could see the tips of her long lashes +as she remained very still, seeming not to breathe. She did not know he +had roused from his sleep—the first sleep of those three days of +torture which he could not remember now; and he, looking at her, made +no movement to tell her he was awake. One of his hands lay over the +edge of the bed, and so lightly he could scarce feel the weight of her +fingers she laid one of her own upon it, and a little at a time drew it +to her, until the bandaged thing was against her lips. It was strange +she did not hear his heart, which seemed all at once to beat like a +drum inside him! +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he sensed the fact that his other hand was not bandaged. He +was lying on his side, with his right arm partly under him, and against +that hand he felt the softness of Marie-Anne's cheek, the velvety crush +of her hair! +</P> + +<P> +And then he whispered, "Marie-Anne—" +</P> + +<P> +She still lay, for a moment, utterly motionless. Then, slowly, as if +believing he had spoken her name in his sleep, she raised her head and +looked into his wide-open eyes. There was no word between them in that +breath or two. His bandaged hand and his well hand went to her face and +hair, and then a sobbing cry came from Marie-Anne, and swiftly she +crushed her face down to his, holding him close with both her arms for +a moment. And after that, as on that other day when she kissed him +after the fight, she was up and gone so quickly that her name had +scarcely left his lips when the door closed behind her, and he heard +her running down the hall. +</P> + +<P> +He called after her, "Marie-Anne! Marie-Anne!" +</P> + +<P> +He heard another door, and voices, and quick footsteps again, coming +his way, and he was waiting eagerly, half on his elbow, when into his +room came Nepapinas and Carmin Fanchet. And again he saw the glory of +something in the woman's face. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes must have burned strangely as he stared at her, but it did not +change that light in her own, and her hands were wonderfully gentle as +she helped Nepapinas raise him so that he was sitting up straight, with +pillows at his back. +</P> + +<P> +"It doesn't hurt so much now, does it?" she asked, her voice low with a +mothering tenderness. +</P> + +<P> +He shook his head. "No. What is the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"You were burned—terribly. For two days and nights you were in great +pain, but for many hours you have been sleeping, and Nepapinas says the +burns will not hurt any more. If it had not been for you—" +</P> + +<P> +She bent over him. Her hand touched his face, and now he began to +understand the meaning of that glory shining in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"If it hadn't been for you—he would have died!" +</P> + +<P> +She drew back, turning to the door. "He is coming to see you—alone," +she said, a little broken note in her throat. "And I pray God you will +see with clear understanding, David Carrigan—and forgive me—as I have +forgiven you—for a thing that happened long ago." +</P> + +<P> +He waited. His head was in a jumble, and his thoughts were tumbling +over one another in an effort to evolve some sort of coherence out of +things amazing and unexpected. One thing was impressed upon him—he had +saved St. Pierre's life, and because he had done this Carmin Fanchet +was very tender to him. She had kissed him, and Marie-Anne had kissed +him, and— +</P> + +<P> +A strange dawning was coming to him, thrilling him to his finger-tips. +He listened. A new sound was approaching from the hall. His door was +opened, and a wheel-chair was rolled in by old Nepapinas. In the chair +was St. Pierre Audemard. Feet and hands and arms were wrapped in +bandages, but his face was uncovered and wreathed in smiling happiness +when he saw David propped up against his pillows. Nepapinas rolled him +close to the bed and then shuffled out, and as he closed the door, +David was sure he heard the subdued whispering of feminine voices down +the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"How are you, David?" asked St. Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +"Fine," nodded Carrigan. "And you?" +</P> + +<P> +"A bit scorched, and a broken leg." He held up his padded hands. "Would +be dead if you hadn't carried me to the river. Carmin says she owes you +her life for having saved mine." +</P> + +<P> +"And Marie-Anne?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I've come to tell you about," said St. Pierre. "The +instant they knew you were able to listen, both Carmin and Marie-Anne +insisted that I come and tell you things. But if you don't feel well +enough to hear me now—" +</P> + +<P> +"Go on!" almost threatened David. +</P> + +<P> +The look of cheer which had illumined St. Pierre's face faded away, and +David saw in its place the lines of sorrow which had settled there. He +turned his gaze toward a window through which the afternoon sun was +coming, and nodded slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"You saw—out there. He's dead. They buried him in a casket made of +sweet cedar. He loved the smell of that. He was like a little child. +And once—a long time ago—he was a splendid man, a greater and better +man than St. Pierre, his brother, will ever be. What he did was right +and just, M'sieu David. He was the oldest—sixteen—when the thing +happened. I was only nine, and didn't fully understand. But he saw it +all—the death of our father because a powerful factor wanted my +mother. And after that he knew how and why our mother died, but not a +word of it did he tell us until years later—after the day of vengeance +was past. +</P> + +<P> +"You understand, David? He didn't want me in that. He did it alone, +with good friends from the upper north. He killed the murderers of our +mother and father, and then he buried himself deeper into the forests +with us, and we took our mother's family names which was Boulain, and +settled here on the Yellowknife. Roger—Black Roger, as you know +him—brought the bones of our father and mother and buried them over in +the edge of that plain where he died and where our first cabin stood. +Five years ago a falling tree crushed him out of shape, and his mind +went at the same time, so that he has been like a little child, and was +always seeking for Roger Audemard—the man he once was. That was the +man your law wanted. Roger Audemard. Our brother." +</P> + +<P> +"OUR brother," cried David. "Who is the other?" +</P> + +<P> +"My sister." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Marie-Anne." +</P> + +<P> +"Good God!" choked David. "St. Pierre, do you lie? Is this another bit +of trickery?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is the truth," said St. Pierre. "Marie-Anne is my sister, and +Carmin—whom you saw in my arms through the cabin window—" +</P> + +<P> +He paused, smiling into David's staring eyes, taking full measure of +recompense in the other's heart-breaking attitude as he waited. "—Is +my wife, M'sieu David." +</P> + +<P> +A great gasp of breath came out of Carrigan. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, my wife, and the greatest-hearted woman that ever lived, without +one exception in all the world!" cried St. Pierre, a fierce pride in +his voice. "It was she, and not Marie-Anne, who shot you on that strip +of sand, David Carrigan! Mon Dieu, I tell you not one woman in a +million would have done what she did—let you live! Why? Listen, +m'sieu, and you will understand at last. She had a brother, years +younger than she, and to that brother she was mother, sister, +everything, because they had no parents almost from babyhood. She +worshiped him. And he was bad. Yet the worse he became, the more she +loved him and prayed for him. Years ago she became my wife, and I +fought with her to save the brother. But he belonged to the devil hand +and foot, and at last he left us and went south, and became what he was +when you were sent out to get him, Sergeant Carrigan. It was then that +my wife went down to make a last fight to save him, to bring him back, +and you know how she made that fight, m'sieu—until the day you hanged +him!" +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre was leaning from his chair, his face ablaze. "Tell me, did +she not fight?" he cried. "And YOU, until the last—did you not fight +to have her put behind prison bars with her brother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is so," murmured Carrigan. +</P> + +<P> +"She hated you," went on St. Pierre. "You hanged her brother, who was +almost a part of her flesh and body. He was bad, but he had been hers +from babyhood, and a mother will love her son if he is a devil. And +then—I won't take long to tell the rest of it! Through friends she +learned that you, who had hanged her brother, were on your way to run +down Roger Audemard. And Roger Audemard, mind you, was the same as +myself, for I had sworn to take my brother's place if it became +necessary. She was on the bateau with Marie-Anne when the messenger +came. She had but one desire—to save me—to kill you. If it had been +some other man, but it was you, who had hanged her brother! She +disappeared from the bateau that day with a rifle. You know, M'sieu +David, what happened. Marie-Anne heard the shooting and +came—alone—just as you rolled out in the sand as if dead. It was she +who ran out to you first, while my Carmin crouched there with her +rifle, ready to send another bullet into you if you moved. It was +Marie-Anne you saw standing over you, it was she who knelt down at your +side, and then—" +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre paused, and he smiled, and then grimaced as he tried to rub +his two bandaged hands together. "David, fate mixes things up in a +funny way. My Carmin came out and stood over you, hating you; and +Marie-Anne knelt down there at your side, loving you. Yes, it is true. +And over you they fought for life or death, and love won, because it is +always stronger than hate. Besides, as you lay there bleeding and +helpless, you looked different to my Carmin than as you did when you +hanged her brother. So they dragged you up under a tree, and after that +they plotted together and planned, while I was away up the river on the +raft. The feminine mind works strangely, M'sieu David, and perhaps it +was that thing we call intuition which made them do what they did. +Marie-Anne knew it would never do for you to see and recognize my +Carmin, so in their scheming of things she insisted on passing herself +off as my wife, while my Carmin came back in a canoe to meet me. They +were frightened, and when I came, the whole thing had gone too far for +me to mend, and I knew the false game must be played out to the end. +When I saw what was happening—that you loved Marie-Anne so well that +you were willing to fight for her honor even when you thought she was +my wife—I was sure it would all end well. But I could take no chances +until I knew. And so there were bars at your windows, and—" +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre shrugged his shoulders, and the lines of grief came into his +face again, and in his voice was a little break as he continued: "If +Roger had not gone out there to fight back the flames from the graves +of his dead, I had planned to tell you as much as I dared, M'sieu +David, and I had faith that your love for our sister would win. I did +not tell you on the river because I wanted you to see with your own +eyes our paradise up here, and I knew you would not destroy it once you +were a part of it. And so I could not tell you Carmin was my wife, for +that would have betrayed us—and—besides—that fight of yours against +a love which you thought was dishonest interested me very much, for I +saw in it a wonderful test of the man who might become my brother if he +chose wisely between love and what he thought was duty. I loved you for +it, even when you sat me there on the sand like a silly loon. And now, +even my Carmin loves you for bringing me out of the fire—But you are +not listening!" +</P> + +<P> +David was looking past him toward the door, and St. Pierre smiled when +he saw the look that was in his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Nepapinas!" he called loudly. "Nepapinas!" +</P> + +<P> +In a moment there was shuffling of feet outside, and Nepapinas came in. +St. Pierre held out his two great, bandaged hands, and David met them +with his own, one bandaged and one free. Not a word was spoken between +them, but their eyes were the eyes of men between whom had suddenly +come the faith and understanding of a brotherhood as strong as life +itself. +</P> + +<P> +Then Nepapinas wheeled St. Pierre from the room and David straightened +himself against his pillows, and waited, and listened, until it seemed +two hearts were thumping inside him in the place of one. +</P> + +<P> +It was an interminable time, he thought, before Marie-Anne stood in the +doorway. For a breath she paused there, looking at him as he stretched +out his bandaged arm to her, moved by every yearning impulse in her +soul to come in, yet ready as a bird to fly away. And then, as he +called her name, she ran to him and dropped upon her knees at his side, +and his arms went about her, insensible to their hurt—and her hot face +was against his neck, and his lips crushed in the smothering sweetness +of her hair. He made no effort to speak, beyond that first calling of +her name. He could feel her heart throbbing against him, and her hands +tightened at his shoulders, and at last she raised her glorious face so +near that the breath of it was on his lips. Then, seeing what was in +his eyes, her soft mouth quivered in a little smile, and with a broken +throb in her throat she whispered, +</P> + +<P> +"Has it all ended—right—David?" +</P> + +<P> +He drew the red mouth to his own, and with a glad cry which was no word +in itself he buried his face in the lustrous tresses he loved. +Afterward he could not remember all it was that he said, but at the end +Marie-Anne had drawn a little away so that she was looking at him, her +eyes shining gloriously and her cheeks beautiful as the petals of a +wild rose. And he could see the throbbing in her white throat, like the +beating of a tiny heart. +</P> + +<P> +"And you'll take me with you?" she whispered joyously. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; and when I show you to the old man—Superintendent Me Vane, you +know—and tell him you're my wife, he can't go back on his promise. He +said if I settled this Roger Audemard affair, I could have anything I +might ask for. And I'll ask for my discharge, I ought to have it in +September, and that will give us time to return before the snow flies. +You see—" +</P> + +<P> +He held out his arms again. "You see," he cried, his face smothered in +her hair again, "I've found the place of my dreams up here, and I want +to stay—always. Are you a little glad, Marie-Anne?" +</P> + +<P> +In a great room at the end of the hall, with windows opening in three +directions upon the wilderness, St. Pierre waited in his wheel-chair, +grunting uneasily now and then at the long time it was taking Carmin to +discover certain things out in the hall. Finally he heard her coming, +tiptoeing very quietly from the direction of David Carrigan's door, and +St. Pierre chuckled and tried to rub his bandaged hands when she came +in, her face pink and her eyes shining with the greatest thrill that +can stir a feminine heart. +</P> + +<P> +"If we'd only known," he tried to whisper, "I would have had the +keyhole made larger, Cherie! He deserves it for having spied on us at +the cabin window. But—tell me!—Could you see? Did you hear? What—" +</P> + +<P> +Carmin's soft hand went over his mouth. "In another moment you'll be +shouting," she warned. "Maybe I didn't see, and maybe I didn't hear, +Big Bear—but I know there are four very happy people in Chateau +Boulain. And now, if you want to guess who is the happiest—" +</P> + +<P> +"I am, chere-coeur." +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then, if you insist—YOU are." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. And the next?" +</P> + +<P> +St. Pierre chuckled. "David Carrigan," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, no! If you mean that—" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean—always—that I am second, unless you will ever let me be +first," corrected St. Pierre, kissing the hand that was gently stroking +his cheek. +</P> + +<P> +And then he leaned his great head back against her where she stood +behind him, and Carmin's fingers ran where his hair was crisp with the +singe of fire, and for a long time they said no other word, but let +their eyes rest upon the dim length of the hall at the far end of which +was David Carrigan's room. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Flaming Forest, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLAMING FOREST *** + +***** This file should be named 4702-h.htm or 4702-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/7/0/4702/ + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Flaming Forest + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Posting Date: September 6, 2009 [EBook #4702] +Release Date: December, 2003 +First Posted: March 3, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLAMING FOREST *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + + +THE FLAMING FOREST + + +BY + +JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD + + + +AUTHOR OF THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN, THE COUNTRY BEYOND, THE ALASKAN, +ETC. + + + + + +THE FLAMING FOREST + + + + +I + +An hour ago, under the marvelous canopy of the blue northern sky, David +Carrigan, Sergeant in His Most Excellent Majesty's Royal Northwest +Mounted Police, had hummed softly to himself, and had thanked God that +he was alive. He had blessed McVane, superintendent of "N" Division at +Athabasca Landing, for detailing him to the mission on which he was +bent. He was glad that he was traveling alone, and in the deep forest, +and that for many weeks his adventure would carry him deeper and deeper +into his beloved north. Making his noonday tea over a fire at the edge +of the river, with the green forest crowding like an inundation on +three sides of him, he had come to the conclusion--for the hundredth +time, perhaps--that it was a nice thing to be alone in the world, for +he was on what his comrades at the Landing called a "bad assignment." + +"If anything happens to me," Carrigan had said to McVane, "there isn't +anybody in particular to notify. I lost out in the matter of family a +long time ago." + +He was not a man who talked much about himself, even to the +superintendent of "N" Division, yet there were a thousand who loved +Dave Carrigan, and many who placed their confidences in him. +Superintendent Me Vane had one story which he might have told, but he +kept it to himself, instinctively sensing the sacredness of it. Even +Carrigan did not know that the one thing which never passed his lips +was known to McVane. + +Of that, too, he had been thinking an hour ago. It was the thing which, +first of all, had driven him into the north. And though it had twisted +and disrupted the earth under his feet for a time, it had brought its +compensation. For he had come to love the north with a passionate +devotion. It was, in a way, his God. It seemed to him that the time had +never been when he had lived any other life than this under the open +skies. He was thirty-seven now. A bit of a philosopher, as philosophy +comes to one in a sun-cleaned and unpolluted air, A good-humored +brother of humanity, even when he put manacles on other men's wrists; +graying a little over the temples--and a lover of life. Above all else +he was that. A lover of life. A worshiper at the shrine of God's +Country. + +So he sat, that hour ago, deep in the wilderness eighty miles north of +Athabasca Landing, congratulating himself on the present conditions of +his existence. A hundred and eighty miles farther on was Fort McMurray, +and another two hundred beyond that was Chipewyan, and still beyond +that the Mackenzie and its fifteen-hundred-mile trail to the northern +sea. He was glad there was no end to this world of his. He was glad +there were few people in it. But these people he loved. That hour ago +he had looked out on the river as two York boats had forged up against +the stream, craft like the long, slim galleys of old, brought over +through the Churchill and Clearwater countries from Hudson's Bay. There +were eight rowers in each boat. They were singing. Their voices rolled +between the walls of the forests. Their naked arms and shoulders +glistened in the sun. They rowed like Vikings, and to him they were +symbols of the freedom of the world. He had watched them until they +were gone up-stream, but it was a long time before the chanting of +their voices had died away. And then he had risen from beside his tiny +fire, and had stretched himself until his muscles cracked. It was good +to feel the blood running red and strong in one's veins at the age of +thirty-seven. For Carrigan felt the thrill of these days when strong +men were coming out of the north--days when the glory of June hung over +the land, when out of the deep wilderness threaded by the Three Rivers +came romance and courage and red-blooded men and women of an almost +forgotten people to laugh and sing and barter for a time with the +outpost guardians of a younger and more progressive world. It was north +of Fifty-Four, and the waters of a continent flowed toward the Arctic +Sea. Yet soon would the strawberries be crushing red underfoot; the +forest road was in bloom, scarlet fire-flowers reddened the trail, wild +hyacinths and golden-freckled violets played hide-and-seek with the +forget-me-nots in the meadows, and the sky was a great splash of +velvety blue. It was the north triumphant--at the edge of civilization; +the north triumphant, and yet paying its tribute. For at the other end +were waiting the royal Upper Ten Thousand and the smart Four Hundred +with all the beau monde behind them, coveting and demanding that +tribute to their sex--the silken furs of a far country, the life's +blood and labor of a land infinitely beyond the pale of drawing-rooms +and the whims of fashion. + +Carrigan had thought of these things that hour ago, as he sat at the +edge of the first of the Three Rivers, the great Athabasca. From down +the other two, the Slave and the Mackenzie, the fur fleets of the +unmapped country had been toiling since the first breakups of ice. +Steadily, week after week, the north had been emptying itself of its +picturesque tide of life and voice, of muscle and brawn, of laughter +and song--and wealth. Through, long months of deep winter, in ten +thousand shacks and tepees and cabins, the story of this June had been +written as fate had written it each winter for a hundred years or more. +A story of the triumph of the fittest. A story of tears, of happiness +here and there, of hunger and plenty, of new life and quick death; a +story of strong men and strong women, living in the faith of their +forefathers, with the best blood of old England and France still +surviving in their veins. + +Through those same months of winter, the great captains of trade in the +city of Edmonton had been preparing for the coming of the river +brigades. The hundred and fifty miles of trail between that last city +outpost of civilization and Athabasca Landing, the door that opened +into the North, were packed hard by team and dog-sledge and packer +bringing up the freight that for another year was to last the forest +people of the Three River country--a domain reaching from the Landing +to the Arctic Ocean. In competition fought the drivers of Revillon +Brothers and Hudson's Bay, of free trader and independent adventurer. +Freight that grew more precious with each mile it advanced must reach +the beginning of the waterway. It started with the early snows. The +tide was at full by midwinter. In temperature that nipped men's lungs +it did not cease. There was no let-up in the whip-hands of the masters +of trade at Edmonton, Winnipeg, Montreal, and London across the sea. It +was not a work of philanthropy. These men cared not whether Jean and +Jacqueline and Pierre and Marie were well-fed or hungry, whether they +lived or died, so far as humanity was concerned. But Paris, Vienna, +London, and the great capitals of the earth must have their furs--and +unless that freight went north, there would be no velvety offerings for +the white shoulders of the world. Christmas windows two years hence +would be bare. A feminine wail of grief would rise to the skies. For +woman must have her furs, and in return for those furs Jean and +Jacqueline and Pierre and Marie must have their freight. So the +pendulum swung, as it had swung for a century or two, touching, on the +one side, luxury, warmth, wealth, and beauty; on the other, cold and +hardship, deep snows and open skies--with that precious freight the +thing between. + +And now, in this year before rail and steamboat, the glory of early +summer was at hand, and the wilderness people were coming up to meet +the freight. The Three Rivers--the Athabasca, the Slave, and the +Mackenzie, all joining in one great two-thousand-mile waterway to the +northern sea--were athrill with the wild impulse and beat of life as +the forest people lived it. The Great Father had sent in his treaty +money, and Cree song and Chipewyan chant joined the age-old melodies of +French and half-breed. Countless canoes drove past the slower and +mightier scow brigades; huge York boats with two rows of oars heaved up +and down like the ancient galleys of Rome; tightly woven cribs of +timber, and giant rafts made tip of many cribs were ready for their +long drift into a timberless country. On this two-thousand-mile +waterway a world had gathered. It was the Nile of the northland, and +each post and gathering place along its length was turned into a +metropolis, half savage, archaic, splendid with the strength of red +blood, clear eyes, and souls that read the word of God in wind and tree. + +And up and down this mighty waterway of wilderness trade ran the +whispering spirit of song, like the voice of a mighty god heard under +the stars and in the winds. + +But it was an hour ago that David Carrigan had vividly pictured these +things to himself close to the big river, and many things may happen in +the sixty minutes that follow any given minute in a man's life. That +hour ago his one great purpose had been to bring in Black Roger +Audemard, alive or dead--Black Roger, the forest fiend who had +destroyed half a dozen lives in a blind passion of vengeance nearly +fifteen years ago. For ten of those fifteen years it had been thought +that Black Roger was dead. But mysterious rumors had lately come out of +the North. He was alive. People had seen him. Fact followed rumor. His +existence became certainty. The Law took up once more his hazardous +trail, and David Carrigan was the messenger it sent. + +"Bring him back, alive or dead," were Superintendent McVane's last +words. + +And now, thinking of that parting injunction, Carrigan grinned, even as +the sweat of death dampened his face in the heat of the afternoon sun. +For at the end of those sixty minutes that had passed since his midday +pot of tea, the grimly, atrociously unexpected had happened, like a +thunderbolt out of the azure of the sky. + + + + +II + + +Huddled behind a rock which was scarcely larger than his body, +groveling in the white, soft sand like a turtle making a nest for its +eggs, Carrigan told himself this without any reservation. He was, as he +kept repeating to himself for the comfort of his soul, in a deuce of a +fix. His head was bare--simply because a bullet had taken his hat away. +His blond hair was filled with sand. His face was sweating. But his +blue eyes were alight with a grim sort of humor, though he knew that +unless the other fellow's ammunition ran out he was going to die. + +For the twentieth time in as many minutes he looked about him. He was +in the center of a flat area of sand. Fifty feet from him the river +murmured gently over yellow bars and a carpet of pebbles. Fifty feet on +the opposite side of him was the cool, green wall of the forest. The +sunshine playing in it seemed like laughter to him now, a whimsical +sort of merriment roused by the sheer effrontery of the joke which fate +had inflicted upon him. + +Between the river and the balsam and spruce was only the rock behind +which he was cringing like a rabbit afraid to take to the open. And his +rock was a mere up-jutting of the solid floor of shale that was under +him. The wash sand that covered it like a carpet was not more than four +or five inches deep. He could not dig in. There was not enough of it +within reach to scrape up as a protection. And his enemy, a hundred +yards or so away, was a determined wretch--and the deadliest shot he +had ever known. + +Three times Carrigan had made experiments to prove this, for he had in +mind a sudden rush to the shelter of the timber. Three times he had +raised the crown of his hat slightly above the top of the rock, and +three times the marksmanship of the other had perforated it with +neatness and dispatch. The third bullet had carried his hat a dozen +feet away. Whenever he showed a patch of his clothing, a bullet replied +with unerring precision. Twice they had drawn blood. And the humor +faded out of Carrigan's eyes. + +Not long ago he had exulted in the bigness and glory of this country of +his, where strong men met hand to hand and eye to eye. There were the +other kind in it, the sort that made his profession of manhunting a +thing of reality and danger, but he expected these--forgot them--when +the wilderness itself filled his vision. But his present situation was +something unlike anything that had ever happened in his previous +experience with the outlawed. He had faced dangers. He had fought. +There were times when he had almost died. Fanchet, the half-breed who +had robbed a dozen wilderness mail sledges, had come nearest to +trapping him and putting him out of business. Fanchet was a desperate +man and had few scruples. But even Fanchet--before he was caught--would +not have cornered a man with such bloodthirsty unfairness as Carrigan +found himself cornered now. He no longer had a doubt as to what was in +the other's mind. It was not to wound and make merely helpless. It was +to kill. It was not difficult to prove this. Careful not to expose a +part of his arm or shoulder, he drew a white handkerchief from his +pocket, fastened it to the end of his rifle, and held the flag of +surrender three feet above the rock. And then, with equal caution, he +slowly thrust up a flat piece of shale, which at a distance of a +hundred yards might appear as his shoulder or even his head. Scarcely +was it four inches above the top of the rock before there came the +report of a rifle, and the shale was splintered into a hundred bits. + +Carrigan lowered his flag and gathered himself in tighter. The accuracy +of the other's marksmanship was appalling. He knew that if he exposed +himself for an instant to use his own rifle or the heavy automatic in +his holster, he would be a dead man before he could press a trigger. +And that time, he felt equally sure, would come sooner or later. His +muscles were growing cramped. He could not forever double himself up +like a four-bladed jackknife behind the altogether inefficient shelter +of the rock. + +His executioner was hidden in the edge of the timber, not directly +opposite him, but nearly a hundred yards down stream. Twenty times he +had wondered why the fiend with the rifle did not creep up through that +timber and take a good, open pot-shot at him from the vantage point +which lay at the end of a straight line between his rock and the +nearest spruce and balsam. From that angle he could not completely +shelter himself. But the man a hundred yards below had not moved a foot +from his ambush since he had fired his first shot. That had come when +Carrigan was crossing the open space of soft, white sand. It had left a +burning sensation at his temple--half an inch to the right and it would +have killed him. Swift as the shot itself, he dropped behind the one +protection at hand, the up-jutting shoulder of shale. + +For a quarter of an hour he had been making efforts to wriggle himself +free from his bulky shoulder-pack without exposing himself to a +coup-de-grace. At last he had the thing off. It was a tremendous relief +when he thrust it out beside the rock, almost doubling the size of his +shelter. Instantly there came the crash of a bullet in it, and then +another. He heard the rattle of pans, and wondered if his skillet would +be any good after today. + +For the first time he could wipe the sweat from his face and stretch +himself. And also he could think. Carrigan possessed an unalterable +faith in the infallibility of the mind. "You can do anything with the +mind," was his code. "It is better than a good gun." + +Now that he was physically more at ease, he began reassembling his +scattered mental faculties. Who was this stranger who was pot-shotting +at him with such deadly animosity from the ambush below? Who-- + +Another crash of lead in tinware and steel put an unpleasant emphasis +to the question. It was so close to his head that it made him wince, +and now--with a wide area within reach about him--he began scraping up +the sand for an added protection. There came a long silence after that +third clatter of distress from his cooking utensils. To David Carrigan, +even in his hour of deadly peril, there was something about it that for +an instant brought back the glow of humor in his eyes. It was hot, +swelteringly hot, in that packet of sand with the unclouded sun almost +straight overhead. He could have tossed a pebble to where a bright-eyed +sandpiper was cocking itself backward and forward, its jerky movements +accompanied by friendly little tittering noises. Everything about him +seemed friendly. The river rippled and murmured in cooling song just +beyond the sandpiper. On the other side the still cooler forest was a +paradise of shade and contentment, astir with subdued and hidden life. +It was nesting season. He heard the twitter of birds. A tiny, brown +wood warbler fluttered out to the end of a silvery birch limb, and it +seemed to David that its throat must surely burst with the burden of +its song. The little fellow's brown body, scarcely larger than a +butternut, was swelling up like a round ball in his effort to vanquish +all other song. + +"Go to it, old man," chuckled Carrigan. "Go to it!" + +The little warbler, that he might have crushed between thumb and +forefinger, gave him a lot of courage. + +Then the tiny chorister stopped for breath. In that interval Carrigan +listened to the wrangling of two vivid-colored Canada jays deeper in +the timber. Chronic scolds they were, never without a grouch. They were +like some people Carrigan had known, born pessimists, always finding +something to complain about, even in their love days. + +And these were love days. That was the odd thought that came to +Carrigan as he lay half on his face, his fingers slowly and cautiously +working a loophole between his shoulder-pack and the rock. They were +love days all up and down the big rivers, where men and women sang for +joy, and children played, forgetful of the long, hard days of winter. +And in forest, plain, and swamp was this spirit of love also triumphant +over the land. It was the mating season of all feathered things. In +countless nests were the peeps and twitters of new life; mothers of +first-born were teaching their children to swim and fly; from end to +end of the forest world the little children of the silent places, +furred and feathered, clawed and hoofed, were learning the ways of +life. Nature's yearly birthday was half-way gone, and the doors of +nature's school wide open. And the tiny brown songster at the end of +his birch twig proclaimed the joy of it again, and challenged all the +world to beat him in his adulation. + +Carrigan found that he could peer between his pack and the rock to +where the other warbler was singing--and where his enemy lay watching +for the opportunity to kill. It was taking a chance. If a movement +betrayed his loophole, his minutes were numbered. But he had worked +cautiously, an inch at a time, and was confident that the beginning of +his effort to fight back was, up to the present moment, undiscovered. +He believed that he knew about where the ambushed man was concealed. In +the edge of a low-hanging mass of balsam was a fallen cedar. From +behind the butt of that cedar he was sure the shots had come. + +And now, even more cautiously than he had made the tiny opening, he +began to work the muzzle of his rifle through the loophole. As he did +this he was thinking of Black Roger Audemard. And yet, almost as +quickly as suspicion leaped into his mind, he told himself that the +thing was impossible. It could not be Black Roger, or one of Black +Roger's friends, behind the cedar log. The idea was inconceivable, when +he considered how carefully the secret of his mission had been kept at +the Landing. He had not even said goodby to his best friends. And +because Black Roger had won through all the preceding years, Carrigan +was stalking his prey out of uniform. There had been nothing to betray +him. Besides, Black Roger Audemard must be at least a thousand miles +north, unless something had tempted him to come up the rivers with the +spring brigades. If he used logic at all, there was but one conclusion +for him to arrive at. The man in ambush was some rascally half-breed +who coveted his outfit and whatever valuables he might have about his +person. + +A fourth smashing eruption among his comestibles and culinary +possessions came to drive home the fact that even that analysis of the +situation was absurd. Whoever was behind the rifle fire had small +respect for the contents of his pack, and he was surely not in grievous +need of a good gun or ammunition. A sticky mess of condensed cream was +running over Carrigan's hand. He doubted if there was a whole tin in +his kit. + +For a few moments he lay quietly on his face after the fourth shot. His +eyes were turned toward the river, and on the far side, a quarter of a +mile away, three canoes were moving swiftly up the slow current of the +stream. The sunlight flashed on their wet sides. The gleam of dripping +paddles was like the flutter of silvery birds' wings, and across the +water came an unintelligible shout in response to the rifle shot. It +occurred to David that he might make a trumpet of his hands and shout +back, but the distance was too great for his voice to carry its message +for help. Besides, now that he had the added protection of the pack, he +felt a certain sense of humiliation at the thought of showing the white +feather. A few minutes more, if all went well, and he would settle for +the man behind the log. + +He continued again the slow operation of worming his rifle barrel +between the pack and the rock. The near-sighted little sandpiper had +discovered him and seemed interested in the operation. It had come a +dozen feet nearer, and was perking its head and seesawing on its long +legs as it watched with inquisitive inspection the unusual +manifestation of life behind the rock. Its twittering note had changed +to an occasional sharp and querulous cry. Carrigan wanted to wring its +neck. That cry told the other fellow that he was still alive and moving. + +It seemed an age before his rifle was through, and every moment he +expected another shot. He flattened himself out, Indian fashion, and +sighted along the barrel. He was positive that his enemy was watching, +yet he could make out nothing that looked like a head anywhere along +the log. At one end was a clump of deeper foliage. He was sure he saw a +sudden slight movement there, and in the thrill of the moment was +tempted to send a bullet into the heart of it. But he saved his +cartridge. He felt the mighty importance of certainty. If he fired +once--and missed--the advantage of his unsuspected loophole would be +gone. It would be transformed into a deadly menace. Even as it was, if +his enemy's next bullet should enter that way-- + +He felt the discomfort of the thought, and in spite of himself a tremor +of apprehension ran up his spine. He felt an even greater desire to +wring the neck of the inquisitive little sandpiper. The creature had +circled round squarely in front of him and stood there tilting its tail +and bobbing its head as if its one insane desire was to look down the +length of his rifle barrel. The bird was giving him away. If the other +fellow was only half as clever as his marksmanship was good-- + +Suddenly every nerve in Carrigan's body tightened. He was positive that +he had caught the outline of a human head and shoulders in the foliage. +His finger pressed gently against the trigger of his Winchester. Before +he breathed again he would have fired. But a shot from the foliage beat +him out by the fraction of a second. In that precious time lost, his +enemy's bullet entered the edge of his kit--and came through. He felt +the shock of it, and in the infinitesimal space between the physical +impact and the mental effect of shock his brain told him the horrible +thing had happened. It was his head--his face. It was as if he had +plunged them suddenly into hot water, and what was left of his skull +was filled with the rushing and roaring of a flood. He staggered up, +clutching his face with both hands. The world about him was twisted and +black, a dizzily revolving thing--yet his still fighting mental vision +pictured clearly for him a monstrous, bulging-eyed sandpiper as big as +a house. Then he toppled back on the white sand, his arms flung out +limply, his face turned to the ambush wherein his murderer lay. + +His body was clear of the rock and the pack, but there came no other +shot from the thick clump of balsam. Nor, for a time, was there +movement. The wood warbler was cheeping inquiringly at this sudden +change in the deportment of his friend behind the shoulder of shale. +The sandpiper, a bit startled, had gone back to the edge of the river +and was running a race with himself along the wet sand. And the two +quarrelsome jays had brought their family squabble to the edge of the +timber. + +It was their wrangling that roused Carrigan to the fact that he was not +dead. It was a thrilling discovery--that and the fact that he made out +clearly a patch of sunlight in the sand. He did not move, but opened +his eyes wider. He could see the timber. On a straight line with his +vision was the thick clump of balsam. And as he looked, the boughs +parted and a figure came out. Carrigan drew a deep breath. He found +that it did not hurt him. He gripped the fingers of the hand that was +under his body, and they closed on the butt of his service automatic. +He would win yet, if God gave him life a few minutes longer. + +His enemy advanced. As he drew nearer, Carrigan closed his eyes more +and more. They must be shut, and he must appear as if dead, when the +other came up. Then, when the scoundrel put down his gun, as he +naturally would--his chance would be at hand. If a quiver of his eyes +betrayed him-- + +He closed them tight. Dizziness began to creep over him, and the fire +in his brain grew hot again. He heard footsteps, and they stopped in +the sand close beside him. Then he heard a human voice. It did not +speak in words, but gave utterance to a strange and unnatural cry. With +a mighty effort Carrigan assembled his last strength. It seemed to him +that he brought himself up quickly, but his movement was slow, +painful--the effort of a man who might be dying. The automatic hung +limply in his hand, its muzzle pointing to the sand. He looked up, +trying to swing into action that mighty weight of his weapon. And then +from his own lips, even in his utter physical impotence, fell a cry of +wonder and amazement. + +His enemy stood there in the sunlight, staring down at him with big, +dark eyes that were filled with horror. They were not the eyes of a +man. David Carrigan, in this most astounding moment of his life, found +himself looking up into the face of a woman. + + + + +III + + +For a matter of twenty seconds--even longer it seemed to Carrigan--the +life of these two was expressed in a vivid and unforgettable tableau. +One half of it David saw--the blue sky, the dazzling sun, the girl in +between. The pistol dropped from his limp hand, and the weight of his +body tottered on the crook of his under-elbow. Mentally and physically +he was on the point of collapse, and yet in those few moments every +detail of the picture was painted with a brush of fire in his brain. +The girl was bareheaded. Her face was as white as any face he had ever +seen, living or dead; her eyes were like pools that had caught the +reflection of fire; he saw the sheen of her hair, the poise of her +slender body--its shock, stupefaction, horror. He sensed these things +even as his brain wobbled dizzily, and the larger part of the picture +began to fade out of his vision. But her face remained to the last. It +grew clearer, like a cameo framed in an iris--a beautiful, staring, +horrified face with shimmering tresses of jet-black hair blowing about +it like a veil. He noticed the hair, that was partly undone as if she +had been in a struggle of some sort, or had been running fast against +the breeze that came up the river. + +He fought with himself to hold that picture of her, to utter some word, +make some movement. But the power to see and to live died out of him. +He sank back with a queer sound in his throat. He did not hear the +answering cry from the girl as she flung herself, with a quick little +prayer for help, on her knees in the soft, white sand beside him. He +felt no movement when she raised his head in her arm and with her bare +hand brushed back his sand-littered hair, revealing where the bullet +had struck him. He did not know when she ran back to the river. + +His first sensation was of a cool and comforting something trickling +over his burning temples and his face. It was water. Subconsciously he +knew that, and in the same way he began to think. But it was hard to +pull his thoughts together. They persisted in hopping about, like a lot +of sand-fleas in a dance, and just as he got hold of one and reached +for another, the first would slip away from him. He began to get the +best of them after a time, and he had an uncontrollable desire to say +something. But his eyes and his lips were sealed tight, and to open +them, a little army of gnomes came out of the darkness in the back of +his head, each of them armed with a lever, and began prying with all +their might. After that came the beginning of light and a flash of +consciousness. + +The girl was working over him. He could feel her and hear her movement. +Water was trickling over his face. Then he heard a voice, close over +him, saying something in a sobbing monotone which he could not +understand. + +With a mighty effort he opened his eyes. + +"Thank LE BON DIEU, you live, m'sieu," he heard the voice say, as if +coming from a long distance away. "You live, you live--" + +"Tryin' to," he mumbled thickly, feeling suddenly a sense of great +elation. "Tryin'--" + +He wanted to curse the gnomes for deserting him, for as soon as they +were gone with their levers, his eyes and his lips shut tight again, or +at least he thought they did. But he began to sense things in a curious +sort of way. Some one was dragging him. He could feel the grind of sand +under his body. There were intervals when the dragging operation +paused. And then, after a long time, he seemed to hear more than one +voice. There were two--sometimes a murmur of them. And odd visions came +to him. He seemed to see the girl with shining black hair and dark +eyes, and then swiftly she would change into a girl with hair like +blazing gold. This was a different girl. She was not like Pretty Eyes, +as his twisted mind called the other. This second vision that he saw +was like a radiant bit of the sun, her hair all aflame with the fire of +it and her face a different sort of face. He was always glad when she +went away and Pretty Eyes came back. + +To David Carrigan this interesting experience in his life might have +covered an hour, a day, or a month. Or a year for that matter, for he +seemed to have had an indefinite association with Pretty Eyes. He had +known her for a long time and very intimately, it seemed. Yet he had no +memory of the long fight in the hot sun, or of the river, or of the +singing warblers, or of the inquisitive sandpiper that had marked out +the line which his enemy's last bullet had traveled. He had entered +into a new world in which everything was vague and unreal except that +vision of dark hair, dark eyes, and pale, beautiful face. Several times +he saw it with marvelous clearness, and each time he drifted away into +darkness again with the sound of a voice growing fainter and fainter in +his ears. + +Then came a time of utter chaos and soundless gloom. He was in a pit, +where even his subconscious self was almost dead under a crushing +oppression. At last a star began to glimmer in this pit, a star pale +and indistinct and a vast distance away. But it crept steadily up +through the eternity of darkness, and the nearer it came, the less +there was of the blackness of night. From a star it grew into a sun, +and with the sun came dawn. In that dawn he heard the singing of a +bird, and the bird was just over his head. When Carrigan opened his +eyes, and understanding came to him, he found himself under the silver +birch that belonged to the wood warbler. + +For a space he did not ask himself how he had come there. He was +looking at the river and the white strip of sand. Out there were the +rock and his dunnage pack. Also his rifle. Instinctively his eyes +turned to the balsam ambush farther down. That, too, was in a blaze of +sunlight now. But where he lay, or sat, or stood--he was not sure what +he was doing at that moment--it was shady and deliciously cool. The +green of the cedar and spruce and balsam was close about him, inset +with the silver and gold of the thickly-leaved birch. He discovered +that he was bolstered up partly against the trunk of this birch and +partly against a spruce sapling. Between these two, where his head +rested, was a pile of soft moss freshly torn from the earth. And within +reach of him was his own kit pail filled with water. + +He moved himself cautiously and raised a hand to his head. His fingers +came in contact with a bandage. + +For a minute or two after that he sat without moving while his amazed +senses seized upon the significance of it all. In the first place he +was alive. But even this fact of living was less remarkable than the +other things that had happened. He remembered the final moments of the +unequal duel. His enemy had got him. And that enemy was a woman! +Moreover, after she had blown away a part of his head and had him +helpless in the sand, she had--in place of finishing him there--dragged +him to this cool nook and tied up his wound. It was hard for him to +believe, but the pail of water, the moss behind his shoulders, the +bandage, and certain visions that were reforming themselves in his +brain convinced him. A woman had shot him. She had worked like the very +devil to kill him. And afterward she had saved him! He grinned. It was +final proof that his mind hadn't been playing tricks on him. No one but +a woman would have been quite so unreasonable. A man would have +completed the job. + +He began to look for her up and down the white strip of sand. And in +looking he saw the gray and silver flash of the hard-working sandpiper. +He chuckled, for he was exceedingly comfortable, and also +exhilaratingly happy to know that the thing was over and he was not +dead. If the sandpiper had been a man, he would have called him up to +shake hands with him. For if it hadn't been for the bird getting +squarely in front of him and giving him away, there might have been a +more horrible end to it all. He shuddered as he thought of the mighty +effort he had made to fire a shot into the heart of the balsam +ambush--and perhaps into the heart of a woman! + +He reached for the pail and drank deeply of the water in it. He felt no +pain. His dizziness was gone. His mind had grown suddenly clear and +alert. The warmth of the water told him almost instantly that it had +been taken from the river some time ago. He observed the change in sun +and shadows. With the instinct of a man trained to note details, he +pulled out his watch. It was almost six o'clock. More than three hours +had passed since the sandpiper had got in front of his gun. He did not +attempt to rise to his feet, but scanned with slower and more careful +scrutiny the edge of the forest and the river. He had been mystified +while cringing for his life behind the rock, but he was infinitely more +so now. Greater desire he had never had than this which thrilled him in +these present minutes of his readjustment--desire to look upon the +woman again. And then, all at once, there came back to him a mental +flash of the other. He remembered, as if something was coming back to +him out of a dream, how the whimsical twistings of his sick brain had +made him see two faces instead of one. Yet he knew that the first +picture of his mysterious assailant, the picture painted in his brain +when he had tried to raise his pistol, was the right one. He had seen +her dark eyes aglow; he had seen the sunlit sheen of her black hair +rippling in the wind; he had seen the white pallor in her face, the +slimness of her as she stood over him in horror--he remembered even the +clutch of her white hand at her throat. A moment before she had tried +to kill him. And then he had looked up and had seen her like that! It +must have been some unaccountable trick in his brain that had flooded +her hair with golden fire at times. + +His eyes followed a furrow in the white sand which led from where he +sat bolstered against the tree down to his pack and the rock. It was +the trail made by his body when she had dragged him up to the shelter +and coolness of the timber. One of his laws of physical care was to +keep himself trained down to a hundred and sixty, but he wondered how +she had dragged up even so much as that of dead weight. It had taken a +great deal of effort. He could see distinctly three different places in +the sand where she had stopped to rest. + +Carrigan had earned a reputation as the expert analyst of "N" Division. +In delicate matters it was seldom that McVane did not take him into +consultation. He possessed an almost uncanny grip on the working +processes of a criminal mind, and the first rule he had set down for +himself was to regard the acts of omission rather than the one +outstanding act of commission. But when he proved to himself that the +chief actor in a drama possessed a normal rather than a criminal mind, +he found himself in the position of checkmate. It was a thrilling game. +And he was frankly puzzled now, until--one after another--he added up +the sum total of what had been omitted in this instance of his own +personal adventure. Hidden in her ambush, the woman who had shot him +had been in both purpose and act an assassin. Her determination had +been to kill him. She had disregarded the white flag with which he had +pleaded for mercy. Her marksmanship was of fiendish cleverness. Up to +her last shot she had been, to all intent and purpose, a murderess. + +The change had come when she looked down upon him, bleeding and +helpless, in the sand. Undoubtedly she had thought he was dying. But +why, when she saw his eyes open a little later, had she cried out her +gratitude to God? What had worked the sudden transformation in her? Why +had she labored to save the life she had so atrociously coveted a +minute before? + +If his assailant had been a man, Carrigan would have found an answer. +For he was not robbed, and therefore robbery was not a motif. "A case +of mistaken identity," he would have told himself. "An error in visual +judgment." + +But the fact that in his analysis he was dealing with a woman made his +answer only partly satisfying. He could not disassociate himself from +her eyes--their beauty, their horror, the way they had looked at him. +It was as if a sudden revulsion had come over her; as if, looking down +upon her bleeding handiwork, the woman's soul in her had revolted, and +with that revulsion had come repentance--repentance and pity. + +"That," thought Carrigan, "would be just like a woman--and especially a +woman with eyes like hers." + +This left him but two conclusions to choose from. Either there had been +a mistake, and the woman had shown both horror and desire to amend when +she discovered it, or a too tender-hearted agent of Black Roger +Audemard had waylaid him in the heart of the white strip of sand. + +The sun was another hour lower in the sky when Carrigan assured himself +in a series of cautious experiments that he was not in a condition to +stand upon his feet. In his pack were a number of things he wanted--his +blankets, for instance, a steel mirror, and the thermometer in his +medical kit. He was beginning to feel a bit anxious about himself. +There were sharp pains back of his eyes. His face was hot, and he was +developing an unhealthy appetite for water. It was fever and he knew +what fever meant in this sort of thing, when one was alone. He had +given up hope of the woman's return. It was not reasonable to expect +her to come back after her furious attempt to kill him. She had +bandaged him, bolstered him up, placed water beside him, and had then +left him to work out the rest of his salvation alone. But why the deuce +hadn't she brought up his pack? + +On his hands and knees he began to work himself toward it slowly. He +found that the movement caused him pain, and that with this pain, if he +persisted in movement, there was a synchronous rise of nausea. The two +seemed to work in a sort of unity. But his medicine case was important +now, and his blankets, and his rifle if he hoped to signal help that +might chance to pass on the river. A foot at a time, a yard at a time, +he made his way down into the sand. His fingers dug into the footprints +of the mysterious gun-woman. He approved of their size. They were small +and narrow, scarcely longer than the palm and fingers of his hand--and +they were made by shoes instead of moccasins. + +It seemed an interminable time to him before he reached his pack. When +he got there, a pendulum seemed swinging back and forth inside his +head, beating against his skull. He lay down with his pack for a +pillow, intending to rest for a spell. But the minutes added themselves +one on top of another. The sun slipped behind clouds banking in the +west. It grew cooler, while within him he was consumed by a burning +thirst. He could hear the ripple of running water, the laughter of it +among pebbles a few yards away. And the river itself became even more +desirable than his medicine case, or his blankets, or his rifle. The +song of it, inviting and tempting him, blotted thought of the other +things out of his mind. And he continued his journey, the swing of the +pendulum in his head becoming harder, but the sound of the river +growing nearer. At last he came to the wet sand, and fell on his face, +and drank. + +After this he had no great desire to go back. He rolled himself over, +so that his face was turned up to the sky. Under him the wet sand was +soft, and it was comfortingly cool. The fire in his head died out. He +could hear new sounds in the edge of the forest evening sounds. Only +weak little twitters came from the wood warblers, driven to silence by +thickening gloom in the densely canopied balsams and cedars, and +frightened by the first low hoots of the owls. There was a crash not +far distant, probably a porcupine waddling through brush on his way for +a drink; or perhaps it was a thirsty deer, or a bear coming out in the +hope of finding a dead fish. Carrigan loved that sort of sound, even +when a pendulum was beating back and forth in his head. It was like +medicine to him, and he lay with wide-open eyes, his ears picking up +one after another the voices that marked the change from day to night. +He heard the cry of a loon, its softer, chuckling note of honeymoon +days. From across the river came a cry that was half howl, half bark. +Carrigan knew that it was coyote, and not wolf, a coyote whose breed +had wandered hundreds of miles north of the prairie country. + +The gloom gathered in, and yet it was not darkness as the darkness of +night is known a thousand miles south. It was the dusky twilight of day +where the sun rises at three o'clock in the morning and still throws +its ruddy light in the western sky at nine o'clock at night; where the +poplar buds unfold themselves into leaf before one's very eyes; where +strawberries are green in the morning and red in the afternoon; where, +a little later, one could read newspaper print until midnight by the +glow of the sun--and between the rising and the setting of that sun +there would be from eighteen to twenty hours of day. It was evening +time in the wonderland of the north, a wonderland hard and frozen and +ridden by pain and death in winter, but a paradise upon earth in this +month of June. + +The beauty of it filled Carrigan's soul, even as he lay on his back in +the damp sand. Far south of him steam and steel were coming, and the +world would soon know that it was easy to grow wheat at the Arctic +Circle, that cucumbers grew to half the size of a man's arm, that +flowers smothered the land and berries turned it scarlet and black. He +had dreaded these days--days of what he called "the great +discovery"--the time when a crowded civilization would at last +understand how the fruits of the earth leaped up to the call of twenty +hours of sun each day, even though that earth itself was eternally +frozen if one went down under its surface four feet with a pick and +shovel. + +Tonight the gloom came earlier because of the clouds in the west. It +was very still. Even the breeze had ceased to come from up the river. +And as Carrigan listened, exulting in the thought that the coolness of +the wet sand was drawing the fever from him, he heard another sound. At +first he thought it was the splashing of a fish. But after that it came +again, and still again, and he knew that it was the steady and rhythmic +dip of paddles. + +A thrill shot through him, and he raised himself to his elbow. Dusk +covered the river, and he could not see. But he heard low voices as the +paddles dipped. And after a little he knew that one of these was the +voice of a woman. + +His heart gave a big jump. "She is coming back," he whispered to +himself. "She is coming back!" + + + + +IV + + +Carrigan's first impulse, sudden as the thrill that leaped through him, +was to cry out to the occupants of the unseen canoe. Words were on his +lips, but he forced them back. They could not miss him, could not get +beyond the reach of his voice--and he waited. After all, there might be +profit in a reasonable degree of caution. He crept back toward his +rifle, sensing the fact that movement no longer gave him very great +distress. At the same time he lost no sound from the river. The voices +were silent, and the dip, dip, dip of paddles was approaching softly +and with extreme caution. At last he could barely hear the trickle of +them, yet he knew the canoe was coming steadily nearer. There was a +suspicious secretiveness in its approach. Perhaps the lady with the +beautiful eyes and the glistening hair had changed her mind again and +was returning to put an end to him. + +The thought sharpened his vision. He saw a thin shadow a little darker +than the gloom of the river; it grew into shape; something grated +lightly upon sand and pebbles, and then he heard the guarded plash of +feet in shallow water and saw some one pulling the canoe up higher. A +second figure joined the first. They advanced a few paces and stopped. +In a moment a voice called softly, + +"M'sieu! M'sieu Carrigan!" + +There was an anxious note in the voice, but Carrigan held his tongue. +And then he heard the woman say, + +"It was here, Bateese! I am sure of it!" + +There was more than anxiety in her voice now. Her words trembled with +distress. "Bateese--if he is dead--he is up there close to the trees." + +"But he isn't dead," said Carrigan, raising himself a little. "He is +here, behind the rock again!" + +In a moment she had run to where he was lying, his hand clutching the +cold barrel of the pistol which he had found in the sand, his white +face looking up at her. Again he found himself staring into the glow of +her eyes, and in that pale light which precedes the coming of stars and +moon the fancy struck him that she was lovelier than in the full +radiance of the sun. He heard a throbbing note in her throat. And then +she was down on her knees at his side, leaning close over him, her +hands groping at his shoulders, her quick breath betraying how swiftly +her heart was beating. + +"You are not hurt--badly?" she cried. + +"I don't know," replied David. "You made a perfect shot. I think a part +of my head is gone. At least you've shot away my balance, because I +can't stand on my feet!" + +Her hand touched his face, remaining there for an instant, and the palm +of it pressed his forehead. It was like the touch of cool velvet, he +thought. Then she called to the man named Bateese. He made Carrigan +think of a huge chimpanzee as he came near, because of the shortness of +his body and the length of his arms. In the half light he might have +been a huge animal, a hulking creature of some sort walking upright. +Carrigan's fingers closed more tightly on the butt of his automatic. +The woman began to talk swiftly in a patois of French and Cree. David +caught the gist of it. She was telling Bateese to carry him to the +canoe, and to be very careful, because m'sieu was badly hurt. It was +his head, she emphasized. Bateese must be careful of his head. + +David slipped his pistol into its holster as Bateese bent over him. He +tried to smile at the woman to thank her for her solicitude--after +having nearly killed him. There was an increasing glow in the night, +and he began to see her more plainly. Out on the middle of the river +was a silvery bar of light. The moon was coming up, a little pale as +yet, but triumphant in the fact that clouds had blotted out the sun an +hour before his time. Between this bar of light and himself he saw the +head of Bateese. It was a wild, savage-looking head, bound +pirate-fashion round the forehead with a huge Hudson's Bay kerchief. +Bateese might have been old Jack Ketch himself bending over to give the +final twist to a victim's neck. His long arms slipped under David. +Gently and without effort he raised him to his feet. And then, as +easily as he might have lifted a child, he trundled him up in his arms +and walked off with him over the sand. + +Carrigan had not expected this. He was a little shocked and felt also +the impropriety of the thing. The idea of being lugged off like a baby +was embarrassing, even in the presence of the one who had deliberately +put him in his present condition. Bateese did the thing with such +beastly ease. It was as if he was no more than a small boy, a runt with +no weight whatever, and Bateese was a man. He would have preferred to +stagger along on his own feet or creep on his hands and knees, and he +grunted as much to Bateese on the way to the canoe. He felt, at the +same time, that the situation owed him something more of discussion and +explanation. Even now, after half killing him, the woman was taking a +rather high-handed advantage of him. She might at least have assured +him that she had made a mistake and was sorry. But she did not speak to +him again. She said nothing more to Bateese, and when the half-breed +deposited him in the midship part of the canoe, facing the bow, she +stood back in silence. Then Bateese brought his pack and rifle, and +wedged the pack in behind him so that he could sit upright. After that, +without pausing to ask permission, he picked up the woman and carried +her through the shallow water to the bow, saving her the wetting of her +feet. + +As she turned to find her paddle her face was toward David, and for a +moment she was looking at him. + +"Do you mind telling me who you are, and where we are going?" he asked. + +"I am Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain," she said. "My brigade is down the +river, M'sieu Carrigan." + +He was amazed at the promptness of her confession, for as one of the +working factors of the long arm of the police he accepted it as that. +He had scarcely expected her to divulge her name after the cold-blooded +way in which she had attempted to kill him. And she had spoken quite +calmly of "my brigade." He had heard of the Boulain Brigade. It was a +name associated with Chipewyan, as he remembered it--or Fort McMurray. +He was not sure just where the Boulain scows had traded freight with +the upper-river craft. Until this year he was positive they had not +come as far south as Athabasca Landing. Boulain--Boulain--The name +repeated itself over and over in his mind. Bateese shoved off the +canoe, and the woman's paddle dipped in and out of the water beginning +to shimmer in moonlight. But he could not, for a time, get himself +beyond the pounding of that name in his brain. It was not merely that +he had heard the name before. There was something significant about it. +Something that made him grope back in his memory of things. Boulain! He +whispered it to himself, his eyes on the slender figure of the woman +ahead of him, swaying gently to the steady sweep of the paddle in her +hands. Yet he could think of nothing. A feeling of irritation swept +over him, disgust at his own mental impotency. And the dizzying +sickness was brewing in his head again. + +"I have heard that name--somewhere--before," he said. There was a space +of only five or six feet between them, and he spoke with studied +distinctness. + +"Possibly you have, m'sieu." + +Her voice was exquisite, clear as the note of a bird, yet so soft and +low that she seemed scarcely to have spoken. And it was, Carrigan +thought, criminally evasive--under the circumstances. He wanted her to +turn round and say something. He wanted, first of all, to ask her why +she had tried to kill him. It was his right to demand an explanation. +And it was his duty to get her back to the Landing, where the law would +ask an accounting of her. She must know that. There was only one way in +which she could have learned his name, and that was by prying into his +identification papers while he was unconscious. Therefore she not only +knew his name, but also that he was Sergeant Carrigan of the Royal +Northwest Mounted Police. In spite of all this she was apparently not +very deeply concerned. She was not frightened, and she did not appear +to be even slightly excited. + +He leaned nearer to her, the movement sending a sharp pain between his +eyes. It almost drew a cry from him, but he forced himself to speak +without betraying it. + +"You tried to murder me--and almost succeeded. Haven't you anything to +say?" + +"Not now, m'sieu--except that it was a mistake, and I am sorry. But you +must not talk. You must remain quiet. I am afraid your skull is +fractured." + +Afraid his skull was fractured! And she expressed her fear in the +casual way she might have spoken of a toothache. He leaned back against +his dunnage sack and closed his eyes. Probably she was right. These +fits of dizziness and nausea were suspicious. They made him top-heavy +and filled him with a desire to crumple up somewhere. He was +clear-mindedly conscious of this and of his fight against the weakness. +But in those moments when he felt better and his head was clear of +pain, he had not seriously thought of a fractured skull. If she +believed it, why did she not treat him a bit more considerately? +Bateese, with that strength of an ox in his arms, had no use for her +assistance with the paddle. She might at least have sat facing him, +even if she refused to explain matters more definitely. + +A mistake, she called it. And she was sorry for him! She had made those +statements in a matter-of-fact way, but with a voice that was like +music. She had spoken perfect English, but in her words were the +inflection and velvety softness of the French blood which must be +running red in her veins. And her name was Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain! + +With eyes closed, Carrigan called himself an idiot for thinking of +these things at the present time. Primarily he was a man-hunter out on +important duty, and here was duty right at hand, a thousand miles south +of Black Roger Audemard, the wholesale murderer he was after. He would +have sworn on his life that Black Roger had never gone at a killing +more deliberately than this same Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain had gone +after him behind the rock! + +Now that it was all over, and he was alive, she was taking him +somewhere as coolly and as unexcitedly as though they were returning +from a picnic. Carrigan shut his eyes tighter and wondered if he was +thinking straight. He believed he was badly hurt, but he was as +strongly convinced that his mind was clear. And he lay quietly with his +head against the pack, his eyes closed, waiting for the coolness of the +river to drive his nausea away again. + +He sensed rather than felt the swift movement of the canoe. There was +no perceptible tremor to its progress. The current and a perfect +craftsmanship with the paddles were carrying it along at six or seven +miles an hour. He heard the rippling of water that at times was almost +like the tinkling of tiny bells, and more and more bell-like became +that sound as he listened to it. It struck a certain note for him. And +to that note another added itself, until in the purling rhythm of the +river he caught the murmuring monotone of a name +Boulain--Boulain--Boulain. The name became an obsession. It meant +something. And he knew what it meant--if he could only whip his memory +back into harness again. But that was impossible now. When he tried to +concentrate his mental faculties, his head ached terrifically. + +He dipped his hand into the water and held it over his eyes. For half +an hour after that he did not raise his head. In that time not a word +was spoken by Bateese or Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. For the forest +people it was not an hour in which to talk. The moon had risen swiftly, +and the stars were out. Where there had been gloom, the world was now a +flood of gold and silver light. At first Carrigan allowed this to +filter between his fingers; then he opened his eyes. He felt more +evenly balanced again. + +Straight in front of him was Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. The curtain of +dusk had risen from between them, and she was full in the radiance of +the moon. She was no longer paddling, but was looking straight ahead. +To Cardigan her figure was exquisitely girlish as he saw it now. She +was bareheaded, as he had seen tier first, and her hair hung down her +back like a shimmering mass of velvety sable in the star-and-moon glow. +Something told Carrigan she was going to turn her face in his +direction, and he dropped his hand over his eyes again, leaving a space +between the fingers. He was right in his guess. She fronted the moon, +looking at him closely--rather anxiously, he thought. She even leaned a +little toward him that she might see more clearly. Then she turned and +resumed her paddling. + +Carrigan was a bit elated. Probably she had looked at him a number of +times like that during the past half-hour. And she was disturbed. She +was worrying about him. The thought of being a murderess was beginning +to frighten her. In spite of the beauty of her eyes and hair and the +slim witchery of her body he had no sympathy for her. He told himself +that he would give a year of his life to have her down at Barracks this +minute. He would never forget that three-quarters of an hour behind the +rock, not if he lived to be a hundred. And if he did live, she was +going to pay, even if she was lovelier than Venus and all the Graces +combined. He felt irritated with himself that he should have observed +in such a silly way the sable glow of her hair in the moonlight. And +her eyes. What the deuce did prettiness matter in the present +situation? The sister of Fanchet, the mail robber, was beautiful, but +her beauty had failed to save Fanchet. The Law had taken him in spite +of the tears in Carmin Fanchet's big black eyes, and in that particular +instance he was the Law. And Carmin Fanchet was pretty--deucedly +pretty. Even the Old Man's heart had been stirred by her loveliness. + +"A shame!" he had said to Carrigan. "A shame!" But the rascally Fanchet +was hung by the neck until he was dead. + +Carrigan drew himself up slowly until he was sitting erect. He wondered +what Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain would say if he told her about Carmin. +But there was a big gulf between the names Fanchet and Boulain. The +Fanchets had come from the dance halls of Alaska. They were bad, both +of them. At least, so they had judged Carmin Fanchet--along with her +brother. And Boulain-- + +His hand, in dropping to his side, fell upon the butt of his pistol. +Neither Bateese nor the girl had thought of disarming him. It was +careless of them, unless Bateese was keeping a good eye on him from +behind. + +A new sort of thrill crept into Carrigan's blood. He began to see where +he had made a huge error in not playing his part more cleverly. It was +this girl Jeanne who had shot him. It was Jeanne who had stood over him +in that last moment when he had made an effort to use his pistol. It +was she who had tried to murder him and who had turned faint-hearted +when it came to finishing the job. But his knowledge of these things he +should have kept from her. Then, when the proper moment came, he would +have been in a position to act. Even now it might be possible to cover +his blunder. He leaned toward her again, determined to make the effort. + +"I want to ask your pardon," he said. "May I?" + +His voice startled her. It was as if the stinging tip of a whip-lash +had touched her bare neck. He was smiling when she turned. In her face +and eyes was a relief which she made no effort to repress. + +"You thought I might be dead," he laughed softly. "I'm not, Miss +Jeanne. I'm very much alive again. It was that accursed fever--and I +want to ask your pardon! I think--I know--that I accused you of +shooting me. It's impossible. I couldn't think of it--In my clear mind. +I am quite sure that I know the rascally half-breed who pot-shotted me +like that. And it was you who came in time, and frightened him away, +and saved my life. Will you forgive me--and accept my gratitude?" + +There came into the glowing eyes of the girl a reflection of his own +smile. It seemed to him that he saw the corners of her mouth tremble a +little before she answered him. + +"I am glad you are feeling better, m'sieu." + +"And you will forgive me for--for saying such beastly things to you?" + +She was lovely when she smiled, and she was smiling at him now. "If you +want to be forgiven for lying, yes," she said. "I forgive you that, +because it is sometimes your business to lie. It was I who tried to +kill you, m'sieu. And you know it." + +"But--" + +"You must not talk, m'sieu. It is not good for you: Bateese, will you +tell m'sieu not to talk?" + +Carrigan heard a movement behind him. + +"M'sieu, you will stop ze talk or I brak hees head wit' ze paddle in my +han'!" came the voice of Bateese close to his shoulder. "Do I mak' ze +word plain so m'sieu compren'?" + +"I get you, old man," grunted Carrigan. "I get you--both!" + +And he leaned back against his dunnage-sack, staring again at the +witching slimness of the lovely Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain as she calmly +resumed her paddling in the bow of the canoe. + + + + +V + + +In the few minutes following the efficient and unexpected warning of +Bateese an entirely new element of interest entered into the situation +for David Carrigan. He had more than once assured himself that he had +made a success of his profession of man-hunting not because he was +brighter than the other fellow, but largely because he possessed a +sense of humor and no vanities to prick. He was in the game because he +loved the adventure of it. He was loyal to his duty, but he was not a +worshipper of the law, nor did he covet the small monthly stipend of +dollars and cents that came of his allegiance to it. As a member of the +Scarlet Police, and especially of "N" Division, he felt the pulse and +thrill of life as he loved to live it. And the greatest of all thrills +came when he was after a man as clever as himself, or cleverer. + +This time it was a woman--or a girl! He had not yet made up his mind +which she was. Her voice, low and musical, her poise, and the tranquil +and unexcitable loveliness of her face had made him, at first, register +her as a woman. Yet as he looked at the slim girlishness of her figure +in the bow of the canoe, accentuated by the soft sheen of her partly +unbraided hair, he wondered if she were eighteen or thirty. It would +take the clear light of day to tell him. But whether a girl or a woman, +she had handled him so cleverly that the unpleasantness of his earlier +experience began to give way slowly to an admiration for her capability. + +He wondered what the superintendent of "N" Division would say if he +could see Black Roger Audemard's latest trailer propped up here in the +center of the canoe, the prisoner of a velvety-haired but dangerously +efficient bit of feminine loveliness--and a bull-necked, +chimpanzee-armed half-breed! + +Bateese had confirmed the suspicion that he was a prisoner, even though +this mysterious pair were bent on saving his life. Why it was their +desire to keep life in him when only a few hours ago one of them had +tried to kill him was a. question which only the future could answer. +He did not bother himself with that problem now. The present was +altogether too interesting, and there was but little doubt that other +developments equally important were close at hand. The attitude of both +Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain and her piratical-looking henchman was +sufficient evidence of that. Bateese had threatened to knock his head +off, and he could have sworn that the girl--or woman--had smiled her +approbation of the threat. Yet he held no grudge against Bateese. An +odd sort of liking for the man began to possess him, just as he found +himself powerless to resist an ingrowing admiration for Marie-Anne. The +existence of Black Roger Audemard became with him a sort of indefinite +reality. Black Roger was a long way off. Marie-Anne and Bateese were +very near. He began thinking of her as Marie-Anne. He liked the name. +It was the Boulain part of it that worked in him with an irritating +insistence. + +For the first time since the canoe journey had begun, he looked beyond +the darkly glowing head and the slender figure in the bow. It was a +splendid night. Ahead of him the river was like a rippling sheet of +molten silver. On both sides, a quarter of a mile apart, rose the walls +of the forest, like low-hung, oriental tapestries. The sky seemed near, +loaded with stars, and the moon, rising with almost perceptible +movement toward the zenith, had changed from red to a mellow gold. +Carrigan's soul always rose to this glory of the northern light. Youth +and vigor, he told himself, must always exist under those unpolluted +lights of the upper worlds, the unspeaking things which had told him +more than he had ever learned from the mouths of other men. They stood +for his religion, his faith, his belief in the existence of things +greater than the insignificant spark which animated his own body. He +appreciated them most when there was stillness. And tonight it was +still. It was so quiet that the trickling of the paddles was like +subdued music. From the forest there came no sound. Yet he knew there +was life there, wide-eyed, questing life, life that moved on velvety +wing and padded foot, just as he and Marie-Anne and the half-breed +Bateese were moving in the canoe. To have called out in this hour would +have taken an effort, for a supreme and invisible Hand seemed to have +commanded stillness upon the earth. + +And then there came droning upon his ears a break in the stillness, and +as he listened, the shores closed slowly in, narrowing the channel +until he saw giant masses of gray rock replacing the thick verdure of +balsam, spruce, and cedar. The moaning grew louder, and the rocks +climbed skyward until they hung in great cliffs. There could be but one +meaning to this sudden change. They were close to LE SAINT-ESPRIT +RAPIDE--the Holy Ghost Rapids. Carrigan was astonished. That day at +noon he had believed the Holy Ghost to be twenty or thirty miles below +him. Now they were at its mouth, and he saw that Bateese and Jeanne +Marie-Anne Boulain were quietly and unexcitedly preparing to run that +vicious stretch of water. Unconsciously he gripped the gunwales of the +canoe with both hands as the sound of the rapids grew into low and +sullen thunder. In the moonlight ahead he could see the rock walls +closing in until the channel was crushed between two precipitous +ramparts, and the moon and stars, sending their glow between those +walls, lighted up a frothing path of water that made Carrigan hold his +breath. He would have portaged this place even in broad day. + +He looked at the girl in the bow. The slender figure Was a little more +erect, the glowing head held a little higher. In those moments he would +have liked to see her face, the wonderful something that must be in her +eyes as she rode fearlessly into the teeth of the menace ahead. For he +could see that she was not afraid, that she was facing this thing with +a sort of exultation, that there was something about it which thrilled +her until every drop of blood in her body was racing with the impetus +of the stream itself. Eddies of wind puffing out from between the chasm +walls tossed her loose hair about her back in a glistening veil. He saw +a long strand of it trailing over the edge of the canoe into the water. +It made him shiver, and he wanted to cry out to Bateese that he was a +fool for risking her life like this. He forgot that he was the one +helpless individual in the canoe, and that an upset would mean the end +for him, while Bateese and his companion might still fight on. His +thought and his vision were focused on the girl--and what lay straight +ahead. A mass of froth, like a windrow of snow, rose up before them, +and the canoe plunged into it with the swiftness of a shot. It +spattered in his face, and blinded him for an instant. Then they were +out of it, and he fancied he heard a note of laughter from the girl in +the bow. In the next breath he called himself a fool for imagining +that. For the run was dead ahead, and the girl became vibrant with +life, her paddle flashing in and out, while from her lips came sharp, +clear cries which brought from Eateese frog-like bellows of response. +The walls shot past; inundations rose and plunged under them; black +rocks whipped with caps of foam raced up-stream with the speed of +living things; the roar became a drowning voice, and then--as if +outreached by the wings of a swifter thing--dropped suddenly behind +them. Smoother water lay ahead. The channel broadened. Moonlight filled +it with a clearer radiance, and Carrigan saw the girl's hair glistening +wet, and her arms dripping. + +For the first time he turned about and faced Bateese. The half-breed +was grinning like a Cheshire cat! + +"You're a confoundedly queer pair!" grunted Carrigan, and he turned +about again to find Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain as unconcerned as though +running the Holy Ghost Rapids in the glow of the moon was nothing more +than a matter of play. + +It was impossible for him to keep his heart from beating a little +faster as he watched her, even though he was trying to regard her in a +most professional sort of way. He reminded himself that she was an +iniquitous little Jezebel who had almost murdered him. Carmin Fanchet +had been like her, an AME DAMNEE--a fallen angel--but his business was +not sympathy in such matters as these. At the same time he could not +resist the lure of both her audacity and her courage, and he found +himself all at once asking himself the amazing question as to what her +relationship might be to Bateese. It occurred to him rather +unpleasantly that there had been something distinctly proprietary in +the way the half-breed had picked her up on the sand, and that Bateese +had shown no hesitation a little later in threatening to knock his head +off unless he stopped talking to her. He wondered if Bateese was a +Boulain. + +The two or three minutes of excitement in the boiling waters of the +Holy Ghost had acted like medicine on Carrigan. It seemed to him that +something had given way in his head, relieving him of an oppression +that had been like an iron hoop drawn tightly about his skull. He did +not want Bateese to suspect this change in him, and he slouched lower +against the dunnage-pack with his eyes still on the girl. He was +finding it increasingly difficult to keep from looking at her. She had +resumed her paddling, and Bateese was putting mighty efforts in his +strokes now, so that the narrow, birchbark canoe shot like an arrow +with the down-sweeping current of the river. A few hundred yards below +was a twist in the channel, and as the canoe rounded this, taking the +shoreward curve with dizzying swiftness, a wide, still straight-water +lay ahead. And far down this Carrigan saw the glow of fires. + +The forest had drawn back from the river, leaving in its place a broken +tundra of rock and shale and a wide strip of black sand along the edge +of the stream itself. Carrigan knew what it was--an upheaval of the +tar-sand country so common still farther north, the beginning of that +treasure of the earth which would some day make the top of the American +continent one of the Eldorados of the world. The fires drew nearer, and +suddenly the still night was broken by the wild chanting of men. David +heard behind him a choking note in the throat of Bateese. A soft word +came from the lips of the girl, and it seemed to Carrigan that her head +was held higher in the moon glow. The chant increased in volume, a +rhythmic, throbbing, savage music that for a hundred and fifty years +had come from the throats of men along the Three Rivers. It thrilled +Carrigan as they bore down upon it. It was not song as civilization +would have counted song. It was like an explosion, an exultation of +human voice unchained, ebullient with the love of life, savage in its +good-humor. It was LE GAITE DE COEUR of the rivermen, who thought and +sang as their forefathers did in the days of Radisson and good Prince +Rupert; it was their merriment, their exhilaration, their freedom and +optimism, reaching up to the farthest stars. In that song men were +straining their vocal muscles, shouting to beat out their nearest +neighbor, bellowing like bulls in a frenzy of sudden fun. And then, as +suddenly as it had risen in the night, the clamor of voices died away. +A single shout came up the river. Carrigan thought he heard a low +rumble of laughter. A tin pan banged against another. A dog howled. The +flat of an oar played a tattoo for a moment on the bottom of a boat. +Then one last yell from a single throat--and the night was silent again. + +And that was the Boulain Brigade--singing at this hour of the night, +when men should have been sleeping if they expected to be up with the +sun. Carrigan stared ahead. Shortly his adventure would take a new +twist. Something was bound to happen when they got ashore. The peculiar +glow of the fires had puzzled him. Now he began to understand. Jeanne +Marie-Anne Boulain's men were camped in the edge of the tar-sands and +had lighted a number of natural gas-jets that came up out of the earth. +Many times he had seen fires like these burning up and down the Three +Rivers. He had lighted fires of his own; he had cooked over them and +had afterward had the fun and excitement of extinguishing them with +pails of water. But he had never seen anything quite like this that was +unfolding itself before his eyes now. There were seven of the fires +over an area of half an acre--spouts of yellowish flame burning like +giant torches ten or fifteen feet in the air. And between them he very +soon made out great bustle and activity. Many figures were moving +about. They looked like dwarfs at first, gnomes at play in a little +world made out of witchcraft. But Bateese was sending the canoe nearer +with powerful strokes, and the figures grew taller, and the spouts of +flame higher. Then he knew what was happening. The Boulain men were +taking advantage of the cool hours of the night and were tarring up. + +He could smell the tar, and he could see the big York boats drawn up in +the circle of yellowish light. There were half a dozen of them, and men +stripped to the waist were smearing the bottoms of the boats with +boiling tar and pitch. In the center was a big, black cauldron steaming +over a gas-jet, and between this cauldron and the boats men were +running back and forth with pails. Still nearer to the huge kettle +other men were filling a row of kegs with the precious black GOUDRON +that oozed up from the bowels of the earth, forming here and there +jet-black pools that Carrigan could see glistening in the flare of the +gas-lamps. He figured there were thirty men at work. Six big York boats +were turned keel up in the black sand. Close inshore, just outside the +circle of light, was a single scow. + +Toward this scow Bateese sent the canoe. And as they drew nearer, until +the laboring men ashore were scarcely a stone's throw away, the +weirdness of the scene impressed itself more upon Carrigan. Never had +he seen such a crew. There were no Indians among them. Lithe, +quick-moving, bare-headed, their naked arms and shoulders gleaming in +the ghostly illumination, they were racing against time with the +boiling tar and pitch in the cauldron. They did not see the approach of +the canoe, and Bateese did not draw their attention to it. Quietly he +drove the birchbark under the shadow of the big bateau. Hands were +waiting to seize and steady it. Carrigan caught but a glimpse of the +faces. In another instant the girl was aboard the scow, and Bateese was +bending over him. A second time he was picked up like a child in the +chimpanzee-like arms of the half-breed. The moonlight showed him a scow +bigger than he had ever seen on the upper river, and two-thirds of it +seemed to be cabin. Into this cabin Bateese carried him, and in +darkness laid him upon what Carrigan thought must be a cot built +against the wall. He made no sound, but let himself fall limply upon +it. He listened to Bateese as he moved about, and closed his eyes when +Bateese struck a match. A moment later he heard the door of the cabin +close behind the half-breed. Not until then did he open his eyes and +sit up. + +He was alone. And what he saw in the next few moments drew an +exclamation of amazement from him. Never had he seen a cabin like this +on the Three Rivers. It was thirty feet long if an inch, and at least +eight feet wide. The walls and ceiling were of polished cedar; the +floor was of cedar closely matched. It was the exquisite finish and +craftsmanship of the woodwork that caught his eyes first. Then his +astonished senses seized upon the other things. Under his feet was a +soft rug of dark green velvet. Two magnificent white bearskins lay +between him and the end of the room. The walls were hung with pictures, +and at the four windows were curtains of ivory lace draped with damask. +The lamp which Bateese had lighted was fastened to the wall close to +him. It was of polished silver and threw a brilliant light softened by +a shade of old gold. There were three other lamps like this, unlighted. +The far end of the room was in deep shadow, but Carrigan made out the +thing he was staring at--a piano. He rose to his feet, disbelieving his +eyes, and made his way toward it. He passed between chairs. Near the +piano was another door, and a wide divan of the same soft, green +upholstery. Looking back, he saw that what he had been lying upon was +another divan. And dose to this were book-shelves, and a table on which +were magazines and papers and a woman's workbasket, and in the +workbasket--sound asleep--a cat! + +And then, over the table and the sleeping cat, his eyes rested upon a +triangular banner fastened to the wall. In white against a background +of black was a mighty polar bear holding at bay a horde of Arctic +wolves. And suddenly the thing he had been fighting to recall came to +Carrigan--the great bear--the fighting wolves--the crest of St. Pierre +Boulain! + +He took a quick step toward the table--then caught at the back of a +chair. Confound his head! Or was it the big bateau rocking under his +feet? The cat seemed to be turning round in its basket. There were half +a dozen banners instead of one; the lamp was shaking in its bracket; +the floor was tilting, everything was becoming hideously contorted and +out of place. A shroud of darkness gathered about him, and through that +darkness Carrigan staggered blindly toward the divan. He reached it +just in time to fall upon it like a dead man. + + + + +VI + + +For what seemed to be an interminable time after the final breakdown of +his physical strength David Carrigan lived in a black world where a +horde of unseen little devils were shooting red-hot arrows into his +brain. He did not sense the fact of human presence; nor that the divan +had been changed into a bed and the four lamps lighted, and that +wrinkled, brown hands with talon-like fingers were performing a miracle +of wilderness surgery upon him. He did not see the age-old face of +Nepapinas--"The Wandering Bolt of Lightning"--as the bent and tottering +Cree called upon all his eighty years of experience to bring him back +to life. And he did not see Bateese, stolid-faced, silent, nor the +dead-white face and wide-open, staring eyes of Jeanne Marie-Anne +Boulain as her slim, white fingers worked with the old medicine man's. +He was in a gulf of blackness that writhed with the spirits of torment. +He fought them and cried out against them, and his fighting and his +cries brought the look of death itself into the eyes of the girl who +was over him. He did not hear her voice nor feel the soothing of her +hands, nor the powerful grip of Bateese as he held him when the +critical moments came. And Nepapinas, like a machine that had looked +upon death a thousand times, gave no rest to his claw-like fingers +until the work was done--and it was then that something came to drive +the arrow-shooting devils out of the darkness that was smothering +Carrigan. + +After that Carrigan lived through an eternity of unrest, a life in +which he seemed powerless and yet was always struggling for supremacy +over things that were holding him down. There were lapses in it, like +the hours of oblivion that come with sleep, and there were other times +when he seemed keenly alive, yet unable to move or act. The darkness +gave way to flashes of light, and in these flashes he began to see +things, curiously twisted, fleeting, and yet fighting themselves +insistently upon his senses. He was back in the hot sand again, and +this time he heard the voices of Jeanne Marie-Anne and Golden-Hair, and +Golden-Hair flaunted a banner in his face, a triangular pennon of black +on which a huge bear was fighting white Arctic wolves, and then she +would run away from him, crying out--"St. Pierre Boulain--St. Pierre +Boulain--" and the last he could see of her was her hair flaming like +fire in the sun. But it was always the other--the dark hair and dark +eyes--that came to him when the little devils returned to assault him +with their arrows. From somewhere she would come out of darkness and +frighten them away. He could hear her voice like a whisper in his ears, +and the touch of her hands comforted him and quieted his pain. After a +time he grew to be afraid when the darkness swallowed her up, and in +that darkness he would call for her, and always he heard her voice in +answer. + +Then came a long oblivion. He floated through cool space away from the +imps of torment; his bed was of downy clouds, and on these clouds he +drifted with a great shining river under him; and at last the cloud he +was in began to shape itself into walls and on these walls were +pictures, and a window through which the sun was shining, and a black +pennon--and he heard a soft, wonderful music that seemed to come to him +faintly from another world. Other creatures were at work in his brain +now. They were building up and putting together the loose ends of +things. Carrigan became one of them, working so hard that frequently a +pair of dark eyes came out of the dawning of things to stop him, and +quieting hands and a voice soothed him to rest. The hands and the voice +became very intimate. He missed them when they were not near, +especially the hands, and he was always groping for them to make sure +they had not gone away. + +Only once after the floating cloud transformed itself into the walls of +the bateau cabin did the chaotic darkness of the sands fully possess +him again. In that darkness he heard a voice. It was not the voice of +Golden-Hair, or of Bateese, or of Jeanne Marie-Anne. It was close to +his ears. And in that darkness that smothered him there was something +terrible about it as it droned slowly the +words--"HAS-ANY-ONE-SEEN-BLACK-ROGER-AUDEMARD?" He tried to answer, to +call back to it, and the voice came again, repeating the words, +emotionless, hollow, as if echoing up out of a grave. And still harder +he struggled to reply to it, to say that he was David Carrigan, and +that he was out on the trail of Black Roger Audemard, and that Black +Roger was far north. And suddenly it seemed to him that the voice +changed into the flesh and blood of Black Roger himself, though he +could not see in the darkness--and he reached out, gripping fiercely at +the warm substance of flesh, until he heard another voice, the voice of +Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain, entreating him to let his victim go. It was +this time that his eyes shot open, wide and seeing, and straight over +him was the face of Jeanne Marie-Anne, nearer him than it had been even +in the visionings of his feverish mind. His fingers were clutching her +shoulders, gripping like steel hooks. + +"M'sieu--M'sieu David!" she was crying. + +For a moment he stared; then his hands and fingers relaxed, and his +arms dropped limply. "Pardon--I--I was dreaming," he struggled weakly. +"I thought--" + +He had seen the pain in her face. Now, changing swiftly, it lighted up +with relief and gladness. His vision, cleared by long darkness, saw the +change come in an instant like a flash of sunshine. And then--so near +that he could have touched her--she was smiling down into his eyes. He +smiled back. It took an effort, for his face felt stiff and unnatural. + +"I was dreaming--of a man--named Roger Audemard," he continued to +apologize. "Did I--hurt you?" + +The smile on her lips was gone as swiftly as it had come. "A little, +m'sieu. I am glad you are better. You have been very sick." + +He raised a hand to his face. The bandage was there, and also a stubble +of beard on his cheeks. He was puzzled. This morning he had fastened +his steel mirror to the side of a tree and shaved. + +"It was three days ago you were hurt," she said quietly. "This is the +afternoon of the third day. You have been in a great fever. Nepapinas, +my Indian doctor, saved your life. You must lie quietly now. You have +been talking a great deal." + +"About--Black Roger?" he said. + +She nodded. + +"And--Golden--Hair?" + +"Yes, of Golden--Hair." + +"And--some one else--with dark hair--and dark eyes--" + +"It may be, m'sieu." + +"And of little devils with bows and arrows, and of polar bears, and +white wolves, and of a great lord of the north who calls himself St. +Pierre Boulain?" + +"Yes, of all those." + +"Then I haven't anything more to tell you," grunted David. "I guess +I've told you all I know. You shot me, back there. And here I am. What +are you going to do next?" + +"Call Bateese," she answered promptly, and she rose swiftly from beside +him and moved toward the door. + +He made no effort to call her back. His wits were working slowly, +readjusting themselves after a carnival in chaos, and he scarcely +sensed that she was gone until the cabin door closed behind her. Then +again he raised a hand to his face and felt his beard. Three days! He +turned his head so that he could take in the length of the cabin. It +was filled with subdued sunlight now, a western sun that glowed softly, +giving depth and richness to the colors on the floor and walls, +lighting up the piano keys, suffusing the pictures with a warmth of +life. David's eyes traveled slowly to his own feet. The divan had been +opened and transformed into a bed. He was undressed. He had on +somebody's white nightgown. And there was a big bunch of wild roses on +the table where three days ago the cat had been sleeping in the +work-basket. His head cleared swiftly, and he raised himself a little +on one elbow, with extreme caution, and listened. The big bateau was +not moving. It was still tied up, but he could hear no voices out where +the tar-sands were. + +He dropped back on his pillow, and his eyes rested on the black pennon. +His blood stirred again as he looked at the white bear and the fighting +wolves. Wherever men rode the waters of the Three Rivers that pennon +was known. Yet it was not common. Seldom was it seen, and never had it +come south of Chipewyan. Many things came to Carrigan now, things that +he had heard at the Landing and up and down the rivers. Once he had +read the tail-end of a report the Superintendent of "N" Division had +sent in to headquarters. + +"We do not know this St. Pierre. Few men have seen him out of his own +country, the far headwaters of the Yellowknife, where he rules like a +great overlord. Both the Yellowknives and the Dog Ribs call him KICHEOO +KIMOW, or King, and the same rumors say there is never starvation or +plague in his regions; and it is fact that neither the Hudson's Bay nor +Revillon Brothers in their cleverest generalship and trade have been +able to uproot his almost dynastic jurisdiction. The Police have had no +reason to investigate or interfere." + +At least that was the gist of what Carrigan had read in McVane's +report. But he had never associated it with the name of Boulain. It was +of St. Pierre that he had heard stories, St. Pierre and his black +pennon with its white bear and fighting wolves. And so--it was St. +Pierre BOULAIN! + +He closed his eyes and thought of the long winter weeks he had passed +at Hay River Post, watching for Fanchet, the mail robber. It was there +he had heard most about this St. Pierre, and yet no one he had talked +with had ever seen him; no one knew whether he was old or young, a +pigmy or a giant. Some stories said that he was strong, that he could +twist a gun-barrel double in his hands; others said that he was old, +very old, so that he never set forth with his brigades that brought +down each year a treasure of furs to be exchanged for freight. And +never did a Dog Rib or a Yellowknife open his mouth about KICHEOO KIMOW +St. Pierre, the master of their unmapped domains. In that great country +north and west of the Great Slave he remained an enigma and a sphinx. +If he ever came out with his brigades, he did not disclose his +identity, so that if one saw a fleet of boats or canoes with the St. +Pierre pennon, one had to make his own guess whether St. Pierre himself +was there or not. But these things were known--that the keenest, +quickest, and strongest men in the northland ran the St. Pierre +brigades, that they brought out the richest cargoes of furs, and that +they carried back with them into the secret fastnesses of their +wilderness the greatest cargoes of freight that treasure could buy. So +much the name St. Pierre dragged out of Carrigan's memory. It came to +him now why the name "Boulain" had pounded so insistently in his brain. +He had seen this pennon with its white bear and fighting wolves only +once before, and that had been over a Boulain scow at Chipewyan. But +his memory had lost its grip on that incident while retaining vividly +its hold on the stories and rumors of the mystery-man, St. Pierre. + +Carrigan pulled himself a little higher on his pillow and with a new +interest scanned the cabin. He had never heard of Boulain women. Yet +here was the proof of their existence and of the greatness that ran in +the red blood of their veins. The history of the great northland, +hidden in the dust-dry tomes and guarded documents of the great +company, had always been of absorbing interest to him. He wondered why +it was that the outside world knew so little about it and believed so +little of what it heard. A long time ago he had penned an article +telling briefly the story of this half of a great continent in which +for two hundred years romance and tragedy and strife for mastery had +gone on in a way to thrill the hearts of men. He had told of huge forts +with thirty-foot stone bastions, of fierce wars, of great warships that +had fired their broadsides in battle in the ice-filled waters of +Hudson's Bay. He had described the coming into this northern world of +thousands and tens of thousands of the bravest and best-blooded men of +England and France, and how these thousands had continued to come, +bringing with them the names of kings, of princes, and of great lords, +until out of the savagery of the north rose an aristocracy of race +built up of the strongest men of the earth. And these men of later days +he had called Lords of the North--men who had held power of life and +death in the hollow of their hands until the great company yielded up +its suzerainty to the Government of the Dominion in 1870; men who were +kings in their domains, whose word was law, who were more powerful in +their wilderness castles than their mistress over the sea, the Queen of +Britain. + +And Carrigan, after writing of these things, had stuffed his manuscript +away in the bottom of his chest at barracks, for he believed that it +was not in his power to do justice to the people of this wilderness +world that he loved. The powerful old lords were gone. Like dethroned +monarchs, stripped to the level of other men, they lived in the +memories of what had been. Their might now lay in trade. No more could +they set out to wage war upon their rivals with powder and ball. Keen +wit, swift dogs, and the politics of barter had taken the place of +deadlier things. LE FACTEUR could no longer slay or command that others +be slain. A mightier hand than his now ruled the destinies of the +northern people--the hand of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. + +It was this thought, the thought that Law and one of the powerful +forces of the wilderness had met in this cabin of the big bateau, that +came to Carrigan as he drew himself still higher against his pillow. A +greater thrill possessed him than the thrill of his hunt for Black +Roger Audemard. Black Roger was a murderer, a wholesale murderer and a +fiend, a Moloch for whom there could be no pity. Of all men the Law +wanted Black Roger most, and he, David Carrigan, was the chosen one to +consummate its desire. Yet in spite of that he felt upon him the +strange unrest of a greater adventure than the quest for Black Roger. +It was like an impending thing that could not be seen, urging him, +rousing his faculties from the slough into which they had fallen +because of his wound and sickness. It was, after all, the most vital of +all things, a matter of his own life. Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain had +tried to kill him deliberately, with malice and intent. That she had +saved him afterward only added to the necessity of an explanation, and +he was determined that he would have that explanation and settle the +present matter before he allowed another thought of Black Roger to +enter his head. + +This resolution reiterated itself in his mind as the machine-like voice +of duty. He was not thinking of the Law, and yet the consciousness of +his accountability to that Law kept repeating itself. In the very face +of it Carrigan knew that something besides the moral obligation of the +thing was urging him, something that was becoming deeply and +dangerously personal. At least--he tried to think of it as dangerous. +And that danger was his unbecoming interest in the girl herself. It was +an interest distinctly removed from any ethical code that might have +governed him in his experience with Carmin Fanchet, for instance. +Comparatively, if they had stood together, Carmin would have been the +lovelier. But he would have looked longer at Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. + +He conceded the point, smiling a bit grimly as he continued to study +that part of the cabin which he could see from his pillow. He had lost +interest--temporarily at least--in Black Roger Audemard. Not long ago +the one question to which, above all others, he had desired an answer +was, why had Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain worked so desperately to kill +him and so hard to save him afterward? Now, as he looked about him, the +question which repeated itself insistently was, what relationship did +she bear to this mysterious lord of the north, St. Pierre? + +Undoubtedly she was his daughter, for whom St. Pierre had built this +luxurious barge of state. A fierce-blooded offspring, he thought, one +like Cleopatra herself, not afraid to kill--and equally quick to make +amends when there was a mistake. + +There came the quiet opening of the cabin door to break in upon his +thought. He hoped it was Jeanne Marie-Anne returning to him. It was +Nepapinas. The old Indian stood over him for a moment and put a cold, +claw-like hand to his forehead. He grunted and nodded his head, his +little sunken eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Then he put his hands +under David's arms and lifted him until he was sitting upright, with +three or four pillows at his back. + +"Thanks," said Carrigan. "That makes me feel better. And--if you don't +mind--my last lunch was three days ago, boiled prunes and a piece of +bannock--" + +"I have brought you something to eat, M'sieu David," broke in a soft +voice behind him. + +Nepapinas slipped away, and Jeanne Marie-Anne stood in his place. David +stared up at her, speechless. He heard the door close behind the old +Indian. Then Jeanne Marie-Anne drew up a chair, so that for the first +time he could see her clear eyes with the light of day full upon her. + +He forgot that a few days ago she had been his deadliest enemy. He +forgot the existence of a man named Black Roger Audemard. Her slimness +was as it had pictured itself to him in the hot sands. Her hair was as +he had seen it there. It was coiled upon her head like ropes of spun +silk, jet-black, glowing softly. But it was her eyes he stared at, and +so fixed was his look that the red lips trembled a bit on the verge of +a smile. She was not embarrassed. There was no color in the clear +whiteness of her skin, except that redness of her lips. + +"I thought you had black eyes," he said bluntly. "I'm glad you haven't. +I don't like them. Yours are as brown as--as--" + +"Please, m'sieu," she interrupted him, sitting down close beside him. +"Will you eat--now?" + +A spoon was at his mouth, and he was forced to take it in or have its +contents spilled over him. The spoon continued to move quickly between +the bowl and his mouth. He was robbed of speech. And the girl's eyes, +as surely as he was alive, were beginning to laugh at him. They were a +wonderful brown, with little, golden specks in them, like the freckles +he had seen in wood-violets. Her lips parted. Between their bewitching +redness he saw the gleam of her white teeth. In a crowd, with her +glorious hair covered and her eyes looking straight ahead, one would +not have picked her out. But close, like this, with her eyes smiling at +him, she was adorable. + +Something of Carrigan's thoughts must have shown in his face, for +suddenly the girl's lips tightened a little, and the warmth went out of +her eyes, leaving them cold and distant. He finished the soup, and she +rose again to her feet. + +"Please don't go," he said. "If you do, I think I shall get up and +follow. I am quite sure I am entitled to a little something more than +soup." + +"Nepapinas says that you may have a bit of boiled fish for supper," she +assured him. + +"You know I don't mean that. I want to know why you shot me, and what +you think you are going to do with me." + +"I shot you by mistake--and--I don't know just what to do with you," +she said, looking at him tranquilly, but with what he thought was a +growing shadow of perplexity in her eyes. "Bateese says to fasten a big +stone to your neck and throw you in the river. But Bateese doesn't +always mean what he says. I don't think he is quite as bloodthirsty--" + +"--As the young lady who tried to murder me behind the rock," Carrigan +interjected. + +"Exactly, m'sieu. I don't think he would throw you into the +river--unless I told him to. And I don't believe I am going to ask him +to do that," she added, the soft glow flashing back into her eyes for +an instant. "Not after the splendid work Nepapinas has done on your +head. St. Pierre must see that. And then, if St. Pierre wishes to +finish you, why--" She shrugged her slim shoulders and made a little +gesture with her hands. + +In that same moment there came over her a change as sudden as the +passing of light itself. It was as if a thing she was hiding had broken +beyond her control for an instant and had betrayed her. The gesture +died. The glow went out of her eyes, and in its place came a light that +was almost fear--or pain. She came nearer to Carrigan again, and +somehow, looking up at her, he thought of the little brush warbler +singing at the end of its birch twig to give him courage. It must have +been because of her throat, white and soft, which he saw pulsing like a +beating heart before she spoke to him. + +"I have made a terrible mistake, m'sieu David," she said, her voice +barely rising above a whisper. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I thought it was +some one else behind the rock. But I can not tell you more than +that--ever. And I know it is impossible for us to be friends." She +paused, one of her hands creeping to her bare throat, as if to cover +the throbbing he had seen there. + +"Why is it impossible?" he demanded, leaning away from his pillows so +that he might bring himself nearer to her. + +"Because--you are of the police, m'sieu." + +"The police, yes," he said, his heart thrumming inside his breast. "I +am Sergeant Carrigan. I am out after Roger Audemard, a murderer. But my +commission has nothing to do with the daughter of St. Pierre Boulain. +Please--let's be friends--" + +He held out his hand; and in that moment David Carrigan placed another +thing higher than duty--and in his eyes was the confession of it, like +the glow of a subdued fire. The girl's fingers drew more closely at her +throat, and she made no movement to accept his hand. + +"Friends," he repeated. "Friends--in spite of the police." + +Slowly the girl's eyes had widened, as if she saw that new-born thing +riding over all other things in his swiftly beating heart. And afraid +of it, she drew a step away from him. + +"I am not St. Pierre Boulain's daughter," she said, forcing the words +out one by one. "I am--his wife." + + + + +VII + + +Afterward Carrigan wondered to what depths he had fallen in the first +moments of his disillusionment. Something like shock, perhaps even more +than that, must have betrayed itself in his face. He did not speak. +Slowly his outstretched arm dropped to the white counterpane. Later he +called himself a fool for allowing it to happen, for it was as if he +had measured his proffered friendship by what its future might hold for +him. In a low, quiet voice Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain was saying again +that she was St. Pierre's wife. She was not excited, yet he understood +now why it was he had thought her eyes were very dark. They had changed +swiftly. The violet freckles in them were like little flecks of gold. +They were almost liquid in their glow, neither brown nor black now, and +with that threat of gathering lightning in them. For the first time he +saw the slightest flush of color in her cheeks. It deepened even as he +held out his hand again. He knew that it was not embarrassment. It was +the heat of the fire back of her eyes. "It's--funny," he said, making +an effort to redeem himself with a lie and smiling. "You rather amaze +me. You see, I have been told this St. Pierre is an old, old man--so +old that he can't stand on his feet or go with his brigades, and if +that is the truth, it is hard for me to picture you as his wife. But +that isn't a reason why we should not be friends. Is it?" + +He felt that he was himself again, except for the three days' growth of +beard on his face. He tried to laugh, but it was rather a poor attempt. +And St. Pierre's wife did not seem to hear him. She was looking at him, +looking into and through him with those wide-open glowing eyes. Then +she sat down, out of reach of the hand which he had held toward her. + +"You are a sergeant of the police," she said, the softness gone +suddenly out of her voice. "You are an honorable man, m'sieu. Your hand +is against all wrong. Is it not so?" It was the voice of an inquisitor. +She was demanding an answer of him. + +He nodded. "Yes, it is so." + +The fire in her eyes deepened. "And yet you say you want to be the +friend of a stranger who has tried to kill you. WHY, m'sieu?" + +He was cornered. He sensed the humiliation of it, the impossibility of +confessing to her the wild impulse that had moved him before he knew +she was St. Pierre's wife. And she did not wait for him to answer. + +"This--this Roger Audemard--if you catch him--what will you do with +him?" she asked. + +"He will be hanged," said David. "He is a murderer." + +"And one who tries to kill--who almost succeeds--what is the penalty +for that?" She leaned toward him, waiting. Her hands were clasped +tightly in her lap, the spots were brighter in her cheeks. + +"From ten to twenty years," he acknowledged. "But, of course, there may +be circumstances--" + +"If so, you do not know them," she interrupted him. "You say Roger +Audemard is a murderer. You know I tried to kill you. Then why is it +you would be my friend and Roger Audemard's enemy? Why, m'sieu?" + +Carrigan shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. "I shouldn't," he +confessed. "I guess you are proving I was wrong in what I said. I ought +to arrest you and take you back to the Landing as soon as I can. But, +you see, it strikes me there is a big personal element in this. I was +the man almost killed. There was a mistake,--must have been, for as +soon as you put me out of business you began nursing me back to life +again. And--" + +"But that doesn't change it," insisted St. Pierre's wife. "If there had +been no mistake, there would have been a murder. Do you understand, +m'sieu? If it had been some one else behind that rock, I am quite +certain he would have died. The Law, at least, would have called it +murder. If Roger Audemard is a criminal, then I also am a criminal. And +an honorable man would not make a distinction because one of them is a +woman!" + +"But--Black Roger was a fiend. He deserves no mercy. He--" + +"Perhaps, m'sieu!" + +She was on her feet, her eyes flaming down upon him. In that moment her +beauty was like the beauty of Carmin Fanchet. The poise of her slender +body, her glowing cheeks, her lustrous hair, her gold-flecked eyes with +the light of diamonds in them, held him speechless. + +"I was sorry and went back for you," she said. "I wanted you to live, +after I saw you like that on the sand. Bateese says I was indiscreet, +that I should have left you there to die. Perhaps he is right. And +yet--even Roger Audemard might have had that pity for you." + +She turned quickly, and he heard her moving away from him. Then, from +the door, she said, + +"Bateese will make you comfortable, m'sieu." + +The door opened and closed. She was gone. And he was alone in the cabin +again. + +The swiftness of the change in her amazed him. It was as if he had +suddenly touched fire to an explosive. There had been the flare, but no +violence. She had not raised her voice, yet he heard in it the tremble +of an emotion that was consuming her. He had seen the flame of it in +her face and eyes. Something he had said, or had done, had tremendously +upset her, changing in an instant her attitude toward him. The thought +that came to him made his face burn under its scrub of beard. Did she +think he was a scoundrel? The dropping of his hand, the shock that must +have betrayed itself in his face when she said she was St. Pierre's +wife--had those things warned her against him? The heat went slowly out +of his face. It was impossible. She could not think that of him. It +must have been a sudden giving way under terrific strain. She had +compared herself to Roger Audemard, and she was beginning to realize +her peril--that Bateese was right--that she should have left him to die +in the sand! + +The thought pressed itself heavily upon Carrigan. It brought him +suddenly back to a realization of how small a part he had played in +this last half hour in the cabin. He had offered to Pierre's wife a +friendship which he had no right to offer and which she knew he had no +right to offer. He was the Law. And she, like Roger Audemard, was a +criminal. Her quick woman's instinct had told her there could be no +distinction between them, unless there was a reason. And now Carrigan +confessed to himself that there had been a reason. That reason had come +to him with the first glimpse of her as he lay in the hot sand. He had +fought against it in the canoe; it had mastered him in those thrilling +moments when he had beheld this slim, beautiful creature riding +fearlessly into the boiling waters of the Holy Ghost. Her eyes, her +hair, the sweet, low voice that had been with him in his fever, had +become a definite and unalterable part of him. And this must have shown +in his eyes and face when he dropped his hand--when she told him she +was St. Pierre's wife. + +And now she was afraid of him! She was regretting that she had not left +him to die. She had misunderstood what she had seen betraying itself +during those few seconds of his proffered friendship. She saw only a +man whom she had nearly killed, a man who represented the Law, a man +whose power held her in the hollow of his hand. And she had stepped +back from him, startled, and had told him that she was not St. Pierre's +daughter, but his wife! + +In the science of criminal analysis Carrigan always placed himself in +the position of the other man. And he was beginning to see the present +situation from the view-point of Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. He was +satisfied that she had made a desperate mistake and that until the last +moment she had believed it was another man behind the rock. Yet she had +shown no inclination to explain away her error. She had definitely +refused to make an explanation. And it was simply a matter of common +sense to concede that there must be a powerful motive for her refusal. +There was but one conclusion for him to arrive at--the error which St. +Pierre's wife had made in shooting the wrong man was less important to +her than keeping the secret of why she had wanted to kill some other +man. + +David was not unconscious of the breach in his own armor. He had +weakened, just as the Superintendent of "N" Division had weakened that +day four years ago when they had almost quarreled over Carmin Fanchet. + +"I'll swear to Heaven she isn't bad, no matter what her brother has +been," McVane had said. "I'll gamble my life on that, Carrigan!" + +And because the Chief of Division with sixty years of experience behind +him, had believed that, Carmin Fanchet had not been held as an +accomplice in her brother's evildoing, but had gone back into her +wilderness uncrucified by the law that had demanded the life of her +brother. He would never forget the last time he had seen Carmin +Fanchet's eyes--great, black, glorious pools of gratitude as they +looked at grizzled old McVane; blazing fires of venomous hatred when +they turned on him. And he had said to McVane, + +"The man pays, the woman goes--justice indeed is blind!" + +McVane, not being a stickler on regulations when it came to Carrigan, +had made no answer. + +The incident came back vividly to David as he waited for the promised +coming of Bateese. He began to appreciate McVane's point of view, and +it was comforting, because he realized that his own logic was +assailable. If McVane had been comparing the two women now, he knew +what his argument would be. There had been no absolute proof of crime +against Carmin Fanchet, unless to fight desperately for the life of her +brother was a crime. In the case of Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain there was +proof. She had tried to kill. Therefore, of the two, Carmin Fanchet +would have been the better woman in the eyes of McVane. + +In spite of the legal force of the argument which he was bringing +against himself, David felt unconvinced. Carmin Fanchet, had she been +in the place of St. Pierre's wife, would have finished him there in the +sand. She would have realized the menace of letting him live and would +probably have commanded Bateese to dump him in the river. St. Pierre's +wife had gone to the other extreme. She was not only repentant, but was +making restitution, for her mistake, and in making that restitution had +crossed far beyond the dead-line of caution. She had frankly told him +who she was; she had brought him into the privacy of what was +undeniably her own home; in her desire to undo what she had done she +had hopelessly enmeshed herself in the net of the Law--if that Law saw +fit to act. She had done these things with courage and conviction. And +of such a woman, Carrigan thought, St. Pierre must be very proud. + +He looked slowly about the cabin again and each thing that he saw was a +living voice breaking up a dream for him. These voices told him that he +was in a temple built because of a man's worship for a woman--and that +man was St. Pierre. Through the two western windows came the last glow +of the western sun, like a golden benediction finding its way into a +sacred place. Here there was--or had been--a great happiness, for only +a great pride and a great happiness could have made it as it was. +Nothing that wealth and toil could drag up out of a civilization a +thousand miles away had been too good for St. Pierre's wife. And about +him, looking more closely, David saw the undisturbed evidences of a +woman's contentment. On the table were embroidery materials with which +she had been working, and a lamp-shade half finished. A woman's +magazine printed in a city four thousand miles away lay open at the +fashion plates. There were other magazines, and many books, and open +music above the white keyboard of the piano, and vases glowing red and +yellow with wild-flowers and silver birch leaves. He could smell the +faint perfume of the fireglow blossoms, red as blood. In a pool of +sunlight on one of the big white bear rugs lay the sleeping cat. And +then, at the far end of the cabin, an ivory-white Cross of Christ +glowed for a few moments in a last homage of the sinking sun. + +Uneasiness stole upon him. This was the woman's holy ground, her +sanctuary and her home, and for three days his presence had driven her +from it. There was no other room. In making restitution she had given +up to him her most sacred of all things. And again there rose up in him +that new-born thing which had set strange fires stirring in his heart, +and which from this hour on he knew he must fight until it was dead. + +For an hour after the last of the sun was obliterated by the western +mountains he lay in the gloom of coming darkness. Only the lapping of +water under the bateau broke the strange stillness of the evening. He +heard no sound of life, no voice, no tread of feet, and he wondered +where the woman and her men had gone and if the scow was still tied up +at the edge of the tar-sands. And for the first time he asked himself +another question, Where was the man, St. Pierre? + + + + +VIII + + +It was utterly dark in the cabin, when the stillness was broken by low +voices outside. The door opened, and some one came in. A moment later a +match flared up, and in the shifting glow of it Carrigan saw the dark +face of Bateese, the half-breed. One after another he lighted the four +lamps. Not until he had finished did he turn toward the bed. It was +then that David had his first good impression of the man. He was not +tall, but built with the strength of a giant. His arms were long. His +shoulders were stooped. His head was like the head of a stone gargoyle +come to life. Wide-eyed, heavy-lipped, with the high cheek-bones of an +Indian and uncut black hair bound with the knotted red MOUCHOIR, he +looked more than ever like a pirate and a cutthroat to David. Such a +man, he thought, might make play out of the business of murder. And +yet, in spite of his ugliness, David felt again the mysterious +inclination to like the man. + +Bateese grinned. It was a huge grin, for his mouth was big. "You ver' +lucky fellow," he announced. "You sleep lak that in nice sof' bed an' +not back on san'-bar, dead lak ze feesh I bring you, m'sieu. That ees +wan beeg mistake. Bateese say, 'Tie ze stone roun' hees neck an' mak' +heem wan ANGE DE MER. Chuck heem in ze river, MA BELLE Jeanne!' An' she +say no, mak heem well, an' feed heem feesh. So I bring ze feesh which +she promise, an' when you have eat, I tell you somet'ing!" + +He returned to the door and brought back with him a wicker basket. Then +he drew up the table beside Carrigan and proceeded to lay out before +him the boiled fish which St. Pierre's wife had promised him. With it +was bread and an earthen pot of hot tea. + +"She say that ees all you have because of ze fever. Bateese say, 'Stuff +heem wit' much so that he die queek!'" + +"You want to see me dead. Is that it, Bateese?" + +"OUI. You mak' wan ver' good dead man, m'sieu!" Bateese was no longer +grinning. He stood back and pointed at the food. "You eat--queek. An' +when you have finish' I tell you somet'ing!" + +Now that he saw the luscious bit of whitefish before him, Carrigan was +possessed of the hungering emptiness of three days and nights. As he +ate, he observed that Bateese was performing curious duties. He +straightened a couple of rugs, ran fresh water into the flower vases, +picked up half a dozen scattered magazines, and then, to David's +increasing interest, produced a dust-cloth from somewhere and began to +dust. David finished his fish, the one slice of bread, and his cup of +tea. He felt tremendously good. The hot tea was like a trickle of new +life through every vein in his body, and he had the desire to get up +and try out his legs. Suddenly Bateese discovered that his patient was +laughing at him. + +"QUE DIABLE!" he demanded, coming up ferociously with the cloth in his +great hand. "You see somet'ing ver' fonny, m'sieu?" + +"No, nothing funny, Bateese," grinned Carrigan. "I was just thinking +what a handsome chambermaid you make. You are so gentle, so nice to +look at, so--" + +"DIABLE!" exploded Bateese, dropping his dust cloth and bringing his +huge hands down upon the table with a smash that almost wrecked the +dishes. "You have eat, an' now you lissen. You have never hear' before +of Concombre Bateese. An' zat ees me. See! Wit' these two hands I have +choke' ze polar bear to deat'. I am strongest man w'at ees in all nort' +countree. I pack four hundre' pound ovair portage. I crack ze caribou +bones wit' my teeth, lak a dog. I run sixt' or hundre' miles wit'out +stop for rest. I pull down trees w'at oder man cut wit' axe. I am not +'fraid of not'ing. You lissen? You hear w'at I say?" + +"I hear you." + +"BIEN! Then I tell you w'at Concombre Bateese ees goin' do wit' you, +M'sieu Sergent de Police! MA BELLE Jeanne she mak' wan gran' meestake. +She too much leetle bird heart, too much pity for want you to die. +Bateese say, 'Keel him, so no wan know w'at happen t'ree day ago behin' +ze rock.' But MA BELLE Jeanne, she say, 'No, Bateese, he ees meestake +for oder man, an' we mus' let heem live.' An' then she tell me to come +an' bring you feesh, an' tell you w'at is goin' happen if you try go +away from thees bateau. You COMPREN'? If you try run away, Bateese ees +goin' keel you! See--wit' thees han's I br'ak your neck an' t'row you +in river. MA BELLE Jeanne say do zat, an' she tell oder mans-twent', +thirt', almos' hundre' GARCONS--to keel you if you try run away. She +tell me bring zat word to you wit' ze feesh. You listen hard w'at I +say?" + +If ever a worker of iniquity lived on earth, Carrigan might have judged +Bateese as that man in these moments. The half-breed had worked himself +up to a ferocious pitch. His eyes rolled. His wide mouth snarled in the +virulence of its speech. His thick neck grew corded, and his huge hands +clenched menacingly upon the table. Yet David had no fear. He wanted to +laugh, but he knew laughter would be the deadliest of insults to +Bateese just now. He remembered that the half-breed, fierce as a +pirate, had a touch as gentle as a woman's. This man, who could choke +an ox with his monstrous hands, had a moment before petted a cat, +straightened out rugs, watered the woman's flowers, and had dusted. He +was harmless--now. And yet in the same breath David sensed the fact +that a single word from St. Pierre's wife would be sufficient to fire +his brute strength into a blazing volcano of action. Such a henchman +was priceless--under certain conditions! And he had brought a warning +straight from the woman. + +"I think I understand what you mean, Bateese," he said. "She says that +I am to make no effort to leave this bateau--that I am to be killed if +I try to escape? Are you sure she said that?" + +"PAR LES MILLE CORNES DU DIABLE, you t'ink Bateese lie, m'sieu? +Concombre Bateese, who choke ze w'ite bear wit' hees two ban', who pull +down ze tree--" + +"No, no, I don't think you lie. But I am wondering why she didn't tell +me that when she was here." + +"Becaus' she have too much leetle bird heart, zat ees w'y. She say: +'Bateese, you tell heem he mus' wait for St. Pierre. An' you tell heem +good an' hard, lak you choke ze w'ite bear an' lak you pull down ze +tree, so he mak' no meestake an' try get away.' An' she tell zat before +all ze BATELIERS--all ze St. Pierre mans gathered 'bout a beeg +fire--an' they shout up lak wan gargon that they watch an' keel you if +you try get away." + +Carrigan reached out a hand. "Let's shake, Bateese. I'll give you my +word that I won't try to escape--not until you and I have a good +stand-up fight with the earth under our feet, and I've whipped you. Is +it a go?" + +Bateese stared for a moment, and then his face broke into a wide grin. +"You lak ze fight, m'sieu?" + +"Yes. I love a scrap with a good man like you." + +One of Bateese's huge hands crawled slowly over the table and engulfed +David's. Joy shone on his face. + +"An' you promise give me zat fight, w'en you are strong?" + +"If I don't, I'll let you tie a stone around my neck and drop me into +the river." + +"You are brave GARCON," cried the delighted Bateese. "Up an' down ze +rivers ees no man w'at can whip Concombre Bateese!" Suddenly his face +grew clouded. "But ze head, m'sieu?" he added anxiously. + +"It will get well quickly if you will help me, Bateese. Right now I +want to get up. I want to stretch my legs. Was my head bad?" + +"NON. Ze bullet scrape ze ha'r off--so--so--an' turn ze brain seek. I +t'ink you be good fighting man in week!" + +"And you will help me up?" + +Bateese was a changed man. Again David felt that mighty but gentle +strength of his arms as he helped him to his feet. He was a trifle +unsteady for a moment. Then, with the half-breed close at his side, +ready to catch him if his legs gave way, he walked to one of the +windows and looked out. Across the river, fully half a mile away, he +saw the glow of fires. + +"Her camp?" he asked. + +"OUI, m'sieu." + +"We have moved from the tar-sands?" + +"Yes, two days down ze river." + +"Why are they not camping over here with us?" + +Bateese gave a disgusted grunt. "Becaus' MA BELLE Jeanne have such +leetle bird heart, m'sieu. She say you mus' not have noise near, lak ze +talk an' laugh an' ZE CHANSONS. She say it disturb, an' zat it mak you +worse wit' ze fever. She ees mak you lak de baby, Bateese say to her. +But she on'y laugh at zat an' snap her leetle w'ite finger. Wait St. +Pierre come! He brak yo'r head wit' hees two fists. I hope we have ze +fight before then, m'sieu!" + +"We'll have it anyway, Bateese. Where is St. Pierre, and when shall we +see him?" + +Bateese shrugged his shoulders. "Mebby week, mebby more. He long way +off." + +"Is he an old man?" + +Slowly Bateese turned David about until he was facing him. "You ask +not'ing more about St. Pierre," he warned. "No mans talk 'bout St. +Pierre. Only wan--MA BELLE Jeanne. You ask her, an' she tell you shut +up. W'en you don't shut up she call Bateese to brak your head." + +"You're a--a sort of all-round head-breaker, as I understand it," +grunted David, walking slowly back to his bed. "Will you bring me my +pack and clothes in the morning? I want to shave and dress." + +Bateese was ahead of him, smoothing the pillows and straightening out +the rumpled bed-clothes. His huge hands were quick and capable as a +woman's, and David could not keep himself from chuckling at this +feminine ingeniousness of the powerful half-breed. Once in the crush of +those gorilla-like arms that were working over his bed now, he thought, +and it would be all over with the strongest man in "N" Division. +Bateese heard the chuckle and looked up. + +"Somet'ing ver' funny once more, is eet--w'at?" he demanded. + +"I was thinking, Bateese--what will happen to me if you get me in those +arms when we fight? But it isn't going to happen. I fight with my +fists, and I'm going to batter you up so badly that nobody will +recognize you for a long time." + +"You wait!" exploded Bateese, making a horrible grimace. "I choke you +lak w'ite bear, I t'row you ovair my should'r, I mash you lak leetle +strawberr', I--" He paused in his task to advance with a formidable +gesture. + +"Not now," warned Carrigan. "I'm still a bit groggy, Bateese." He +pointed down at the bed. "I'm driving HER from that," he said. "I don't +like it. Is she sleepin' over there--in the camp?" + +"Mebby--an' mebby not, m'sieu," growled Bateese. "You mak' guess, eh?" + +He began extinguishing the lights, until only the one nearest the door +was left burning. He did not turn toward Carrigan or speak to him +again. When he Went out, David heard the click of a lock in the door. +Bateese had not exaggerated. It was the intention of St. Pierre's wife +that he should consider himself a prisoner--at least for tonight. + +He had no desire to lie down again. There was an unsteadiness in his +legs, but outside of that the evil of his sickness no longer oppressed +him. The staff doctor at the Landing would probably have called him a +fool for not convalescing in the usual prescribed way, but Carrigan was +already beginning to feel the demand for action. In spite of what +physical effort he had made, his head did not hurt him, and his mind +was keenly alive. He returned to the window through which he could see +the fires on the western shore, and found no difficulty in opening it. +A strong screen netting kept him from thrusting out his head and +shoulders. Through it came the cool night breeze of the river. It +seemed good to fill his lungs with it again and smell the fresh aroma +of the forest. It was very dark, and the fires across the river were +brighter because of the deep gloom. There was no promise of the moon in +the sky. He could not see a star. From far in the west he caught the +low intonation of thunder. + +Carrigan turned from the window to the end of the cabin in which the +piano stood. Here, too, was the second divan, and he saw the meaning +now of two close-tied curtains, one at each side of the cabin. Drawn +together on a taut wire stretched two inches under the ceiling, they +shut off this end of the bateau and turned at least a third of the +cabin into the privacy of the woman's bedroom. With growing uneasiness +David saw the evidences that this had been her sleeping apartment. At +each side of the piano was a small door, and he opened one of these +just enough to discover that it was a wardrobe closet. A third door +opened on the shore side of the bateau, but this was locked. Shut out +from the view of the lower end of the cabin by a Japanese screen were a +small dresser and a mirror. In the dim illumination that came from the +distant lamp David bent over the open sheet of music on the piano. It +was Mascagni's AVE MARIA. + +His blood tingled. His brain was stirred by a new emotion, a growing +thing that made him uneasy and filled him with a strange restlessness. +He felt as though he had come suddenly to the edge of a great danger; +somewhere within him an intelligence seized upon it and understood. Yet +it was not physical enough for him to fight. It was a danger which +crept up and about him, something which he could not see or touch and +yet which made his heart beat faster and the blood come into his face. +It drew him, triumphed over him, dragged his hand forth until his +fingers closed upon a lacy, crumpled bit of a handkerchief that lay on +the edge of the piano keys. It was the woman's handkerchief, and like a +thief he raised it slowly. It smelled faintly of crushed violets; it +was as if she were bending over him in his sickness again, and it was +her breath that came to him. He was not thinking of her as St. Pierre's +wife. And then sharply he caught himself and placed the handkerchief +back on the piano keys. He tried to laugh at himself, but there was an +emptiness where a moment before there had been that thrill of which he +was now ashamed. + +He turned back to the window. The thunder had come nearer. It was +coming up fast out of the west, and with it a darkness that was like +the blackness of a pit. A dead stillness was preceding it now, and in +that stillness it seemed to Carrigan that he could hear the soapy, +slitting sound of the streaming flashes of electrical fire that +blazoned the advance of the storm. The camp-fires across the river were +dying down. One of them went out as he looked at it, and he stared into +the darkness as if trying to pierce distance and gloom to see what sort +of a shelter it was that St. Pierre's wife had over there. And there +came over him in these moments a desire that was almost cowardly. It +was the desire to escape, to leave behind him the memory of the rock +and of St. Pierre's wife, and to pursue once more his own great +adventure, the quest of Black Roger Audemard. + +He heard the rain coming. At first the sound of it was like the +pattering of ten million tiny feet in dry leaves; then, suddenly, it +was like the roar of an avalanche. It was an inundation, and with it +came crash after crash of thunder, and the black skies were illumined +by an almost uninterrupted glare of lightning. It had been a long time +since Carrigan had felt the shock of such a storm. He closed the window +to keep the rain out, and after that stood with his face flattened +against the glass, staring over the river. The camp-fires were all gone +now, blotted out like so many candles snuffed between thumb and +forefinger, and he shuddered. No canvas ever made would keep that +deluge out. And now there was growing up a wind with it. The tents on +the other side would be beaten down like pegged sheets of paper, ripped +up and torn to pieces. He imagined St. Pierre's wife in that tumult and +distress--the breath blown out of her, half drowned, blinded by deluge +and lightning, broken and beaten because of him. Thought of her +companions did not ease his mind. Human hands were entirely inadequate +to cope with a storm like this that was rocking the earth about him. + +Suddenly he went to the door, determined that if Bateese was outside he +would get some satisfaction out of him or challenge him to a fight +right there. He beat against it, first with one fist and then with +both. He shouted. There was no response. Then he exerted his strength +and his weight against the door. It was solid. + +He was half turned when his eyes discovered, in a corner where the +lamplight struck dimly, his pack and clothes. In thirty seconds he had +his pipe and tobacco. After that for half an hour he paced up and down +the cabin, while the storm crashed and thundered as if bent upon +destroying all life off the face of the earth. + +Comforted by the company of his pipe, Carrigan did not beat at the door +again. He waited, and at the end of another half-hour the storm had +softened down into a steady patter of rain. The thunder had traveled +east, and the lightning had gone with it. David opened the window +again. The air that came in was rain-sweet, soft, and warm. He puffed +out a cloud of smoke and smiled. His pipe always brought his good humor +to the surface, even in the worst places. St. Pierre's wife had +certainly had a good soaking. And in a way the whole thing was a bit +funny. He was thinking now of a poor little golden-plumaged partridge, +soaked to the skin, with its tail-feathers dragging pathetically. +Grinning, he told himself that it was an insult to think of her and a +half-drowned partridge in the same breath. But the simile still +remained, and he chuckled. Probably she was wringing out her clothes +now, and the men were cursing under their breath while trying to light +a fire. He watched for the fire. It failed to appear. Probably she was +hating him for bringing all this discomfort and humiliation upon her. +It was not impossible that tomorrow she would give Bateese permission +to brain him. And St. Pierre? What would this man, her husband, think +and do if he knew that his wife had given up her bedroom to this +stranger? What complications might arise IF HE KNEW! + +It was late--past midnight--when Carrigan went to bed. Even then he did +not sleep for a long time. The patter of the rain grew less and less on +the roof of the bateau, and as the sound of it droned itself off into +nothingness, slumber came. David was conscious of the moment when the +rain ceased entirely. Then he slept. At least he must have been very +close to sleep, or had been asleep and was returning for a moment close +to consciousness, when he heard a voice. It came several times before +he was roused enough to realize that it was a voice. And then, +suddenly, piercing his slowly wakening brain almost with the shock of +one of the thunder crashes, it came to him so distinctly that he found +himself sitting up straight, his hands clenched, eyes staring in the +darkness, waiting for it to come again. + +Somewhere very near him, in his room, within the reach of his hands, a +strange and indescribable voice had cried out in the darkness the words +which twice before had beat themselves mysteriously into David +Carrigan's brain--"HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD? HAS ANY ONE +SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD?" + +And David, holding his breath, listened for the sound of another breath +which he knew was in that room. + + + + +IX + + +For perhaps a minute Carrigan made no sound that could have been heard +three feet away from him. It was not fear that held him quiet. It was +something which he could not explain afterward, the sensation, perhaps, +of one who feels himself confronted for a moment by a presence more +potent than that of flesh and blood. BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD! Three times, +twice in his sickness, some one had cried out that name in his ears +since the hour when St. Pierre's wife had ambushed him on the white +carpet of sand. And the voice was now in his room! + +Was it Bateese, inspired by some sort of malformed humor? Carrigan +listened. Another minute passed. He reached out a hand and groped about +him, very careful not to make a sound, urged by the feeling that some +one was almost within reach of him. He flung back his blanket and stood +out in the middle of the floor. + +Still he heard no movement, no soft footfalls of retreat or advance. He +lighted a match and held it high above his head. In its yellow +illumination he could see nothing alive. He lighted a lamp. The cabin +was empty. He drew a deep breath and went to the window. It was still +open. The voice had undoubtedly come to him through that window, and he +fancied he could see where the screen netting was crushed a bit inward, +as though a face had pressed heavily against it. Outside the night was +beautifully calm. The sky, washed by storm, was bright with stars. But +there was not a ripple of movement that he could hear. + +After that he looked at his watch. He must have been sleeping for some +time when the voice roused him, for it was nearly three o'clock. In +spite of the stars, dawn was close at hand. When he looked out of the +window again they were paler and more distant. He had no intention of +going back to bed. He was restless and felt himself surrendering more +and more to the grip of presentiment. + +It was still early, not later than six o'clock, when Bateese came in +with his breakfast. He was surprised, as he had heard no movement or +sound of voices to give evidence of life anywhere near the bateau. +Instantly he made up his mind that it was not Bateese who had uttered +the mysterious words of a few hours ago, for the half-breed had +evidently experienced a most uncomfortable night. He was like a rat +recently pulled out of water. His clothes hung upon him sodden and +heavy, his head kerchief dripped, and his lank hair was wet. He slammed +the breakfast things down on the table and went out again without so +much as nodding at his prisoner. + +Again a sense of discomfort and shame swept over David, as he sat down +to breakfast. Here he was comfortably, even luxuriously, housed, while +out there somewhere St. Pierre's lovely wife was drenched and even more +miserable than Bateese. And the breakfast amazed him. It was not so +much the caribou tenderloin, rich in its own red juice, or the potato, +or the pot of coffee that was filling the cabin with its aroma, that +roused his wonder, but the hot, brown muffins that accompanied the +other things. Muffins! And after a deluge that had drowned every square +inch of the earth! How had Bateese turned the trick? + +Bateese did not return immediately for the dishes, and for half an hour +after he had finished breakfast Carrigan smoked his pipe and watched +the blue haze of fires on the far side of the river. The world was a +blaze of sunlit glory. His imagination carried him across the river. +Somewhere over there, in an open spot where the sun was blazing, Jeanne +Marie-Anne was probably drying herself after the night of storm. There +was but little doubt in his mind that she was already heaping the +ignominy of blame upon him. That was the woman of it. + +A knock at his door drew him about. It was a light, quick TAP, TAP, +TAP--not like the fist of either Bateese or Nepapinas. In another +moment the door swung open, and in the flood of sunlight that poured +into the cabin stood St. Pierre's wife! + +It was not her presence, but the beauty of her, that held him +spellbound. It was a sort of shock after the vivid imaginings of his +mind in which he had seen her beaten and tortured by storm. Her hair, +glowing in the sun and piled up in shining coils on the crown of her +head, was not wet. She was not the rain-beaten little partridge that +had passed in tragic bedragglement through his mind. Storm had not +touched her. Her cheeks were soft with the warm flush of long hours of +sleep. When she came in, her lips greeting him with a little smile, all +that he had built up for himself in the hours of the night crumbled +away in dust. Again he forgot for a moment that she was St. Pierre's +wife. She was woman, and as he looked upon her now, the most adorable +woman in all the world. + +"You are better this morning," she said. Real pleasure shone in her +eyes. She had left the door open, so that the sun filled the room. "I +think the storm helped you. Wasn't it splendid?" + +David swallowed hard. "Quite splendid," he managed to say. "Have you +seen Bateese this morning?" + +A little note of laughter came into her throat. "Yes. I don't think he +liked it. He doesn't understand why I love storms. Did you sleep well, +M'sieu Carrigan?" + +"An hour or two, I think. I was worrying about you. I didn't like the +thought that I had turned you out into the storm. But it doesn't seem +to have touched you." + +"No. I was there--quite comfortable." She nodded to the forward +bulkhead of the cabin, beyond the wardrobe closets and the piano. +"There is a little dining-room and kitchenette ahead," she explained. +"Didn't Bateese tell you that?" + +"No, he didn't. I asked him where you were, and I think he told me to +shut up." + +"Bateese is very odd," said St. Pierre's wife. "He is exceedingly +jealous of me, M'sieu David. Even when I was a baby and he carried me +about in his arms, he was just that way. Bateese, you know, is older +than he appears. He is fifty-one." + +She was moving about, quite as if his presence was in no way going to +disturb her usual duties of the day. She rearranged the damask curtains +which he had crumpled with his hands, placed two or three chairs in +their usual places, and moved from this to that with the air of a +housewife who is in the habit of brushing up a bit in the morning. + +She seemed not at all embarrassed because he was her prisoner, nor +uncomfortably restrained because of the message she had sent to him by +Bateese. She was warmly and gloriously human. In her apparent unconcern +at his presence he found himself sweating inwardly. A bit nervously he +struck a match to light his pipe, then extinguished it. + +She noticed what he had done. "You may smoke," she said, with that +little note in her throat which he loved to hear, like the faintest +melody of laughter that did not quite reach her lips. "St. Pierre +smokes a great deal, and I like it." + +She opened a drawer in the dressing-table and came to him with a box +half filled with cigars. + +"St. Pierre prefers these--on occasions," she said, "Do you?" + +His fingers seemed all thumbs as he took a cigar from the proffered +box. He cursed himself because his tongue felt thick. Perhaps it was +his silence, betraying something of his mental clumsiness, that brought +a faint flush of color into her cheeks. He noted that; and also that +the top of her shining head came just about to his chin, and that her +mouth and throat, looking down on them, were bewitchingly soft and +sweet. + +And what she said, when her eyes opened wide and beautiful on him +again, was like a knife cutting suddenly into the heart of his thoughts. + +"In the evening I love to sit at St. Pierre's feet and watch him +smoke," she said. "I am glad it doesn't annoy you, because--I like to +smoke," he replied lamely. + +She placed the box on the little reading table and looked at his +breakfast things. "You like muffins, too. I was up early this morning, +making them for you!" + +"You made them?" he demanded, as if her words were a most amazing +revelation to him. + +"Surely, M'sieu David. I make them every morning for St. Pierre. He is +very fond of them. He says the third nicest thing about me is my +muffins!" + +"And the other two?" asked David. + +"Are St. Pierre's little secrets, m'sieu," she laughed softly, the +color deepening in her cheeks. "It wouldn't be fair to tell you, would +it?" + +"Perhaps it wouldn't," he said slowly. "But there are one or two other +things, Mrs.--Mrs. Boulain--" + +"You may call me Jeanne, or Marie-Anne, if you care to," she +interrupted him. "It will be quite all right." + +She was picking up the breakfast dishes, not at all perturbed by the +fact that she was offering him a privilege which had the effect of +quickening his pulse for a moment or two. + +"Thank you," he said. "I don't mind telling you it is going to be +difficult for me to do that--because--well, this is a most unusual +situation, isn't it? In spite of all your kindness, including what was +probably your good-intentioned endeavor to put an end to my earthly +miseries behind the rock, I believe it is necessary for you to give me +some kind of explanation. Don't you?" + +"Didn't Bateese explain to you last night?" she asked, facing him. + +"He brought a message from you to the effect that I was a prisoner, +that I must make no attempt to escape, and that if I did try to escape, +you had given your men instructions to kill me." + +She nodded, quite seriously. "That is right, M'sieu David." + +His face flamed. "Then I am a prisoner? You threaten me with death?" + +"I shall treat you very nicely if you make no attempt to escape, M'sieu +David. Isn't that fair?" + +"Fair!" he cried, choking back an explosion that would have vented +itself on a man. "Don't you realize what has happened? Don't you know +that according to every law of God and man I should arrest you and give +you over to the Law? Is it possible that you don't comprehend my own +duty? What I must do?" + +If he had noticed, he would have seen that there was no longer the +flush of color in her cheeks. But her eyes, looking straight at him, +were tranquil and unexcited. She nodded. + +"That is why you must remain a prisoner, M'sieu David, It is because I +do realize, I shall not tell you why that happened behind the rock, and +if you ask me, I shall refuse to talk to you. If I let you go now, you +would probably have me arrested and put in jail. So I must keep you +until St. Pierre comes. I don't know what to do--except to keep you, +and not let you escape until then. What would you do?" + +The question was so honest, so like a question that might have been +asked by a puzzled child, that his argument for the Law was struck +dead. He stared into the pale face, the beautiful, waiting eyes, saw +the pathetic intertwining of her slim fingers, and suddenly he was +grinning in that big, honest way which made people love Dave Carrigan. + +"You're--doing--absolutely--right," he said. + +A swift change came in her face. Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes filled +with a sudden glow that made the little violet-freckles in them dance +like tiny flecks of gold. + +"From your point of view you are right," he repeated, "and I shall make +no attempt to escape until I have talked with St. Pierre. But I can't +quite see--just now--how he is going to help the situation." + +"He will," she assured him confidently. + +"You seem to have an unlimited faith in St. Pierre," he replied a +little grimly. + +"Yes, M'sieu David. He is the most wonderful man in the world. And he +will know what to do." + +David shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps, in some nice, quiet place, he +will follow the advice Bateese gave you--tie a stone round my neck and +sink me to the bottom of the river." + +"Perhaps. But I don't think he will do that I should object to it." + +"Oh, you would!" + +"Yes. St. Pierre is big and strong, afraid of nothing in the world, but +he will do anything for me. I don't think he would kill you if I asked +him not to." She turned to resume her task of cleaning up the breakfast +things. + +With a sudden movement David swung one of the' big chairs close to her. +"Please sit down," he commanded. "I can talk to you better that way. As +an officer of the law it is my duty to ask you a few questions. It +rests in your power to answer all of them or none of them. I have given +you my word not to act until I have seen St. Pierre, and I shall keep +that promise. But when we do meet I shall act largely on the strength +of what you tell me during the next tea minutes. Please sit down!" + + + + +X + + +In that big, deep chair which must have been St. Pierre's own, +Marie-Anne sat facing Carrigan. Between its great arms her slim little +figure seemed diminutive and out of place. Her brown eyes were level +and clear, waiting. They were not warm or nervous, but so coolly and +calmly beautiful that they disturbed Carrigan. She raised her hands, +her slim fingers crumpling for a moment in the soft, thick coils of her +hair. That little movement, the unconscious feminism of it, the way she +folded her hands in her lap afterward, disturbed Carrigan even more. +What a glory on earth it must be to possess a woman like that! The +thought made him uneasy. And she sat waiting, a vivid, softly-breathing +question-mark against the warm coloring of the upholstered chair. + +"When you shot me," he began, "I saw you, first, standing over me. I +thought you had come to finish me. It was then that I saw something in +your face--horror, amazement, as though you had done something you did +not know you were doing. You see, I want to be charitable. I want to +understand. I want to excuse you if I can. Won't you tell me why you +shot me, and why that change came over you when you saw me lying there?" + +"No, M'sieu David, I shall not tell." She was not antagonistic or +defiant. Her voice was not raised, nor did it betray an unusual +emotion. It was simply decisive, and the unflinching steadiness of her +eyes and the way in which she sat with her hands folded gave to it an +unqualified definiteness. + +"You mean that I must make my own guess?" + +She nodded. + +"Or get it out of St. Pierre?" + +"If St. Pierre wishes to tell you, yes." + +"Well--" He leaned a little toward her. "After that you dragged me up +into the shade, dressed my wound and made me comfortable. In a hazy +sort of way I knew what was going on. And a curious thing happened. At +times--" he leaned still a little nearer to her--"at times--there +seemed to be two of you!" + +He was not looking at her hands, or he would have seen her fingers +slowly tighten in her lap. + +"You were badly hurt," she said. "It is not strange that you should +have imagined things, M'sieu David." + +"And I seemed to hear two voices," he went on. + +She made no answer, but continued to look at him steadily. + +"And the other had hair that was like copper and gold fire in the sun. +I would see your face and then hers, again and again--and--since +then--I have thought I was a heavy load for your hands to drag up +through that sand to the shade alone." + +She held up her two hands, looking at them. "They are strong," she said. + +"They are small," he insisted, "and I doubt if they could drag me +across this floor." + +For the first time the quiet of her eyes gave way to a warm fire. "It +was hard work," she said, and the note in her voice gave him warning +that he was approaching the dead-line again. "Bateese says I was a fool +for doing it. And if you saw two of me, or three or four, it doesn't +matter. Are you through questioning me, M'sieu David? If so, I have a +number of things to do." + +He made a gesture of despair. "No, I am not through. But why ask you +questions if you won't answer them?" + +"I simply can not. You must wait." + +"For your husband?" + +"Yes, for St. Pierre." + +He was silent for a moment, then said, "I raved about a number of +things when I was sick, didn't I?" + +"You did, and especially about what you thought happened in the sand. +You called this--this other person--the Fire Goddess. You were so near +dying that of course it wasn't amusing. Otherwise it would have been. +You see MY hair is black, almost!" Again, in a quick movement, her +fingers were crumpling the lustrous coils on the crown of her head. + +"Why do you say 'almost'?" he asked. + +"Because St. Pierre has often told me that when I am in the sun there +are red fires in it. And the sun was very bright that afternoon in the +sand, M'sieu David." + +"I think I understand," he nodded. "And I'm rather glad, too. I like to +know that it was you who dragged me up into the shade after trying to +kill me. It proves you aren't quite so savage as--" + +"Carmin Fanchet," she interrupted him softly. "You talked about her in +your sickness, M'sieu David. It made me terribly afraid of you--so much +so that at times I almost wondered if Bateese wasn't right. It made me +understand what would happen to me if I should let you go. What +terrible thing did she do to you? What could she have done more +terrible than I have done?" + +"Is that why you have given your men orders to kill me if I try to +escape?" he asked. "Because I talked about this woman, Carmin Fanchet?" + +"Yes, it is because of Carmin Fanchet that I am keeping you for St. +Pierre," she acknowledged. "If you had no mercy for her, you could have +none for me. What terrible thing did she do to you, M'sieu?" + +"Nothing--to me," he said, feeling that she was putting him where the +earth was unsteady under his feet again. "But her brother was a +criminal of the worst sort. And I was convinced then, and am convinced +now, that his sister was a partner in his crimes. She was very +beautiful. And that, I think, was what saved her." + +He was fingering his unlighted cigar as he spoke. When he looked up, he +was surprised at the swift change that had come into the face of St. +Pierre's wife. Her cheeks were flaming, and there were burning fires +screened behind the long lashes of her eyes. But her voice was +unchanged. It was without a quiver that betrayed the emotion which had +sent the hot flush into her face. + +"Then--you judged her without absolute knowledge of fact? You judged +her--as you hinted in your fever--because she fought so desperately to +save a brother who had gone wrong?" + +"I believe she was bad." + +The long lashes fell lower, like fringes of velvet closing over the +fires in her eyes. "But you didn't know!" + +"Not absolutely," he conceded. "But investigations--" + +"Might have shown her to be one of the most wonderful women that ever +lived, M'sieu David. It is not hard to fight for a good brother--but if +he is bad, it may take an angel to do it!" + +He stared, thoughts tangling themselves in his head. A slow shame crept +over him. She had cornered him. She had convicted him of unfairness to +the one creature on earth his strength and his manhood were bound to +protect--a woman. She had convicted him of judging without fact. And in +his head a voice seemed to cry out to him, "What did Carmin Fanchet +ever do to you?" + +He rose suddenly to his feet and stood at the back of his chair, his +hands gripping the top of it. "Maybe you are right," he said. "Maybe I +was wrong. I remember now that when I got Fanchet I manacled him, and +she sat beside him all through that first night. I didn't intend to +sleep, but I was tired--and did. I must have slept for an hour, and SHE +roused me--trying to get the key to the handcuffs. She had the +opportunity then--to kill me." + +Triumph swept over the face that was looking up at him. "Yes, she could +have killed you--while you slept. But she didn't. WHY?" + +"I don't know. Perhaps she had the idea of getting the key and letting +her brother do the job. Two or three days later I am convinced she +would not have hesitated. I caught her twice trying to steal my gun. +And a third time, late at night, when we were within a day or two of +Athabasca Landing, she almost got me with a club. So I concede that she +never did anything very terrible to me. But I am sure that she tried, +especially toward the last." + +"And because she failed, she hated you; and because she hated you, +something was warped inside you, and you made up your mind she should +be punished along with her brother. You didn't look at it from a +woman's viewpoint. A woman will fight, and kill, to save one she loves. +She tried, perhaps, and failed. The result was that her brother was +killed by the Law. Was not that enough? Was it fair or honest to +destroy her simply because you thought she might be a partner in her +brother's crimes?" + +"It is rather strange," he replied, a moment of indecision in his +voice. "McVane, the superintendent, asked me that same question. I +thought he was touched by her beauty. And I'm sorry--very sorry--that I +talked about her when I was sick. I don't want you to think I am a bad +sort--that way. I'm going to think about it. I'm going over the whole +thing again, from the time I manacled Fanchet, and if I find that I was +wrong--and I ever meet Carmin Fanchet again--I shall not be ashamed to +get down on my knees and ask her pardon, Marie-Anne!" + +For the first time he spoke the name which she had given him permission +to use. And she noticed it. He could not help seeing that--a flashing +instant in which the indefinable confession of it was in her face, as +though his use of it had surprised her, or pleased her, or both. Then +it was gone. + +She did not answer, but rose from the big chair, and went to the +window, and stood with her back toward him, looking out over the river. +And then, suddenly, they heard a voice. It was the voice he had heard +twice in his sickness, the voice that had roused him from his sleep +last night, crying out in his room for Black Roger Audemard. It came to +him distinctly through the open door in a low and moaning monotone. He +had not taken his eyes from the slim figure of St. Pierre's wife, and +he saw a little tremor pass through her now. + +"I heard that voice--again--last night," said David. "It was in this +cabin, asking for Black Roger Audemard." + +She did not seem to hear him, and he also turned so that he was looking +at the open door of the cabin. + +The sun, pouring through in a golden flood, was all at once darkened, +and in the doorway--framed vividly against the day--was the figure of a +man. A tense breath came to Carrigan's lips. At first he felt a shock, +then an overwhelming sense of curiosity and of pity. The man was +terribly deformed. His back and massive shoulders were so twisted and +bent that he stood no higher than a twelve-year-old boy; yet standing +straight, he would have been six feet tall if an inch, and splendidly +proportioned. And in that same breath with which shock and pity came to +him, David knew that it was accident and not birth that had malformed +the great body that stood like a crouching animal in the open door. At +first he saw only the grotesqueness of it--the long arms that almost +touched the floor, the broken back, the twisted shoulders--and then, +with a deeper thrill, he saw nothing of these things but only the face +and the head of the man. There was something god-like about them, +fastened there between the crippled shoulders. It was not beauty, but +strength--the strength of rock, of carven granite, as if each feature +had been chiseled out of something imperishable and everlasting, yet +lacking strangely and mysteriously the warm illumination that comes +from a living soul. The man was not old, nor was he young. And he did +not seem to see Carrigan, who stood nearest to him. He was looking at +St. Pierre's wife. + +The look which David saw in her face was infinitely tender. She was +smiling at the misshapen hulk in the door as she might have smiled at a +little child. And David, looking back at the wide, deep-set eyes of the +man, saw the slumbering fire of a dog-like worship in them. They +shifted slowly, taking in the cabin, questing, seeking, searching for +something which they could not find. The lips moved, and again he heard +that weird and mysterious monotone, as if the plaintive voice of a +child were coming out of the huge frame of the man, crying out as it +had cried last night, "HAS-ANY-ONE-SEEN-BLACK-ROGER-AUDEMARD?" + +In another moment St. Pierre's wife was at the deformed giant's side. +She seemed tall beside him. She put her hands to his head and brushed +back the grizzled black hair, laughing softly into his upturned face, +her eyes shining and a strange glow in her cheeks. Carrigan, looking at +them, felt his heart stand still. WAS THIS MAN ST. PIERRE? The thought +came like a lightning flash--and went as quickly; it was impossible and +inconceivable. And yet there was something more than pity in the voice +of the woman who was speaking now. + +"No, no, we have not seen him, Andre--we have not seen Black Roger +Audemard. If he comes, I will call you. I promise, Michiwan. I will +call you!" + +She was stroking his bearded cheek, and then she put an arm about his +twisted shoulders, and slowly she turned so that in a moment or two +they were facing the sun--and it seemed to Carrigan that she was +talking and sobbing and laughing in the same breath, as that great, +broken hulk of a man moved out slowly from under the caress of her arm +and went on his way. For a space she looked after him. Then in a swift +movement she closed the door and faced Carrigan. She did not speak, but +waited. Her head was high. She was breathing quickly. The tenderness +that a moment before had filled her face was gone, and in her eyes was +the blaze of fighting fires as she waited for him to speak--to give +voice to what she knew was passing in his mind. + + + + +XI + +For a space there was silence between Carrigan and St. Pierre's wife. +He knew what she was thinking as she stood with her back to the door, +waiting half defiantly, her cheeks still flushed, her eyes bright with +the anticipation of battle. She was ready to fight for the broken +creature on the other side of the door. She expected him to give no +quarter in his questioning of her, to corner her if he could, to demand +of her why the deformed giant had spoken the name of the man he was +after, Black Roger Audemard. The truth hammered in David's brain. It +had not been a delusion of his fevered mind after all; it was not a +possible deception of the half-breed's, as he had thought last night. +Chance had brought him face to face with the mystery of Black Roger. +St. Pierre's wife, waiting for him to speak, was in some way associated +with that mystery, and the cripple was asking for the man McVane had +told him to bring in dead or alive! Yet he did not question her. He +turned to the window and looked out from where Marie-Anne had stood a +few moments before. + +The day was glorious. On the far shore he saw life where last night's +camp had been. Men were moving about close to the water, and a York +boat was putting out slowly into the stream. Close under the window +moved a canoe with a single occupant. It was Andre, the Broken Man. +With powerful strokes he was paddling across the river. His deformity +was scarcely noticeable in the canoe. His bare head and black beard +shone in the sun, and between his great shoulders his head looked more +than ever to Carrigan like the head of a carven god. And this man, like +a mighty tree stricken by lightning, his mind gone, was yet a thing +that was more than mere flesh and blood to Marie-Anne Boulain! + +David turned toward her. Her attitude was changed. It was no longer one +of proud defiance. She had expected to defend herself from something, +and he had given her no occasion for defense. She did not try to hide +the fact from him, and he nodded toward the window. + +"He is going away in a canoe. I am afraid you didn't want me to see +him, and I am sorry I happened to be here when he came." + +"I made no effort to keep him away, M'sieu David. Perhaps I wanted you +to see him. And I thought, when you did--" She hesitated. + +"You expected me to crucify you, if necessary, to learn the truth of +what he knows about Roger Audemard," he said. "And you were ready to +fight back. But I am not going to question you unless you give me +permission." + +"I am glad," she said in a low voice. "I am beginning to have faith in +you, M'sieu David. You have promised not to try to escape, and I +believe you. Will you also promise not to ask me questions, which I can +not answer--until St. Pierre comes?" + +"I will try." + +She came up to him slowly and stood facing him, so near that she could +have reached out and put her hands on his shoulders. + +"St. Pierre has told me a great deal about the Scarlet Police," she +said, looking at him quietly and steadily. "He says that the men who +wear the red jackets never play low tricks, and that they come after a +man squarely and openly. He says they are men, and many times he has +told me wonderful stories of the things they have done. He calls it +'playing the game.' And I'm going to ask you, M'sieu David, will you +play square with me? If I give you the freedom of the bateau, of the +boats, even of the shore, will you wait for St. Pierre and play the +rest of the game out with him, man to man?" + +Carrigan bowed his head slightly. "Yes, I will wait and finish the game +with St. Pierre." + +He saw a quick throb come and go in her white throat, and with a +sudden, impulsive movement she held out her hand to him. For a moment +he held it close. Her little fingers tightened about his own, and the +warm thrill of them set his blood leaping with the thing he was +fighting down. She was so near that he could feel the throb of her +body. For an instant she bowed her head, and the sweet perfume of her +hair was in his nostrils, the lustrous beauty of it close under his +lips. + +Gently she withdrew her hand and stood back from him. To Carrigan she +was like a young girl now. It was the loveliness of girlhood he saw in +the flush of her face and in the gladness that was flaming unashamed in +her eyes. + +"I am not frightened any more," she exclaimed, her voice trembling a +bit. "When St. Pierre comes, I shall tell him everything. And then you +may ask the questions, and he will answer. And he will not cheat! He +will play square. You will love St. Pierre, and you will forgive me for +what happened behind the rock!" + +She made a little gesture toward the door. "Everything is free to you +out there now," she added. "I shall tell Bateese and the others. When +we are tied up, you may go ashore. And we will forget all that has +happened, M'sieu David. We will forget until St. Pierre comes." + +"St. Pierre!" he groaned. "If there were no St. Pierre!" + +"I should be lost," she broke in quickly. "I should want to die!" + +Through the open window came the sound of a voice. It was the weird +monotone of Andre, the Broken Man. Marie-Anne went to the window. And +David, following her, looked over her head, again so near that his lips +almost touched her hair. Andre had come back. He was watching two York +boats that were heading for the bateau. + +"You heard him asking for Black Roger Audemard," she said. "It is +strange. I know how it must have shocked you when he stood like that in +the door. His mind, like his body, is a wreck, M'sieu David. Years ago, +after a great storm, St. Pierre found him in the forest. A tree had +fallen on him. St. Pierre carried him in on his shoulders. He lived, +but he has always been like that. St. Pierre loves him, and poor Andre +worships St. Pierre and follows him about like a dog. His brain is +gone. He does not know what his name is, and we call him Andre. And +always, day and night, he is asking that same question, 'Has any one +seen Black Roger Audemard?' Sometime--if you will, M'sieu David--I +should like to have you tell me what it is so terrible that you know +about Roger Audemard." + +The York boats were half-way across the river, and from them came a +sudden burst of wild song. David could make out six men in each boat, +their oars flashing in the morning sun to the rhythm of their chant. +Marie-Anne looked up at him suddenly, and in her face and eyes he saw +what the starry gloom of evening had half hidden from him in those +thrilling moments when they shot through the rapids of the Holy Ghost. +She was girl now. He did not think of her as woman. He did not think of +her as St. Pierre's wife. In that upward glance of her eyes was +something that thrilled him to the depth of his soul. She seemed, for a +moment, to have dropped a curtain from between herself and him. + +Her red lips trembled, she smiled at him, and then she faced the river +again, and he leaned a little forward, so that a breath of wind floated +a shimmering tress of her hair against his cheek. An irresistible +impulse seized upon him. He leaned still nearer to her, holding his +breath, until his lips softly touched one of the velvety coils of her +hair. And then he stepped back. Shame swept over him. His heart rose +and choked him, and his fists were clenched at his side. She had not +noticed what he had done, and she seemed to him like a bird yearning to +fly out through the window, throbbing with the desire to answer the +chanting song that came over the water. And then she was smiling up +again into his face hardened with the struggle which he was making with +himself. + +"My people are happy," she cried. "Even in storm they laugh and sing. +Listen, m'sieu. They are singing La Derniere Domaine. That is our song. +It is what we call our home, away up there in the lost wilderness where +people never come--the Last Domain. Their wives and sweethearts and +families are up there, and they are happy in knowing that today we +shall travel a few miles nearer to them. They are not like your people +in Montreal and Ottawa and Quebec, M'sieu David. They are like +children. And yet they are glorious children!" + +She ran to the wall and took down the banner of St. Pierre Boulain. +"St. Pierre is behind us," she explained. "He is coming down with a +raft of timber such as we can not get in our country, and we are +waiting for him. But each day we must float down with the stream a few +miles nearer the homes of my people. It makes them happier, even though +it is but a few miles. They are coming now for my bateau. We shall +travel slowly, and it will be wonderful on a day like this. It will do +you good to come outside, M'sieu David--with me. Would you care for +that? Or would you rather be alone?" + +In her face there was no longer the old restraint. On her lips was the +witchery of a half-smile; in her eyes a glow that flamed the blood in +his veins. It was not a flash of coquetry. It was something deeper and +warmer than that, something real--a new Marie-Anne Boulain telling him +plainly that she wanted him to come. He did not know that his hands +were still clenched at his side. Perhaps she knew. But her eyes did not +leave his face, eyes that were repeating the invitation of her lips, +openly asking him not to refuse. + +"I shall be happy to come," he said. + +The words fell out of him numbly. He scarcely heard them or knew what +he was saying, yet he was conscious of the unnatural note in his voice. +He did not know he was betraying himself beyond that, did not see the +deepening of the wild-rose flush in the cheeks of St. Pierre's wife. He +picked up his pipe from the table and moved to accompany her. + +"You must wait a little while," she said, and her hand rested for an +instant upon his arm. Its touch was as light as the touch of his lips +had been against her shining hair, but he felt it in every nerve of his +body. "Nepapinas is making a special lotion for your hurt. I will send +him in, and then you may come." + +The wild chant of the rivermen was near as she turned to the door. From +it she looked back at him swiftly. + +"They are happy, M'sieu David," she repeated softly. "And I, too, am +happy. I am no longer afraid. And the world is beautiful again. Can you +guess why? It is because you have given me your promise, M'sieu David, +and because I believe you!" + +And then she was gone. + +For many minutes he did not move. The chanting of the rivermen, a +sudden wilder shout, the voices of men, and after that the grating of +something alongside the bateau came to him like sounds from another +world. Within himself there was a crash greater than that of physical +things. It was the truth breaking upon him, truth surging over him like +the waves of a sea, breaking down the barriers he had set up, +inundating him with a force that was mightier than his own will. A +voice in his soul was crying out the truth--that above all else in the +world he wanted to reach out his arms to this glorious creature who was +the wife of St. Pierre, this woman who had tried to kill him and was +sorry. He knew that it was not desire for beauty. It was the worship +which St. Pierre himself must have for this woman who was his wife. And +the shock of it was like a conflagration sweeping through him, leaving +him dead and shriven, like the crucified trees standing in the wake of +a fire. A breath that was almost a cry came from him, and his fists +knotted until they were purple. She was St. Pierre's wife! And he, +David Carrigan, proud of his honor, proud of the strength that made him +man, had dared covet her in this hour when her husband was gone! He +stared at the closed door, beginning to cry out against himself, and +over him there swept slowly and terribly another thing--the shame of +his weakness, the hopelessness of the thing that for a space had eaten +into him and consumed him. + +And as he stared, the door opened, and Nepapinas came in. + + + + +XII + + +During the next quarter of an hour David was as silent as the old +Indian doctor. He was conscious of no pain when Nepapinas took off his +bandage and bathed his head in the lotion he had brought. Before a +fresh bandage was put on, he looked at himself for a moment in the +mirror. It was the first time he had seen his wound, and he expected to +find himself marked with a disfiguring scar. To his surprise there was +no sign of his hurt except a slightly inflamed spot above his temple. +He stared at Nepapinas, and there was no need of the question that was +in his mind. + +The old Indian understood, and his dried-up face cracked and crinkled +in a grin. "Bullet hit a piece of rock, an' rock, not bullet, hit um +head," he explained. "Make skull almost break--bend um in--but +Nepapinas straighten again with fingers, so-so." He shrugged his thin +shoulders with a cackling laugh of pride as he worked his claw-like +fingers to show how the operation had been done. + +David shook hands with him in silence; then Nepapinas put on the fresh +bandage, and after that went out, chuckling again in his weird way, as +though he had played a great joke on the white man whom his wizardry +had snatched out of the jaws of death. + +For some time there had been a subdued activity outside. The singing of +the boatmen had ceased, a low voice was giving commands, and looking +through the window, David saw that the bateau was slowly swinging away +from the shore. He turned from the window to the table and lighted the +cigar St. Pierre's wife had given him. + +In spite of the mental struggle he had made during the presence of +Nepapinas, he had failed to get a grip on himself. For a time he had +ceased to be David Carrigan, the man-hunter. A few days ago his blood +had run to that almost savage thrill of the great game of one against +one, the game in which Law sat on one side of the board and Lawlessness +on the other, with the cards between. It was the great gamble. The +cards meant life or death; there was never a checkmate--one or the +other had to lose. Had some one told him then that soon he would meet +the broken and twisted hulk of a man who had known Black Roger +Audemard, every nerve in him would have thrilled in anticipation of +that hour. He realized this as he paced back and forth over the thick +rugs of the bateau floor. And he knew, even as he struggled to bring +them back, that the old thrill and the old desire were gone. It was +impossible to lie to himself. St. Pierre, in this moment, was of more +importance to him than Roger Audemard. And St. Pierre's wife, +Marie-Anne-- + +His eyes fell on the crumpled handkerchief on the piano keys. Again he +was crushing it in the palm of his hand, and again the flood of +humiliation and shame swept over him. He dropped the handkerchief, and +the great law of his own life seemed to rise up in his face and taunt +him. He was clean. That had been his greatest pride. He hated the man +who was unclean. It was his instinct to kill the man who desecrated +another man's home. And here, in the sacredness of St. Pierre's +paradise, he found himself at last face to face with that greatest +fight of all the ages. + +He faced the door. He threw back his shoulders until they snapped, and +he laughed, as if at the thing that had risen up to point its finger at +him. After all, it did not hurt a man to go through a bit of fire--if +he came out of it unburned. And deep in his heart he knew it was not a +sin to love, even as he loved, if he kept that love to himself. What he +had done when Marie-Anne stood at the window he could not undo. St. +Pierre would probably have killed him for touching her hair with his +lips, and he would not have blamed St. Pierre. But she had not felt +that stolen caress. No one knew--but himself. And he was happier +because of it. It was a sort of sacred thing, even though it brought +the heat of shame into his face. + +He went to the door, opened it, and stood out in the sunshine. It was +good to feel the warmth of the sun in his face again and the sweet air +of the open day in his lungs. The bateau was free of the shore and +drifting steadily towards midstream. Bateese was at the great birchwood +rudder sweep, and to David's surprise he nodded in a friendly way, and +his wide mouth broke into a grin. + +"Ah, it is coming soon, that fight of ours, little coq de bruyere!" he +chuckled gloatingly. "An' ze fight will be jus' lak that, m'sieu--you +ze little fool-hen's rooster, ze partridge, an' I, Concombre Bateese, +ze eagle!" + +The anticipation in the half-breed's eyes reflected itself for an +instant in David's. He turned back into the cabin, bent over his pack, +and found among his clothes two pairs of boxing gloves. He fondled them +with the loving touch of a brother and comrade, and their velvety +smoothness was more soothing to his nerves than the cigar he was +smoking. His one passion above all others was boxing, and wherever he +went, either on pleasure or adventure, the gloves went with him. In +many a cabin and shack of the far hinterland he had taught white men +and Indians how to use them, so that he might have the pleasure of +feeling the thrill of them on his hands. And now here was Concombre +Bateese inviting him on, waiting for him to get well! + +He went out and dangled the clumsy-looking mittens under the +half-breed's nose. + +Bateese looked at them curiously. "Mitaines," he nodded. "Does ze +little partridge rooster keep his claws warm in those in ze winter? +They are clumsy, m'sieu. I can make a better mitten of caribou skin." +Putting on one of the gloves, David doubled up his fist. "Do you see +that, Concombre Bateese?" he asked. "Well, I will tell you this, that +they are not mittens to keep your hands warm. I am going to fight you +in them when our time comes. With these mittens I will fight you and +your naked fists. Why? Because I do not want to hurt you too badly, +friend Bateese! I do not want to break your face all to pieces, which I +would surely do if I did not put on these soft mittens. Then, when you +have really learned to fight--" + +The bull neck of Concombre Bateese looked as if it were about to burst. +His eyes seemed ready to pop out of their sockets, and suddenly he let +out a roar. "What!--You dare talk lak that to Concombre Bateese, w'at +is great'st fightin' man on all T'ree River? You talk lak that to me, +Concombre Bateese, who will kill ze bear wit' hees ban's, who pull down +ze tree, who--who--" + +The word-flood of his outraged dignity sprang to his lips; emotion +choked him, and then, looking suddenly over Carrigan's shoulder--he +stopped. Something in his look made David turn. Three paces behind him +stood Marie-Anne, and he knew that from the corner of the cabin she had +heard what had passed between them. She was biting her lips, and behind +the flash of her eyes he saw laughter. + +"You must not quarrel, children," she said. "Bateese, you are steering +badly." + +She reached out her hands, and without a word David gave her the +gloves. With her palm and fingers she caressed them softly, yet David +saw little lines of doubt come into her white forehead. + +"They are pretty--and soft, M'sieu David. Surely they can not hurt +much! Some day when St. Pierre comes, will you teach me how to use +them?" + +"Always it is 'When St. Pierre comes,'" he replied. "Shall we be +waiting long?" + +"Two or three days, perhaps a little longer. Are you coming with me to +the proue, m'sieu?" + +She did not wait for his answer, but went ahead of him, dangling the +two pairs of gloves at her side. David caught a last glimpse of the +half-breed's face as he followed Marie-Anne around the end of the +cabin. Bateese was making a frightful grimace and shaking his huge +fist, but scarcely were they out of sight on the narrow footway that +ran between the cabin and the outer timbers of the scow when a huge +roar of laughter followed them. Bateese had not done laughing when they +reached the proue, or bow-nest, a deck fully ten feet in length by +eight in width, sheltered above by an awning, and comfortably arranged +with chairs, several rugs, a small table, and, to David's amazement, a +hammock. He had never seen anything like this on the Three Rivers, nor +had he ever heard of a scow so large or so luxuriously appointed. Over +his head, at the tip of a flagstaff attached to the forward end of the +cabin, floated the black and white pennant of St. Pierre Boulain. And +under this staff was a screened door which undoubtedly opened into the +kitchenette which Marie-Anne had told him about. He made no effort to +hide his surprise. But St. Pierre's wife seemed not to notice it. The +puckery little lines were still in her forehead, and the laughter had +faded out of her eyes. The tiny lines deepened as there came another +wild roar of laughter from Bateese in the stern. + +"Is it true that you have given your word to fight Bateese?" she asked. + +"It is true, Marie-Anne. And I feel that Bateese is looking ahead +joyously to the occasion." + +"He is," she affirmed. "Last night he spread the news among all my +people. Those who left to join St. Pierre this morning have taken the +news with them, and there is a great deal of excitement and much +betting. I am afraid you have made a bad promise. No man has offered to +fight Bateese in three years--not even my great St. Pierre, who says +that Concombre is more than a match for him." + +"And yet they must have a little doubt, as there is betting, and it +takes two to make a bet," chuckled David. + +The lines went out of Marie-Anne's forehead, and a half-smile trembled +on her red lips. "Yes, there is betting. But those who are for you are +offering next autumn's muskrat skins and frozen fish against lynx and +fisher and marten. The odds are about thirty to one against you, M'sieu +David!" + +The look of pity which was clearly in her eyes brought a rush of blood +to David's face. "If only I had something to wager!" he groaned. + +"You must not fight. I shall forbid it!" + +"Then Bateese and I will steal off into the forest and have it out by +ourselves." + +"He will hurt you badly. He is terrible, like a great beast, when he +fights. He loves to fight and is always asking if there is not some one +who will stand up to him. I think he would desert even me for a good +fight. But you, M'sieu David--" + +"I also love a fight," he admitted, unashamed. + +St. Pierre's wife studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "With these?" +she asked then, holding up the gloves. + +"Yes, with those. Bateese may use his fists, but I shall use those, so +that I shall not disfigure him permanently. His face is none too +handsome as it is." + +For another flash her lips trembled on the edge of a smile. Then she +gave him the gloves, a bit troubled, and nodded to a chair with a deep, +cushioned seat and wide arms. "Please make yourself comfortable, M'sieu +David. I have something to do in the cabin and will return in a little +while." + +He wondered if she had gone back to settle the matter with Bateese at +once, for it was clear that she did not regard with favor the promised +bout between himself and the half-breed. It was on the spur of a +careless moment that he had promised to fight Bateese, and with little +thought that it was likely to be carried out or that it would become a +matter of importance with all of St. Pierre's brigade. He was evidently +in for it, he told himself, and as a fighting man it looked as though +Concombre Bateese was at least the equal of his braggadocio. He was +glad of that. He grinned as he watched the bending backs of St. +Pierre's men. So they were betting thirty to one against him! Even St. +Pierre might be induced to bet--with HIM. And if he did-- + +The hot blood leaped for a moment in Carrigan's veins. The thrill went +to the tips of his fingers. He stared out over the river, unseeing, as +the possibilities of the thing that had come into his mind made him for +a moment oblivious of the world. He possessed one thing against which +St. Pierre and St. Pierre's wife would wager a half of all they owned +in the world! And if he should gamble that one thing, which had come to +him like an inspiration, and should whip Bateese-- + +He began to pace back and forth over the narrow deck, no longer +watching the rowers or the shore. The thought grew, and his mind was +consumed by it. Thus far, from the moment the first shot was fired at +him from the ambush, he had been playing with adventure in the dark. +But fate had at last dealt him a trump card. That something which he +possessed was more precious than furs or gold to St. Pierre, and St. +Pierre would not refuse the wager when it was offered. He would not +dare refuse. More than that, he would accept eagerly, strong in the +faith that Bateese would whip him as he had whipped all other fighters +who had come up against him along the Three Rivers. And when Marie-Anne +knew what that wager was to be, she, too, would pray for the gods of +chance to be with Concombre Bateese! + +He did not hear the light footsteps behind him, and when he turned +suddenly in his pacing, he found himself facing Marie-Anne, who carried +in her hands the little basket he had seen on the cabin table. She +seated herself in the hammock and took from the basket a bit of lace +work. For a moment he watched her fingers flashing in and out with the +needles. + +Perhaps his thought went to her. He was almost frightened as he saw her +cheeks coloring under the long, dark lashes. He faced the rivermen +again, and while he gripped at his own weakness, he tried to count the +flashings of their oars. And behind him, the beautiful eyes of St. +Pierre's wife were looking at him with a strange glow in their depths. + +"Do you know," he said, speaking slowly and still looking toward the +flashing of the oars, "something tells me that unexpected things are +going to happen when St. Pierre returns. I am going to make a bet with +him that I can whip Bateese. He will not refuse. He will accept. And +St. Pierre will lose, because I shall whip Bateese. It is then that +these unexpected things will begin to happen. And I am wondering--after +they do happen--if you will care so very much?" + +There was a moment of silence. And then, "I don't want you to fight +Bateese," she said. + +The needles were working swiftly when he turned toward her again, and a +second time the long lashes shadowed what a moment before he might have +seen in her eyes. + + + + +XIII + + +The morning passed like a dream to Carrigan. He permitted himself to +live and breathe it as one who finds himself for a space in the heart +of a golden mirage. He was sitting so near Marie-Anne that now and then +the faint perfume of her came to him like the delicate scent of a +flower. It was a breath of crushed violets, sweet as the air he was +breathing, violets gathered in the deep cool of the forest, a whisper +of sweetness about her, as if on her bosom she wore always the living +flowers. He fancied her gathering them last bloom-time, a year ago, +alone, her feet seeking out the damp mosses, her little fingers +plucking the smiling and laughing faces of the violet flowers to be +treasured away in fragrant sachets, as gentle as the wood-thrush's +note, compared with the bottled aromas fifteen hundred miles south. It +seemed to be a physical part of her, a thing born of the glow in her +cheeks, a living exhalation of her soft red lips--and yet only when he +was near, very near, did the life of it reach him. + +She did not know he was thinking these things. There was nothing in his +voice, he thought, to betray him. He was sure she was unconscious of +the fight he was making. Her eyes smiled and laughed with him, she +counted her stitches, her fingers worked, and she talked to him as she +might have talked to a friend of St. Pierre's. She told him how St. +Pierre had made the barge, the largest that had ever been on the river, +and that he had built it entirely of dry cedar, so that it floated like +a feather wherever there was water enough to run a York boat. She told +him how St. Pierre had brought the piano down from Edmonton, and how he +had saved it from pitching in the river by carrying the full weight of +it on his shoulders when they met with an accident in running through a +dangerous rapids bringing it down. St. Pierre was a very strong man, +she said, a note of pride in her voice. And then she added, + +"Sometimes, when he picks me up in his arms, I feel that he is going to +squeeze the life out of me!" + +Her words were like a sharp thrust into his heart. For an instant they +painted a vision for him, a picture of that slim and adorable creature +crushed close in the great arms of St. Pierre, so close that she could +not breathe. In that mad moment of his hurt it was almost a living, +breathing reality for him there on the golden fore-deck of the scow. He +turned his face toward the far shore, where the wilderness seemed to +reach off into eternity. What a glory it was--the green seas of spruce +and cedar and balsam, the ridges of poplar and birch rising like +silvery spume above the darker billows, and afar off, mellowed in the +sun-mists, the guardian crests of Trout Mountains sentineling the +country beyond! Into that mystery-land on the farther side of the +Wabiskaw waterways Carrigan would have loved to set his foot four days +ago. It was that mystery of the unpeopled places that he most desired, +their silence, the comradeship of spaces untrod by the feet of man. And +now, what a fool he was! Through vast distances the forests he loved +seemed to whisper it to him, and ahead of him the river seemed to look +back, nodding over its shoulder, beckoning to him, telling him the word +of the forests was true. It streamed on lazily, half a mile wide, as if +resting for the splashing and roaring rush it would make among the +rocks of the next rapids, and in its indolence it sang the low and +everlasting song of deep and slowly passing water. In that song David +heard the same whisper, that he was a fool! And the lure of the +wilderness shores crept in on him and gripped him as of old. He looked +at the rowers in the two York boats, and then his eyes came back to the +end of the barge and to St. Pierre's wife. + +Her little toes were tapping the floor of the deck. She, too, was +looking out over the wilderness. And again it seemed to him that she +was like a bird that wanted to fly. + +"I should like to go into those hills," she said, without looking at +him. "Away off yonder!" + +"And I--I should like to go with you." + +"You love all that, m'sieu?" she asked. + +"Yes, madame!" + +"Why 'madame,' when I have given you permission to call me +'Marie-Anne'?" she demanded. + +"Because you call me 'm'sieu'." + +"But you--you have not given me permission--" + +"Then I do now," he interrupted quickly. + +"Merci! I have wondered why you did not return the courtesy," she +laughed softly. "I do not like the m'sieu. I shall call you 'David'!" + +She rose out of the hammock suddenly and dropped her needles and lace +work into the little basket. "I have forgotten something. It is for you +to eat when it comes dinner-time, m'sieu--I mean David. So I must turn +fille de cuisine for a little while. That is what St. Pierre sometimes +calls me, because I love to play at cooking. I am going to bake a pie!" + +The dark-screened door of the kitchenette closed behind her, and +Carrigan walked out from under the awning, so that the sun beat down +upon him. There was no longer a doubt in his mind. He was more than +fool. He envied St. Pierre, and he coveted that which St. Pierre +possessed. And yet, before he would take what did not belong to him, he +knew he would put a pistol to his head and blow his life out. He was +confident of himself there. Yet he had fallen, and out of the mire into +which he had sunk he knew also that he must drag himself, and quickly, +or be everlastingly lowered in his own esteem. He stripped himself +naked and did not lie to that other and greater thing of life that was +in him. + +He was not only a fool, but a coward. Only a coward would have touched +the hair of St. Pierre's wife with his lips; only a coward would have +let live the thoughts that burned in his brain. She was St. Pierre's +wife--and he was anxious now for the quick homecoming of the chief of +the Boulains. After that everything would happen quickly. He thanked +God that the inspiration of the wager had come to him. After the fight, +after he had won, then once more would he be the old Dave Carrigan, +holding the trump hand in a thrilling game. + +Loud voices from the York boats ahead and answering cries from Bateese +in the stern drew him to the open deck. The bateau was close to shore, +and the half-breed was working the long stern sweep as if the power of +a steam-engine was in his mighty arms. The York boats had shortened +their towline and were pulling at right angles within a few yards of a +gravelly beach. A few strokes more, and men who were bare to the knees +jumped out into shallow water and began tugging at the tow rope with +their hands. David looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock. Never in +his life had time passed so swiftly as that morning on the forward deck +of the barge. And now they were tying up, after a drop of six or eight +miles down the river, and he wondered how swiftly St. Pierre was +overtaking them with his raft. + +He was filled with the desire to feel the soft crush of the earth under +his feet again, and not waiting for the long plank that Bateese was +already swinging from the scow to the shore, he made a leap that put +him on the sandy beach, St. Pierre's wife had given him this +permission, and he looked to see what effect his act had on the +half-breed. The face of Concombre Bateese was like sullen stone. Not a +sound came from his thick lips, but in his eyes was a deep and +dangerous fire as he looked at Carrigan. There was no need for words. +In them were suspicion, warning, the deadly threat of what would happen +if he did not come back when it was time to return. David nodded. He +understood. Even though St. Pierre's wife had faith in him, Bateese had +not. He passed between the men, and to a man their faces turned on him, +and in their quiet and watchful eyes he saw again that warning and +suspicion, the unspoken threat of what would happen if he forgot his +promise to Marie-Anne Boulain. Never, in a single outfit, had he seen +such splendid men. They were not a mongrel assortment of the lower +country. Slim, tall, clean-cut, sinewy--they were stock of the old +voyageurs of a hundred years ago, and all of them were young. The older +men had gone to St. Pierre. The reason for this dawned upon Carrigan. +Not one of these twelve but could beat him in a race through the +forest; not one that could not outrun him and cut him off though he had +hours the start! + +Passing beyond them, he paused and looked back at the bateau. On the +forward deck stood Marie-Anne, and she, too, was looking at him now. +Even at that distance he saw that her face was quiet and troubled with +anxiety. She did not smile when he lifted his hat to her, but gave only +a little nod. Then he turned and buried himself in the green balsams +that grew within fifty paces of the river. The old joy of life leaped +into him as his feet crushed in the soft moss of the shaded places +where the sun did not break through. He went on, passing through a vast +and silent cathedral of spruce and cedar so dense that the sky was +hidden, and came then to higher ground, where the evergreen was +sprinkled with birch and poplar. About him was an invisible choir of +voices, the low twittering of timid little gray-backs, the song of +hidden--warblers, the scolding of distant jays. Big-eyed moose-birds +stared at him as he passed, fluttering so close to his face that they +almost touched his shoulders in their foolish inquisitiveness. A +porcupine crashed within a dozen feet of his trail. And then he came to +a beaten path, and other paths worn deep in the cool, damp earth by the +hoofs of moose and caribou. Half a mile from the bateau he sat down on +a rotting log and filled his pipe with fresh tobacco, while he listened +to catch the subdued voice of the life in this land that he loved. + +It was then that the curious feeling came over him that he was not +alone, that other eyes than those of beast and bird were watching him. +It was an impression that grew on him. He seemed to feel their stare, +seeking him out from the darkest coverts, waiting for him to shove on, +dogging him like a ghost. Within him the hound-like instincts of the +man-hunter rose swiftly to the suspicion of invisible presence. + +He began to note the changes in the cries of certain birds. A hundred +yards on his right a jay, most talkative of all the forest things, was +screeching with a new note in its voice. On the other side of him, in a +dense pocket of poplar and spruce, a warbler suddenly brought its song +to a jerky end. He heard the excited Pe-wee--Pe-wee--Pe-wee of a +startled little gray-back giving warning of an unwelcome intruder near +its nest. And he rose to his feet, laughing softly as he thumbed down +the tobacco in his pipe. Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain might believe in +him, but Bateese and her wary henchmen had ways of their own of +strengthening their faith. + +It was close to noon when he turned back, and he did not return by the +moose path. Deliberately he struck out a hundred yards on either side +of it, traveling where the moss grew thick and the earth was damp and +soft. And five times he found the moccasin-prints of men. + +Bateese, with his sleeves up, was scrubbing the deck of the bateau when +David came over the plank. + +"There are moose and caribou in there, but I fear I disturbed your +hunters," said Carrigan, grinning at the half-breed. "They are too +clumsy to hunt well, so clumsy that even the birds give them away. I am +afraid we shall go without fresh meat tomorrow!" + +Concombre Bateese stared as if some one had stunned him with a blow, +and he spoke no word as David went on to the forward deck. Marie-Anne +had come out under the awning. She gave a little cry of relief and +pleasure. + +"I am glad you have come back, M'sieu David!" + +"So am I, madame," he replied. "I think the woods are unhealthful to +travel in!" + +Out of the earth he felt that a part of the old strength had returned +to him. Alone they sat at dinner, and Marie-Anne waited on him and +called him David again--and he found it easier now to call her +Marie-Anne and look into her eyes without fear that he was betraying +himself. A part of the afternoon he spent in her company, and it was +not difficult for him to tell her something of his adventuring in the +north, and how, body and soul, the northland had claimed him, and that +he hoped to die in it when his time came. Her eyes glowed at that. She +told him of two years she had spent in Montreal and Quebec, of her +homesickness, her joy when she returned to her forests. It seemed, for +a time, that they had forgotten St. Pierre. They did not speak of him. +Twice they saw Andre, the Broken Man, but the name of Roger Audemard +was not spoken. And a little at a time she told him of the hidden +paradise of the Boulains away up in the unmapped wildernesses of the +Yellowknife beyond the Great Bear, and of the great log chateau that +was her home. + +A part of the afternoon he spent on shore. He filled a moosehide bag +full of sand and suspended it from the limb of a tree, and for +three-quarters of an hour pommeled it with his fists, much to the +curiosity and amusement of St. Pierre's men, who could see nothing of +man-fighting in these antics. But the exercise assured David that he +had lost but little of his strength and that he would be in form to +meet Bateese when the time came. Toward evening Marie-Anne joined him, +and they walked for half an hour up and down the beach. It was Bateese +who got supper. And after that Carrigan sat with Marie-Anne on the +foredeck of the barge and smoked another of St. Pierre's cigars. + +The camp of the rivermen was two hundred yards below the bateau, +screened between by a finger of hardwood, so that except when they +broke into a chorus of laughter or strengthened their throats with +snatches of song, there was no sound of their voices. But Bateese was +in the stern, and Nepapinas was forever flitting in and out among the +shadows on the shore, like a shadow himself, and Andre, the Broken Man, +hovered near as night came on. At last he sat down in the edge of the +white sand of the beach, and there he remained, a silent and lonely +figure, as the twilight deepened. Over the world hovered a sleepy +quiet. Out of the forest came the droning of the wood-crickets, the +last twitterings of the day birds, and the beginning of night sounds. A +great shadow floated out over the river close to the bateau, the first +of the questing, blood-seeking owls adventuring out like pirates from +their hiding-places of the day. One after another, as the darkness +thickened, the different tribes of the people of the night answered the +summons of the first stars. A mile down the river a loon gave its harsh +love-cry; far out of the west came the faint trail-song of a wolf; in +the river the night-feeding trout splashed like the tails of beaver; +over the roof of the wilderness came the coughing, moaning challenge of +a bull moose that yearned for battle. And over these same forest tops +rose the moon, the stars grew thicker and brighter, and through the +finger of hardwood glowed the fire of St. Pierre Boulain's men--while +close beside him, silent in these hours of silence, David felt growing +nearer and still nearer to him the presence of St. Pierre's wife. + +On the strip of sand Andre, the Broken Man, rose and stood like the +stub of a misshapen tree. And then slowly he moved on and was swallowed +up in the mellow glow of the night. + +"It is at night that he seeks," said St. Pierre's wife, for it was as +if David had spoken the thought that was in his mind. + +David, for a moment, was silent. And then he said, "You asked me to +tell you about Black Roger Audemard. I will, if you care to have me. Do +you?" + +He saw the nodding of her head, though the moon and star-mist veiled +her face. + +"Yes. What do the Police say about Roger Audemard?" + +He told her. And not once in the telling of the story did she speak or +move. It was a terrible story at best, he thought, but he did not +weaken it by smoothing over the details. This was his opportunity. He +wanted her to know why he must possess the body of Roger Audemard, if +not alive, then dead, and he wanted her to understand how important it +was that he learn more about Andre, the Broken Man. + +"He was a fiend, this Roger Audemard," he began. "A devil in man shape, +afterward called 'Black Roger' because of the color of his soul." + +Then he went on. He described Hatchet River Post, where the tragedy had +happened; then told of the fight that came about one day between Roger +Audemard and the factor of the post and his two sons. It was an unfair +fight; he conceded that--three to one was cowardly in a fight. But it +could not excuse what happened afterward. Audemard was beaten. He crept +off into the forest, almost dead. Then he came back one stormy night in +the winter with three strange friends. Who the friends were the Police +never learned. There was a fight, but all through the fight Black Roger +Audemard cried out not to kill the factor and his sons. In spite of +that one of the sons was killed. Then the terrible thing happened. The +father and his remaining son were bound hand and foot and fastened in +the ancient dungeon room under the Post building. Then Black Roger set +the building on fire, and stood outside in the storm and laughed like a +madman at the dying shrieks of his victims. It was the season when the +trappers were on their lines, and there were but few people at the +post. The company clerk and one other attempted to interfere, and Black +Roger killed them with his own hands. Five deaths that night--two of +them horrible beyond description! + +Resting for a moment, Carrigan went on to tell of the long years of +unavailing search made by the Police after that; how Black Roger was +caught once and killed his captor. Then came the rumor that he was +dead, and rumor grew into official belief, and the Police no longer +hunted for his trails. Then, not long ago, came the discovery that +Black Roger was still living, and he, Dave Carrigan, was after him. + +For a time there was silence after he had finished. Then St. Pierre's +wife rose to her feet. "I wonder," she said in a low voice, "what Roger +Audemard's own story might be if he were here to tell it?" + +She stepped out from under the awning, and in the full radiance of the +moon he saw the pale beauty of her face and the crowning luster of her +hair. + +"Good night!" she whispered. + +"Good night!" said David. + +He listened until her retreating footsteps died away, and for hours +after that he had no thought of sleep. He had insisted that she take +possession of her cabin again, and Bateese had brought out a bundle of +blankets. These he spread under the awning, and when he drowsed off, it +was to dream of the lovely face he had seen last in the glow of the +moon. + +It was in the afternoon of the fourth day that two things happened--one +that he had prepared himself for, and another so unexpected that for a +space it sent his world crashing out of its orbit. With St. Pierre's +wife he had gone again to the ridge-line for flowers, half a mile back +from the river. Returning a new way, they came to a shallow stream, and +Marie-Anne stood at the edge of it, and there was laughter in her +shining eyes as she looked to the other side of it. She had twined +flowers into her hair. Her cheeks were rich with color. Her slim figure +was exquisite in its wild pulse of life. + +Suddenly she turned on him, her red lips smiling their witchery in his +face. "You must carry me across," she said. + +He did not answer. He was a-tremble as he drew near her. She raised her +arms a little, waiting. And then he picked her up. She was against his +breast. Her two hands went to his shoulders as he waded into the +stream; he slipped, and they clung a little tighter. The soft note of +laughter was in her throat when the current came to his knees out in +the middle of the stream. He held her tighter; and then stupidly, he +slipped again, and the movement brought her lower in his arms, so that +for a space her head was against his breast and his face was crushed in +the soft masses of her hair. He came with her that way to the opposite +shore and stood her on her feet again, standing back quickly so that +she would not hear the pounding of his heart. Her face was radiantly +beautiful, and she did not look at David, but away from him. + +"Thank you," she said. + +And then, suddenly, they heard running feet behind them, and in another +moment one of the brigade men came dashing through the stream. At the +same time there came from the river a quarter of a mile away a +thunderous burst of voice. It was not the voice of a dozen men, but of +half a hundred, and Marie-Anne grew tense, listening, her eyes on fire +even before the messenger could get the words out of his mouth. + +"It is St. Pierre!" he cried then. "He has come with the great raft, +and you must hurry if you would reach the bateau before he lands!" + +In that moment it seemed to David that Marie-Anne forgot he was alive. +A little cry came to her lips, and then she left him, running swiftly, +saying no word to him, flying with the speed of a fawn to St. Pierre +Boulain! And when David turned to the man who had come up behind them, +there was a strange smile on the lips of the lithe-limbed forest-runner +as his eyes followed the hurrying figure of St. Pierre's wife. + +Until she was out of sight he stood in silence and then he said: + +"Come, m'sieu. We, also, must meet St. Pierre!" + + + + +XIV + + +David moved slowly behind the brigade man. He had no desire to hurry. +He did not wish to see what happened when Marie-Anne met St. Pierre +Boulain. Only a moment ago she had been in his arms; her hair had +smothered his face; her hands had clung to his shoulders; her flushed +cheeks and long lashes had for an instant lain close against his +breast. And now, swiftly, without a word of apology, she was running +away from him to meet her husband. + +He almost spoke that word aloud as he saw the last of her slim figure +among the silver birches. She was going to the man to whom she +belonged, and there was no hesitation in the manner of her going. She +was glad. And she was entirely forgetful of him, Dave Carrigan, in that +gladness. + +He quickened his steps, narrowing the distance between him and the +hurrying brigade man. Only the diseased thoughts in his brain had made +the happening in the creek anything but an accident. It was all an +accident, he told himself. Marie-Anne had asked him to carry her across +just as she would have asked any one of her rivermen. It was his fault, +and not hers, that he had slipped in mid-stream, and that his arms had +closed tighter about her, and that her hair had brushed his face. He +remembered she had laughed, when it seemed for a moment that they were +going to fall into the stream together. Probably she would tell St. +Pierre all about it. Surely she would never guess it had been nearer +tragedy than comedy for him. + +Once more he was convinced he had proved himself a weakling and a fool. +His business now was with St. Pierre, and the hour was at hand when the +game had ceased to be a woman's game. He had looked ahead to this hour. +He had prepared himself for it and had promised himself action that +would be both quick and decisive. And yet, as he went on, his heart was +still thumping unsteadily, and in his arms and against his face +remained still the sweet, warm thrill of his contact with Marie-Anne. +He could not drive that from him. It would never completely go. As long +as he lived, what had happened in the creek would live with him. He did +not deny that crying voice inside him. It was easy for his mouth to +make words. He could call himself a fool and a weakling, but those +words were purely mechanical, hollow, meaningless. The truth remained. +It was a blazing fire in his breast, a conflagration that might easily +get the best of him, a thing which he must fight and triumph over for +his own salvation. He did not think of danger for Marie-Anne, for such +a thought was inconceivable. The tragedy was one-sided. It was his own +folly, his own danger. For just as he loved Marie-Anne, so did she love +her husband, St. Pierre. + +He came to the low ridge close to the river and climbed up through the +thick birches and poplars. At the top was a bald knob of sandstone, +over which the riverman had already passed. David paused there and +looked down on the broad sweep of the Athabasca. + +What he saw was like a picture spread out on the great breast of the +river and the white strip of shoreline. Still a quarter of a mile +upstream, floating down slowly with the current, was a mighty raft, and +for a space his eyes took in nothing else. On the Mackenzie, the +Athabasca, the Saskatchewan, and the Peace he had seen many rafts, but +never a raft like this of St. Pierre Boulain. It was a hundred feet in +width and twice and a half times as long, and with the sun blazing down +upon it from out of a cloudless sky it looked to him like a little city +swept up from out of some archaic and savage desert land to be +transplanted to the river. It was dotted with tents and canvas +shelters. Some of these were gray, and some were white, and two or +three were striped with broad bands of yellow and red. Behind all these +was a cabin, and over this there rose a slender staff from which +floated the black and white pennant of St. Pierre. The raft was alive. +Men were running between the tents. The long rudder sweeps were +flashing in the sun. Rowers with naked arms and shoulders were +straining their muscles in four York boats that were pulling like ants +at the giant mass of timber. And to David's ears came a deep monotone +of human voices, the chanting of the men as they worked. + +Nearer to him a louder response suddenly made answer to it. A dozen +steps carried him round a projecting thumb of brush, and he could see +the open shore where the bateau was tied. Marie-Anne had crossed the +strip of sand, and Bateese was helping her into a waiting York boat. +Then Bateese shoved it off, and the four men in it began to row. Two +canoes were already half-way to the raft, and David recognized the +occupant of one of them as Andre, the Broken Man. Then he saw +Marie-Anne rise in the York boat and wave something white in her hand. + +He looked again toward the raft. The current and the sweeps and the +tugging boats were drawing it steadily nearer. Standing at the very +edge of it he saw now a solitary figure, and in the clear sunlight the +man stood out clean-cut as a carven statue. He was a giant in size. His +head and arms were bare, and he was looking steadily toward the bateau +and the approaching York boat. He raised an arm, and a moment later the +movement was followed by a voice that rose above all other voices. It +boomed over the river like the rumble of a gun. In response to it +Marie-Anne waved the white thing in her hand, and David thought he +heard her voice in an answering cry. He stared again at the solitary +figure of the man, seeing nothing else, hearing no other sound but the +booming of the deep cry that came again over the river. His heart was +thumping. In his eyes was a gathering fire. His body grew tense. For he +knew that at last he was looking at St. Pierre, chief of the Boulains, +and husband of the woman he loved. + +As the significance of the situation grew upon him, a flash of his old +humor returned. It was the same grim humor that had possessed him +behind the rock, when he had thought he was going to die. Fate had +played him a dishonest turn then, and it was doing the same thing by +him now. Unless he deliberately turned his face away, he was going to +see the reunion of Marie-Anne and St. Pierre. + +Yesterday he had strapped his binoculars to his belt. Today Marie-Anne +had looked through them a dozen times. They had been a source of +pleasure and thrill to her. Now, David thought, they would be good +medicine for him. He would see the whole thing through, and at close +range. He would leave himself no room for doubt. He had laughed behind +the rock, when bullets were zipping close to his head, and the same +grim smile came to his lips now as he focused his glasses on the +solitary figure at the head of the raft. + +The smile died away when he saw St. Pierre. It was as if he could reach +out and touch him with his hand. And never, he thought, had he seen +such a man. A moment before, a flashing vision had come to him from out +of an Arabian desert; the multitude of colored tents, the half-naked +men, the great raft floating almost without perceptible motion on the +placid breast of the river had stirred his imagination until he saw a +strange picture. But there was nothing Arabic, nothing desert-like, in +this man his binoculars brought within a few feet of his eyes. He was +more like a viking pirate who had roved the sea a few centuries ago. +One great, bare arm was raised as David looked, and his booming voice +was rolling over the river again. His hair was shaggy, and untrimmed, +and red; he wore a short beard that glistened in the sun--he was +laughing as he waved and shouted to Marie-Anne--a joyous, splendid +giant of a man who seemed almost on the point of leaping into the water +in his eagerness to clasp in his naked arms the woman who was coming to +him. + +David drew a deep breath, and there came an unconscious tightening at +his heart as he turned his glasses upon Marie-Anne. She was still +standing in the bow of the York boat, and her back was toward him. He +could see the glisten of the sun in her hair. She was waving her +handkerchief, and the poise of her slim body told him that in her +eagerness she would have darted from the bow of the boat had she +possessed wings. + +Again he looked at St. Pierre. And this was the man who was no match +for Concombre Bateese! It was inconceivable. Yet he heard Marie-Anne's +voice repeating those very words in his ear. But she had surely been +joking with him. She had been storing up this little surprise for him. +She had wanted him to discover with his own eyes what a splendid man +was this chief of the Boulains. And yet, as David stared, there came to +him an unpleasant thought of the incongruity of this thing he was +looking upon. It struck upon him like a clashing discord, the fact of +matehood between these two--a condition inconsistent and out of tune +with the beautiful things he had built up in his mind about the woman. +In his soul he had enshrined her as a lovely wildflower, easily +crushed, easily destroyed, a sweet treasure to be guarded from all that +was rough and savage, a little violet-goddess as fragile as she was +brave and loyal. And St. Pierre, standing there at the edge of his +raft, looked as if he had come up out of the caves of a million years +ago! There was something barbaric about him. He needed only a club and +a shield and the skin of a beast about his loins to transform him into +prehistoric man. At least these were his first impressions--impressions +roused by thought of Marie-Anne's slim, beautiful body crushed close in +the embrace of that laughing, powerful-lunged giant. Then the reaction +swept over him. St. Pierre was not a monster, even though his disturbed +mind unconsciously made an effort to conceive him as such. There were +gladness and laughter in his face. There was the contagion of joy and +good cheer in the voice that boomed over the water. Laughter and shouts +answered it from the shore. The rowers in Marie-Anne's York boat burst +into a wild and exultant snatch of song and made their oars fairly +crack. There came a solitary yell from Andre, the Broken Man, who was +close to the head of the raft now. And from the raft itself came a +slowly swelling volume of sound, the urge and voice and exultation of +red-blooded men a-thrill with the glory of this day and the wild +freedom of their world. The truth came to David. St. Pierre Boulain was +the beloved Big Brother of his people. + +He waited, his muscles tense, his jaws set tight. Good medicine, he +called it again, a righteous sort of punishment set upon him for the +moral cowardice he had betrayed in falling down in worship at the feet +of another man's wife. The York boat was very close to the head of the +raft now. He saw Marie-Anne herself fling a rope to St. Pierre. Then +the boat swung alongside. In another moment St. Pierre had leaned over, +and Marie-Anne was with him on the raft. For a space everything else in +the world was obliterated for David. He saw St. Pierre's arms gather +the slim form into their embrace. He saw Marie-Anne's hands go up +fondly to the bearded face. And then-- + +Carrigan cut the picture there. He turned his shoulder to the raft and +snapped the binoculars in the case at his belt. Some one was coming in +his direction from the bateau. It was the riverman who had brought to +Marie-Anne the news of St. Pierre's arrival. David went down to meet +him. From the foot of the ridge he again turned his eyes in the +direction of the raft. St. Pierre and Marie-Anne were just about to +enter the little cabin built in the center of the drifting mass of +timber. + + + + +XV + + +It was easy for Carrigan to guess why the riverman had turned back for +him. Men were busy about the bateau, and Concombre Bateese stood in the +stern, a long pole in his hands, giving commands to the others. The +bateau was beginning to swing out into the stream when he leaped +aboard. A wide grin spread over the half-breed's face. He eyed David +keenly and laughed in his deep chest, an unmistakable suggestiveness in +the note of it. + +"You look seek, m'sieu," he said in an undertone, for David's ears +alone, "You look ver' unhappy, an' pale lak leetle boy! Wat happen w'en +you look t'rough ze glass up there, eh? Or ees it zat you grow frighten +because ver' soon you stan' up an' fight Concombre Bateese? Eh, coq de +bruyere? Ees it zat?" + +A quick thought came to David. "Is it true that St. Pierre can not whip +you, Bateese?" + +Bateese threw out his chest with a mighty intake of breath. Then he +exploded: "No man on all T'ree River can w'ip Concombre Bateese." + +"And St. Pierre is a powerful man," mused David, letting his eyes +travel slowly from the half-breed's moccasined feet to the top of his +head. "I measured him well through the glasses, Bateese. It will be a +great fight. But I shall whip you!" + +He did not wait for the half-breed to reply, but went into the cabin +and closed the door behind him. He did not like the taunting note of +suggestiveness in the other's words. Was it possible that Bateese +suspected the true state of his mind, that he was in love with the wife +of St. Pierre, and that his heart was sick because of what he had seen +aboard the raft? He flushed hotly. It made him uncomfortable to feel +that even the half-breed might have guessed his humiliation. + +David looked through the window toward the raft. The bateau was +drifting downstream, possibly a hundred feet from the shore, but it was +quite evident that Concombre Bateese was making no effort to bring it +close to the floating mass of timber, which had made no change in its +course down the river. David's mind painted swiftly what was happening +in the cabin into which Marie-Anne and St. Pierre had disappeared. At +this moment Marie-Anne was telling of him, of the adventure in the hot +patch of sand. He fancied the suppressed excitement in her voice as she +unburdened herself. He saw St. Pierre's face darken, his muscles +tighten--and crouching in silence, he seemed to see the misshapen hulk +of Andre, the Broken Man, listening to what was passing between the +other two. And he heard again the mad monotone of Andre's voice, crying +plaintively, "HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD?" + +His blood ran a little faster, and his old craft was a dominantly +living thing within him once more. Love had dulled both his ingenuity +and his desire. For a space a thing had risen before him that was +mightier than the majesty of the Law, and he had TRIED to miss the +bull's-eye--because of his love for the wife of St. Pierre Boulain. Now +he shot squarely for it, and the bell rang in his brain. Two times two +again made four. Facts assembled themselves like arguments in flesh and +blood. Those facts would have convinced Superintendent McVane, and they +now convinced David. He had set out to get Black Roger Audemard, alive +or dead. And Black Roger, wholesale murderer, a monster who had painted +the blackest page of crime known in the history of Canadian law, was +closely and vitally associated with Marie-Anne and St. Pierre Boulain! + +The thing was a shock, but Carrigan no longer tried to evade the point. +His business was no longer with a man supposed to be a thousand or +fifteen hundred miles farther north. It was with Marie-Anne, St. +Pierre, and Andre, the Broken Man. And also with Concombre Bateese. + +He smiled a little grimly as he thought of his approaching battle with +the half-breed. St. Pierre would be astounded at the proposition he had +in store for him. But he was sure that St. Pierre would accept. And +then, if he won the fight with Bateese-- + +The smile faded from his lips. His face grew older as he looked slowly +about the bateau cabin, with its sweet and lingering whispers of a +woman's presence. It was a part of her. It breathed of her fragrance +and her beauty; it seemed to be waiting for her, crying softly for her +return. Yet once had there been another woman even lovelier than the +wife of St. Pierre. He had not hesitated then. Without great effort he +had triumphed over the loveliness of Carmin Fanchet and had sent her +brother to the hangman. And now, as he recalled those days, the truth +came to him that even in the darkest hour Carmin Fanchet had made not +the slightest effort to buy him off with her beauty. She had not tried +to lure him. She had fought proudly and defiantly. And had Marie-Anne +done that? His fingers clenched slowly, and a thickening came in his +throat. Would she tell St. Pierre of the many hours they had spent +together? Would she confess to him the secret of that precious moment +when she had lain close against his breast, her arms about him, her +face pressed to his? Would she speak to him of secret hours, of warm +flushes that had come to her face, of glowing fires that at times had +burned in her eyes when he had been very near to her? Would she reveal +EVERYTHING to St. Pierre--her husband? He was powerless to combat the +voice that told him no. Carmin Fanchet had fought him openly as an +enemy and had not employed her beauty as a weapon. Marie-Anne had put +in his way a great temptation. What he was thinking seemed to him like +a sacrilege, yet he knew there could be no discriminating distinctions +between weapons, now that he was determined to play the game to the +end, for the Law. + +When Carrigan went out on deck, the half-breed was sweating from his +exertion at the stern sweep. He looked at the agent de police who was +going to fight him, perhaps tomorrow or the next day. There was a +change in Carrigan. He was not the same man who had gone into the cabin +an hour before, and the fact impressed itself upon Bateese. There was +something in his appearance that held back the loose talk at the end of +Concombre's tongue. And so it was Carrigan himself who spoke first. + +"When will this man St. Pierre come to see me?" he demanded. "If he +doesn't come soon, I shall go to him." + +For an instant Concombre's face darkened. Then, as he bent over the +sweep with his great back to David, he chuckled audibly, and said: + +"Would you go, m'sieu? Ah--it is le malade d'amour over there in the +cabin. Surely you would not break in upon their love-making?" + +Bateese did not look over his shoulder, and so he did not see the hot +flush that gathered in David's face. But David was sure he knew it was +there and that Concombre had guessed the truth of matters. There was a +sly note in his voice, as if he could not quite keep to himself his +exultation that beauty and bright eyes had played a clever trick on +this man who, if his own judgment had been followed, would now be +resting peacefully at the bottom of the river. It was the final stab to +Carrigan. His muscles tensed. For the first time he felt the desire to +shoot a naked fist into the grinning mouth of Concombre Bateese. He +laid a hand on the half-breed's shoulder, and Bateese turned about +slowly. He saw what was in the other's eyes. + +"Until this moment I have not known what a great pleasure it will be to +fight you, Bateese," said David quietly. "Make it tomorrow--in the +morning, if you wish. Take word to St. Pierre that I will make him a +great wager that I win, a gamble so large that I think he will be +afraid to cover it. For I don't think much of this St. Pierre of yours, +Bateese. I believe him to be a big-winded bluff, like yourself. And +also a coward. Mark my word, he will be so much afraid that he will not +accept my wager!" + +Bateese did not answer. He was looking over David's shoulder. He seemed +not to have heard what the other had said, yet there had come a sudden +gleam of exultation in his eyes, and he replied, still gazing toward +the raft, + +"Diantre, m'sieu coq de bruyere may keep ze beeg word in hees mout'! +See!--St. Pierre, he ees comin' to answer for himself. Mon Dieu, I hope +he does not wring ze leetle rooster's neck, for zat would spoil wan +great, gran' fight tomorrow!" + +David turned toward the big raft. At the distance which separated them +he could make out the giant figure of St. Pierre Boulain getting into a +canoe. The humped-up form already in that canoe he knew was the Broken +Man. He could not see Marie-Anne. + +Very lightly Bateese touched his arm. "M'sieu will go into ze cabin," +he suggested softly. "If somet'ing happens, it ees bes' too many eyes +do not see it. You understan', m'sieu agent de police?" + +Carrigan nodded. "I understand," he said. + + + + +XVI + + +In the cabin David waited. He did not look through the window to watch +St. Pierre's approach. He sat down and picked up a magazine from the +table upon which Marie-Anne's work-basket lay. He was cool as ice now. +His blood flowed evenly and his pulse beat unhurriedly. Never had he +felt himself more his own master, more like grappling with a situation. +St. Pierre was coming to fight. He had no doubt of that. Perhaps not +physically, at first. But, one way or another, something dynamic was +bound to happen in the bateau cabin within the next half-hour. Now that +the impending drama was close at hand, Carrigan's scheme of luring St. +Pierre into the making of a stupendous wager seemed to him rather +ridiculous. With calculating coldness he was forced to concede that St. +Pierre would be somewhat of a fool to accept the wager he had in mind, +when he was so completely in St. Pierre's power. For Marie-Anne and the +chief of the Boulains, the bottom of the river would undoubtedly be the +best and easiest solution, and the half-breed's suggestion might be +acted upon after all. + +As his mind charged itself for the approaching struggle, David found +himself staring at a double page in the magazine, given up entirely to +impossibly slim young creatures exhibiting certain bits of illusive and +mysterious feminine apparel. Marie-Anne had expressed her approbation +in the form of pencil notes under several of them. Under a cobwebby +affair that wreathed one of the slim figures he read, "St. Pierre will +love this!" There were two exclamation points after that particular +notation! + +David replaced the magazine on the table and looked toward the door. +No, St. Pierre would not hesitate to put him at the bottom of the +river, for her. Not if he, Dave Carrigan, made the solution of the +matter a necessity. There were times, he told himself, when it was +confoundedly embarrassing to force the letter of the law. And this was +one of them. He was not afraid of the river bottom. He was thinking +again of Marie-Anne. + +The scraping of a canoe against the side of the bateau recalled him +suddenly to the moment at hand. He heard low voices, and one of them, +he knew, was St. Pierre's. For an interval the voices continued, +frequently so low that he could not distinguish them at all. For ten +minutes he waited impatiently. Then the door swung open, and St. Pierre +came in. + +Slowly and coolly David rose to meet him, and at the same moment the +chief of the Boulains closed the door behind him. There was no greeting +in Carrigan's manner. He was the Law, waiting, unexcited, sure of +himself, impassive as a thing of steel. He was ready to fight. He +expected to fight. It only remained for St. Pierre to show what sort of +fight it was to be. And he was amazed at St. Pierre, without betraying +that amazement. In the vivid light that shot through the western +windows the chief of the Boulains stood looking at David. He wore a +gray flannel shirt open at the throat, and it was a splendid throat +David saw, and a splendid head above it, with its reddish beard and +hair. But what he saw chiefly were St. Pierre's eyes. They were the +sort of eyes he disliked to find in an enemy--a grayish, steely blue +that reflected sunlight like polished flint. But there was no flash of +battle-glow in them now. St. Pierre was neither excited nor in a bad +humor. Nor did Carrigan's attitude appear to disturb him in the least. +He was smiling; his eyes glowed with almost boyish curiosity as he +stared appraisingly at David--and then, slowly, a low chuckle of +laughter rose in his deep chest, and he advanced with an outstretched +hand. + +"I am St. Pierre Boulain," he said. "I have heard a great deal about +you, Sergeant Carrigan. You have had an unfortunate time!" + +Had the man advanced menacingly, David would have felt more +comfortable. It was disturbing to have this giant come to him with an +extended hand of apparent friendship when he had anticipated an +entirely different sort of meeting. And St. Pierre was laughing at him! +There was no doubt of that. And he had the colossal nerve to tell him +that he had been unfortunate, as though being shot up by somebody's +wife was a fairly decent joke! + +Carrigan's attitude did not change. He did not reach out a hand to meet +the other. There was no responsive glimmer of humor in his eyes or on +his lips. And seeing these things, St. Pierre turned his extended hand +to the open box of cigars, so that he stood for a moment with his back +toward him. + +"It's funny," he said, as if speaking to himself, and with only a +drawling note of the French patois in his voice. "I come home, find my +Jeanne in a terrible mix-up, a stranger in her room--and the stranger +refuses to let me laugh or shake hands with him. Tonnerre, I say it is +funny! And my Jeanne saved his life, and made him muffins, and gave him +my own bed, and walked with him in the forest! Ah, the ungrateful +cochon!" + +He turned, laughing openly, so that his deep voice filled the cabin. +"Vous aves de la corde de pendu, m'sieu--yes, you are a lucky dog! For +only one other man in the world would my Jeanne have done that. You are +lucky because you were not ended behind the rock; you are lucky because +you are not at the bottom of the river; you are lucky--" + +He shrugged his big shoulders hopelessly. "And now, after all our +kindness and your good luck, you wait for me like an enemy, m'sieu. +Diable, I can not understand!" + +For the life of him Carrigan could not, in these few moments, measure +up his man. He had said nothing. He had let St. Pierre talk. And now +St. Pierre stood there, one of the finest men he had ever looked upon, +as if honestly overcome by a great wonder. And yet behind that apparent +incredulity in his voice and manner David sensed the deep underflow of +another thing. St. Pierre was all that Marie-Anne had claimed for him, +and more. She had given him assurance of her unlimited confidence that +her husband could adjust any situation in the world, and Carrigan +conceded that St. Pierre measured up splendidly to that particular type +of man. The smile had not left his face; the good humor was still in +his eyes. + +David smiled back at him coldly. He recognized the cleverness of the +other's play. St. Pierre was a man who would smile like that even as he +fought, and Carrigan loved a smiling fighter, even when he had to slip +steel bracelets over his wrists. + +"I am Sergeant Carrigan, of 'N' Division, Royal Northwest Mounted +Police," he said, repeating the formula of the law. "Sit down, St. +Pierre, and I will tell you a few things that have happened. And then--" + +"Non, non, it is not necessary, m'sieu. I have already listened for an +hour, and I do not like to hear a story twice. You are of the Police. I +love the Police. They are brave men, and brave men are my brothers. You +are out after Roger Audemard, the rascal! Is it not so? And you were +shot at behind the rock back there. You were almost killed. Ma foi, and +it was my Jeanne who did the shooting! Yes, she thought you were +another man." The chuckling, drum-like note of laughter came again out +of St. Pierre's great chest. "It was bad shooting. I have taught her +better, but the sun was blinding there in the hot, white sand. And +after that--I know everything that has happened. Bateese was wrong. I +shall scold him for wanting to put you at the bottom of the +river--perhaps. Oui, ce que femme veut, Dieu le veut--that is it. A +woman must have her way, and my Jeanne's gentle heart was touched +because you were a brave and handsome man, M'sieu Carrigan. But I am +not jealous. Jealousy is a worm that does not make friendship! And we +shall be friends. Only as a friend could I take you to the Chateau +Boulain, far up on the Yellowknife. And we are going there." + +In spite of what might have been the entirely proper thing to do at +this particular moment, Carrigan's face broke into a smile as he drew a +second chair up close to the table. He was swift to readjust himself. +It came suddenly back to him how he had grinned behind the rock, when +death seemed close at hand. And St. Pierre was like that now. David +measured him again as the chief of the Boulains sat down opposite him. +Such a man could not be afraid of anything on the face of the earth, +even of the Law. The gleam that lay in his eyes told David that as they +met his own over the table. "We are smiling now because it happens to +please us," David read in them. "But in a moment, if it is necessary, +we shall fight." + +Carrigan leaned a little over the table. "You know we are not going to +the Chateau Boulain, St. Pierre," he said. "We are going to stop at +Fort McMurray, and there you and your wife must answer for a number of +things that have happened. There is one way out--possibly. That is +largely up to you. Why did your wife try to kill me behind the rock? +And what did you know about Black Roger Audemard?" + +St. Pierre's eyes did not for an instant leave Carrigan's face. Slowly +a change came into them; the smile faded, the blue went out, and up +from behind seemed to come another pair of eyes that were hard as steel +and cold as ice. Yet they were not eyes that threatened, nor eyes that +betrayed excitement or passion. And St. Pierre's voice, when he spoke, +lacked the deep and vibrant note that had been in it. It was as if he +had placed upon it the force of a mighty will, chaining it back, just +as something hidden and terrible lay chained behind his eyes. + +"Why play like little children, M'sieu Carrigan?" he asked. "Why not +come out squarely, honestly, like men? I know what has happened. Mon +Dieu, it was bad! You were almost killed, and you heard that poor +wreck, Andre, call for Roger Audemard. My Jeanne has told you about +that--how I found him in the forest with his broken mind and body. And +about my Jeanne--" St. Pierre's fists grew into knotted lumps on the +table. "Non, I will die--I will kill you--before I will tell you why +she shot at you behind the rock! We are men, both of us. We are not +afraid. And you--in my place--what would YOU do, m'sieu?" + +In the moment's silence each man looked steadily at the other. + +"I would--fight," said David slowly. "If it was for her, I am pretty +sure I would fight." + +He believed that he was drawing the net in now, that it would catch St. +Pierre. He leaned a little farther over the table. + +"And I, too, must fight," he added. "You know our law, St. Pierre. We +don't go back without our man--unless we happen to die. And I would be +stupid if I did not understand the situation here. It would be quite +easy for you to get rid of me. But I don't believe you are a murderer, +even if your Jeanne tried to be." A flicker of a smile crossed his +lips. "And Marie-Anne--I beg pardon!--your wife--" + +St. Pierre interrupted him. "It will please me to have you call her +Marie-Anne. And it will please her also, m'sieu. Dieu, if we only had +eyes that could see what is in a woman's heart! Life is funny, m'sieu. +It is a great joke, I swear it on my soul!" + +He shrugged his shoulders, smiling again straight into David's eyes. +"See what has happened! You set out for a murderer. My Jeanne makes a +great mistake and shoots you. Then she pities you, saves your life, +brings you here, and--ma foi! it is true--learns to care for you more +than she should! But that does not make me want to kill you. Non, her +happiness is mine. Dead men tell no tales, m'sieu, but there are times +when living men also keep tales to themselves. And that is what you are +going to do, M'sieu Carrigan. You are going to keep to yourself the +thing that happened behind the rock. You are going to keep to yourself +the mumblings of our poor mad Andre. Never will they pass your lips. I +know. I swear it. I stake my life on it!" St. Pierre was talking slowly +and unexcitedly. There was an immeasurable confidence in his deep +voice. It did not imply a threat or a warning. He was sure of himself. +And his eyes had deepened into blue again and were almost friendly. + +"You would stake your life?" repeated Carrigan questioningly. "You +would do that?" + +St. Pierre rose to his feet and looked about the cabin with a shining +light in his eyes that was both pride and exaltation. He moved toward +the end of the room, where the piano stood, and for a moment his big +fingers touched the keys; then, seeing the lacy bit of handkerchief +that lay there, he picked it up--and placed it back again. Carrigan did +not urge his question, but waited. In spite of his effort to fight it +down he found himself in the grip of a mysterious and growing thrill as +he watched St. Pierre. Never had the presence of another man had the +same effect upon him, and strangely the thought came to him that he was +matched--even overmatched. It was as if St. Pierre had brought with him +into the cabin something more than the splendid strength of his body, a +thing that reached out in the interval of silence between them, warning +Carrigan that all the law in the world would not swerve the chief of +the Boulains from what was already in his mind. For a moment the +thought passed from David that fate had placed him up against the +hazard of enmity with St. Pierre. His vision centered in the man alone. +And as he, too, rose to his feet, an unconscious smile came to his lips +as he recalled the boastings of Bateese. + +"I ask you," said he, "if you would really stake your life in a matter +such as that? Of course, if your words were merely accidental, and +meant nothing--" + +"If I had a dozen lives, I would stake them, one on top of the other, +as I have said," interrupted St. Pierre. Suddenly his laugh boomed out +and his voice became louder. "M'sieu Carrigan, I have come to offer you +just that test! Oui, I could kill you now. I could put you at the +bottom of the river, as Bateese thinks is right. Mon Dieu, how +completely I could make you disappear! And then my Jeanne would be +safe. She would not go behind prison bars. She would go on living, and +laughing, and singing in the big forests, where she belongs. And Black +Roger Audemard, the rascal, would be safe for a time! But that would be +like destroying a little child. You are so helpless now. So you are +going on to the Chateau Boulain with us, and if at the end of the +second month from today you do not willingly say I have won my +wager--why--m'sieu--I will go with you into the forest, and you may +shoot out of me the life which is my end of the gamble. Is that not +fair? Can you suggest a better way--between men like you and me?" + +"I can at least suggest a way that has the virtue of saving time," +replied David. "First, however, I must understand my position here. I +am, I take it, a prisoner." + +"A guest, with certain restrictions placed upon you, m'sieu," corrected +St. Pierre. + +The eyes of the two men met on a dead level. + +"Tomorrow morning I am going to fight Bateese," said David. "It is a +little sporting event we have fixed up between us for the amusement +of--your men. I have heard that Bateese is the best fighting man along +the Three Rivers. And I--I do not like to have any other man claim that +distinction when I am around." + +For the first time St. Pierre's placidity seemed to leave him. His brow +became clouded, a moment's frown grew in his face, and there was a +certain disconsolate hopelessness in the shrug of his shoulders. It was +as if Carrigan's words had suddenly robbed the day of all its sunshine +for the chief of the Boulains. His voice, too, carried an unhappy and +disappointed note as he made a gesture toward the window. + +"M'sieu, on that raft out there are many of my men, and they have +scarcely rested or slept since word was brought to them that a stranger +was to fight Concombre Bateese. Tonnerre, they have gambled without +ever seeing you until the clothes on their backs are in the hazard, and +they have cracked their muscles in labor to overtake you! They have +prayed away their very souls that it would be a good fight, and that +Bateese would not eat you up too quickly. It has been a long time since +we have seen a good fight, a long time since the last man dared to +stand up against the half-breed. Ugh, it tears out my heart to tell you +that the fight can not be!" + +St. Pierre made no effort to suppress his emotion. He was like a huge, +disappointed boy. He walked to the window, peered forth at the raft, +and as he shrugged his big shoulders again something like a groan came +from him. + +The thrill of approaching triumph swept through David's blood. The +flame of it was in his eyes when St. Pierre turned from the window. + +"And you are disappointed, St. Pierre? You would like to see that +fight!" + +The blue steel in St. Pierre's eyes flashed back. "If the price were a +year of my life, I would give it--if Bateese did not eat you up too +quickly. I love to look upon a good fight, where there is no venom of +hatred in the blows!" + +"Then you shall see a good fight, St. Pierre." + +"Bateese would kill you, m'sieu. You are not big. You are not his +match." + +"I shall whip him, St. Pierre--whip him until he avows me his master." + +"You do not know the half-breed, m'sieu. Twice I have tried him in +friendly combat myself and have been beaten." + +"But I shall whip him," repeated Carrigan. "I will wager you +anything--anything in the world--even life against life--that I whip +him!" + +The gloom had faded from the face of St. Pierre Boulain. But in a +moment it clouded again. + +"My Jeanne has made me promise that I will stop the fight," he said. + +"And why--why should she insist in a matter such as this, which +properly should be settled among men?" asked David. + +Again St. Pierre laughed; with an effort, it seemed, "She is +gentle-hearted, m'sieu. She laughed and thought it quite a joke when +Bateese humbled me. 'What! My great St. Pierre, with the blood of old +France in his veins, beaten by a man who has been named after a +vegetable!' she cried. I tell you she was merry over it, m'sieu! She +laughed until the tears came into her eyes. But with you it is +different. She was white when she entreated me not to let you fight +Bateese. Yes, she is afraid you will be badly hurt. And she does not +want to see you hurt again. But I tell you that I am not jealous, +m'sieu! She does not try to hide things from me. She tells me +everything, like a little child. And so--" + +"I am going to fight Bateese," said David. He wondered if St. Pierre +could hear the thumping of his heart, or if his face gave betrayal of +the hot flood it was pumping through his body. "Bateese and I have +pledged ourselves. We shall fight, unless you tie one of us hand and +foot. And as for a wager--" + +"Yes--what have you to wager?" demanded St. Pierre eagerly. + +"You know the odds are great," temporized Carrigan. + +"That I concede, m'sieu." + +"But a fight without a wager would be like a pipe without tobacco, St. +Pierre." + +"You speak truly, m'sieu." + +David came nearer and laid a hand on the other's arm. "St. Pierre, I +hope you--and your Jeanne--will understand what I am about to offer. It +is this. If Bateese whips me, I will disappear into the forests, and no +word shall ever pass my lips of what has passed since that hour behind +the rock--and this. No whisper of it will ever reach the Law. I will +forget the attempted murder and the suspicious mumblings of your Broken +Man. You will be safe. Your Jeanne will be safe--if Bateese whips me." + +He paused, and waited. St. Pierre made no answer, but amazement came +into his face, and after that a slow and burning fire in his eyes which +told how deeply and vitally Carrigan's words had struck into his soul. + +"And if I should happen to win," continued David, turning a bit +carelessly toward the window, "why, I should expect as large a payment +from you. If I win, your fulfillment of the wager will be to tell me in +every detail why your wife tried to kill me behind the rock, and you +will also tell me all that you know about the man I am after, Black +Roger Audemard. That is all. I am asking for no odds, though you +concede the handicap is great." + +He did not look at St. Pierre. Behind him he heard the other's deep +breathing. For a space neither spoke. Outside they could hear the soft +swish of water, the low voices of men in the stern, and a shout and the +barking of a dog coming from the raft far out on the river. For David +the moment was one of suspense. He turned again, a bit carelessly, as +if his proposition were a matter of but little significance to him. St. +Pierre was not looking at him. He was staring toward the door, as if +through it he could see the powerful form of Bateese bending over the +stern sweep. And Carrigan could see that his face was flaming with a +great desire, and that the blood in his body was pounding to the mighty +urge of it. + +Suddenly he faced Carrigan. + +"M'sieu, listen to me," he said. "You are a brave man. You are a man of +honor, and I know you will bury sacredly in your heart what I am going +to tell you now, and never let a word of it escape--even to my Jeanne. +I do not blame you for loving her. Non! You could not help that. You +have fought well to keep it within yourself, and for that I honor you. +How do I know? Mon Dieu, she has told me! A woman's heart understands, +and a woman's ears are quick to hear, m'sieu. When you were sick, and +your mind was wandering, you told her again and again that you loved +her--and when she brought you back to life, her eyes saw more than once +the truth of what your lips had betrayed, though you tried to keep it +to yourself. Even more, m'sieu--she felt the touch of your lips on her +hair that day. She understands. She has told me everything, openly, +innocently--yet her heart thrills with that sympathy of a woman who +knows she is loved. M'sieu, if you could have seen the light in her +eyes and the glow in her cheeks as she told me these secrets. But I am +not jealous! Non! It is only because you are a brave man, and one of +honor, that I tell you all this. She would die of shame did she know I +had betrayed her confidence. Yet it is necessary that I tell you, +because if we make the big wager we must drop my Jeanne from the +gamble. Do you comprehend me, m'sieu? + +"We are two men, strong men, fighting men. I--Pierre Boulain--can not +feel the shame of jealousy where a woman's heart is pure and sweet, and +where a man has fought against love with honor as you have fought. And +you, m'sieu--David Carrigan, of the Police--can not strike with your +hard man's hand that tender heart, that is like a flower, and which +this moment is beating faster than it should with the fear that some +harm is going to befall you. Is it not so, m'sieu? We will make the +wager, yes. But if you whip Bateese--and you can not do that in a +hundred years of fighting--I will not tell you why my Jeanne shot at +you behind the rock. Non, never! Yet I swear I will tell you the other. +If you win, I will tell you all I know about Roger Audemard, and that +is considerable, m'sieu. Do you agree?" + +Slowly David held out a hand. St. Pierre's gripped it. The fingers of +the two men met like bands of steel. + +"Tomorrow you will fight," said St. Pierre. "You will fight and be +beaten so terribly that you may always show the marks of it. I am +sorry. Such a man as you I would rather have as a brother than an +enemy. And she will never forgive me. She will always remember it. The +thought will never die out of her heart that I was a beast to let you +fight Bateese. But it is best for all. And my men? Ah! Diable, but it +will be great sport for them, m'sieu!" + +His hand unclasped. He turned to the door. A moment later it closed +behind him, and David was alone. He had not spoken. He had not replied +to the engulfing truths that had fallen quietly and without a betrayal +of passion from St. Pierre's lips. Inwardly he was crushed. Yet his +face was like stone, hiding his shame. And then, suddenly, there came a +sound from outside that sent the blood through his cold veins again. It +was laughter, the great, booming laughter of St. Pierre! It was not the +merriment of a man whose heart was bleeding, or into whose life had +come an unexpected pain or grief. It was wild and free, and filled with +the joy of the sun-filled day. + +And David, listening to it, felt something that was more than +admiration for this man growing within him. And unconsciously his lips +repeated St. Pierre's words. + +"Tomorrow--you will fight." + + + + +XVII + + +For many minutes David stood at the bateau window and watched the canoe +that carried St. Pierre Boulain and the Broken Man back to the raft. It +moved slowly, as if St. Pierre was loitering with a purpose and was +thinking deeply of what had passed. Carrigan's fingers tightened, and +his face grew tense, as he gazed out into the glow of the western sun. +Now that the stress of nerve-breaking moments in the cabin was over, he +no longer made an effort to preserve the veneer of coolness and +decision with which he had encountered the chief of the Boulains. Deep +in his soul he was crushed and humiliated. Every nerve in his body was +bleeding. + +He had heard St. Pierre's big laugh a moment before, but it must have +been the laugh of a man who was stabbed to the heart. And he was going +back to Marie-Anne like that--drifting scarcely faster than the current +that he might steal time to strengthen himself before he looked into +her eyes again. David could see him, motionless, his giant shoulders +hunched forward a little, his head bowed, and in the stern the Broken +Man paddled listlessly, his eyes on the face of his master. Without +voice David cursed himself. In his egoism he had told himself that he +had made a splendid fight in resisting the temptation of a great love +for the wife of St. Pierre. But what was his own struggle compared with +this tragedy which St. Pierre was now facing? + +He turned from the window and looked about the cabin room again--the +woman's room and St. Pierre's--and his face burned in its silent +accusation. Like a living thing it painted another picture for him. For +a space he lost his own identity. He saw himself in the place of St. +Pierre. He was the husband of Marie-Anne, worshipping her even as St. +Pierre must worship her, and he came, as St. Pierre had come, to find a +stranger in his home, a stranger who had lain in his bed, a stranger +whom his wife had nursed back to life, a stranger who had fallen in +love with his most inviolable possession, who had told her of his love, +who had kissed her, who had held her close, in his arms, whose presence +had brought a warmer flush and a brighter glow into eyes and cheeks +that until this stranger's coming had belonged only to him. And he +heard her, as St. Pierre had heard her, pleading with him to keep this +man from harm; he heard her soft voice, telling of the things that had +passed between them, and he saw in her eyes-- + +With almost a cry he swept the thought and the picture from him. It was +an atrocious thing to conceive, impossible of reality. And yet the +truth would not go. What would he have done in St. Pierre's place? + +He went to the window again. Yes, St. Pierre was a bigger man than he. +For St. Pierre had come quietly and calmly, offering a hand of +friendship, generous, smiling, keeping his hurt to himself, while he, +Dave Carrigan, would have come with the murder of man in his heart. + +His eyes passed from the canoe to the raft, and from the big raft to +the hazy billows of green and golden forest that melted off into +interminable miles of distance beyond the river. He knew that on the +other side of him lay that same distance, north, east, south, and west, +vast spaces in an unpeopled world, the same green and golden forests, +ten thousand plains and rivers and lakes, a million hiding-places where +romance and tragedy might remain forever undisturbed. The thought came +to him that it would not be difficult to slip out into that world and +disappear. He almost owed it to St. Pierre. It was the voice of Bateese +in a snatch of wild and discordant song that brought him back into grim +reality. There was, after all, that embarrassing matter of justice--and +the accursed Law! + +After a little he observed that the canoe was moving faster, and that +Andre's paddle was working steadily and with force. St. Pierre no +longer sat hunched in the bow. His head was erect, and he was waving a +hand in the direction of the raft. A figure had come from the cabin on +the huge mass of floating timber. David caught the shimmer of a woman's +dress, something white fluttering over her head, waving back at St. +Pierre. It was Marie-Anne, and he moved away from the window. + +He wondered what was passing between St. Pierre and his wife in the +hour that followed. The bateau kept abreast of the raft, moving neither +faster nor slower than it did, and twice he surrendered to the desire +to scan the deck of the floating timbers through his binoculars. But +the cabin held St. Pierre and Marie-Anne, and he saw neither of them +again until the sun was setting. Then St. Pierre came out--alone. + +Even at that distance over the broad river he heard the booming voice +of the chief of the Boulains. Life sprang up where there had been the +drowse of inactivity aboard the raft. A dozen more of the great sweeps +were swiftly manned by men who appeared suddenly from the shaded places +of canvas shelters and striped tents. A murmur of voices rose over the +water, and then the murmur was broken by howls and shouts as the +rivermen ran to their places at the command of St. Pierre's voice, and +as the sweeps began to flash in the setting sun, it gave way entirely +to the evening chant of the Paddling Song. + +David gripped himself as he listened and watched the slowly drifting +glory of the world that came down to the shores of the river. He could +see St. Pierre clearly, for the bateau had worked its way nearer. He +could see the bare heads and naked arms of the rivermen at the sweeps. +The sweet breath of the forests filled his lungs, as that picture lay +before him, and there came into his soul a covetousness and a yearning +where before there had been humiliation and the grim urge of duty. He +could breathe the air of that world, he could look at its beauty, he +could worship it--and yet he knew that he was not a part of it as those +others were a part of it. He envied the men at the sweeps; he felt his +heart swelling at the exultation and joy in their song. They were going +home--home down the big rivers, home to the heart of God's Country, +where wives and sweethearts and happiness were waiting for them, and +their visions were his visions as he stared wide-eyed and motionless +over the river. And yet he was irrevocably an alien. He was more than +that--an enemy, a man-hound sent out on a trail to destroy, an agent of +a powerful and merciless force that carried with it punishment and +death. + +The crew of the bateau had joined in the evening song of the rivermen +on the raft, and over the ridges and hollows of the forest tops, red +and green and gold in the last warm glory of the sun, echoed that +chanting voice of men. David understood now what St. Pierre's command +had been. The huge raft with its tented city of life was preparing to +tie up for the night. A quarter of a mile ahead the river widened, so +that on the far side was a low, clean shore toward which the efforts of +the men at the sweeps were slowly edging the raft. York boats shot out +on the shore side and dropped anchors that helped drag the big craft +in. Two others tugged at tow-lines fastened to the shoreside bow, and +within twenty minutes the first men were plunging up out of the water +on the white strip of beach and were whipping the tie-lines about the +nearest trees. David unconsciously was smiling in the thrill and +triumph of these last moments, and not until they were over did he +sense the fact that Bateese and his crew were bringing the bateau in to +the opposite shore. Before the sun was quite down, both raft and +house-boat were anchored for the night. + +As the shadows of the distant forests deepened, Carrigan felt impending +about him an oppression of emptiness and loneliness which he had not +experienced before. He was disappointed that the bateau had not tied up +with the raft. Already he could see men building fires. Spirals of +smoke began to rise from the shore, and he knew that the riverman's +happiest of all hours, supper time, was close at hand. He looked at his +watch. It was after seven o'clock. Then he watched the fading away of +the sun until only the red glow of it remained in the west, and against +the still thicker shadows the fires of the rivermen threw up yellow +flames. On his own side, Bateese and the bateau crew were preparing +their meal. It was eight o'clock when a man he had not seen before +brought in his supper. He ate, scarcely sensing the taste of his food, +and half an hour later the man reappeared for the dishes. + +It was not quite dark when he returned to his window, but the far shore +was only an indistinct blur of gloom. The fires were brighter. One of +them, built solely because of the rivermen's inherent love of light and +cheer, threw the blaze of its flaming logs twenty feet into the air. + +He wondered what Marie-Anne was doing in this hour. Last night they had +been together. He had marveled at the witchery of the moonlight in her +hair and eyes, he had told her of the beauty of it, she had smiled, she +had laughed softly with him--for hours they had sat in the spell of the +golden night and the glory of the river. And tonight--now--was she with +St. Pierre, waiting as they had waited last night for the rising of the +moon? Had she forgotten? COULD she forget? Or was she, as he thought +St. Pierre had painfully tried to make him believe, innocent of all the +thoughts and desires that had come to him, as he sat worshipping her in +their stolen hours? He could think of them only as stolen, for he did +not believe Marie-Anne had revealed to her husband all she might have +told him. + +He was sure he would never see her again as he had seen her then, and +something of bitterness rose in him as he thought of that. St. Pierre, +could he have seen her face and eyes when he told her that her hair in +the moonlight was lovelier than anything he had ever seen, would have +throttled him with his naked hands in that meeting in the cabin. For +St. Pierre's code would not have had her eyes droop under their long +lashes or her cheeks flush so warmly at the words of another man--and +he could not take vengeance on the woman herself. No, she had not told +St. Pierre all she might have told! There were things which she must +have kept to herself, which she dared not reveal even to this +great-hearted man who was her husband. Shame, if nothing more, had kept +her silent. + +Did she feel that shame as he was feeling it? It was inconceivable to +think otherwise. And for that reason, more than all others, he knew +that she would not meet him face to face again--unless he forced that +meeting. And there was little chance of that, for his pledge with St. +Pierre had eliminated her from the aftermath of tomorrow's drama, his +fight with Bateese. Only when St. Pierre might stand in a court of law +would there be a possibility of her eyes meeting his own again, and +then they would flame with the hatred that at another time had been in +the eyes of Carmin Fanchet. + +With the dull stab of a thing that of late had been growing inside him, +he wondered what had happened to Carmin Fanchet in the years that had +gone since he had brought about the hanging of her brother. Last night +and the night before, strange dreams of her had come to him in restless +slumber. It was disturbing to him that he should wake up in the middle +of the night dreaming of her, when he had gone to his bed with a mind +filled to overflowing with the sweet presence of Marie-Anne Boulain. +And now his mind reached out poignantly into mysterious darkness and +doubt, even as the darkness of night spread itself in a thickening +canopy over the river. + +Gray clouds had followed the sun of a faultless day, and the stars were +veiled overhead. When David turned from the window, it was so dark in +the cabin that he could not see. He did not light the lamps, but made +his way to St. Pierre's couch and sat down in the silence and gloom. + +Through the open windows came to him the cadence of the river and the +forests. There was silence of human voice ashore, but under him he +heard the lapping murmur of water as it rustled under the stern and +side of the bateau, and from the deep timber came the never-ceasing +whisper of the spruce and cedar tops, and the subdued voice of +creatures whose hours of activity had come with the dying out of the +sun. + +For a long time he sat in this darkness. And then there came to him a +sound that was different than the other sounds--a low monotone of +voices, the dipping of a paddle--and a canoe passed close under his +windows and up the shore. He paid small attention to it until, a little +later, the canoe returned, and its occupants boarded the bateau. It +would have roused little interest in him then had he not heard a voice +that was thrillingly like the voice of a woman. + +He drew his hunched shoulders erect and stared through the darkness +toward the door. A moment more and there was no doubt. It was almost +shock that sent the blood leaping suddenly through his veins. The +inconceivable had happened. It was Marie-Anne out there, talking in a +low voice to Bateese! + +Then there came a heavy knock at his door, and he heard the door open. +Through it he saw the grayer gloom of the outside night partly shut out +a heavy shadow. + +"M'sieu!" called the voice of Bateese. + +"I am here," said David. + +"You have not gone to bed, m'sieu?" + +"No." + +The heavy shadow seemed to fade away, and yet there still remained a +shadow there. David's heart thumped as he noted the slenderness of it. +For a space there was silence. And then, + +"Will you light the lamps, M'sieu David?" a soft voice came to him. "I +want to come in, and I am afraid of this terrible darkness!" + +He rose to his feet, fumbling in his pocket for matches. + + + + +XVIII + + +He did not turn toward Marie-Anne when he had lighted the first of the +great brass lamps hanging at the side of the bateau. He went to the +second, and struck another match, and flooded the cabin with light. + +She still stood silhouetted against the darkness beyond the cabin door +when he faced her. She was watching him, her eyes intent, her face a +little pale, he thought. Then he smiled and nodded. He could not see a +great change in her since this afternoon, except that there seemed to +be a little more fire in the glow of her eyes. They were looking at him +steadily as she smiled and nodded, wide, beautiful eyes in which there +was surely no revelation of shame or regret, and no very clear evidence +of unhappiness. David stared, and his tongue clove to the roof of his +mouth. + +"Why is it that you sit in darkness?" she asked, stepping within and +closing the door. "Did you not expect me to return and apologize for +leaving you so suddenly this afternoon? It was impolite. Afterward I +was ashamed. But I was excited, M'sieu David. I--" + +"Of course," he hurried to interrupt her. "I understand. St. Pierre is +a lucky man. I congratulate you--as well as him. He is splendid, a man +in whom you can place great faith and confidence." + +"He scolded me for running away from you as I did, M'sieu David. He +said I should have shown better courtesy than to leave like that one +who was a guest in our--home. So I have returned, like a good child, to +make amends." + +"It was not necessary." + +"But you were lonesome and in darkness!" + +He nodded. "Yes." + +"And besides," she added, so quietly and calmly that he was amazed, +"you know my sleeping apartment is also on the bateau. And St. Pierre +made me promise to say good night to you." + +"It is an imposition," cried David, the blood rushing to his face. "You +have given up all this to me! Why not let me go into that little room +forward, or sleep on the raft and you and St. Pierre--" + +"St. Pierre would not leave the raft," replied Marie-Anne, turning from +him toward the table on which were the books and magazines and her +work-basket. "And I like my little room forward." + +"St. Pierre--" + +He stopped himself. He could see a sudden color deepening in the cheek +of St. Pierre's wife as she made pretense of looking for something in +her basket. He felt that if he went on he would blunder, if he had not +already blundered. He was uncomfortable, for he believed he had guessed +the truth. It was not quite reasonable to expect that Marie-Anne would +come to him like this on the first night of St. Pierre's homecoming. +Something had happened over in the little cabin on the raft, he told +himself. Perhaps there had been a quarrel--at least ironical +implications on St. Pierre's part. And his sympathy was with St. Pierre. + +He caught suddenly a little tremble at the corner of Marie-Anne's mouth +as her face was turned partly from him, and he stepped to the opposite +side of the table so he could look at her fairly. If there had been +unpleasantness in the cabin on the raft, St. Pierre's wife in no way +gave evidence of it. The color had deepened to almost a blush in her +cheeks, but it was not on account of embarrassment, for one who is +embarrassed is not usually amused, and as she looked up at him her eyes +were filled with the flash of laughter which he had caught her lips +struggling to restrain. Then, finding a bit of lace work with the +needles meshed in it, she seated herself, and again he was looking down +on the droop of her long lashes and the seductive glow of her lustrous +hair. Yesterday, in a moment of irresistible impulse, he had told her +how lovely it was as she had dressed it, a bewitching crown of +interwoven coils, not drawn tightly, but crumpled and soft, as if the +mass of tresses were openly rebelling at closer confinement. She had +told him the effect was entirely accidental, largely due to +carelessness and haste in dressing it. Accidental or otherwise, it was +the same tonight, and in the heart of it were the drooping red petals +of a flower she had gathered with him early that afternoon. + +"St. Pierre brought me over," she said in a calmly matter-of-fact +voice, as though she had expected David to know that from the +beginning. "He is ashore talking over important matters with Bateese. I +am sure he will drop in and say good night before he returns to the +raft. He asked me to wait for him--here." She raised her eyes, so clear +and untroubled, so quietly unembarrassed under his gaze, that he would +have staked his life she had no suspicion of the confessions which St. +Pierre had revealed to him. + +"Do you care? Would you rather put out the lights and go to bed?" + +He shook his head. "No. I am glad. I was beastly lonesome. I had an +idea--" + +He was on the point of blundering again when he caught himself. The +effect of her so near him was more than ever disturbing, in spite of +St. Pierre. Her eyes, clear and steady, yet soft as velvet when they +looked at him, made his tongue and his thoughts dangerously uncertain. + +"You had an idea, M'sieu David?" + +"That you would have no desire to see me again after my talk with St. +Pierre," he said. "Did he tell you about it?" + +"He said you were very fine, M'sieu David--and that he liked you." + +"And he told you it is determined that I shall fight Bateese in the +morning?" + +"Yes." + +The one word was spoken with a quiet lack of excitement, even of +interest--it seemed to belie some of the things St. Pierre had told +him, and he could scarcely believe, looking at her now, that she had +entreated her husband to prevent the encounter, or that she had +betrayed any unusual emotion in the matter at all. + +"I was afraid you would object," he could not keep from saying. "It +does not seem nice to pull off such a thing as that, when there is a +lady about--" + +"Or LADIES." She caught him up quickly, and he saw a sudden little +tightening of her pretty mouth as she turned her eyes to the bit of +lace work again. "But I do not object, because what St. Pierre says is +right--must be right." + +And the softness, he thought, went altogether out of the curve of her +lips for an instant. In a flash their momentary betrayal of vexation +was gone, and St. Pierre's wife had replaced the work-basket on the +table and was on her feet, smiling at him. There was something of wild +daring in her eyes, something that made him think of the glory of +adventure he had seen flaming in her face the night they had run the +rapids of the Holy Ghost. + +"Tomorrow will be very unpleasant, M'sieu David," she cried softly. +"Bateese will beat you--terribly. Tonight we must think of things more +agreeable." + +He had never seen her more radiant than when she turned toward the +piano. What the deuce did it mean? Had St. Pierre been making a fool of +him? She actually appeared unable to restrain her elation at the +thought that Bateese would surely beat him up! He stood without moving +and made no effort to answer her. Just before they had started on that +thrilling adventure into the forest, which had ended with his carrying +her in his arms, she had gone to the piano and had played for him. Now +her fingers touched softly the same notes. A little humming trill came +in her throat, and it seemed to David that she was deliberately +recalling his thoughts to the things that had happened before the +coming of St. Pierre. He had not lighted the lamp over the piano, and +for a flash her dark eyes smiled at him out of the half shadow. After a +moment she began to sing. + +Her voice was low and without effort, untrained, and subdued as if +conscious and afraid of its limitations, yet so exquisitely sweet that +to David it was a new and still more wonderful revelation of St. +Pierre's wife. He drew nearer, until he stood close at her side, the +dark luster of her hair almost touching his arm, her partly upturned +face a bewitching profile in the shadows. + +Her voice grew lower, almost a whisper in its melody, as if meant for +him alone. Many times he had heard the Canadian Boat Song, but never as +its words came now from the lips of Marie-Anne Boulain. + + "Faintly as tolls the evening chime, + Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. + Soon as the woods on shore look dim, + We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn; + Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, + The rapids are near, and the daylight's past." + +She paused. And David, staring down at her shining head, did not speak. +Her fingers trembled over the keys, he could see dimly the shadow of +her long lashes, and the spirit-like scent of crushed violets rose to +him from the soft lace about her throat and her hair. + +"It is your music," he whispered. "I have never heard the Boat Song +like that!" + +He tried to drag his eyes from her face and hair, sensing that he was a +near-criminal, fighting a mighty impulse. The notes under her fingers +changed, and again--by chance or design--she was stabbing at him; +bringing him face to face with the weakness of his flesh, the iniquity +of his desire to reach out his arms and crumple her in them. Yet she +did not look up, she did not see him, as she began to sing "Ave Maria." + + "Ave, Maria, hear my cry! + O, guide my path where no harm, no harm is nigh--" + +As she went on, he knew she had forgotten to think of him. With the +reverence of a prayer the holy words came from her lips, slowly, +softly, trembling with a pathos and sweetness that told David they came +not alone from the lips, but from the very soul of St. Pierre's wife. +And then-- + + "Oh, Mother, hear me where thou art, + And guard and guide my aching heart, my aching heart!" + +The last words drifted away into a whisper, and David was glad that he +was not looking into the face of St. Pierre's wife, for there must have +been something there now which it would have been sacrilege for him to +stare at, as he was staring at her hair. + +No sound of opening door had come from behind them. Yet St. Pierre had +opened it and stood there, watching them with a curious humor in eyes +that seemed still to hold a glitter of the fire that had leaped from +the half-breed's flaming birch logs. His voice was a shock to Carrigan. + +"PESTE, but you are a gloomy pair!" he boomed. "Why no light over there +in the corner, and why sing that death-song to chase away the devil +when there is no devil near?" + +Guilt was in David's heart, but there was no sting of venom in St. +Pierre's words, and he was laughing at them now, as though what he saw +were a pretty joke and amused him. + +"Late hours and shady bowers! I say it should be a love song or +something livelier," he cried, closing the door behind him and coming +toward them. "Why not En Roulant ma Boule, my sweet Jeanne? You know +that is my favorite." + +He suddenly interrupted himself, and his voice rolled out in a wild +chant that rocked the cabin. + + "The wind is fresh, the wind is free, + En roulant ma boule! The wind is fresh--my love waits me, + Rouli, roulant, ma boule roulant! + Behind our house a spring you see, + In it three ducks swim merrily, + And hunting, the Prince's son went he, + With a silver gun right fair to see--" + +David was conscious that St. Pierre's wife had risen to her feet, and +now she came out of shadow into light, and he was amazed to see that +she was laughing back at St. Pierre, and that her two fore-fingers were +thrust in her ears to keep out the bellow of her husband's voice. She +was not at all discomfited by his unexpected appearance, but rather +seemed to join in the humor of the thing with St. Pierre, though he +fancied he could see something in her face that was forced and uneasy. +He believed that under the surface of her composure she was suffering a +distress which she did not reveal. + +St. Pierre advanced and carelessly patted her shoulder with one of his +big hands, while he spoke to David. + +"Has she not the sweetest voice in the world, m'sieu? Did you ever hear +a sweeter or as sweet? I say it is enough to get down into the soul of +a man, unless he is already half dead! That voice--" + +He caught Marie-Anne's eyes. Her cheeks were flaming. Her look, for an +instant, flashed lightning as she halted him. + +"Ma foi, I speak it from the heart," he persisted, with a shrug of his +shoulders. "Am I not right, M'sieu Carrigan? Did you ever hear a +sweeter voice?" + +"It is wonderful," agreed David, wondering if he was hazarding too much. + +"Good! It fills me with happiness to know I am right. And now, cherie, +good-night! I must return to the raft." + +A shadow of vexation crossed Marie-Anne's face. "You seem in great +haste." + +"Plagues and pests! You are right, Pretty Voice! I am most anxious to +get back to my troubles there, and you--" + +"Will also bid M'sieu Carrigan good-night," she quickly interrupted +him. "You will at least see me to my room, St. Pierre, and safely put +away for the night." + +She held out her hand to David. There was not a tremor in it as it lay +for an instant soft and warm in his own. She made no effort to withdraw +it quickly, nor did her eyes hide their softness as they looked into +his own. + +Mutely David stood as they went out. He heard St. Pierre's loud voice +rumbling about the darkness of the night. He heard them pass along the +side of the bateau forward, and half a minute later he knew that St. +Pierre was getting into his canoe. The dip of a paddle came to him. + +For a space there was silence, and then, from far out in the black +shadow of the river, rolled back the great voice of St. Pierre Boulain +singing the wild river chant, "En Roulant ma Boule." + +At the open window he listened. It seemed to him that from far over the +river, where the giant raft lay, there came a faint answer to the words +of the song, + + + + +XIX + + +With the slow approach of the storm which was advancing over the +wilderness, Carrigan felt more poignantly the growing unrest that was +in him. He heard the last of St. Pierre's voice, and after that the +fires on the distant shore died out slowly, giving way to utter +blackness. Faintly there came to him the far-away rumbling of thunder. +The air grew heavy and thick, and there was no sound of night-bird over +the breast of the river, and out of the thick cedar and spruce and +balsam there came no cry or whisper of the nocturnal life waiting in +silence for the storm to break. In that stillness David put out the +lights in the cabin and sat close to the window in darkness. + +He was more than sleepless. Every nerve in his body demanded action, +and his brain was fired by strange thoughts until their vividness +seemed to bring him face to face with a reality that set his blood +stirring with an irresistible thrill. He believed he had made a +discovery, that St. Pierre had betrayed himself. What he had visioned, +the conclusion he had arrived at, seemed inconceivable, yet what his +own eyes had seen and his ears had heard pointed to the truth of it +all. The least he could say was that St. Pierre's love for Marie-Anne +Boulain was a strange sort of love. His attitude toward her seemed more +like that of a man in the presence of a child of whom he was fond in a +fatherly sort of way. His affection, as he had expressed it, was +parental and careless. Not for an instant had there been in it a +betrayal of the lover, no suggestion of the husband who cared deeply or +who might be made jealous by another man. + +Sitting in darkness thickening with the nearer approach of storm, David +recalled the stab of pain mingled with humiliation that had come into +the eyes of St. Pierre's wife when she had stood facing her husband. He +heard again, with a new understanding, the low note of pathos in her +voice as in song she had called upon the Mother of Christ to hear +her--and help her. He had not guessed at the tragedy of it then. Now he +knew, and he thought of her lying awake in the gloom beyond the +bulkhead, her eyes were with tears. And St. Pierre had gone back to his +raft, singing in the night! Where before there had been sympathy for +him, there rose a sincere revulsion. There had been a reason for St. +Pierre's masterly possession of himself, and it had not been, as he had +thought, because of his bigness of soul. It was because he had not +cared. He was a splendid hypocrite, playing his game well at the +beginning, but betraying the lie at the end. He did not love Marie-Anne +as he, Dave Carrigan, loved her. He had spoken of her as a child, and +he had treated her as a child, and was serenely dispassionate in the +face of a situation which would have roused the spirit in most men. And +suddenly, recalling that thrilling hour in the white strip of sand and +all that had happened since, it flashed upon David that St. Pierre was +using his wife as the vital moving force in a game of his own--that +under the masquerade of his apparent faith and bigness of character he +was sacrificing her to achieve a certain mysterious something it the +scheme of his own affairs. + +Yet he could not forget the infinite faith Marie-Anne Boulain had +expressed in her husband. There had been no hypocrisy in her waiting +and her watching for him, or in her belief that he would straighten out +the tangles of the dilemma in which she had become involved. Nor had +there been make-believe in the manner she had left him that day in her +eagerness to go to St. Pierre. Adding these facts as he had added the +others, he fancied he saw the truth staring at him out of the darkness +of his cabin room. Marie-Anne loved her husband. And St. Pierre was +merely the possessor, careless and indifferent, almost brutally +dispassionate in his consideration of her. + +A heavy crash of thunder brought Carrigan back to a realization of the +impending storm. He rose to his feet in the chaotic gloom, facing the +bulkhead beyond which he was certain St. Pierre's wife lay wide awake. +He tried to laugh. It was inexcusable, he told himself, to let his +thoughts become involved in the family affairs of St. Pierre and +Marie-Anne. That was not his business. Marie-Anne, in the final +analysis, did not appear to be especially abused, and her mind was not +a child's mind. Probably she would not thank him for his interest in +the matter. She would tell him, like any other woman with pride, that +it was none of his business and that he was presuming upon forbidden +ground. + +He went to the window. There was scarcely a breath of air, and +unfastening the screen, he thrust out his head and shoulders into the +night. It was so black that he could not see the shadow of the water +almost within reach of his hands, but through the chaos of gloom that +lay between him and the opposite shore he made out a single point of +yellow light. He was positive the light was in the cabin on the raft. +And St. Pierre was probably in that cabin. + +A huge drop of rain splashed on his hand, and behind him he heard +sweeping over the forest tops the quickening march of the deluge. There +was no crash of thunder or flash of lightning when it broke. Straight +down, in an inundation, it came out of a sky thick enough to slit with +a knife. Carrigan drew in his head and shoulders and sniffed the sweet +freshness of it. He tried again to make out the light on the raft, but +it was obliterated. + +Mechanically he began taking off his clothes, and in a few moments he +stood again at the window, naked. Thunder and lightning had caught up +with the rain, and in the flashes of fire Carrigan's ghost-white face +stared in the direction of the raft. In his veins was at work an +insistent and impelling desire. Over there was St. Pierre, he was +undoubtedly in the cabin, and something might happen if he, Dave +Carrigan, took advantage of storm and gloom to go to the raft. + +It was almost a presentiment that drew his bare head and shoulders out +through the window, and every hunting instinct in him urged him to the +adventure. The stygian darkness was torn again by a flash of fire. In +it he saw the river and the vivid silhouette of the distant shore. It +would not be a difficult swim, and it would be good training for +tomorrow. + +Like a badger worming his way out of a hole a bit too small for him, +Carrigan drew himself through the window. A lightning flash caught him +at the edge of the bateau, and he slunk back quickly against the cabin, +with the thought that other eyes might be staring out into that same +darkness. In the pitch gloom that followed he lowered himself quietly +into the river, thrust himself under water, and struck out for the +opposite shore. + +When he came to the surface again it was in the glare of another +lightning flash. He flung the water from his face, chose a point +several hundred yards above the raft, and with quick, powerful strokes +set out in its direction. For ten minutes he quartered the current +without raising his head. Then he paused, floating unresistingly with +the slow sweep of the river, and waited for another illumination. When +it came, he made out the tented raft scarcely a hundred yards away and +a little below him. In the next darkness he found the edge of it and +dragged himself up on the mass of timbers. + +The thunder had been rolling steadily westward, and David crouched low, +hoping for one more flash to illumine the raft. It came at last from a +mass of inky cloud far to the west, so indistinct that it made only dim +shadows out of the tents and shelters, but it was sufficient to give +him direction. Before its faint glare died out, he saw the deeper +shadow of the cabin forward. + +For many minutes he lay where he had dragged himself, without making a +movement in its direction. Nowhere about him could he see a sign of +light, nor could he hear any sound of life. St. Pierre's people were +evidently deep in slumber. + +Carrigan had no very definite idea of the next step in his adventure. +He had swum from the bateau largely under impulse, with no preconceived +scheme of action, urged chiefly by the hope that he would find St. +Pierre in the cabin and that something might come of it. As for +knocking at the door and rousing the chief of the Boulains from +sleep--he had at the present moment no very good excuse for that. No +sooner had the thought and its objection come to him than a broad shaft +of light shot with startling suddenness athwart the blackness of the +raft, darkened in another instant by an obscuring shadow. Swift as the +light itself David's eyes turned to the source of the unexpected +illumination. The door of St. Pierre's cabin was wide open. The +interior was flooded with lampglow, and in the doorway stood St. Pierre +himself. + +The chief of the Boulains seemed to be measuring the weather +possibilities of the night. His subdued voice reached David, chuckling +with satisfaction, as he spoke to some one who was behind him in the +cabin. + +"Pitch and brimstone, but it's black!" he cried. "You could carve it +with a knife, and stand it on end, AMANTE. But it's going west. In a +few hours the stars will be out." + +He drew back into the cabin, and the door closed. David held his breath +in amazement, staring at the blackness where a moment before the light +had been. Who was it St. Pierre had called sweetheart? AMANTE! He could +not have been mistaken. The word had come to him clearly, and there was +but one guess to make. Marie-Anne was not on the bateau. She had played +him for a fool, had completely hoodwinked him in her plot with St. +Pierre. They were cleverer than he had supposed, and in darkness she +had rejoined her husband on the raft! But why that senseless play of +falsehood? What could be their object in wanting him to believe she was +still aboard the bateau? + +He stood up on his feet and mopped the warm rain from his face, while +the gloom hid the grim smile that came slowly to his lips. Close upon +the thrill of his astonishment he felt a new stir in his blood which +added impetus to his determination and his action. He was not disgusted +with himself, nor was he embittered by what he had thought of a moment +ago as the lying hypocrisy of his captors. To be beaten in his game of +man-hunting was sometimes to be expected, and Carrigan always gave +proper credit to the winners. It was also "good medicine" to know that +Marie-Anne, instead of being an unhappy and neglected wife, had blinded +him with an exquisitely clever simulation. Just why she had done it, +and why St. Pierre had played his masquerade, it was his duty now to +find out. + +An hour ago he would have cut off a hand before spying upon St. +Pierre's wife or eavesdropping under her window. Now he felt no +uneasiness of conscience as he approached the cabin, for Marie-Anne +herself had destroyed all reason for any delicate discrimination on his +part. + +The rain had almost stopped, and in one of the near tents he heard a +sleepy voice. But he had no fear of chance discovery. The night would +remain dark for a long time, and in his bare feet he made no sound the +sharpest ears of a dog ten feet away might have heard. Close to the +cabin door, yet in such a way that the sudden opening of it would not +reveal him, he paused and listened. + +Distinctly he heard St. Pierre's voice, but not the words. A moment +later came the soft, joyous laughter of a woman, and for an instant a +hand seemed to grip David's heart, filling it with pain. There was no +unhappiness in that laughter. It seemed, instead, to tremble in an +exultation of gladness. + +Suddenly St. Pierre came nearer the door, and his voice was more +distinct. "Chere-coeur, I tell you it is the greatest joke of my life," +he heard him say. "We are safe. If it should come to the worst, we can +settle the matter in another way. I can not but sing and laugh, even in +the face of it all. And she, in that very innocence which amuses me so, +has no suspicion--" + +He turned, and vainly David keyed his ears to catch the final words. +The voices in the cabin grew lower. Twice he heard the soft laughter of +the woman. St. Pierre's voice, when he spoke, was unintelligible. + +The thought that his random adventure was bringing him to an important +discovery possessed Carrigan. St. Pierre, he believed, had been on the +very edge of disclosing something which he would have given a great +deal to know. Surely in this cabin there must be a window, and the +window would be open-- + +Quietly he felt his way through the darkness to the shore side of the +cabin. A narrow bar of light at least partly confirmed his judgment. +There was a window. But it was almost entirely curtained, and it was +closed. Had the curtain been drawn two inches lower, the thin stream of +light would have been shut entirely out from the night. + +Under this window David crouched for several minutes, hoping that in +the calm which was succeeding the storm it might be opened. The voices +were still more indistinct inside. He scarcely heard St. Pierre, but +twice again he heard the low and musical laughter of the woman. She had +laughed differently with HIM--and the grim smile settled on his lips as +he looked up at the narrow slit of light over his head. He had an +overwhelming desire to look in. After all, it was a matter of +professional business--and his duty. + +He was glad the curtain was drawn so low. From experiments of his own +he knew there was small chance of those inside seeing him through the +two-inch slit, and he raised himself boldly until his eyes were on a +level with the aperture. + +Directly in the line of his vision was St. Pierre's wife. She was +seated, and her back was toward him, so he could not see her face. She +was partly disrobed, and her hair was streaming loose about her. Once, +he remembered, she had spoken of fiery lights that came into her hair +under certain illumination. He had seen them in the sun, but never as +they revealed themselves now in that cabin lamp glow. He scarcely +looked at St. Pierre, who was on his feet, looking down upon her--not +until St. Pierre reached out and crumpled the smothering mass of +glowing tresses in his big hands, and laughed. It was a laugh filled +with the unutterable joy of possession. The woman rose to her feet. Up +through her hair went her two white, bare arms, encircling St. Pierre's +neck. The giant drew her close. Her slim form seemed to melt in his, +and their lips met. + +And then the woman threw back her head, laughing, so that her glory of +hair fell straight down, and she was out of reach of St. Pierre's lips. +They turned. Her face fronted the window, and out in the night Carrigan +stifled a cry that almost broke from his lips. For a flash he was +looking straight into her eyes. Her parted lips seemed smiling at him; +her white throat and bosom were bared to him. He dropped down, his +heart choking him as he stumbled through the darkness to the edge of +the raft. There, with the lap of the water at his feet, he paused. It +was hard for him to get Breath. He stared through the gloom in the +direction of the bateau. Marie-Anne Boulain, the woman he loved, was +there! In her little cabin, alone, on the bateau, was St. Pierre's +wife, her heart crushed. + +And in this cabin on the raft, forgetful of her degradation and her +grief, was the vilest wretch he had ever known--St. Pierre Boulain. And +with him, giving herself into his arms, caressing him with her lips and +hair, was the sister of the man he had helped to hang--CARMIN FANCHET! + + + + +XX + + +The shock of the amazing discovery which Carrigan had made was as +complete as it was unexpected. His eyes had looked upon the last thing +in the world he might have guessed at or anticipated when they beheld +through the window of St. Pierre's cabin the beautiful face and partly +disrobed figure of Carmin Fanchet. The first effect of that shock had +been to drive him away. His action had been involuntary, almost without +the benefit of reason, as if Carmin had been Marie-Anne herself +receiving the caresses which were rightfully hers, and upon which it +was both insult and dishonor for him to spy. He realized now that he +had made a mistake in leaving the window too quickly. + +But he did not move back through the gloom, for there was something too +revolting in what he had seen, and with the revulsion of it a swift +understanding of the truth which made his hands clench as he sat down +on the edge of the raft with his feet and legs submerged in the +slow-moving current of the river. The thing was not uncommon. It was +the same monstrous story, as old as the river itself, but in this +instance it filled him with a sickening sort of horror which gripped +him at first even more than the strangeness of the fact that Carmin +Fanchet was the other woman. His vision and his soul were reaching out +to the bateau lying in darkness on the far side of the river, where St. +Pierre's wife was alone in her unhappiness. His first impulse was to +fling himself in the river and race to her--his second, to go back to +St. Pierre, even in his nakedness, and call him forth to a reckoning. +In his profession of man-hunting he had never had the misfortune to +kill, but he could kill St. Pierre--now. His fingers dug into the +slippery wood of the log under him, his blood ran hot, and in his eyes +blazed the fury of an animal as he stared into the wall of gloom +between him and Marie-Anne Boulain. + +How much did she know? That was the first question which pounded in his +brain. He suddenly recalled his reference to the fight, his apology to +Marie-Anne that it should happen so near to her presence, and he saw +again the queer little twist of her mouth as she let slip the hint that +she was not the only one of her sex who would know of tomorrow's fight. +He had not noticed the significance of it then. But now it struck home. +Marie-Anne was surely aware of Carmin Fanchet's presence on the raft. + +But did she know more than that? Did she know the truth, or was her +heart filled only with suspicion and fear, aggravated by St. Pierre's +neglect and his too-apparent haste to return to the raft that night? +Again David's mind flashed back, recalling her defense of Carmin +Fanchet when he had first told her his story of the woman whose brother +he had brought to the hangman's justice. There could be but one +conclusion. Marie-Anne knew Carmin Fanchet, and she also knew she was +on the raft with St. Pierre. + +As cooler judgment returned to him, Carrigan refused to concede more +than that. For any one of a dozen reasons Carmin Fanchet might be on +the raft going down the river, and it was also quite within reason that +Marie-Anne might have some apprehension of a woman as beautiful as +Carmin, and possibly intuition had begun to impinge upon her a +disturbing fear of a something that might happen. But until tonight he +was confident she had fought against this suspicion, and had overridden +it, even though she knew a woman more beautiful than herself was slowly +drifting down the stream with her husband. She had betrayed no anxiety +to him in the days that had passed; she had waited eagerly for St. +Pierre; like a bird she had gone to him when at last he came, and he +had seen her crushed close in St. Pierre's arms in their meeting. It +was this night, with its gloom and its storm, that had made the +shadowings of her unrest a torturing reality. For St. Pierre had +brought her back to the bateau and had played a pitiably weak part in +concealing his desire to return to the raft. + +So he told himself Marie-Anne did not know the truth, not as he had +seen it through the window of St. Pierre's cabin. She had been hurt, +for he had seen the sting of it, and in that same instant he had seen +her soul rise up and triumph. He saw again the sudden fire that came +into her eyes when St. Pierre urged the necessity of his haste, he saw +her slim body grow tense, her red lips curve in a flash of pride and +disdain. And as Carrigan thought of her in that way his muscles grew +tighter, and he cursed St. Pierre. Marie-Anne might be hurt, she might +guess that her husband's eyes and thoughts were too frequently upon +another's face--but in the glory of her womanhood it was impossible for +her to conceive of a crime such as he had witnessed through the cabin +window. Of that he was sure. + +And then, suddenly, like a blinding sheet of lightning out of a dark +sky, came back to him all that St. Pierre had said about Marie-Anne. He +had pitied St. Pierre then; he had pitied this great cool-eyed giant of +a man who was fighting gloriously, he had thought, in the face of a +situation that would have excited most men. Frankly St. Pierre had told +him Marie-Anne cared more for him than she should. With equal frankness +he had revealed his wife's confessions to him, that she knew of his +love for her, of his kiss upon her hair. + +In the blackness Carrigan's face burned hot. If he had in him the +desire to kill St. Pierre now, might not St. Pierre have had an equally +just desire to kill him? For he had known, even as he kissed her hair, +and as his arms held her close to his breast in crossing the creek, +that she was the wife of St. Pierre. And Marie-Anne-- + +His muscles relaxed. Slowly he lowered himself into the cool wash of +the river, and struck out toward the bateau. He did not breast the +current with the same fierce determination with which he had crossed +through the storm to the raft, but drifted with it and reached the +opposite shore a quarter of a mile below the bateau. Here he waited for +a time, while the thickness of the clouds broke, and a gray light came +through them, revealing dimly the narrow path of pebbly wash along the +shore. Silently, a stark naked shadow in the night, he came back to the +bateau and crawled through his window. + +He lighted a lamp, and turned it very low, and in the dim glow of it +rubbed his muscles until they burned. He was fit for tomorrow, and the +knowledge of that fitness filled him with a savage elation. A +good-humored love of sport had induced him to fling his first +half-bantering challenge into the face of Concombre Bateese, but that +sentiment was gone. The approaching fight was no longer an incident, a +foolish error into which he had unwittingly plunged himself. In this +hour it was the biggest physical thing that had ever loomed up in his +life, and he yearned for the dawn with the eagerness of a beast that +waits for the kill which comes with the break of day. But it was not +the half-breed's face he saw under the hammering of his blows. He could +not hate the half-breed. He could not even dislike him now. He forced +himself to bed, and later he slept. In the dream that came to him it +was not Bateese who faced him in battle, but St. Pierre Boulain. + +He awoke with that dream a thing of fire in his brain. The sun was not +yet up, but the flush of it was painting the east, and he dressed +quietly and carefully, listening for some sound of awakening beyond the +bulkhead. If Marie-Anne was awake, she was very still. There was noise +ashore. Across the river he could hear the singing of men, and through +his window saw the white smoke of early fires rising above the +tree-tops. It was the Indian who unlocked the door and brought in his +breakfast, and it was the Indian who returned for the dishes half an +hour later. + +After that Carrigan waited, tense with the desire for action to begin. +He sensed no premonition of evil about to befall him. Every nerve and +sinew in his body was alive for the combat. He thrilled with an +overwhelming confidence, a conviction of his ability to win, an almost +dangerous, self-conviction of approaching triumph in spite of the odds +in weight and brute strength which were pitted against him. A dozen +times he listened at the bulkhead between him and Marie-Anne, and still +he heard no movement on the other side. + +It was eight o'clock when one of the bateau men appeared at the door +and asked if he was ready. Quickly David joined him. He forgot his +taunts to Concombre Bateese, forgot the softly padded gloves in his +pack with which he had promised to pommel the half-breed into oblivion. +He was thinking only of naked fists. + +Into a canoe he followed the bateau man, who turned his craft swiftly +in the direction of the opposite shore. And as they went, David was +sure he caught the slight movement of a curtain at the little window of +Marie-Anne's forward cabin. He smiled back and raised his hand, and at +that the curtain was drawn back entirely, and he knew that St. Pierre's +wife was watching him as he went to the fight. + +The raft was deserted, but a little below it, on a wide strip of beach +made hard and smooth by flood water, had gathered a crowd of men. It +seemed odd to David they should remain so quiet, when he knew the +natural instinct of the riverman was to voice his emotion at the top of +his lungs. He spoke of this to the bateau man, who shrugged his +shoulders and grinned. + +"Eet ees ze command of St. Pierre," he explained. "St. Pierre say no +man make beeg noise at--what you call heem--funeral? An' theese goin' +to be wan gran' fun-e-RAL, m'sieu!" + +"I see," David nodded. He did not grin back at the other's humor. + +He was looking at the crowd. A giant figure had appeared out of the +center of it and was coming slowly down to the river. It was St. +Pierre. Scarcely had the prow of the canoe touched shore when David +leaped out and hurried to meet him. Behind St. Pierre came Bateese, the +half-breed. He was stripped to the waist and naked from the knees down. +His gorilla-like arms hung huge and loose at his sides, and the muscles +of his hulking body stood out like carven mahogany in the glisten of +the morning sun. He was like a grizzly, a human beast of monstrous +power, something to look at, to back away from, to fear. + +Yet, David scarcely noticed him. He met St. Pierre, faced him, and +stopped--and he had gone swiftly to this meeting, so that the chief of +the Boulains was within earshot of all his men. + +St. Pierre was smiling. He held out his hand as he had held it out once +before in the bateau cabin, and his big voice boomed out a greeting. + +Carrigan did not answer, nor did he look at the extended hand. For an +instant the eyes of the two men met, and then, swift as lightning, +Carrigan's arm shot out, and with the flat of his hand he struck St. +Pierre a terrific blow squarely on the cheek. The sound of the blow was +like the smash of a paddle on smooth water. Not a riverman but heard +it, and as St. Pierre staggered back, flung almost from his feet by its +force, a subdued cry of amazement broke from the waiting men. Concombre +Bateese stood like one stupefied. And then, in another flash, St. +Pierre had caught himself and whirled like a wild beast. Every muscle +in his body was drawn for a gigantic, overwhelming leap; his eyes +blazed; the fury of a beast was in his face. Before all his people he +had suffered the deadliest insult that could be offered a man of the +Three River Country--a blow struck with the flat of another's hand. +Anything else one might forgive, but not that. Such a blow, if not +avenged, was a brand that passed down into the second and third +generations, and even children would call out +"Yellow-Back--Yellow-Back," to the one who was coward enough to receive +it without resentment. A rumbling growl rose in the throat of Concombre +Bateese in that moment when it seemed as though St. Pierre Boulain was +about to kill the man who had struck him. He saw the promise of his own +fight gone in a flash. For no man in all the northland could now fight +David Carrigan ahead of St. Pierre. + +David waited, prepared to meet the rush of a madman. And then, for a +second time, he saw a mighty struggle in the soul of St. Pierre. The +giant held himself back. The fury died out of his face, but his great +hands remained clenched as he said, for David alone, + +"That was a playful blow, m'sieu? It was--a joke?" + +"It was for you, St. Pierre," replied Carrigan, "You are a coward--and +a skunk. I swam to the raft last night, looked through your window, and +saw what happened there. You are not fit for a decent man to fight, yet +I will fight you, if you are not too great a coward--and dare to let +our wagers stand as they were made." + +St. Pierre's eyes widened, and for a breath or two he stared at +Carrigan, as if looking into him and not at him. His big hands relaxed, +and slowly the panther-like readiness went out of his body. Those who +looked beheld the transformation in amazement, for of all who waited +only St. Pierre and the half-breed had heard Carrigan's words, though +they had seen and heard the blow of insult. + +"You swam to the raft," repeated St. Pierre in a low voice, as if +doubting what he had heard. "You looked through the window--and saw--" + +David nodded. He could not cover the sneering poison in his voice, his +contempt for the man who stood before him. + +"Yes, I looked through the window. And I saw you, and the lowest woman +on the Three Rivers--the sister of a man I helped to hang, I--" + +"STOP!" + +St. Pierre's voice broke out of him like the sudden crash of thunder. +He came a step nearer, his face livid, his eyes shooting flame. With a +mighty effort he controlled himself again. And then, as if he saw +something which David could not see, he tried to smile, and in that +same instant David caught a grin cutting a great slash across the face +of Concombre Bateese. The change that came over St. Pierre now was +swift as sunlight coming out from shadowing cloud. A rumble grew in his +great chest. It broke in a low note of laughter from his lips, and he +faced the bateau across the river. + +"M'sieu, you are sorry for HER. Is that it? You would fight--" + +"For the cleanest, finest little girl who ever lived--your wife!" + +"It is funny," said St. Pierre, as if speaking to himself, and still +looking at the bateau. "Yes, it is very funny, ma belle Marie-Anne! He +has told you he loves you, and he has kissed your hair and held you in +his arms--yet he wants to fight me because he thinks I am steeped in +sin, and to make me fight in place of Bateese he has called my Carmin a +low woman! So what else can I do? I must fight. I must whip him until +he can not walk. And then I will send him back for you to nurse, +cherie, and for that blessing I think he will willingly take my +punishment! Is it not so, m'sieu?" + +He was smiling and no longer excited when he turned to David. + +"M'sieu, I will fight you. And the wagers shall stand. And in this hour +let us be honest, like men, and make confession. You love ma belle +Jeanne--Marie-Anne? Is it not so? And I--I love my Carmin, whose +brother you hanged, as I love no other woman in the world. Now, if you +will have it so, let us fight!" + +He began stripping off his shirt, and with a bellow in his throat +Concombre Bateese slouched away like a beaten gorilla to explain to St. +Pierre's people the change in the plan of battle. And as that news +spread like fire in the fir-tops, there came but a single cry in +response--shrill and terrible--and that was from the throat of Andre, +the Broken Man. + + + + +XXI + + +As Carrigan stripped off his shirt, he knew that at least in one way he +had met more than his match in St. Pierre Boulain. In the splendid +service of which he was a part he had known many men of iron and steel, +men whose nerve and coolness not even death could very greatly disturb. +Yet St. Pierre, he conceded, was their master--and his own. For a flash +he had transformed the chief of the Boulains into a volcano which had +threatened to break in savage fury, yet neither the crash nor +destruction had come. And now St. Pierre was smiling again, as Carrigan +faced him, stripped to the waist. He betrayed no sign of the tempest of +passion that had swept him a few minutes before. His cool, steely eyes +had in them a look that was positively friendly, as Concombre Bateese +marked in the hard sand the line of the circle within which no man +might come. And as he did this and St. Pierre's people crowded close +about it, St. Pierre himself spoke in a low voice to David. + +"M'sieu, it seems a shame that we should fight. I like you. I have +always loved a man who would fight to protect a woman, and I shall be +careful not to hurt you more than is necessary to make you see +reason--and to win the wagers. So you need not be afraid of my killing +you, as Bateese might have done. And I promise not to destroy your +beauty, for the sake of--the lady in the bateau. My Carmin, if she knew +you spied through her window last night, would say kill you with as +little loss of time as possible, for as regards you her sweet +disposition was spoiled when you hung her brother, m'sieu. Yet to me +she is an angel!" + +Contempt for the man who spoke of his wife and the infamous Carmin +Fanchet in the same breath drew a sneer to Carrigan's lips. He nodded +toward the waiting circle of men. + +"They are ready for the show, St. Pierre. You talk big. Now let us see +if you can fight." + +For another moment St. Pierre hesitated. "I am so sorry, m'sieu-- + +"Are you ready, St. Pierre?" + +"It is not fair, and she will never forgive me. You are no match for +me. I am half again as heavy." + +"And as big a coward as you are a scoundrel, St. Pierre." + +"It is like a man fighting a boy." + +"Yet it is less dishonorable than betraying the woman who is your wife +for another who should have been hanged along with her brother, St. +Pierre." + +Boulain's face darkened. He drew back half a dozen steps and cried out +a word to Bateese. Instantly the circle of waiting men grew tense as +the half-breed jerked the big handkerchief from his head and held it +out at arm's length. Yet, with that eagerness for the fight there was +something else which Carrigan was swift to sense. The attitude of the +watchers was not one of uncertainty or of very great expectation, in +spite of the staring faces and the muscular tightening of the line. He +knew what was passing in their minds and in the low whispers from lip +to lip. They were pitying him. Now that he stood stripped, with only a +few paces between him and the giant figure of St. Pierre, the +unfairness of the fight struck home even to Concombre Bateese. Only +Carrigan himself knew how like tempered steel the sinews of his body +were built. But to the eye, in size alone, he stood like a boy before +St. Pierre. And St. Pierre's people, their voices stilled by the deadly +inequality of it, were waiting for a slaughter and not a fight. + +A smile came to Carrigan's lips as he saw Bateese hesitating to drop +the handkerchief, and with the swiftness of the trained fighter he made +his first plan for the battle before the cloth fell from the +half-breed's fingers, As the handkerchief fluttered to the ground, he +faced St. Pierre, the smile gone. + +"Never smile when you fight," the greatest of all masters of the ring +had told him. "Never show anger, Don't betray any emotion at all if you +can help it." + +Carrigan wondered what the old ring-master would say could he see him +now, backing away slowly from St. Pierre as the giant advanced upon +him, for he knew his face was betraying to St. Pierre and his people +the deadliest of all sins--anxiety and indecision. Very closely, yet +with eyes that seemed to shift uneasily, he watched the effect of his +trick on Boulain. Twice the huge riverman followed him about the ring +of sand, and the steely glitter in his eyes changed to laughter, and +the tense faces of the men about them relaxed. A subdued ripple of +merriment rose where there had been silence. A third time David +maneuvered his retreat, and his eyes shot furtively to Concombre +Bateese and the men at his back. They were grinning. The half-breed's +mouth was wide open, and his grotesque body hung limp and astonished. +This was not a fight! It was a comedy--like a rooster following a +sparrow around a barnyard! And then a still funnier thing happened, for +David began to trot in a circle around St. Pierre, dodging and +feinting, and keeping always at a safe distance. A howl of laughter +came from Bateese and broke in a roar from the men. St. Pierre stopped +in his tracks, a grin on his face, his big arms and shoulders limp and +unprepared as Carrigan dodged in close and out again. And then-- + +A howl broke in the middle of the half-breed's throat. Where there had +been laughter, there came a sudden shutting off of sound, a great gasp, +as if made by choking men. Swifter than anything they had ever seen in +human action Carrigan had leaped in. They saw him strike. They heard +the blow. They saw St. Pierre's great head rock back, as if struck from +his shoulders by a club, and they saw and heard another blow, and a +third--like so many flashes of lightning--and St. Pierre went down as +if shot. The man they had laughed at was no longer like a hopping +sparrow. He was waiting, bent a little forward, every muscle in his +body ready for action. They watched for him to leap upon his fallen +enemy, kicking and gouging and choking in the riverman way. But David +waited, and St. Pierre staggered to his feet. His mouth was bleeding +and choked with sand, and a great lump was beginning to swell over his +eye. A deadly fire blazed in his face, as he rushed like a mad bull at +the insignificant opponent who had tricked and humiliated him. This +time Carrigan did not retreat, but held his ground, and a yell of joy +went up from Bateese as the mighty bulk of the giant descended upon his +victim. It was an avalanche of brute-force, crushing in its +destructiveness, and Carrigan seemed to reach for it as it came upon +him. Then his head went down, swifter than a diving grebe, and as St. +Pierre's arm swung like an oaken beam over his shoulder, his own shot +in straight for the pit of the other's stomach. It was a bull's-eye +blow with the force of a pile-driver behind it, and the groan that +forced its way out of St. Pierre's vitals was heard by every ear in the +cordon of watchers. His weight stopped, his arms opened, and through +that opening Carrigan's fist went a second time to the other's jaw, and +a second time the great St. Pierre Boulain sprawled out upon the sand. +And there he lay, and made no effort to rise. + +Concombre Bateese, with his great mouth agape, stood for an instant as +if the blow had stunned him in place of his master. Then, suddenly he +came to life, and leaped to David's side. + +"Diable! Tonnerre! You have not fight Concombre Bateese yet!" he +howled. "Non, you have cheat me, you have lie, you have run lak cat +from Concombre Bateese, ze stronges' man on all T'ree River! You are +wan' gran' coward, wan poltroon, an' you 'fraid to fight ME, who ees +greates' fightin' man in all dees countree! Sapristi! Why you no hit +Concombre Bateese, m'sieu? Why you no hit ze greates' fightin' man w'at +ees--" + +David did not hear the rest. The opportunity was too tempting. He +swung, and with a huge grunt the gorilla-like body of Concombre Bateese +rolled over that of the chief of the Boulains. This time Carrigan did +not wait, but followed up so closely that the half-breed had scarcely +gathered the crook out of his knees when another blow on the jaw sent +him into the sand again. Three times he tried the experiment of +regaining his feet, and three times he was knocked down. After the last +blow he raised himself groggily to a sitting posture, and there he +remained, blinking like a stunned pig, with his big hands clutching in +the sand. He stared up unseeingly at Carrigan, who waited over him, and +then stupidly at the transfixed cordon of men, whose eyes were bulging +and who were holding their breath in the astonishment of this miracle +which had descended upon them. They heard Bateese muttering something +incoherent as his head wobbled, and St. Pierre himself seemed to hear +it, for he stirred and raised himself slowly, until he also was sitting +in the sand, staring at Bateese. + +Carrigan picked up his shirt, and the riverman who had brought him from +the bateau returned with him to the canoe. There was no demonstration +behind them. To David himself the whole thing had been an amazing +surprise, and he was not at all reluctant to leave as quickly as his +dignity would permit, before some other of St. Pierre's people offered +to put a further test upon his prowess. He wanted to laugh. He wanted +to thank God at the top of his voice for the absurd run of luck that +had made his triumph not only easy but utterly complete. He had +expected to win, but he had also expected a terrific fight before the +last blow was struck. And there had been no fight! He was returning to +the bateau without a scratch, his hair scarcely ruffled, and he had +defeated not only St. Pierre, but the giant half-breed as well! It was +inconceivable--and yet it had happened; a veritable burlesque, an +opera-bouffe affair that might turn quickly into a tragedy if either +St. Pierre or Concombre Bateese guessed the truth of it. For in that +event he might have to face them again, with the god of luck playing +fairly, and he was honest enough with himself to confess that the idea +no longer held either thrill or desire for him. Now that he had seen +both St. Pierre and Bateese stripped for battle, he had no further +appetite for fistic discussion with them. After all, there was a merit +in caution, and he had several lucky stars to bless just at the present +moment! + +Inwardly he was a bit suspicious of the ultimate ending of the affair. +St. Pierre had almost no cause for complaint, for it was his own +carelessness, coupled with his opponent's luck, that had been his +undoing--and luck and carelessness are legitimate factors of every +fight, Carrigan told himself. But with Bateese it was different. He had +held up his big jaw, uncovered and tempting, entreating some one to hit +him, and Carrigan had yielded to that temptation. The blow would have +stunned an ox. Three others like it had left the huge half-breed +sitting weak-mindedly in the sand, and no one of those three blows were +exactly according to the rules of the game. They had been mightily +efficacious, but the half-breed might demand a rehearing when he came +fully into his senses. + +Not until they were half-way to the bateau did Carrigan dare to glance +back over his shoulder at the man who was paddling, to see what effect +the fistic travesty had left on him. He was a big-mouthed, clear-eyed, +powerfully-muscled fellow, and he was grinning from ear to ear. + +"Well, what did you think of it, comrade?" + +The other gave his shoulders a joyous shrug. + +"Mon Dieu! Have you heard of wan garcon named Joe Clamart, m'sieu? Non? +Well, I am Joe Clamart what was once great fightin' man. Bateese hav' +whip' me five times, m'sieu--so I say it was wan gr-r-r-a-n' fight! +Many years ago I have seen ze same t'ing in Montreal--ze boxeur de +profession. Oui, an' Rene Babin pays me fifteen prime martin against +which I put up three scrubby red fox that you would win. They were bad, +or I would not have gambled, m'sieu. It ees fonny!" + +"Yes, it is funny," agreed David. "I think it is a bit too funny. It is +a pity they did not stand up on their legs a little longer!" Suddenly +an inspiration hit him. "Joe, what do you say--shall you and I return +and put up a REAL fight for them?" + +Like a sprung trap Joe Clamart's grinning mouth dosed. "Non, non, non," +he grunted. "Dere has been plenty fight, an' Joe Clamart mus' save hees +face tor Antoinette Roland, who hate ze sign of fight lak she hate ze +devil, m'sieu! Non, non!" + +His paddle dug deeper into the water, and David's heart felt lighter. +If Joe was an average barometer, and he was a husky and +fearless-looking chap, it was probable that neither St. Pierre nor +Bateese would demand another chance at him, and St. Pierre would pay +his wager. + +He could see no one aboard the bateau when he climbed from the canoe. +Looking back, he saw that two other canoes had started from the +opposite shore. Then he went to his cabin door, opened it, and entered, +Scarcely had the door closed behind him when he stopped, staring toward +the window that opened on the river. + +Standing full in the morning glow of it was Marie-Anne Boulain. She was +facing him. Her cheeks were flushed. Her red lips were parted. Her eyes +were aglow with a fire which she made no effort to hide from him. In +her hand she still held the binoculars he had left on the cabin table. +He guessed the truth. Through the glasses she had watched the whole +miserable fiasco. + +He felt creeping over him a sickening shame, and his eyes fell slowly +from her to the table. What he saw there caught his breath in the +middle. It was the entire surgical outfit of Nepapinas, the old Indian +doctor. And there were basins of water, and white strips of linen ready +for use, and a pile of medicated cotton, and all sorts of odds and ends +that one might apply to ease the agonies of a dying man, And beyond the +table, huddled in so small a heap that he was almost hidden by it, was +Nepapinas himself, disappointment writ in his mummy-like face as his +beady eyes rested on David. + +The evidence could not be mistaken. They had expected him to come back +more nearly dead than alive, and St. Pierre's wife had prepared for the +thing she had thought inevitable. Even his bed was nicely turned down, +its fresh white sheets inviting an occupant! + +And David, looking at St. Pierre's wife again, felt his heart beating +hard in his breast at the look which was in her eyes. It was not the +scintillation of laughter, and the flame in her cheeks was not +embarrassment. She was not amused. The ludicrousness of her mislaid +plans had not struck her as they had struck him. She had placed the +binoculars on the table, and slowly she came to him. Her hands reached +out, and her fingers rested like the touch of velvet on his arms. + +"It was splendid!" she said softly, "It was splendid!" + +She was very near, her breast almost touching him, her hands creeping +up until the tips of her fingers rested on his shoulders, her scarlet +mouth so close he could feel the soft breath of it in his face. + +"It was splendid!" she whispered again. + +And then, suddenly, she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. So +swiftly was it done that she was gone before he sensed that wild touch +of her lips against his own. Like a swallow she was at the door, and +the door opened and closed behind her, and for a moment he heard the +quick running of her feet. Then he looked at the old Indian, and the +Indian, too, was staring at the door through which St. Pierre's wife +had flown. + + + + +XXII + + +For many seconds that seemed like minutes David stood where she had +left him, while Nepapinas rose gruntingly to his feet, and gathered up +his belongings, and hobbled sullenly to the bateau door and out. He was +scarcely conscious of the Indian's movement, for his soul was aflame +with a red-hot fire. Deliberately--with that ravishing glory of +something in her eyes--St. Pierre's wife had kissed him! On her +tiptoes, her cheeks like crimson flowers, she had given her still +redder lips to him! And his own lips burned, and his heart pounded +hard, and he stared for a time like one struck dumb at the spot where +she had stood by the window. Then suddenly, he turned to the door and +flung it wide open, and on his lips was the reckless cry of +Marie-Anne's name. But St. Pierre's wife was gone, and Nepapinas was +gone, and at the tail of the big sweep sat only Joe Clamart, guarding +watchfully. + +The two canoes were drawing near, and in one of them were two men, and +in the other three, and David knew that--like Joe Clamart--they were +watchers set over him by St. Pierre. Then a fourth canoe left the far +shore, and when it had reached mid-stream, he recognized the figure in +the stern as that of Andre, the Broken Man. The other, he thought, must +be St. Pierre. + +He went back into the cabin and stood where Marie-Anne had stood--at +the window. Nepapinas had not taken away the basins of water, and the +bandages were still there, and the pile of medicated cotton, and the +suspiciously made-up bed. After all, he was losing something by not +occupying the bed--and yet if St. Pierre or Bateese had messed him up +badly, and a couple of fellows had lugged him in between them, it was +probable that Marie-Anne would not have kissed him. And that kiss of +St. Pierre's wife would remain with him until the day he died! + +He was thinking of it, the swift, warm thrill of her velvety lips, red +as strawberries and twice as sweet, when the door opened and St. Pierre +came in. The sight of him, in this richest moment of his life, gave +David no sense of humiliation or shame. Between him and St. Pierre rose +swiftly what he had seen last night--Carmin Fanchet in all the lure of +her disheveled beauty, crushed close in the arms of the man whose wife +only a moment before had pressed her lips close to his; and as the eyes +of the two met, there came over him a desire to tell the other what had +happened, that he might see him writhe with the sting of the two-edged +thing with which he was playing. Then he saw that even that would not +hurt St. Pierre, for the chief of the Boulains, standing there with the +big lump over his eye, had caught sight of the things on the table and +the nicely turned down bed, and his one good eye lit up with sudden +laughter, and his white teeth flashed in an understanding smile. + +"TONNERRE, I said she would nurse you with gentle hands," he rumbled. +"See what you have missed, M'sieu Carrigan!" + +"I received something which I shall remember longer than a fine +nursing," retorted David. "And yet right now I have a greater interest +in knowing what you think of the fight, St. Pierre--and if you have +come to pay your wager." + +St. Pierre was chuckling mysteriously in his throat. "It was +splendid--splendid," he said, repeating Marie-Anne's words. "And Joe +Clamart says she ran out, blushing like a red rose in August, and that +she said no word, but flew like a bird into the white-birch ashore!" + +"She was dismayed because I beat you, St. Pierre." + +"Non, non--she was like a lark filled with joy." + +Suddenly his eyes rested on the binoculars. + +David nodded. "Yes, she saw it all through the glasses." + +St. Pierre seated himself at the table and heaved out a groan as he +took one of the bandage strips between his fingers. "She saw my +disgrace. And she didn't wait to bandage ME up, did she?" + +"Perhaps she thought Carmin Fanchet would do that, St. Pierre." + +"And I am ashamed to go to Carmin--with this great lump over my eye, +m'sieu. And on top of that disgrace--you insist that I pay the wager?" + +"I do." + +St. Pierre's face hardened. + +"OUI, I am to pay. I am to tell you all I know about that BETE +NOIR--Black Roger Audemard. Is it not so?" + +"That is the wager." + +"But after I have told you--what then? Do you recall that I gave you +any other guarantee, M'sieu Carrigan? Did I say I would let you go? Did +I promise I would not kill you and sink your body to the bottom of the +river? If I did, I can not remember." + +"Are you a beast, St. Pierre--a murderer as well as--" + +"Stop! Do not tell me again what you saw through the window, for it has +nothing to do with this. I am not a beast, but a man. Had I been a +beast, I should have killed you the first day I saw you in this cabin. +I am not threatening to kill you, and yet it may be necessary if you +insist that I pay the wager. You understand, m'sieu. To refuse to pay a +wager is a greater crime among my people than the killing of a man, if +there is a good reason for the killing. I am helpless. I must pay, if +you insist. Before I pay it is fair that I give you warning." + +"You mean?" + +"I mean nothing, as yet. I can not say what it will be necessary for me +to do, after you have heard what I know about Roger Audemard. I am +quite settled on a plan just now, m'sieu, but the plan might change at +any moment. I am only warning you that it is a great hazard, and that +you are playing with a fire of which you know nothing, because it has +not burned you yet." + +Carrigan seated himself slowly in a chair opposite St. Pierre, with the +table between them. + +"You are wasting time in attempting to frighten me," he said. "I shall +insist on the payment of the wager, St Pierre." + +For a moment St. Pierre was clearly troubled. Then his lips tightened, +and he smiled grimly over the table at David. + +"I am sorry, M'sieu David. I like you. You are a fighting man and no +coward, and I should like to travel shoulder to shoulder with you in +many things. And such a thing might be, for you do not understand. I +tell you it would have been many times better for you had I whipped you +out there, and it had been you--and not me--to pay the wager!" + +"It is Roger Audemard I am interested in, St. Pierre. Why do you +hesitate?" + +"I? Hesitate? I am not hesitating, m'sieu. I am giving you a chance." +He leaned forward, his great arms bent on the table. "And you insist, +M'sieu David?" + +"Yes, I insist." + +Slowly the fingers of St. Pierre's hands closed into knotted fists, and +he said in a low voice, "Then I will pay, m'sieu. _I_ AM ROGER +AUDEMARD!" + + + + +XXIII + + +The astounding statement of the man who sat opposite him held David +speechless. He had guessed at some mysterious relationship between St. +Pierre and the criminal he was after, but not this, and Roger Audemard, +with his hands unclenching and a slow humor beginning to play about his +mouth, waited coolly for him to recover from his amazement. In those +moments, when his heart seemed to have stopped beating, Carrigan was +staring at the other, but his mind had shot beyond him--to the woman +who was his wife. Marie-Anne AUDEMARD--the wife of Black Roger! He +wanted to cry out against the possibility of such a fact, yet he sat +like one struck dumb, as the monstrous truth took possession of his +brain and a whirlwind of understanding swept upon him. He was thinking +quickly, and with a terrific lack of sentiment now. Opposite him sat +Black Roger, the wholesale murderer. Marie-Anne was his wife. Carmin +Fanchet, sister of a murderer, was simply one of his kind. And Bateese, +the man-gorilla, and the Broken Man, and all the dark-skinned pack +about them were of Black Roger's breed and kind. Love for a woman had +blinded him to the facts which crowded upon him now. Like a lamb he had +fallen among wolves, and he had tried to believe in them. No wonder +Bateese and the man he had known as St. Pierre had betrayed such +merriment at times! + +A fighting coolness possessed him as he spoke to Black Roger. + +"I will admit this is a surprise. And yet you have cleared up a number +of things very quickly. It proves to me again that comedy is not very +far removed from tragedy at times." + +"I am glad you see the humor of it, M'sieu David." Black Roger was +smiling as pleasantly as his swollen eye would permit. "We must not be +too serious when we die. If I were to die a-hanging, I would sing as +the rope choked me, just to show the world one need not be unhappy +because his life is coming to an end." + +"I suppose you understand that ultimately I am going to give you that +opportunity," said David. + +Almost eagerly Black Roger leaned toward him over the table. "You +believe you are going to hang me?" + +"I am sure of it." + +"And you are willing to wager the point, M'sieu David?" + +"It is impossible to gamble with a condemned man." + +Black Roger chuckled, rubbing his big hands together until they made a +rasping sound, and his one good eye glowed at Carrigan. + +"Then I will make a wager with myself, M'sieu David. MA FOI, I swear +that before the leaves fall from the trees, you will be pleading for +the friendship of Black Roger Audemard, and you will be as much in love +with Carmin Fanchet as I am! And as for Marie-Anne--" + +He thrust back his chair and rose to his feet, the old note of subdued +laughter rumbling in his chest. "And because I make this wager with +myself, I cannot kill you, M'sieu David--though that might be the best +thing to do. I am going to take you to the Chateau Boulain, which is in +the forests of the Yellowknife, beyond the Great Slave. Nothing will +happen to you if you make no effort to escape. If you do that, you will +surely die. And that would hurt me, M'sieu David, because I love you +like a brother, and in the end I know you are going to grip the hand of +Black Roger Audemard, and get down on your knees to Carmin Fanchet. And +as for Marie-Anne--" Again he interrupted himself, and went out of the +cabin, laughing. And there was no mistake in the metallic click of the +lock outside the door. + +For a time David did not move from his seat near the table. He had not +let Roger Audemard see how completely the confession had upset his +inner balance, but he made no pretense of concealing the thing from +himself now. He was in the power of a cut-throat, who in turn had an +army of cut-throats at his back, and both Marie-Anne and Carmin Fanchet +were a part of this ring. And he was not only a prisoner. It was +probable, under the circumstances, that Black Roger would make an end +of him when a convenient moment came. It was even more than a +probability. It was a grim necessity. To let him live and escape would +be fatal to Black Roger. + +From back of these convictions, riding over them as if to demoralize +any coherence and logic that might go with the evidence he was building +up, came question after question, pounding at him one after the other, +until his mind became more than ever a whirling chaos of uncertainty. +If St. Pierre was Black Roger, why would he confess to that fact simply +to pay a wager? What reason could he have for letting him live at all? +Why had not Bateese killed him? Why had Marie-Anne nursed him back to +life? His mind shot to the white strip of sand in which he had nearly +died. That, at least, was convincing. Learning in some way that he was +after Black Roger, they had attempted to do away with him there. But if +that were so, why was it Bateese and Black Roger's wife and the Indian +Nepapinas had risked so much to make him live, when if they had left +him where he had fallen he would have died and caused them no trouble? + +There was something exasperatingly uncertain and illogical about it +all. Was it possible that St. Pierre Boulain was playing a huge joke on +him? Even that was inconceivable. For there was Carmin Fanchet, a +fitting companion for a man like Black Roger, and there was Marie-Anne, +who, if it had been a joke, would not have played her part so well. + +Suddenly his mind was filled only with her. Had she been his friend, +using all her influence to protect him, because her heart was sick of +the environment of which she was a part? His own heart jumped at the +thought. It was easy to believe. In Marie-Anne he had faith, and that +faith refused to be destroyed, but persisted--even clearer and stronger +as he thought again of Carmin Fanchet and Black Roger. In his heart +grew the conviction it was sacrilege to believe the kiss she had given +him that morning was a lie. It was something else--a spontaneous +gladness, a joyous exultation that he had returned unharmed, a thing +unplanned in the soul of the woman, leaping from her before she could +stop it. Then had come shame, and she had run away from him so swiftly +he had not seen her face again after the touch of her lips. If it had +been a subterfuge, a lie, she would not have done that. + +He rose to his feet and paced restlessly back and forth as he tried to +bring together a few tangled bits of the puzzle. He heard voices +outside, and very soon felt the movement of the bateau under his feet, +and through one of the shoreward windows he saw trees and sandy beach +slowly drifting away. On that shore, as far as his eyes could travel up +and down, he saw no sign of Marie-Anne, but there remained a canoe, and +near the canoe stood Black Roger Audemard, and beyond him, huddled like +a charred stump in the sand, was Andre, the Broken Man. On the opposite +shore the raft was getting under way. + +During the next half-hour several things happened which told him there +was no longer a sugar-coating to his imprisonment. On each side of the +bateau two men worked at his windows, and when they had finished, no +one of them could be opened more than a few inches. Then came the +rattle of the lock at the door, the grating of a key, and somewhat to +Carrigan's surprise it was Bateese who came in. The half-reed bore no +facial evidence of the paralyzing blows which had knocked him out a +short time before. His jaw, on which they had landed, was as aggressive +as ever, yet in his face and his attitude, as he stared curiously at +Carrigan, there was no sign of resentment or unfriendliness. Nor did he +seem to be ashamed. He merely stared, with the curious and rather +puzzled eyes of a small boy gazing at an inexplicable oddity. Carrigan, +standing before him, knew what was passing in the other's mind, and the +humor of it brought a smile to his lips. + +Instantly Concombre's face split into a wide grin. "MON DIEU, w'at if +you was on'y brother to Concombre Bateese, m'sieu. T'ink of +zat--you--me--FRERE D'ARMES! VENTRE SAINT GRIS, but we mak' all +fightin' men in nort' countree run lak rabbits ahead of ze fox! OUI, we +mak' gr-r-r-eat pair, m'sieu--you, w'at knock down Bateese--an' +Bateese, w'at keel polar bear wit hees naked hands, w'at pull down +trees, w'at chew flint w'en hees tobacco gone." + +His voice had risen, and suddenly there came a laugh from outside the +door, and Concombre cut himself short and his mouth closed with a snap. +It was Joe Clamart who had laughed. + +"I w'ip heem five time, an' now I w'ip heem seex!" hissed Bateese in an +undertone. "Two time each year I w'ip zat gargon Joe Clamart so he +understan' w'at good fightin' man ees. An' you will w'ip heem, eh, +m'sieu? Oui? An' I will breeng odder good fightin' mans for you to +w'ip--all w'at Concombre Bateese has w'ipped--ten, dozen, forty--an' +you w'ip se gran' bunch, m'sieu. Eh, shall we mak' ze bargain?" + +"You are planning a pleasant time for me, Bateese," said Carrigan, "but +I am afraid it will be impossible. You see, this captain of yours, +Black Roger Audemard--" + +"W'at!" Bateese jumped as if stung. "W'at you say, m'sieu?" + +"I said that Roger Audemard, Black Roger, the man I thought was St. +Pierre Boulain--" + +Carrigan said no more. What he had started to say was unimportant +compared with the effect of Roger Audernard's name on Concombre +Bateese. A deadly light glittered in the half-breed's eyes, and for the +first time David realized that in the grotesque head of the riverman +was a brain quick to grip at the significance of things. The fact was +evident that Black Roger had not confided in Bateese as to the price of +the wager and the confession of his identity, and for a moment after +the repetition of Audemard's name came from David's lips the half-breed +stood as if something had stunned him. Then slowly, as if forcing the +words in the face of a terrific desire that had transformed his body +into a hulk of quivering steel, he said: + +"M'sieu--I come with message--from St. Pierre. You see windows--closed. +Outside door--she locked. On bot' sides de bateau, all de time, we +watch. You try get away, an' we keel you. Zat ees all. We shoot. We +five mans on ze bateau, all ze day, TOUTE LA NUIT. You unnerstan'?" + +He turned sullenly, waiting for no reply, and the door opened and +closed after him--and again came the snap of the lock outside. + +Steadily the bateau swept down the big river that day. There was no +let-up in the steady creaking of the long sweep. Even in the swifter +currents David could hear the working of it, and he knew he had seen +the last of the more slowly moving raft. Near one of the partly open +windows he heard two men talking just before the bateau shot into the +Brule Point rapids. They were strange voices. He learned that +Audemard's huge raft was made up of thirty-five cribs, seven abreast, +and that nine times between the Point Brule and the Yellowknife the +raft would be split up, so that each crib could be run through +dangerous rapids by itself. + +That would be a big job, David assured himself. It would be slow work +as well as hazardous, and as his own life was in no immediate jeopardy, +he would have ample time in which to formulate some plan of action for +himself. At the present moment, it seemed, the one thing for him to do +was to wait--and behave himself, according to the half-breed's +instructions. There was, when he came to think about it, a saving +element of humor about it all. He had always wanted to make a trip down +the Three Rivers in a bateau. And now--he was making it! + +At noon a guard brought in his dinner. He could not recall that he had +ever seen this man before, a tall, lithe fellow built to run like a +hound, and who wore a murderous-looking knife at his belt. As the door +opened, David caught a glimpse of two others. They were business-like +looking individuals, with muscles built for work or fight; one sitting +cross-legged on the bateau deck with a rifle over his knees, and the +other standing with a rifle in his hand. The man who brought his dinner +wasted no time or words. He merely nodded, murmured a curt bonjour, and +went out. And Carrigan, as he began to eat, did not have to tell +himself twice that Audemard had been particular in his selection of the +bateau's crew, and that the eyes of the men he had seen could be as +keen as a hawk's when leveled over the tip of a rifle barrel. They +meant business, and he felt no desire to smile in the face of them, as +he had smiled at Concombre Bateese. + +It was another man, and a stranger, who brought in his supper. And for +two hours after that, until the sun went down and gloom began to fall, +the bateau sped down the river. It had made forty miles that day, he +figured. + +It was still light when the bateau was run ashore and tied up, but +tonight there were no singing voices or wild laughter of men whose +hours of play-time and rest had come. To Carrigan, looking through his +window, there was an oppressive menace about it all. The shadowy +figures ashore were more like a death-watch than a guard, and to dispel +the gloom of it he lighted two of the lamps in the cabin, whistled, +drummed a simple chord he knew on the piano, and finally settled down +to smoking his pipe. He would have welcomed the company of Bateese, or +Joe Clamart, or one of the guards, and as his loneliness grew upon him +there was something of companionship even in the subdued voices he +heard occasionally outside. He tried to read, but the printed words +jumbled themselves and meant nothing. + +It was ten o'clock, and clouds had darkened the night, when through his +open windows he heard a shout coming from the river. Twice it came +before it was answered from the bateau, and the second time Carrigan +recognized it as the voice of Roger Audemard. A brief interval passed +between that and the scraping of a canoe alongside, and then there was +a low conversation in which even Audemard's great voice was subdued, +and after that the grating of a key in the lock, and the opening of the +door, and Black Roger came in, bearing an Indian reed basket under his +arm. Carrigan did not rise to meet him. It was not like the coming of +the old St. Pierre, and on Black Roger's lips there was no twist of a +smile, nor in his eyes the flash of good-natured greeting. His face was +darkly stern, as if he had traveled far and hard on an unpleasant +mission, but in it there was no shadow of menace, as there had been in +that of Concombre Bateese. It was rather the face of a tired man, and +yet David knew what he saw was not physical exhaustion. Black Roger +guessed something of his thought, and his mouth for an instant +repressed a smile. + +"Yes, I have been having a rough time," he nodded, "This is for you!" + +He placed the basket on the table. It held half a bushel, and was +filled to the curve of the handle. What lay in it was hidden under a +cloth securely tied about it. + +"And you are responsible," he added, stretching himself in a chair with +a gesture of weariness. "I should kill you, Carrigan. And instead of +that I bring you good things to eat! Half the day she has been fussing +with the things in the basket, and then insisted that I bring them to +you. And I have brought them simply to tell you another thing. I am +sorry for her. I think, M'sieu Carrigan, you will find as many tears in +the basket as anything else, for her heart is crushed and sick because +of the humiliation she brought upon herself this morning." + +He was twisting his big, rough hands, and David's own heart went sick +as he saw the furrowed lines that had deepened in the other's face. +Black Roger did not look at him as he went on. + +"Of course, she told me. She tells me everything. And if she knew I was +telling you this, I think she would kill herself. But I want you to +understand. She is not what you might think she is. That kiss came from +the lips of the best woman God ever made, M'sieu Carrigan!" + +David, with the blood in him running like fire, heard himself +answering, "I know it. She was excited, glad you had not stained your +hands with my life--" + +This time Audemard smiled, but it was the smile of a man ten years +older than he had appeared yesterday. "Don't try to answer, m'sieu. I +only want you to know she is as pure as the stars. It was unfortunate, +but to follow the impulse of one's heart can not be a sin. Everything +has been unfortunate since you came. But I blame no one, except--" + +"Carmin Fanchet?" + +Audemard nodded. "Yes. I have sent her away. Marie-Anne is in the cabin +on the raft now. But even Carmin I can not blame very greatly, m'sieu, +for it is impossible to hold anything against one you love. Tell me if +I am right? You must know. You love my Marie-Anne. Do you hold anything +against her?" + +"It is unfair," protested David. "She is your wife, Audemard, is it +possible you don't love her?" + +"Yes, I love her." + +"And Carmin Fanchet?" + +"I love her, too. They are so different. Yet I love them both. Is it +not possible for a big heart like mine to do that, m'sieu?" + +With almost a snort David rose to his feet and stared through one of +the windows into the darkness of the river. "Black Roger," he said +without turning his head, "the evidence at Headquarters condemns you as +one of the blackest-hearted murderers that ever lived. But that crime, +to me, is less atrocious than the one you are committing against your +own wife. I am not ashamed to confess I love her, because to deny it +would be a lie. I love her so much that I would sacrifice myself--soul +and body--if that sacrifice could give you back to her, clean and +undefiled and with your hand unstained by the crime for which you must +hang!" + +He did not hear Roger Audemard as he rose from his chair. For a moment +the riverman stared at the back of David's head, and in that moment he +was fighting to keep back what wanted to come from his lips in words. +He turned before David faced him again, and did not pause until he +stood at the cabin door with his hand at the latch. There he was partly +in shadow. + +"I shall not see you again until you reach the Yellowknife," he said. +"Not until then will you know--or will I know--what is going to happen. +I think you will understand strange things then, but that is for the +hour to tell. Bateese has explained to you that you must not make an +effort to escape. You would regret it, and so would I. If you have red +blood in you, m'sieu--if you would understand all that you cannot +understand now--wait as patiently as you can. Bonne nuit, M'sieu +Carrigan!" + +"Good night!" nodded David. + +In the pale shadows he thought a mysterious light of gladness illumined +Black Roger's face before the door opened and closed, leaving him alone +again. + + + + +XXIV + + +With the going of Black Roger also went the oppressive loneliness which +had gripped Carrigan, and as he stood listening to the low voices +outside, the undeniable truth came to him that he did not hate this man +as he wanted to hate him. He was a murderer, and a scoundrel in another +way, but he felt irresistibly the impulse to like him and to feel sorry +for him. He made an effort to shake off the feeling, but a small voice +which he could not quiet persisted in telling him that more than one +good man had committed what the law called murder, and that perhaps he +didn't fully understand what he had seen through the cabin window on +the raft. And yet, when unstirred by this impulse, he knew the evidence +was damning. + +But his loneliness was gone. With Audemard's visit had come an +unexpected thrill, the revival of an almost feverish anticipation, the +promise of impending things that stirred his blood as he thought of +them. "You will understand strange things then," Roger Audemard had +said, and something in his voice had been like a key unlocking +mysterious doors for the first time. And then, "Wait, as patiently as +you can!" Out of the basket on the table seemed to come to him a +whispering echo of that same word--wait! He laid his hands upon it, and +a pulse of life came with the imagined whispering. It was from +Marie-Anne. It seemed as though the warmth of her hands were still +there, and as he removed the cloth the sweet breath of her came to him. +And then, in the next instant, he was trying to laugh at himself and +trying equally hard to call himself a fool, for it was the breath of +newly-baked things which her fingers had made. + +Yet never had he felt the warmth of her presence more strangely in his +heart. He did not try to explain to himself why Roger Audemard's visit +had broken down things which had seemed insurmountable an hour ago. +Analysis was impossible, because he knew the transformation within +himself was without a shred of reason. But it had come, and with it his +imprisonment took on another form. Where before there had been thought +of escape and a scheming to jail Black Roger, there filled him now an +intense desire to reach the Yellowknife and the Chateau Boulain. + +It was after midnight when he went to bed, and he was up with the early +dawn. With the first break of day the bateau men were preparing their +breakfast. David was glad. He was eager for the day's work to begin, +and in that eagerness he pounded on the door and called out to Joe +Clamart that he was ready for his breakfast with the rest of them, but +that he wanted only hot coffee to go with what Black Roger had brought +to him in the basket. + +That afternoon the bateau passed Fort McMurray, and before the sun was +well down in the west Carrigan saw the green slopes of Thickwood Hills +and the rising peaks of Birch Mountains. He laughed outright as he +thought of Corporal Anderson and Constable Frazer at Fort McMurray, +whose chief duty was to watch the big waterway. How their eyes would +pop if they could see through the padlocked door of his prison! But he +had no inclination to be discovered now. He wanted to go on, and with a +growing exultation he saw there was no intention on the part of the +bateau's crew to loiter on the way. There was no stop at noon, and the +tie-up did not come until the last glow of day was darkening into the +gloom of night in the sky. For sixteen hours the bateau had traveled +steadily, and it could not have made less than sixty miles as the river +ran. The raft, David figured, had not traveled a third of the distance. + +The fact that the bateau's progress would bring him to Chateau Boulain +many days, and perhaps weeks, before Black Roger and Marie-Anne could +arrive on the raft did not check his enthusiasm. It was this interval +between their arrivals which held a great speculative promise for him. +In that time, if his efficiency had not entirely deserted him, he would +surely make discoveries of importance. + +Day after day the journey continued without rest. On the fourth day +after leaving Fort McMurray it was Joe Clamart who brought in David's +supper, and he grunted a protest at his long hours of muscle-breaking +labor at the sweeps. When David questioned him he shrugged his +shoulders, and his mouth closed tight as a clam. On the fifth, the +bateau crossed the narrow western neck of Lake Athabasca, slipping past +Chipewyan in the night, and on the sixth it entered the Slave River. It +was the fourteenth day when the bateau entered Great Slave Lake, and +the second night after that, as dusk gathered thickly between the +forest walls of the Yellowknife, David knew that at last they had +reached the mouth of the dark and mysterious stream which led to the +still more mysterious domain of Black Roger Audemard. + +That night the rejoicing of the bateau men ashore was that of men who +had come out from under a strain and were throwing off its tension for +the first time in many days. A great fire was built, and the men sang +and laughed and shouted as they piled wood upon it. In the flare of +this fire a smaller one was built, and kettles and pans were soon +bubbling and sizzling over it, and a great coffee pot that held two +gallons sent out its steam laden with an aroma that mingled joyously +with the balsam and cedar smells in the air. David could see the whole +thing from his window, and when Joe Clamart came in with supper, he +found the meat they were cooking over the fire was fresh moose steak. +As there had been no trading or firing of guns coming down, he was +puzzled and when he asked where the meat had come from Joe Clamart only +shrugged his shoulders and winked an eye, and went out singing about +the allouette bird that had everything plucked from it, one by one. But +David noticed there were never more than four men ashore at the same +time. At least one was always aboard the bateau, watching his door and +windows. + +And he, too, felt the thrill of an excitement working subtly within +him, and this thrill pounded in swifter running blood when he saw the +men about the fire jump to their feet suddenly and go to meet new and +shadowy figures that came up indistinctly just in the edge of the +forest gloom. There they mingled and were lost in identity for a long +time, and David wondered if the newcomers were of the people of Chateau +Boulain. After that, Bateese and Joe Clamart and two others stamped out +the fires and came over the plank to the bateau to sleep. David +followed their example and went to bed. + +The cook fires were burning again before the gray dawn was broken by a +tint of the sun, and when the voices of many men roused David, he went +to his window and saw a dozen figures where last night there had been +only four. When it grew lighter he recognized none of them. All were +strangers. Then he realized the significance of their presence. The +bateau had been traveling north, but downstream. Now it would still +travel north, but the water of the Yellow-knife flowed south into Great +Slave Lake, and the bateau must be towed. He caught a glimpse of the +two big York boats a little later, and six rowers to a boat, and after +that the bateau set out slowly but steadily upstream. + +For hours David was at one window or the other, with something of awe +working inside him as he saw what they were passing through--and +between. He fancied the water trail was like an entrance into a +forbidden land, a region of vast and unbroken mystery, a country of +enchantment, possibly of death, shut out from the world he had known. +For the stream narrowed, and the forest along the shores was so dense +he could not see into it. The tree-tops hung in a tangled canopy +overhead, and a gloom of twilight filled the channel below, so that +where the sun shot through, it was like filtered moonlight shining on +black oil. There was no sound except the dull, steady beat of the +rowers' oars, and the ripple of water along the sides of the bateau. +The men did not sing or laugh, and if they talked it must have been in +whispers. There was no cry of birds from ashore. And once David saw Joe +Clamart's face as he passed the window, and it was set and hard and +filled with the superstition of a man who was passing through a +devil-country. + +And then suddenly the end of it came. A flood of sunlight burst in at +the windows, and all at once voices came from ahead, a laugh, a shout, +and a yell of rejoicing from the bateau, and Joe Clamart started again +the everlasting song of the allouette bird that was plucked of +everything it had. Carrigan found himself grinning. They were a queer +people, these bred-in-the-blood northerners--still moved by the +superstitions of children. Yet he conceded that the awesome deadness of +the forest passage had put strange thoughts into his own heart. + +Before nightfall Bateese and Joe Clamart came in and tied his arms +behind him, and he was taken ashore with the rumble of a waterfall in +his ears. For two hours he watched the labors of the men as they +beached the bateau on long rollers of smooth birch and rolled it foot +by foot over a cleared trail until it was launched again above the +waterfall. Then he was led back into the cabin and his arms freed. That +night he went to sleep with the music of the waterfall in his ears. + +The second day the Yellowknife seemed to be no longer a river, but a +narrow lake, and the third day the rowers came into the Nine Lake +country at noon, and until another dusk the bateau threaded its way +through twisting channels and impenetrable forests, and beached at last +at the edge of a great open where the timber had been cut. There was +more excitement here, but it was too dark for David to understand the +meaning of it. There were many voices; dogs barked. Then voices were at +his door, a key rattled in the lock, and it opened. David saw Bateese +and Joe Clamart first. And then, to his amazement, Black Roger Audemard +stood there, smiling at him and nodding good-evening. + +It was impossible for David to repress his astonishment. + +"Welcome to Chateau Boulain," greeted Black Roger. "You are surprised? +Well, I beat you out by half a dozen hours--in a canoe, m'sieu. It is +only courtesy that I should be here to give you welcome!" + +Behind him Bateese and Joe Clamart were grinning widely, and then both +came in, and Joe Clamart picked up his dunnage-sack and threw it over +his shoulder. + +"If you will come with us, m'sieu--" + +David followed, and when he stepped ashore there were Bateese, and Joe +Clamart and one other behind him, and three or four shadowy figures +ahead, with Black Roger walking at his side. There were no more voices, +and the dog had ceased barking. Ahead was a wall of darkness, which was +the deep black forest beyond the clearing, and into it led a trail +which they followed. It was a path worn smooth by the travel of many +feet, and for a mile not a star broke through the tree-tops overhead, +nor did a flash of light break the utter chaos of the way but once, +when Joe Clamart lighted his pipe. No one spoke. Even Black Roger was +silent, and David found no word to say. + +At the end of the mile the trees began to open above their heads, and +they soon came to the edge of the timber. In the darkness David caught +his breath. Dead ahead, not a rifle shot away, was the Chateau Boulain. +He knew it before Black Roger had said a word. He guessed it by the +lighted windows, full a score of them, without a curtain drawn to shut +out their illumination from the night. He could see nothing but these +lights, yet they measured off a mighty place to be built of logs in the +heart of a wilderness, and at his side he heard Black Roger chuckling +in low exultation. + +"Our home, m'sieu," he said. "Tomorrow, when you see it in the light of +day, you will say it is the finest chateau in the north--all built of +sweet cedar where birch is not used, so that even in the deep snows it +gives us the perfume of springtime and flowers." + +David did not answer, and in a moment Audemard said: + +"Only on Christmas and New Year and at birthdays and wedding feasts is +it lighted up like that. Tonight it is in your honor, M'sieu David." +Again he laughed softly, and under his breath he added, "And there is +some one waiting for you there whom you will be surprised to see!" + +David's heart gave a jump. There was meaning in Black Roger's words and +no double twist to what he meant. Marie-Anne had come ahead with her +husband! + +Now, as they passed on to the brilliantly lighted chateau, David made +out the indistinct outlines of other buildings almost hidden in the +out-creeping shadows of the forest-edges, with now and then a ray of +light to show people were in them. But there was a brooding silence +over it all which made him wonder, for there was no voice, no bark of +dog, not even the opening or closing of a door. As they drew nearer, he +saw a great veranda reaching the length of the chateau, with screening +to keep out the summer pests of mosquitoes and flies and the night +prowling insects attracted by light. Into this they went, up wide birch +steps, and ahead of them was a door so heavy it looked like the postern +gate of a castle. Black Roger opened it, and in a moment David stood +beside him in a dimly lighted hall where the mounted heads of wild +beasts looked down like startled things from the gloom of the walls. +And then David heard the low, sweet notes of a piano coming to them +very faintly. + +He looked at Black Roger. A smile was on the lips of the chateau +master; his head was up, and his eyes glowed with pride and joy as the +music came to him. He spoke no word, but laid a hand on David's arm and +led him toward it, while Bateese and Joe Clamart remained standing at +the entrance to the hall. David's feet trod in thick rugs of fur; he +saw the dim luster of polished birch and cedar in the walls, and over +his head the ceiling was rich and matched, as in the bateau cabin. They +drew nearer to the music and came to a closed door. This Black Roger +opened very quietly, as if anxious not to disturb the one who was +playing. + +They entered, and David held his breath. It was a great room he stood +in, thirty feet or more from end to end, and scarcely less in width--a +room brilliant with light, sumptuous in its comfort, sweet with the +perfume of wild-flowers, and with a great black fireplace at the end of +it, from over which there stared at him the glass eyes of a monster +moose. Then he saw the figure at the piano, and something rose up +quickly and choked him when his eyes told him it was not Marie-Anne. It +was a slim, beautiful figure in a soft and shimmering white gown, and +its head was glowing gold in the lamplight. + +Roger Audemard spoke, "Carmin!" + +The woman at the piano turned about, a little startled at the +unexpectedness of the voice, and then rose quickly to her feet--and +David Carrigan found himself looking into the eyes of Carmin Fanchet! + +Never had he seen her more beautiful than in this moment, like an angel +in her shimmering dress of white, her hair a radiant glory, her eyes +wide and glowing--and, as she looked at him, a smile coming to her red +lips. Yes, SHE WAS SMILING AT HIM--this woman whose brother he had +brought to the hangman, this woman who had stolen Black Roger from +another! She knew him--he was sure of that; she knew him as the man who +had believed her a criminal along with her brother, and who had fought +to the last against her freedom. Yet from her lips and her eyes and her +face the old hatred was gone. She was coming toward him slowly; she was +reaching out her hand, and half blindly his own went out, and he felt +the warmth of her fingers for a moment, and he heard her voice saying +softly, + +"Welcome to Chateau Boulain, M'sieu Carrigan." + +He bowed and mumbled something, and Black Roger gently pressed his arm, +drawing him back to the door. As he went he saw again that Carmin +Fanchet was very beautiful as she stood there, and that her lips were +very red--but her face was white, whiter than he had ever seen the face +of a woman before. + +As they went up a winding stair to the second floor, Roger Audemard +said, "I am proud of my Carmin, M'sieu David. Would any other woman in +the world have given her hand like that to the man who had helped to +kill her brother?" + +They stopped at another door. Black Roger opened it. There were lights +within, and David knew it was to be his room. Audemard did not follow +him inside, but there was a flashing humor in his eyes. + +"I say, is there another woman like her in the world, m'sieu?" + +"What have you done to Marie-Anne--your wife?" asked David. + +It was hard for him to get the words out. A terrible thing was gripping +at his throat, and the clutch of it grew tighter as he saw the wild +light in Black Roger's eyes. + +"Tomorrow you will know, m'sieu. But not to-night. You must wait until +tomorrow." + +He nodded and stepped back, and the door closed--and in the same +instant came the harsh grating of a key in the lock. + + + + +XXV + + +Carrigan turned slowly and looked about his room. There was no other +door except one opening into a closet, and but two windows. Curtains +were drawn at these windows, and he raised them. A grim smile came to +his lips when he saw the white bars of tough birch nailed across each +of them, outside the glass. He could see the birch had been freshly +stripped of bark and had probably been nailed there that day. Carmin +Fanchet and Black Roger had welcomed him to Chateau Boulain, but they +were evidently taking no chances with their prisoner. And where was +Marie-Anne? + +The question was insistent, and with it remained that cold grip of +something in his heart that had come with the sight of Carmin Fanchet +below. Was it possible that Carmin's hatred still lived, deadlier than +ever, and that with Black Roger she had plotted to bring him here so +that her vengeance might be more complete--and a greater torture to +him? Were they smiling and offering him their hands, even as they knew +he was about to die? And if that was conceivable, what had they done +with Marie-Anne? + +He looked about the room. It was singularly bare, in an unusual sort of +way, he thought. There were rich rugs on the floor--three magnificent +black bearskins, and two wolf. The heads of two bucks and a splendid +caribou hung against the walls. He could see, from marks on the floor, +where a bed had stood, but this bed was now replaced by a couch made up +comfortably for one inclined to sleep. The significance of the thing +was clear--nowhere in the room could he lay his hand upon an object +that might be used as a weapon! + +His eyes again sought the white-birch bars of his prison, and he raised +the two windows so that the cool, sweet breath of the forests reached +in to him. It was then that he noticed the mosquito-proof screening +nailed outside the bars. It was rather odd, this thinking of his +comfort even as they planned to kill him! + +If there was truth to this new suspicion that Black Roger and his +mistress were plotting both vengeance and murder, their plans must also +involve Marie-Anne. Suddenly his mind shot back to the raft. Had Black +Roger turned a clever coup by leaving his wife there, while he came on +ahead of the bateau with Carmin Fanchet? It would be several weeks +before the raft reached the Yellowknife, and in that time many things +might happen. The thought worried him. He was not afraid for himself. +Danger, the combating of physical forces, was his business. His fear +was for Marie-Anne. He had seen enough to know that Black Roger was +hopelessly infatuated with Carmin Fanchet. And several things might +happen aboard the raft, planned by agents as black-souled as himself. +If they killed Marie-Anne-- + +His hand gripped the knob of the door, and for a moment he was filled +with the impulse to shout for Black Roger and face him with what was in +his mind. And as he stood there, every muscle in his body ready to +fight, there came to him faintly the sound of music. He heard the piano +first, and then a woman's voice singing. Soon a man's voice joined the +woman's, and he knew it was Black Roger, singing with Carmin Fanchet. + +Suddenly the mad impulse in his heart went out, and he leaned his head +nearer to the crack of the door, and strained his ears to hear. He +could make out no word of the song, yet the singing came to him with a +thrill that set his lips apart and brought a staring wonder into his +eyes. In the room below him, fifteen hundred miles from civilization, +Black Roger and Carmin Fanchet were singing "Home, Sweet Home!" + +An hour later David looked through one of the barred windows upon a +world lighted by a splendid moon. He could see the dark edge of the +distant forest that rimmed in the chateau, and about him seemed to be a +level meadow, with here and there the shadow of a building in which the +lights were out. Stars were thick in the sky, and a strange quietness +hovered over the world he looked upon. From below him floated up now +and then a perfume of tobacco smoke. The guard under his window was +awake, but he made no sound. + +A little later he undressed, put out the two lights in his room, and +stretched himself between the cool, white sheets on the couch. After a +time he slept, but it was a restless slumber filled with troubled +dreams. Twice he was half awake, and the second time it seemed to him +his nostrils sensed a sharper tang of smoke than that of burning +tobacco, yet he did not fully rouse himself, and the hours passed, and +new sounds and smells that rose in the night impinged themselves upon +him only as a part of the troublous fabric of his dreams. But at last +there came a shock, something which beat over these things which +chained him, and seized upon his consciousness, demanding that he rouse +himself, open his eyes, and get up. + +He obeyed the command, and before he was fully awake, found himself on +his feet. It was still dark, but he heard voices, voices no longer +subdued, but filled with a wild note of excitement and command. And +what he smelled was not the smell of tobacco smoke! It was heavy in his +room. It filled his lungs. His eyes were smarting with the sting of it. + +Then came vision, and with a startled cry he leaped to a window. To the +north and east he looked out upon a flaming world! + +With his fist he rubbed his smarting eyes. The moon was gone. The gray +he saw outside must be the coming of dawn, ghostly with that mist of +smoke that had come into his room. He could see shadowy figures of men +running swiftly in and out and disappearing, and he could hear the +voices of women and children, and from beyond the edge of the forest to +the west came the howling of many dogs. One voice rose above the +others. It was Black Roger's, and at its commands little groups of +figures shot out into the gray smoke-gloom and did not appear again. + +North and east the sky was flaming sullen red, and a breath of air +blowing gently in David's face told him the direction of the wind. The +chateau lay almost in the center of the growing line of conflagration. + +He dressed himself and went again to the window. Quite distinctly now, +he could make out Joe Clamart under his window, running toward the edge +of the forest at the head of half a dozen men and boys who carried axes +and cross-cut saws over their shoulders. It was the last of Black +Roger's people that he saw for some time in the open meadow, but from +the front of the chateau he could hear many voices, chiefly of women +and children, and guessed it was from there that the final operations +against the fire were being directed. The wind was blowing stronger in +his face. With it came a sharper tang of smoke, and the widening light +of day was fighting to hold its own against the deepening pall of +flame-lit gloom advancing with the wind. + +There seemed to come a low and distant sound with that wind, so +indistinct that to David's ears it was like a murmur a thousand miles +away. He strained his ears to hear, and as he listened, there came +another sound--a moaning, sobbing voice below his window! It was grief +he heard now, something that went to his heart and held him cold and +still. The voice was sobbing like that of a child, yet he knew it was +not a child's. Nor was it a woman's. A figure came out slowly in his +view, humped over, twisted in its shape, and he recognized Andre, the +Broken Man. David could see that he was crying like a child, and he was +facing the flaming forests, with his arms reaching out to them in his +moaning. Then, of a sudden, he gave a strange cry, as if defiance had +taken the place of grief, and he hurried across the meadow and +disappeared into the timber where a great lightning-riven spruce +gleamed dully white through the settling veil of smoke-mist. + +For a space David looked after him, a strange beating in his heart. It +was as if he had seen a little child going into the face of a deadly +peril, and at last he shouted out for some one to bring back the Broken +Man. But there was no answer from under his window. The guard was gone. +Nothing lay between him and escape--if he could force the white birch +bars from the window. + +He thrust himself against them, using his shoulder as a battering-ram. +Not the thousandth part of an inch could he feel them give, yet he +worked until his shoulder was sore. Then he paused and studied the bars +more carefully. Only one thing would avail him, and that was some +object which he might use as a lever. + +He looked about him, and not a thing was there in the room to answer +the purpose. Then his eyes fell on the splendid horns of the caribou +head. Black Roger's discretion had failed him there, and eagerly David +pulled the head down from the wall. He knew the woodsman's trick of +breaking off a horn from the skull, yet in this room, without log or +root to help him, the task was difficult, and it was a quarter of an +hour after he had last seen the Broken Man before he stood again at the +window with the caribou horn in his hands. He no longer had to hold his +breath to hear the low moaning in the wind, and where there had been +smoke-gloom before there were now black clouds rolling and twisting up +over the tops of the north and eastern forests, as if mighty breaths +were playing with them from behind. + +David thrust the big end of the caribou horn between two of the +white-birch bars, but before he had put his weight to the lever he +heard a great voice coming round the end of the chateau, and it was +calling for Andre, the Broken Man. In a moment it was followed by Black +Roger Audemard, who ran under the window and faced the lightning-struck +spruce as he shouted Andre's name again. + +Suddenly David called down to him, and Black Roger turned and looked up +through the smoke-gloom, his head bare, his arms naked, and his eyes +gleaming wildly as he listened. + +"He went that way twenty minutes ago," David shouted. "He disappeared +into the forest where you see the dead spruce yonder. And he was +crying, Black Roger--he was crying like a child." + +If there had been other words to finish, Black Roger would not have +heard them. He was running toward the old spruce, and David saw him +disappear where the Broken Man had gone. Then he put his weight on the +horn, and one of the tough birch bars gave way slowly, and after that a +second was wrenched loose, and a third, until the lower half of the +window was free of them entirely. He thrust out his head and found no +one within the range of his vision. Then he worked his way through the +window, feet first, and hanging the length of arms and body from the +lower sill, dropped to the ground. + +Instantly he faced the direction taken by Roger Audemard, it was HIS +turn now, and he felt a savage thrill in his blood. For an instant he +hesitated, held by the impulse to rush to Carmin Fanchet and with his +fingers at her throat, demand what she and her paramour had done with +Marie-Anne. But the mighty determination to settle it all with Black +Roger himself overwhelmed that impulse like an inundation. Black Roger +had gone into the forest. He was separated from his people, and the +opportunity was at hand. + +Positive that Marie-Anne had been left with the raft, the thought that +the Chateau Boulain might be devoured by the onrushing conflagration +did not appal David. The chateau held little interest for him now. It +was Black Roger he wanted. As he ran toward the old spruce, he picked +up a club that lay in the path. + +This path was a faintly-worn trail where it entered the forest beyond +the spruce, very narrow, and with brush hanging close to the sides of +it, so that David knew it was not in general use and that but few feet +had ever used it. He followed swiftly, and in five minutes came +suddenly out into a great open thick with smoke, and here he saw why +Chateau Boulain would not burn. The break in the forest was a clearing +a rifle-shot in width, free of brush and grass, and partly tilled; and +it ran in a semi-circle as far as he could see through the smoke in +both directions. Thus had Black Roger safeguarded his wilderness +castle, while providing tillable fields for his people; and as David +followed the faintly beaten path, he saw green stuffs growing on both +sides of him, and through the center of the clearing a long strip of +wheat, green and very thick. Up and down through the fog of smoke he +could hear voices, and he knew it was this great, circular +fire-clearing the people of Chateau Boulain were watching and guarding. + +But he saw no one as he trailed across the open. In soft patches of the +earth he found footprints deeply made and wide apart, the footprints of +hurrying men, telling him Black Roger and the Broken Man were both +ahead of him, and that Black Roger was running when he crossed the +clearing. + +The footprints led him to a still more indistinct trail in the farther +forest, a trail which went straight into the face of the fire ahead. He +followed it. The distant murmur had grown into a low moaning over the +tree-tops, and with it the wind was coming stronger, and the smoke +thicker. For a mile he continued along the path, and then he stopped, +knowing he had come to the dead-line. Over him was a swirling chaos. +The fire-wind had grown into a roar before which the tree-tops bent as +if struck by a gale, and in the air he breathed he could feel a swiftly +growing heat. For a space he stood there, breathing quickly in the face +of a mighty peril. Where had Black Roger and the Broken Man gone? What +mad impulse could it be that dragged them still farther into the path +of death? Or had they struck aside from the trail? Was he alone in +danger? + +As if in answer to the questions there came from far ahead of him a +loud cry. It was Black Roger's voice, and as he listened, it called +over and over again the Broken Man's name, + +"Andre--Andre--Andre--" + +Something in the cry held Carrigan. There was a note of terror in it, a +wild entreaty that was almost drowned in the trembling wind and the +moaning that was in the air. David was ready to turn back. He had +already approached too near to the red line of death, yet that cry of +Black Roger urged him on like the lash of a whip. He plunged ahead into +the chaos of smoke, no longer able to distinguish a trail under his +feet. Twice again in as many minutes he heard Black Roger's voice, and +ran straight toward it. The blood of the hunter rushed over all other +things in his veins. The man he wanted was ahead of him and the moment +had passed when danger or fear of death could drive him back. Where +Black Roger lived, he could live, and he gripped his club and ran +through the low brush that whipped in stinging lashes against his face +and hands. + +He came to the foot of a ridge, and from the top of this he knew Black +Roger had called. It was a huge hog's-back, rising a hundred feet up +out of the forest, and when he reached the top of it, he was panting +for breath. It was as if he had come suddenly within the blast of a hot +furnace. North and east the forest lay under him, and only the smoke +obstructed his vision. But through this smoke he could make out a thing +that made him rub his eyes in a fierce desire to see more clearly. A +mile away, perhaps two, the conflagration seemed to be splitting itself +against the tip of a mighty wedge. He could hear the roar of it to the +right of him and to the left, but dead ahead there was only a moaning +whirlpool of fire-heated wind and smoke. And out of this, as he looked, +came again the cry, + +"Andre--Andre--Andre!" + +Again he stared north and south through the smoke-gloom. Mountains of +resinous clouds, black as ink, were swirling skyward along the two +sides of the giant wedge. Under that death-pall the flames were +sweeping through the spruce and cedar tops like race-horses, hidden +from his eyes. If they closed in there could be no escape; in fifteen +minutes they would inundate him, and it would take him half an hour to +reach the safety of the clearing. + +His heart thumped against his ribs as he hurried down the ridge in the +direction of Black Roger's voice. The giant wedge of the forest was not +burning--yet, and Audemard was hurrying like mad toward the tip of that +wedge, crying out now and then the name of the Broken Man. And always +he kept ahead, until at last--a mile from the ridge--David came to the +edge of a wide stream and saw what it was that made the wedge of +forest. For under his eyes the stream split, and two arms of it widened +out, and along each shore of the two streams was a wide fire-clearing +made by the axes of Black Roger's people, who had foreseen this day +when fire might sweep their world. + +Carrigan dashed water into his eyes, and it was warm. Then he looked +across. The fire had passed, the pall of smoke was clearing away, and +what he saw was the black corpse of a world that had been green. It was +smoldering; the deep mold was afire. Little tongues of flame still +licked at ten thousand stubs charred by the fire-death--and there was +no wind here, and only the whisper of a distant moaning sweeping +farther and farther away. + +And then, out of that waste across the river, David heard a terrible +cry. It was Black Roger, still calling--even in that place of hopeless +death--for Andre, the Broken Man! + + + + +XXVI + + +Into the stream Carrigan plunged and found it only waist-deep in +crossing. He saw where Black Roger had come out of the water and where +his feet had plowed deep in the ash and char and smoldering debris +ahead. This trail he followed. The air he breathed was hot and filled +with stifling clouds of ash and char-dust and smoke. His feet struck +red-hot embers under the ash, and he smelled burning leather. A forest +of spruce and cedar skeletons still crackled and snapped and burst out +into sudden tongues of flame about him, and the air he breathed grew +hotter, and his face burned, and into his eyes came a smarting +pain--when ahead of him he saw Black Roger. He was no longer calling +out the Broken Man's name, but was crashing through the smoking chaos +like a great beast that had gone both blind and mad. Twice David turned +aside where Black Roger had rushed through burning debris, and a third +time, following where Audemard had gone, his feet felt the sudden stab +of living coals. In another moment he would have shouted Black Roger's +name, but even as the words were on his lips, mingled with a gasp of +pain, the giant river-man stopped where the forest seemed suddenly to +end in a ghostly, smoke-filled space, and when David came up behind +him, he was standing at the black edge of a cliff which leaped off into +a smoldering valley below. + +Out of this narrow valley between two ridges, an hour ago choked with +living spruce and cedar, rose up a swirling, terrifying heat. Down into +this pit of death Black Roger stood looking, and David heard a strange +moaning coming in his breath. His great, bare arms were black and +scarred with heat; his hair was burned; his shirt was torn from his +shoulders. When David spoke--and Black Roger turned at the sound--his +eyes glared wildly out of a face that was like a black mask. And when +he saw it was David who had spoken, his great body seemed to sag, and +with an unintelligible cry he pointed down. + +David, staring, saw nothing with his half-blind eyes, but under his +feet he felt a sudden giving way, and the fire-eaten tangle of earth +and roots broke off like a rotten ledge, and with it both he and Black +Roger went crashing into the depths below, smothered in an avalanche of +ash and sizzling earth. At the bottom David lay for a moment, partly +stunned. Then his fingers clutched a bit of living fire, and with a +savage cry he staggered to his feet and looked to see Black Roger. For +a space his eyes were blinded, and when at last he could see, he made +out Black Roger, fifty feet away, dragging himself on his hands and +knees through the blistering muck of the fire. And then, as he stared, +the stricken giant came to the charred remnant of a stump and crumpled +over it with a great cry, moaning again that name-- + +"Andre--Andre--" + +David hurried to him, and as he put his hands under Black Roger's arms +to help him to his feet, he saw that the charred stump was not a stump, +but the fire-shriveled corpse of Andre, the Broken Man! + +Horror choked back speech on his own lips. Black Roger looked up at +him, and a great breath came in a sob out of his body. Then, suddenly, +he seemed to get grip of himself, and his burned and bleeding fingers +closed about David's hand at his shoulder. + +"I knew he was coming here," he said, the words forcing themselves with +an effort through his swollen lips. "He came home--to die." + +"Home--?" + +"Yes. His mother and father were buried here nearly thirty years ago, +and he worshiped them. Look at him, Carrigan. Look at him closely. For +he is the man you have wanted all these years, the finest man God ever +made, Roger Audemard! When he saw the fire, he came to shield their +graves from the flames. And now he is dead!" + +A moan came to his lips, and the weight of his body grew so heavy that +David had to exert his strength to keep him from falling. + +"And YOU?" he cried. "For God's sake, Audemard--tell me--" + +"I, m'sieu? Why, I am only St. Pierre Audemard, his brother." + +And with that his head dropped heavily, and he was like a dead man in +David's arms. + +How at last David came to the edge of the stream again, with the weight +of St. Pierre Audemard on his shoulders, was a torturing nightmare +which would never be quite clear in his brain. The details were +obliterated in the vast agony of the thing. He knew that he fought as +he had never fought before; that he stumbled again and again in the +fire-muck; that he was burned, and blinded, and his brain was sick. But +he held to St. Pierre, with his twisted, broken leg, knowing that he +would die if he dropped him into the flesh-devouring heat of the +smoldering debris under his feet. Toward the end he was conscious of +St. Pierre's moaning, and then of his voice speaking to him. After that +he came to the water and fell down in the edge of it with St. Pierre, +and inside his head everything went as black as the world over which +the fire had swept. + +He did not know how terribly he was hurt. He did not feel pain after +the darkness came. Yet he sensed certain things. He knew that over him +St. Pierre was shouting. For days, it seemed, he could hear nothing but +that great voice bellowing away in the interminable distance. And then +came other voices, now near and now far, and after that he seemed to +rise up and float among the clouds, and for a long time he heard no +other sound and felt no movement, but was like one dead. + +Something soft and gentle and comforting roused him out of darkness. He +did not move, he did not open his eyes for a time, while reason came to +him. He heard a voice, and it was a woman's voice, speaking softly, and +another voice replied to it. Then he heard gentle movement, and some +one went away from him, and he heard the almost noiseless opening and +closing of a door. A very little he began to see. He was in a room, +with a patch of sunlight on the wall. Also, he was in a bed. And that +gentle, comforting hand was still stroking his forehead and hair, light +as thistledown. He opened his eyes wider and looked up. His heart gave +a great throb. Over him was a glorious, tender face smiling like an +angel into his widening eyes. And it was the face of Carmin Fanchet! + +He made an effort, as if to speak. + +"Hush," she whispered, and he saw something shining in her eyes, and +something wet fell upon his face. "She is returning--and I will go. For +three days and nights she has not slept, and she must be the first to +see you open your eyes." + +She bent over him. Her soft lips touched his forehead, and he heard her +sobbing breath. + +"God bless you, David Carrigan!" + +Then she was going to the door, and his eyes dropped shut again. He +began to experience pain now, a hot, consuming pain all over him, and +he remembered the fight through the path of the fire. Then the door +opened very softly once more, and some one came in, and knelt down at +his side, and was so quiet that she scarcely seemed to breathe. He +wanted to open his eyes, to cry out a name, but he waited, and lips +soft as velvet touched his own. They lay there for a moment, then moved +to his closed eyes, his forehead, his hair--and after that something +rested gently against him. + +His eyes shot open. It was Marie-Anne, with her head nestled in the +crook of his arm as she knelt there beside him on the floor. He could +see only a bit of her face, but her hair was very near, crumpled +gloriously on his breast, and he could see the tips of her long lashes +as she remained very still, seeming not to breathe. She did not know he +had roused from his sleep--the first sleep of those three days of +torture which he could not remember now; and he, looking at her, made +no movement to tell her he was awake. One of his hands lay over the +edge of the bed, and so lightly he could scarce feel the weight of her +fingers she laid one of her own upon it, and a little at a time drew it +to her, until the bandaged thing was against her lips. It was strange +she did not hear his heart, which seemed all at once to beat like a +drum inside him! + +Suddenly he sensed the fact that his other hand was not bandaged. He +was lying on his side, with his right arm partly under him, and against +that hand he felt the softness of Marie-Anne's cheek, the velvety crush +of her hair! + +And then he whispered, "Marie-Anne--" + +She still lay, for a moment, utterly motionless. Then, slowly, as if +believing he had spoken her name in his sleep, she raised her head and +looked into his wide-open eyes. There was no word between them in that +breath or two. His bandaged hand and his well hand went to her face and +hair, and then a sobbing cry came from Marie-Anne, and swiftly she +crushed her face down to his, holding him close with both her arms for +a moment. And after that, as on that other day when she kissed him +after the fight, she was up and gone so quickly that her name had +scarcely left his lips when the door closed behind her, and he heard +her running down the hall. + +He called after her, "Marie-Anne! Marie-Anne!" + +He heard another door, and voices, and quick footsteps again, coming +his way, and he was waiting eagerly, half on his elbow, when into his +room came Nepapinas and Carmin Fanchet. And again he saw the glory of +something in the woman's face. + +His eyes must have burned strangely as he stared at her, but it did not +change that light in her own, and her hands were wonderfully gentle as +she helped Nepapinas raise him so that he was sitting up straight, with +pillows at his back. + +"It doesn't hurt so much now, does it?" she asked, her voice low with a +mothering tenderness. + +He shook his head. "No. What is the matter?" + +"You were burned--terribly. For two days and nights you were in great +pain, but for many hours you have been sleeping, and Nepapinas says the +burns will not hurt any more. If it had not been for you--" + +She bent over him. Her hand touched his face, and now he began to +understand the meaning of that glory shining in her eyes. + +"If it hadn't been for you--he would have died!" + +She drew back, turning to the door. "He is coming to see you--alone," +she said, a little broken note in her throat. "And I pray God you will +see with clear understanding, David Carrigan--and forgive me--as I have +forgiven you--for a thing that happened long ago." + +He waited. His head was in a jumble, and his thoughts were tumbling +over one another in an effort to evolve some sort of coherence out of +things amazing and unexpected. One thing was impressed upon him--he had +saved St. Pierre's life, and because he had done this Carmin Fanchet +was very tender to him. She had kissed him, and Marie-Anne had kissed +him, and-- + +A strange dawning was coming to him, thrilling him to his finger-tips. +He listened. A new sound was approaching from the hall. His door was +opened, and a wheel-chair was rolled in by old Nepapinas. In the chair +was St. Pierre Audemard. Feet and hands and arms were wrapped in +bandages, but his face was uncovered and wreathed in smiling happiness +when he saw David propped up against his pillows. Nepapinas rolled him +close to the bed and then shuffled out, and as he closed the door, +David was sure he heard the subdued whispering of feminine voices down +the hall. + +"How are you, David?" asked St. Pierre. + +"Fine," nodded Carrigan. "And you?" + +"A bit scorched, and a broken leg." He held up his padded hands. "Would +be dead if you hadn't carried me to the river. Carmin says she owes you +her life for having saved mine." + +"And Marie-Anne?" + +"That's what I've come to tell you about," said St. Pierre. "The +instant they knew you were able to listen, both Carmin and Marie-Anne +insisted that I come and tell you things. But if you don't feel well +enough to hear me now--" + +"Go on!" almost threatened David. + +The look of cheer which had illumined St. Pierre's face faded away, and +David saw in its place the lines of sorrow which had settled there. He +turned his gaze toward a window through which the afternoon sun was +coming, and nodded slowly. + +"You saw--out there. He's dead. They buried him in a casket made of +sweet cedar. He loved the smell of that. He was like a little child. +And once--a long time ago--he was a splendid man, a greater and better +man than St. Pierre, his brother, will ever be. What he did was right +and just, M'sieu David. He was the oldest--sixteen--when the thing +happened. I was only nine, and didn't fully understand. But he saw it +all--the death of our father because a powerful factor wanted my +mother. And after that he knew how and why our mother died, but not a +word of it did he tell us until years later--after the day of vengeance +was past. + +"You understand, David? He didn't want me in that. He did it alone, +with good friends from the upper north. He killed the murderers of our +mother and father, and then he buried himself deeper into the forests +with us, and we took our mother's family names which was Boulain, and +settled here on the Yellowknife. Roger--Black Roger, as you know +him--brought the bones of our father and mother and buried them over in +the edge of that plain where he died and where our first cabin stood. +Five years ago a falling tree crushed him out of shape, and his mind +went at the same time, so that he has been like a little child, and was +always seeking for Roger Audemard--the man he once was. That was the +man your law wanted. Roger Audemard. Our brother." + +"OUR brother," cried David. "Who is the other?" + +"My sister." + +"Yes?" + +"Marie-Anne." + +"Good God!" choked David. "St. Pierre, do you lie? Is this another bit +of trickery?" + +"It is the truth," said St. Pierre. "Marie-Anne is my sister, and +Carmin--whom you saw in my arms through the cabin window--" + +He paused, smiling into David's staring eyes, taking full measure of +recompense in the other's heart-breaking attitude as he waited. "--Is +my wife, M'sieu David." + +A great gasp of breath came out of Carrigan. + +"Yes, my wife, and the greatest-hearted woman that ever lived, without +one exception in all the world!" cried St. Pierre, a fierce pride in +his voice. "It was she, and not Marie-Anne, who shot you on that strip +of sand, David Carrigan! Mon Dieu, I tell you not one woman in a +million would have done what she did--let you live! Why? Listen, +m'sieu, and you will understand at last. She had a brother, years +younger than she, and to that brother she was mother, sister, +everything, because they had no parents almost from babyhood. She +worshiped him. And he was bad. Yet the worse he became, the more she +loved him and prayed for him. Years ago she became my wife, and I +fought with her to save the brother. But he belonged to the devil hand +and foot, and at last he left us and went south, and became what he was +when you were sent out to get him, Sergeant Carrigan. It was then that +my wife went down to make a last fight to save him, to bring him back, +and you know how she made that fight, m'sieu--until the day you hanged +him!" + +St. Pierre was leaning from his chair, his face ablaze. "Tell me, did +she not fight?" he cried. "And YOU, until the last--did you not fight +to have her put behind prison bars with her brother?" + +"Yes, it is so," murmured Carrigan. + +"She hated you," went on St. Pierre. "You hanged her brother, who was +almost a part of her flesh and body. He was bad, but he had been hers +from babyhood, and a mother will love her son if he is a devil. And +then--I won't take long to tell the rest of it! Through friends she +learned that you, who had hanged her brother, were on your way to run +down Roger Audemard. And Roger Audemard, mind you, was the same as +myself, for I had sworn to take my brother's place if it became +necessary. She was on the bateau with Marie-Anne when the messenger +came. She had but one desire--to save me--to kill you. If it had been +some other man, but it was you, who had hanged her brother! She +disappeared from the bateau that day with a rifle. You know, M'sieu +David, what happened. Marie-Anne heard the shooting and +came--alone--just as you rolled out in the sand as if dead. It was she +who ran out to you first, while my Carmin crouched there with her +rifle, ready to send another bullet into you if you moved. It was +Marie-Anne you saw standing over you, it was she who knelt down at your +side, and then--" + +St. Pierre paused, and he smiled, and then grimaced as he tried to rub +his two bandaged hands together. "David, fate mixes things up in a +funny way. My Carmin came out and stood over you, hating you; and +Marie-Anne knelt down there at your side, loving you. Yes, it is true. +And over you they fought for life or death, and love won, because it is +always stronger than hate. Besides, as you lay there bleeding and +helpless, you looked different to my Carmin than as you did when you +hanged her brother. So they dragged you up under a tree, and after that +they plotted together and planned, while I was away up the river on the +raft. The feminine mind works strangely, M'sieu David, and perhaps it +was that thing we call intuition which made them do what they did. +Marie-Anne knew it would never do for you to see and recognize my +Carmin, so in their scheming of things she insisted on passing herself +off as my wife, while my Carmin came back in a canoe to meet me. They +were frightened, and when I came, the whole thing had gone too far for +me to mend, and I knew the false game must be played out to the end. +When I saw what was happening--that you loved Marie-Anne so well that +you were willing to fight for her honor even when you thought she was +my wife--I was sure it would all end well. But I could take no chances +until I knew. And so there were bars at your windows, and--" + +St. Pierre shrugged his shoulders, and the lines of grief came into his +face again, and in his voice was a little break as he continued: "If +Roger had not gone out there to fight back the flames from the graves +of his dead, I had planned to tell you as much as I dared, M'sieu +David, and I had faith that your love for our sister would win. I did +not tell you on the river because I wanted you to see with your own +eyes our paradise up here, and I knew you would not destroy it once you +were a part of it. And so I could not tell you Carmin was my wife, for +that would have betrayed us--and--besides--that fight of yours against +a love which you thought was dishonest interested me very much, for I +saw in it a wonderful test of the man who might become my brother if he +chose wisely between love and what he thought was duty. I loved you for +it, even when you sat me there on the sand like a silly loon. And now, +even my Carmin loves you for bringing me out of the fire--But you are +not listening!" + +David was looking past him toward the door, and St. Pierre smiled when +he saw the look that was in his face. + +"Nepapinas!" he called loudly. "Nepapinas!" + +In a moment there was shuffling of feet outside, and Nepapinas came in. +St. Pierre held out his two great, bandaged hands, and David met them +with his own, one bandaged and one free. Not a word was spoken between +them, but their eyes were the eyes of men between whom had suddenly +come the faith and understanding of a brotherhood as strong as life +itself. + +Then Nepapinas wheeled St. Pierre from the room and David straightened +himself against his pillows, and waited, and listened, until it seemed +two hearts were thumping inside him in the place of one. + +It was an interminable time, he thought, before Marie-Anne stood in the +doorway. For a breath she paused there, looking at him as he stretched +out his bandaged arm to her, moved by every yearning impulse in her +soul to come in, yet ready as a bird to fly away. And then, as he +called her name, she ran to him and dropped upon her knees at his side, +and his arms went about her, insensible to their hurt--and her hot face +was against his neck, and his lips crushed in the smothering sweetness +of her hair. He made no effort to speak, beyond that first calling of +her name. He could feel her heart throbbing against him, and her hands +tightened at his shoulders, and at last she raised her glorious face so +near that the breath of it was on his lips. Then, seeing what was in +his eyes, her soft mouth quivered in a little smile, and with a broken +throb in her throat she whispered, + +"Has it all ended--right--David?" + +He drew the red mouth to his own, and with a glad cry which was no word +in itself he buried his face in the lustrous tresses he loved. +Afterward he could not remember all it was that he said, but at the end +Marie-Anne had drawn a little away so that she was looking at him, her +eyes shining gloriously and her cheeks beautiful as the petals of a +wild rose. And he could see the throbbing in her white throat, like the +beating of a tiny heart. + +"And you'll take me with you?" she whispered joyously. + +"Yes; and when I show you to the old man--Superintendent Me Vane, you +know--and tell him you're my wife, he can't go back on his promise. He +said if I settled this Roger Audemard affair, I could have anything I +might ask for. And I'll ask for my discharge, I ought to have it in +September, and that will give us time to return before the snow flies. +You see--" + +He held out his arms again. "You see," he cried, his face smothered in +her hair again, "I've found the place of my dreams up here, and I want +to stay--always. Are you a little glad, Marie-Anne?" + +In a great room at the end of the hall, with windows opening in three +directions upon the wilderness, St. Pierre waited in his wheel-chair, +grunting uneasily now and then at the long time it was taking Carmin to +discover certain things out in the hall. Finally he heard her coming, +tiptoeing very quietly from the direction of David Carrigan's door, and +St. Pierre chuckled and tried to rub his bandaged hands when she came +in, her face pink and her eyes shining with the greatest thrill that +can stir a feminine heart. + +"If we'd only known," he tried to whisper, "I would have had the +keyhole made larger, Cherie! He deserves it for having spied on us at +the cabin window. But--tell me!--Could you see? Did you hear? What--" + +Carmin's soft hand went over his mouth. "In another moment you'll be +shouting," she warned. "Maybe I didn't see, and maybe I didn't hear, +Big Bear--but I know there are four very happy people in Chateau +Boulain. And now, if you want to guess who is the happiest--" + +"I am, chere-coeur." + +"No." + +"Well, then, if you insist--YOU are." + +"Yes. And the next?" + +St. Pierre chuckled. "David Carrigan," he said. + +"No, no, no! If you mean that--" + +"I mean--always--that I am second, unless you will ever let me be +first," corrected St. Pierre, kissing the hand that was gently stroking +his cheek. + +And then he leaned his great head back against her where she stood +behind him, and Carmin's fingers ran where his hair was crisp with the +singe of fire, and for a long time they said no other word, but let +their eyes rest upon the dim length of the hall at the far end of which +was David Carrigan's room. + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Flaming Forest, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLAMING FOREST *** + +***** This file should be named 4702.txt or 4702.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/7/0/4702/ + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. 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Thus, we usually do not +keep etexts in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +The "legal small print" and other information about this book +may now be found at the end of this file. Please read this +important information, as it gives you specific rights and +tells you about restrictions in how the file may be used. + + + + + + + + + + +THE FLAMING FOREST + +BY JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD + +AUTHOR OF THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN, THE COUNTRY BEYOND, THE +ALASKAN, ETC. + + + + + +THE FLAMING FOREST + + + + +I + +An hour ago, under the marvelous canopy of the blue northern sky, +David Carrigan, Sergeant in His Most Excellent Majesty's Royal +Northwest Mounted Police, had hummed softly to himself, and had +thanked God that he was alive. He had blessed McVane, +superintendent of "N" Division at Athabasca Landing, for detailing +him to the mission on which he was bent. He was glad that he was +traveling alone, and in the deep forest, and that for many weeks +his adventure would carry him deeper and deeper into his beloved +north. Making his noonday tea over a fire at the edge of the +river, with the green forest crowding like an inundation on three +sides of him, he had come to the conclusion--for the hundredth +time, perhaps--that it was a nice thing to be alone in the world, +for he was on what his comrades at the Landing called a "bad +assignment." + +"If anything happens to me," Carrigan had said to McVane, "there +isn't anybody in particular to notify. I lost out in the matter of +family a long time ago." + +He was not a man who talked much about himself, even to the +superintendent of "N" Division, yet there were a thousand who +loved Dave Carrigan, and many who placed their confidences in him. +Superintendent Me Vane had one story which he might have told, but +he kept it to himself, instinctively sensing the sacredness of it. +Even Carrigan did not know that the one thing which never passed +his lips was known to McVane. + +Of that, too, he had been thinking an hour ago. It was the thing +which, first of all, had driven him into the north. And though it +had twisted and disrupted the earth under his feet for a time, it +had brought its compensation. For he had come to love the north +with a passionate devotion. It was, in a way, his God. It seemed +to him that the time had never been when he had lived any other +life than this under the open skies. He was thirty-seven now. A +bit of a philosopher, as philosophy comes to one in a sun-cleaned +and unpolluted air, A good-humored brother of humanity, even when +he put manacles on other men's wrists; graying a little over the +temples--and a lover of life. Above all else he was that. A lover +of life. A worshiper at the shrine of God's Country. + +So he sat, that hour ago, deep in the wilderness eighty miles +north of Athabasca Landing, congratulating himself on the present +conditions of his existence. A hundred and eighty miles farther on +was Fort McMurray, and another two hundred beyond that was +Chipewyan, and still beyond that the Mackenzie and its fifteen- +hundred-mile trail to the northern sea. He was glad there was no +end to this world of his. He was glad there were few people in it. +But these people he loved. That hour ago he had looked out on the +river as two York boats had forged up against the stream, craft +like the long, slim galleys of old, brought over through the +Churchill and Clearwater countries from Hudson's Bay. There were +eight rowers in each boat. They were singing. Their voices rolled +between the walls of the forests. Their naked arms and shoulders +glistened in the sun. They rowed like Vikings, and to him they +were symbols of the freedom of the world. He had watched them +until they were gone up-stream, but it was a long time before the +chanting of their voices had died away. And then he had risen from +beside his tiny fire, and had stretched himself until his muscles +cracked. It was good to feel the blood running red and strong in +one's veins at the age of thirty-seven. For Carrigan felt the +thrill of these days when strong men were coming out of the north +--days when the glory of June hung over the land, when out of the +deep wilderness threaded by the Three Rivers came romance and +courage and red-blooded men and women of an almost forgotten +people to laugh and sing and barter for a time with the outpost +guardians of a younger and more progressive world. It was north of +Fifty-Four, and the waters of a continent flowed toward the Arctic +Sea. Yet soon would the strawberries be crushing red underfoot; +the forest road was in bloom, scarlet fire-flowers reddened the +trail, wild hyacinths and golden-freckled violets played hide- +and-seek with the forget-me-nots in the meadows, and the sky was a +great splash of velvety blue. It was the north triumphant--at the +edge of civilization; the north triumphant, and yet paying its +tribute. For at the other end were waiting the royal Upper Ten +Thousand and the smart Four Hundred with all the beau monde behind +them, coveting and demanding that tribute to their sex--the silken +furs of a far country, the life's blood and labor of a land +infinitely beyond the pale of drawing-rooms and the whims of +fashion. + +Carrigan had thought of these things that hour ago, as he sat at +the edge of the first of the Three Rivers, the great Athabasca. +From down the other two, the Slave and the Mackenzie, the fur +fleets of the unmapped country had been toiling since the first +breakups of ice. Steadily, week after week, the north had been +emptying itself of its picturesque tide of life and voice, of +muscle and brawn, of laughter and song--and wealth. Through, long +months of deep winter, in ten thousand shacks and tepees and +cabins, the story of this June had been written as fate had +written it each winter for a hundred years or more. A story of the +triumph of the fittest. A story of tears, of happiness here and +there, of hunger and plenty, of new life and quick death; a story +of strong men and strong women, living in the faith of their +forefathers, with the best blood of old England and France still +surviving in their veins. + +Through those same months of winter, the great captains of trade +in the city of Edmonton had been preparing for the coming of the +river brigades. The hundred and fifty miles of trail between that +last city outpost of civilization and Athabasca Landing, the door +that opened into the North, were packed hard by team and dog- +sledge and packer bringing up the freight that for another year +was to last the forest people of the Three River country--a domain +reaching from the Landing to the Arctic Ocean. In competition +fought the drivers of Revillon Brothers and Hudson's Bay, of free +trader and independent adventurer. Freight that grew more precious +with each mile it advanced must reach the beginning of the +waterway. It started with the early snows. The tide was at full by +midwinter. In temperature that nipped men's lungs it did not +cease. There was no let-up in the whip-hands of the masters of +trade at Edmonton, Winnipeg, Montreal, and London across the sea. +It was not a work of philanthropy. These men cared not whether +Jean and Jacqueline and Pierre and Marie were well-fed or hungry, +whether they lived or died, so far as humanity was concerned. But +Paris, Vienna, London, and the great capitals of the earth must +have their furs--and unless that freight went north, there would +be no velvety offerings for the white shoulders of the world. +Christmas windows two years hence would be bare. A feminine wail +of grief would rise to the skies. For woman must have her furs, +and in return for those furs Jean and Jacqueline and Pierre and +Marie must have their freight. So the pendulum swung, as it had +swung for a century or two, touching, on the one side, luxury, +warmth, wealth, and beauty; on the other, cold and hardship, deep +snows and open skies--with that precious freight the thing +between. + +And now, in this year before rail and steamboat, the glory of +early summer was at hand, and the wilderness people were coming up +to meet the freight. The Three Rivers--the Athabasca, the Slave, +and the Mackenzie, all joining in one great two-thousand-mile +waterway to the northern sea--were athrill with the wild impulse +and beat of life as the forest people lived it. The Great Father +had sent in his treaty money, and Cree song and Chipewyan chant +joined the age-old melodies of French and half-breed. Countless +canoes drove past the slower and mightier scow brigades; huge York +boats with two rows of oars heaved up and down like the ancient +galleys of Rome; tightly woven cribs of timber, and giant rafts +made tip of many cribs were ready for their long drift into a +timberless country. On this two-thousand-mile waterway a world had +gathered. It was the Nile of the northland, and each post and +gathering place along its length was turned into a metropolis, +half savage, archaic, splendid with the strength of red blood, +clear eyes, and souls that read the word of God in wind and tree. + +And up and down this mighty waterway of wilderness trade ran the +whispering spirit of song, like the voice of a mighty god heard +under the stars and in the winds. + +But it was an hour ago that David Carrigan had vividly pictured +these things to himself close to the big river, and many things +may happen in the sixty minutes that follow any given minute in a +man's life. That hour ago his one great purpose had been to bring +in Black Roger Audemard, alive or dead--Black Roger, the forest +fiend who had destroyed half a dozen lives in a blind passion of +vengeance nearly fifteen years ago. For ten of those fifteen years +it had been thought that Black Roger was dead. But mysterious +rumors had lately come out of the North. He was alive. People had +seen him. Fact followed rumor. His existence became certainty. The +Law took up once more his hazardous trail, and David Carrigan was +the messenger it sent. + +"Bring him back, alive or dead," were Superintendent McVane's last +words. + +And now, thinking of that parting injunction, Carrigan grinned, +even as the sweat of death dampened his face in the heat of the +afternoon sun. For at the end of those sixty minutes that had +passed since his midday pot of tea, the grimly, atrociously +unexpected had happened, like a thunderbolt out of the azure of +the sky. + + + + + +II + + +Huddled behind a rock which was scarcely larger than his body, +groveling in the white, soft sand like a turtle making a nest for +its eggs, Carrigan told himself this without any reservation. He +was, as he kept repeating to himself for the comfort of his soul, +in a deuce of a fix. His head was bare--simply because a bullet +had taken his hat away. His blond hair was filled with sand. His +face was sweating. But his blue eyes were alight with a grim sort +of humor, though he knew that unless the other fellow's ammunition +ran out he was going to die. + +For the twentieth time in as many minutes he looked about him. He +was in the center of a flat area of sand. Fifty feet from him the +river murmured gently over yellow bars and a carpet of pebbles. +Fifty feet on the opposite side of him was the cool, green wall of +the forest. The sunshine playing in it seemed like laughter to him +now, a whimsical sort of merriment roused by the sheer effrontery +of the joke which fate had inflicted upon him. + +Between the river and the balsam and spruce was only the rock +behind which he was cringing like a rabbit afraid to take to the +open. And his rock was a mere up-jutting of the solid floor of +shale that was under him. The wash sand that covered it like a +carpet was not more than four or five inches deep. He could not +dig in. There was not enough of it within reach to scrape up as a +protection. And his enemy, a hundred yards or so away, was a +determined wretch--and the deadliest shot he had ever known. + +Three times Carrigan had made experiments to prove this, for he +had in mind a sudden rush to the shelter of the timber. Three +times he had raised the crown of his hat slightly above the top of +the rock, and three times the marksmanship of the other had +perforated it with neatness and dispatch. The third bullet had +carried his hat a dozen feet away. Whenever he showed a patch of +his clothing, a bullet replied with unerring precision. Twice they +had drawn blood. And the humor faded out of Carrigan's eyes. + +Not long ago he had exulted in the bigness and glory of this +country of his, where strong men met hand to hand and eye to eye. +There were the other kind in it, the sort that made his profession +of manhunting a thing of reality and danger, but he expected +these--forgot them--when the wilderness itself filled his vision. +But his present situation was something unlike anything that had +ever happened in his previous experience with the outlawed. He had +faced dangers. He had fought. There were times when he had almost +died. Fanchet, the half-breed who had robbed a dozen wilderness +mail sledges, had come nearest to trapping him and putting him out +of business. Fanchet was a desperate man and had few scruples. But +even Fanchet--before he was caught--would not have cornered a man +with such bloodthirsty unfairness as Carrigan found himself +cornered now. He no longer had a doubt as to what was in the +other's mind. It was not to wound and make merely helpless. It was +to kill. It was not difficult to prove this. Careful not to expose +a part of his arm or shoulder, he drew a white handkerchief from +his pocket, fastened it to the end of his rifle, and held the flag +of surrender three feet above the rock. And then, with equal +caution, he slowly thrust up a flat piece of shale, which at a +distance of a hundred yards might appear as his shoulder or even +his head. Scarcely was it four inches above the top of the rock +before there came the report of a rifle, and the shale was +splintered into a hundred bits. + +Carrigan lowered his flag and gathered himself in tighter. The +accuracy of the other's marksmanship was appalling. He knew that +if he exposed himself for an instant to use his own rifle or the +heavy automatic in his holster, he would be a dead man before he +could press a trigger. And that time, he felt equally sure, would +come sooner or later. His muscles were growing cramped. He could +not forever double himself up like a four-bladed jackknife behind +the altogether inefficient shelter of the rock. + +His executioner was hidden in the edge of the timber, not directly +opposite him, but nearly a hundred yards down stream. Twenty times +he had wondered why the fiend with the rifle did not creep up +through that timber and take a good, open pot-shot at him from the +vantage point which lay at the end of a straight line between his +rock and the nearest spruce and balsam. From that angle he could +not completely shelter himself. But the man a hundred yards below +had not moved a foot from his ambush since he had fired his first +shot. That had come when Carrigan was crossing the open space of +soft, white sand. It had left a burning sensation at his temple-- +half an inch to the right and it would have killed him. Swift as +the shot itself, he dropped behind the one protection at hand, the +up-jutting shoulder of shale. + +For a quarter of an hour he had been making efforts to wriggle +himself free from his bulky shoulder-pack without exposing himself +to a coup-de-grace. At last he had the thing off. It was a +tremendous relief when he thrust it out beside the rock, almost +doubling the size of his shelter. Instantly there came the crash +of a bullet in it, and then another. He heard the rattle of pans, +and wondered if his skillet would be any good after today. + +For the first time he could wipe the sweat from his face and +stretch himself. And also he could think. Carrigan possessed an +unalterable faith in the infallibility of the mind. "You can do +anything with the mind," was his code. "It is better than a good +gun." + +Now that he was physically more at ease, he began reassembling his +scattered mental faculties. Who was this stranger who was pot- +shotting at him with such deadly animosity from the ambush below? +Who-- + +Another crash of lead in tinware and steel put an unpleasant +emphasis to the question. It was so close to his head that it made +him wince, and now--with a wide area within reach about him--he +began scraping up the sand for an added protection. There came a +long silence after that third clatter of distress from his cooking +utensils. To David Carrigan, even in his hour of deadly peril, +there was something about it that for an instant brought back the +glow of humor in his eyes. It was hot, swelteringly hot, in that +packet of sand with the unclouded sun almost straight overhead. He +could have tossed a pebble to where a bright-eyed sandpiper was +cocking itself backward and forward, its jerky movements +accompanied by friendly little tittering noises. Everything about +him seemed friendly. The river rippled and murmured in cooling +song just beyond the sandpiper. On the other side the still cooler +forest was a paradise of shade and contentment, astir with subdued +and hidden life. It was nesting season. He heard the twitter of +birds. A tiny, brown wood warbler fluttered out to the end of a +silvery birch limb, and it seemed to David that its throat must +surely burst with the burden of its song. The little fellow's +brown body, scarcely larger than a butternut, was swelling up like +a round ball in his effort to vanquish all other song. + +"Go to it, old man," chuckled Carrigan. "Go to it!" + +The little warbler, that he might have crushed between thumb and +forefinger, gave him a lot of courage. + +Then the tiny chorister stopped for breath. In that interval +Carrigan listened to the wrangling of two vivid-colored Canada +jays deeper in the timber. Chronic scolds they were, never without +a grouch. They were like some people Carrigan had known, born +pessimists, always finding something to complain about, even in +their love days. + +And these were love days. That was the odd thought that came to +Carrigan as he lay half on his face, his fingers slowly and +cautiously working a loophole between his shoulder-pack and the +rock. They were love days all up and down the big rivers, where +men and women sang for joy, and children played, forgetful of the +long, hard days of winter. And in forest, plain, and swamp was +this spirit of love also triumphant over the land. It was the +mating season of all feathered things. In countless nests were the +peeps and twitters of new life; mothers of first-born were +teaching their children to swim and fly; from end to end of the +forest world the little children of the silent places, furred and +feathered, clawed and hoofed, were learning the ways of life. +Nature's yearly birthday was half-way gone, and the doors of +nature's school wide open. And the tiny brown songster at the end +of his birch twig proclaimed the joy of it again, and challenged +all the world to beat him in his adulation. + +Carrigan found that he could peer between his pack and the rock to +where the other warbler was singing--and where his enemy lay +watching for the opportunity to kill. It was taking a chance. If a +movement betrayed his loophole, his minutes were numbered. But he +had worked cautiously, an inch at a time, and was confident that +the beginning of his effort to fight back was, up to the present +moment, undiscovered. He believed that he knew about where the +ambushed man was concealed. In the edge of a low-hanging mass of +balsam was a fallen cedar. From behind the butt of that cedar he +was sure the shots had come. + +And now, even more cautiously than he had made the tiny opening, +he began to work the muzzle of his rifle through the loophole. As +he did this he was thinking of Black Roger Audemard. And yet, +almost as quickly as suspicion leaped into his mind, he told +himself that the thing was impossible. It could not be Black +Roger, or one of Black Roger's friends, behind the cedar log. The +idea was inconceivable, when he considered how carefully the +secret of his mission had been kept at the Landing. He had not +even said goodby to his best friends. And because Black Roger had +won through all the preceding years, Carrigan was stalking his +prey out of uniform. There had been nothing to betray him. +Besides, Black Roger Audemard must be at least a thousand miles +north, unless something had tempted him to come up the rivers with +the spring brigades. If he used logic at all, there was but one +conclusion for him to arrive at. The man in ambush was some +rascally half-breed who coveted his outfit and whatever valuables +he might have about his person. + +A fourth smashing eruption among his comestibles and culinary +possessions came to drive home the fact that even that analysis of +the situation was absurd. Whoever was behind the rifle fire had +small respect for the contents of his pack, and he was surely not +in grievous need of a good gun or ammunition. A sticky mess of +condensed cream was running over Carrigan's hand. He doubted if +there was a whole tin in his kit. + +For a few moments he lay quietly on his face after the fourth +shot. His eyes were turned toward the river, and on the far side, +a quarter of a mile away, three canoes were moving swiftly up the +slow current of the stream. The sunlight flashed on their wet +sides. The gleam of dripping paddles was like the flutter of +silvery birds' wings, and across the water came an unintelligible +shout in response to the rifle shot. It occurred to David that he +might make a trumpet of his hands and shout back, but the distance +was too great for his voice to carry its message for help. +Besides, now that he had the added protection of the pack, he felt +a certain sense of humiliation at the thought of showing the white +feather. A few minutes more, if all went well, and he would settle +for the man behind the log. + +He continued again the slow operation of worming his rifle barrel +between the pack and the rock. The near-sighted little sandpiper +had discovered him and seemed interested in the operation. It had +come a dozen feet nearer, and was perking its head and seesawing +on its long legs as it watched with inquisitive inspection the +unusual manifestation of life behind the rock. Its twittering note +had changed to an occasional sharp and querulous cry. Carrigan +wanted to wring its neck. That cry told the other fellow that he +was still alive and moving. + +It seemed an age before his rifle was through, and every moment he +expected another shot. He flattened himself out, Indian fashion, +and sighted along the barrel. He was positive that his enemy was +watching, yet he could make out nothing that looked like a head +anywhere along the log. At one end was a clump of deeper foliage. +He was sure he saw a sudden slight movement there, and in the +thrill of the moment was tempted to send a bullet into the heart +of it. But he saved his cartridge. He felt the mighty importance +of certainty. If he fired once--and missed--the advantage of his +unsuspected loophole would be gone. It would be transformed into a +deadly menace. Even as it was, if his enemy's next bullet should +enter that way-- + +He felt the discomfort of the thought, and in spite of himself a +tremor of apprehension ran up his spine. He felt an even greater +desire to wring the neck of the inquisitive little sandpiper. The +creature had circled round squarely in front of him and stood +there tilting its tail and bobbing its head as if its one insane +desire was to look down the length of his rifle barrel. The bird +was giving him away. If the other fellow was only half as clever +as his marksmanship was good-- + +Suddenly every nerve in Carrigan's body tightened. He was positive +that he had caught the outline of a human head and shoulders in +the foliage. His finger pressed gently against the trigger of his +Winchester. Before he breathed again he would have fired. But a +shot from the foliage beat him out by the fraction of a second. In +that precious time lost, his enemy's bullet entered the edge of +his kit--and came through. He felt the shock of it, and in the +infinitesimal space between the physical impact and the mental +effect of shock his brain told him the horrible thing had +happened. It was his head--his face. It was as if he had plunged +them suddenly into hot water, and what was left of his skull was +filled with the rushing and roaring of a flood. He staggered up, +clutching his face with both hands. The world about him was +twisted and black, a dizzily revolving thing--yet his still +fighting mental vision pictured clearly for him a monstrous, +bulging-eyed sandpiper as big as a house. Then he toppled back on +the white sand, his arms flung out limply, his face turned to the +ambush wherein his murderer lay. + +His body was clear of the rock and the pack, but there came no +other shot from the thick clump of balsam. Nor, for a time, was +there movement. The wood warbler was cheeping inquiringly at this +sudden change in the deportment of his friend behind the shoulder +of shale. The sandpiper, a bit startled, had gone back to the edge +of the river and was running a race with himself along the wet +sand. And the two quarrelsome jays had brought their family +squabble to the edge of the timber. + +It was their wrangling that roused Carrigan to the fact that he +was not dead. It was a thrilling discovery--that and the fact that +he made out clearly a patch of sunlight in the sand. He did not +move, but opened his eyes wider. He could see the timber. On a +straight line with his vision was the thick clump of balsam. And +as he looked, the boughs parted and a figure came out. Carrigan +drew a deep breath. He found that it did not hurt him. He gripped +the fingers of the hand that was under his body, and they closed +on the butt of his service automatic. He would win yet, if God +gave him life a few minutes longer. + +His enemy advanced. As he drew nearer, Carrigan closed his eyes +more and more. They must be shut, and he must appear as if dead, +when the other came up. Then, when the scoundrel put down his gun, +as he naturally would--his chance would be at hand. If a quiver of +his eyes betrayed him-- + +He closed them tight. Dizziness began to creep over him, and the +fire in his brain grew hot again. He heard footsteps, and they +stopped in the sand close beside him. Then he heard a human voice. +It did not speak in words, but gave utterance to a strange and +unnatural cry. With a mighty effort Carrigan assembled his last +strength. It seemed to him that he brought himself up quickly, but +his movement was slow, painful--the effort of a man who might be +dying. The automatic hung limply in his hand, its muzzle pointing +to the sand. He looked up, trying to swing into action that mighty +weight of his weapon. And then from his own lips, even in his +utter physical impotence, fell a cry of wonder and amazement. + +His enemy stood there in the sunlight, staring down at him with +big, dark eyes that were filled with horror. They were not the +eyes of a man. David Carrigan, in this most astounding moment of +his life, found himself looking up into the face of a woman. + + + + + +III + + +For a matter of twenty seconds--even longer it seemed to Carrigan +--the life of these two was expressed in a vivid and unforgettable +tableau. One half of it David saw--the blue sky, the dazzling sun, +the girl in between. The pistol dropped from his limp hand, and +the weight of his body tottered on the crook of his under-elbow. +Mentally and physically he was on the point of collapse, and yet +in those few moments every detail of the picture was painted with +a brush of fire in his brain. The girl was bareheaded. Her face +was as white as any face he had ever seen, living or dead; her +eyes were like pools that had caught the reflection of fire; he +saw the sheen of her hair, the poise of her slender body--its +shock, stupefaction, horror. He sensed these things even as his +brain wobbled dizzily, and the larger part of the picture began to +fade out of his vision. But her face remained to the last. It grew +clearer, like a cameo framed in an iris--a beautiful, staring, +horrified face with shimmering tresses of jet-black hair blowing +about it like a veil. He noticed the hair, that was partly undone +as if she had been in a struggle of some sort, or had been running +fast against the breeze that came up the river. + +He fought with himself to hold that picture of her, to utter some +word, make some movement. But the power to see and to live died +out of him. He sank back with a queer sound in his throat. He did +not hear the answering cry from the girl as she flung herself, +with a quick little prayer for help, on her knees in the soft, +white sand beside him. He felt no movement when she raised his +head in her arm and with her bare hand brushed back his sand- +littered hair, revealing where the bullet had struck him. He did +not know when she ran back to the river. + +His first sensation was of a cool and comforting something +trickling over his burning temples and his face. It was water. +Subconsciously he knew that, and in the same way he began to +think. But it was hard to pull his thoughts together. They +persisted in hopping about, like a lot of sand-fleas in a dance, +and just as he got hold of one and reached for another, the first +would slip away from him. He began to get the best of them after a +time, and he had an uncontrollable desire to say something. But +his eyes and his lips were sealed tight, and to open them, a +little army of gnomes came out of the darkness in the back of his +head, each of them armed with a lever, and began prying with all +their might. After that came the beginning of light and a flash of +consciousness. + +The girl was working over him. He could feel her and hear her +movement. Water was trickling over his face. Then he heard a +voice, close over him, saying something in a sobbing monotone +which he could not understand. + +With a mighty effort he opened his eyes. + +"Thank LE BON DIEU, you live, m'sieu," he heard the voice say, as +if coming from a long distance away. "You live, you live--" + +"Tryin' to," he mumbled thickly, feeling suddenly a sense of great +elation. "Tryin'--" + +He wanted to curse the gnomes for deserting him, for as soon as +they were gone with their levers, his eyes and his lips shut tight +again, or at least he thought they did. But he began to sense +things in a curious sort of way. Some one was dragging him. He +could feel the grind of sand under his body. There were intervals +when the dragging operation paused. And then, after a long time, +he seemed to hear more than one voice. There were two--sometimes a +murmur of them. And odd visions came to him. He seemed to see the +girl with shining black hair and dark eyes, and then swiftly she +would change into a girl with hair like blazing gold. This was a +different girl. She was not like Pretty Eyes, as his twisted mind +called the other. This second vision that he saw was like a +radiant bit of the sun, her hair all aflame with the fire of it +and her face a different sort of face. He was always glad when she +went away and Pretty Eyes came back. + +To David Carrigan this interesting experience in his life might +have covered an hour, a day, or a month. Or a year for that +matter, for he seemed to have had an indefinite association with +Pretty Eyes. He had known her for a long time and very intimately, +it seemed. Yet he had no memory of the long fight in the hot sun, +or of the river, or of the singing warblers, or of the inquisitive +sandpiper that had marked out the line which his enemy's last +bullet had traveled. He had entered into a new world in which +everything was vague and unreal except that vision of dark hair, +dark eyes, and pale, beautiful face. Several times he saw it with +marvelous clearness, and each time he drifted away into darkness +again with the sound of a voice growing fainter and fainter in his +ears. + +Then came a time of utter chaos and soundless gloom. He was in a +pit, where even his subconscious self was almost dead under a +crushing oppression. At last a star began to glimmer in this pit, +a star pale and indistinct and a vast distance away. But it crept +steadily up through the eternity of darkness, and the nearer it +came, the less there was of the blackness of night. From a star it +grew into a sun, and with the sun came dawn. In that dawn he heard +the singing of a bird, and the bird was just over his head. When +Carrigan opened his eyes, and understanding came to him, he found +himself under the silver birch that belonged to the wood warbler. + +For a space he did not ask himself how he had come there. He was +looking at the river and the white strip of sand. Out there were +the rock and his dunnage pack. Also his rifle. Instinctively his +eyes turned to the balsam ambush farther down. That, too, was in a +blaze of sunlight now. But where he lay, or sat, or stood--he was +not sure what he was doing at that moment--it was shady and +deliciously cool. The green of the cedar and spruce and balsam was +close about him, inset with the silver and gold of the thickly- +leaved birch. He discovered that he was bolstered up partly +against the trunk of this birch and partly against a spruce +sapling. Between these two, where his head rested, was a pile of +soft moss freshly torn from the earth. And within reach of him was +his own kit pail filled with water. + +He moved himself cautiously and raised a hand to his head. His +fingers came in contact with a bandage. + +For a minute or two after that he sat without moving while his +amazed senses seized upon the significance of it all. In the first +place he was alive. But even this fact of living was less +remarkable than the other things that had happened. He remembered +the final moments of the unequal duel. His enemy had got him. And +that enemy was a woman! Moreover, after she had blown away a part +of his head and had him helpless in the sand, she had--in place of +finishing him there--dragged him to this cool nook and tied up his +wound. It was hard for him to believe, but the pail of water, the +moss behind his shoulders, the bandage, and certain visions that +were reforming themselves in his brain convinced him. A woman had +shot him. She had worked like the very devil to kill him. And +afterward she had saved him! He grinned. It was final proof that +his mind hadn't been playing tricks on him. No one but a woman +would have been quite so unreasonable. A man would have completed +the job. + +He began to look for her up and down the white strip of sand. And +in looking he saw the gray and silver flash of the hard-working +sandpiper. He chuckled, for he was exceedingly comfortable, and +also exhilaratingly happy to know that the thing was over and he +was not dead. If the sandpiper had been a man, he would have +called him up to shake hands with him. For if it hadn't been for +the bird getting squarely in front of him and giving him away, +there might have been a more horrible end to it all. He shuddered +as he thought of the mighty effort he had made to fire a shot into +the heart of the balsam ambush--and perhaps into the heart of a +woman! + +He reached for the pail and drank deeply of the water in it. He +felt no pain. His dizziness was gone. His mind had grown suddenly +clear and alert. The warmth of the water told him almost instantly +that it had been taken from the river some time ago. He observed +the change in sun and shadows. With the instinct of a man trained +to note details, he pulled out his watch. It was almost six +o'clock. More than three hours had passed since the sandpiper had +got in front of his gun. He did not attempt to rise to his feet, +but scanned with slower and more careful scrutiny the edge of the +forest and the river. He had been mystified while cringing for his +life behind the rock, but he was infinitely more so now. Greater +desire he had never had than this which thrilled him in these +present minutes of his readjustment--desire to look upon the woman +again. And then, all at once, there came back to him a mental +flash of the other. He remembered, as if something was coming back +to him out of a dream, how the whimsical twistings of his sick +brain had made him see two faces instead of one. Yet he knew that +the first picture of his mysterious assailant, the picture painted +in his brain when he had tried to raise his pistol, was the right +one. He had seen her dark eyes aglow; he had seen the sunlit sheen +of her black hair rippling in the wind; he had seen the white +pallor in her face, the slimness of her as she stood over him in +horror--he remembered even the clutch of her white hand at her +throat. A moment before she had tried to kill him. And then he had +looked up and had seen her like that! It must have been some +unaccountable trick in his brain that had flooded her hair with +golden fire at times. + +His eyes followed a furrow in the white sand which led from where +he sat bolstered against the tree down to his pack and the rock. +It was the trail made by his body when she had dragged him up to +the shelter and coolness of the timber. One of his laws of +physical care was to keep himself trained down to a hundred and +sixty, but he wondered how she had dragged up even so much as that +of dead weight. It had taken a great deal of effort. He could see +distinctly three different places in the sand where she had +stopped to rest. + +Carrigan had earned a reputation as the expert analyst of "N" +Division. In delicate matters it was seldom that McVane did not +take him into consultation. He possessed an almost uncanny grip on +the working processes of a criminal mind, and the first rule he +had set down for himself was to regard the acts of omission rather +than the one outstanding act of commission. But when he proved to +himself that the chief actor in a drama possessed a normal rather +than a criminal mind, he found himself in the position of +checkmate. It was a thrilling game. And he was frankly puzzled +now, until--one after another--he added up the sum total of what +had been omitted in this instance of his own personal adventure. +Hidden in her ambush, the woman who had shot him had been in both +purpose and act an assassin. Her determination had been to kill +him. She had disregarded the white flag with which he had pleaded +for mercy. Her marksmanship was of fiendish cleverness. Up to her +last shot she had been, to all intent and purpose, a murderess. + +The change had come when she looked down upon him, bleeding and +helpless, in the sand. Undoubtedly she had thought he was dying. +But why, when she saw his eyes open a little later, had she cried +out her gratitude to God? What had worked the sudden +transformation in her? Why had she labored to save the life she +had so atrociously coveted a minute before? + +If his assailant had been a man, Carrigan would have found an +answer. For he was not robbed, and therefore robbery was not a +motif. "A case of mistaken identity," he would have told himself. +"An error in visual judgment." + +But the fact that in his analysis he was dealing with a woman made +his answer only partly satisfying. He could not disassociate +himself from her eyes--their beauty, their horror, the way they +had looked at him. It was as if a sudden revulsion had come over +her; as if, looking down upon her bleeding handiwork, the woman's +soul in her had revolted, and with that revulsion had come +repentance--repentance and pity. + +"That," thought Carrigan, "would be just like a woman--and +especially a woman with eyes like hers." + +This left him but two conclusions to choose from. Either there had +been a mistake, and the woman had shown both horror and desire to +amend when she discovered it, or a too tender-hearted agent of +Black Roger Audemard had waylaid him in the heart of the white +strip of sand. + +The sun was another hour lower in the sky when Carrigan assured +himself in a series of cautious experiments that he was not in a +condition to stand upon his feet. In his pack were a number of +things he wanted--his blankets, for instance, a steel mirror, and +the thermometer in his medical kit. He was beginning to feel a bit +anxious about himself. There were sharp pains back of his eyes. +His face was hot, and he was developing an unhealthy appetite for +water. It was fever and he knew what fever meant in this sort of +thing, when one was alone. He had given up hope of the woman's +return. It was not reasonable to expect her to come back after her +furious attempt to kill him. She had bandaged him, bolstered him +up, placed water beside him, and had then left him to work out the +rest of his salvation alone. But why the deuce hadn't she brought +up his pack? + +On his hands and knees he began to work himself toward it slowly. +He found that the movement caused him pain, and that with this +pain, if he persisted in movement, there was a synchronous rise of +nausea. The two seemed to work in a sort of unity. But his +medicine case was important now, and his blankets, and his rifle +if he hoped to signal help that might chance to pass on the river. +A foot at a time, a yard at a time, he made his way down into the +sand. His fingers dug into the footprints of the mysterious gun- +woman. He approved of their size. They were small and narrow, +scarcely longer than the palm and fingers of his hand--and they +were made by shoes instead of moccasins. + +It seemed an interminable time to him before he reached his pack. +When he got there, a pendulum seemed swinging back and forth +inside his head, beating against his skull. He lay down with his +pack for a pillow, intending to rest for a spell. But the minutes +added themselves one on top of another. The sun slipped behind +clouds banking in the west. It grew cooler, while within him he +was consumed by a burning thirst. He could hear the ripple of +running water, the laughter of it among pebbles a few yards away. +And the river itself became even more desirable than his medicine +case, or his blankets, or his rifle. The song of it, inviting and +tempting him, blotted thought of the other things out of his mind. +And he continued his journey, the swing of the pendulum in his +head becoming harder, but the sound of the river growing nearer. +At last he came to the wet sand, and fell on his face, and drank. + +After this he had no great desire to go back. He rolled himself +over, so that his face was turned up to the sky. Under him the wet +sand was soft, and it was comfortingly cool. The fire in his head +died out. He could hear new sounds in the edge of the forest +evening sounds. Only weak little twitters came from the wood +warblers, driven to silence by thickening gloom in the densely +canopied balsams and cedars, and frightened by the first low hoots +of the owls. There was a crash not far distant, probably a +porcupine waddling through brush on his way for a drink; or +perhaps it was a thirsty deer, or a bear coming out in the hope of +finding a dead fish. Carrigan loved that sort of sound, even when +a pendulum was beating back and forth in his head. It was like +medicine to him, and he lay with wide-open eyes, his ears picking +up one after another the voices that marked the change from day to +night. He heard the cry of a loon, its softer, chuckling note of +honeymoon days. From across the river came a cry that was half +howl, half bark. Carrigan knew that it was coyote, and not wolf, a +coyote whose breed had wandered hundreds of miles north of the +prairie country. + +The gloom gathered in, and yet it was not darkness as the darkness +of night is known a thousand miles south. It was the dusky +twilight of day where the sun rises at three o'clock in the +morning and still throws its ruddy light in the western sky at +nine o'clock at night; where the poplar buds unfold themselves +into leaf before one's very eyes; where strawberries are green in +the morning and red in the afternoon; where, a little later, one +could read newspaper print until midnight by the glow of the sun-- +and between the rising and the setting of that sun there would be +from eighteen to twenty hours of day. It was evening time in the +wonderland of the north, a wonderland hard and frozen and ridden +by pain and death in winter, but a paradise upon earth in this +month of June. + +The beauty of it filled Carrigan's soul, even as he lay on his +back in the damp sand. Far south of him steam and steel were +coming, and the world would soon know that it was easy to grow +wheat at the Arctic Circle, that cucumbers grew to half the size +of a man's arm, that flowers smothered the land and berries turned +it scarlet and black. He had dreaded these days--days of what he +called "the great discovery"--the time when a crowded civilization +would at last understand how the fruits of the earth leaped up to +the call of twenty hours of sun each day, even though that earth +itself was eternally frozen if one went down under its surface +four feet with a pick and shovel. + +Tonight the gloom came earlier because of the clouds in the west. +It was very still. Even the breeze had ceased to come from up the +river. And as Carrigan listened, exulting in the thought that the +coolness of the wet sand was drawing the fever from him, he heard +another sound. At first he thought it was the splashing of a fish. +But after that it came again, and still again, and he knew that +it was the steady and rhythmic dip of paddles. + +A thrill shot through him, and he raised himself to his elbow. +Dusk covered the river, and he could not see. But he heard low +voices as the paddles dipped. And after a little he knew that one +of these was the voice of a woman. + +His heart gave a big jump. "She is coming back," he whispered to +himself. "She is coming back!" + + + + + +IV + + +Carrigan's first impulse, sudden as the thrill that leaped through +him, was to cry out to the occupants of the unseen canoe. Words +were on his lips, but he forced them back. They could not miss +him, could not get beyond the reach of his voice--and he waited. +After all, there might be profit in a reasonable degree of +caution. He crept back toward his rifle, sensing the fact that +movement no longer gave him very great distress. At the same time +he lost no sound from the river. The voices were silent, and the +dip, dip, dip of paddles was approaching softly and with extreme +caution. At last he could barely hear the trickle of them, yet he +knew the canoe was coming steadily nearer. There was a suspicious +secretiveness in its approach. Perhaps the lady with the beautiful +eyes and the glistening hair had changed her mind again and was +returning to put an end to him. + +The thought sharpened his vision. He saw a thin shadow a little +darker than the gloom of the river; it grew into shape; something +grated lightly upon sand and pebbles, and then he heard the +guarded plash of feet in shallow water and saw some one pulling +the canoe up higher. A second figure joined the first. They +advanced a few paces and stopped. In a moment a voice called +softly, + +"M'sieu! M'sieu Carrigan!" + +There was an anxious note in the voice, but Carrigan held his +tongue. And then he heard the woman say, + +"It was here, Bateese! I am sure of it!" + +There was more than anxiety in her voice now. Her words trembled +with distress. "Bateese--if he is dead--he is up there close to +the trees." + +"But he isn't dead," said Carrigan, raising himself a little. "He +is here, behind the rock again!" + +In a moment she had run to where he was lying, his hand clutching +the cold barrel of the pistol which he had found in the sand, his +white face looking up at her. Again he found himself staring into +the glow of her eyes, and in that pale light which precedes the +coming of stars and moon the fancy struck him that she was +lovelier than in the full radiance of the sun. He heard a +throbbing note in her throat. And then she was down on her knees +at his side, leaning close over him, her hands groping at his +shoulders, her quick breath betraying how swiftly her heart was +beating. + +"You are not hurt--badly?" she cried. + +"I don't know," replied David. "You made a perfect shot. I think a +part of my head is gone. At least you've shot away my balance, +because I can't stand on my feet!" + +Her hand touched his face, remaining there for an instant, and the +palm of it pressed his forehead. It was like the touch of cool +velvet, he thought. Then she called to the man named Bateese. He +made Carrigan think of a huge chimpanzee as he came near, because +of the shortness of his body and the length of his arms. In the +half light he might have been a huge animal, a hulking creature of +some sort walking upright. Carrigan's fingers closed more tightly +on the butt of his automatic. The woman began to talk swiftly in a +patois of French and Cree. David caught the gist of it. She was +telling Bateese to carry him to the canoe, and to be very careful, +because m'sieu was badly hurt. It was his head, she emphasized. +Bateese must be careful of his head. + +David slipped his pistol into its holster as Bateese bent over +him. He tried to smile at the woman to thank her for her +solicitude--after having nearly killed him. There was an +increasing glow in the night, and he began to see her more +plainly. Out on the middle of the river was a silvery bar of +light. The moon was coming up, a little pale as yet, but +triumphant in the fact that clouds had blotted out the sun an hour +before his time. Between this bar of light and himself he saw the +head of Bateese. It was a wild, savage-looking head, bound pirate- +fashion round the forehead with a huge Hudson's Bay kerchief. +Bateese might have been old Jack Ketch himself bending over to +give the final twist to a victim's neck. His long arms slipped +under David. Gently and without effort he raised him to his feet. +And then, as easily as he might have lifted a child, he trundled +him up in his arms and walked off with him over the sand. + +Carrigan had not expected this. He was a little shocked and felt +also the impropriety of the thing. The idea of being lugged off +like a baby was embarrassing, even in the presence of the one who +had deliberately put him in his present condition. Bateese did the +thing with such beastly ease. It was as if he was no more than a +small boy, a runt with no weight whatever, and Bateese was a man. +He would have preferred to stagger along on his own feet or creep +on his hands and knees, and he grunted as much to Bateese on the +way to the canoe. He felt, at the same time, that the situation +owed him something more of discussion and explanation. Even now, +after half killing him, the woman was taking a rather high-handed +advantage of him. She might at least have assured him that she had +made a mistake and was sorry. But she did not speak to him again. +She said nothing more to Bateese, and when the half-breed +deposited him in the midship part of the canoe, facing the bow, +she stood back in silence. Then Bateese brought his pack and +rifle, and wedged the pack in behind him so that he could sit +upright. After that, without pausing to ask permission, he picked +up the woman and carried her through the shallow water to the bow, +saving her the wetting of her feet. + +As she turned to find her paddle her face was toward David, and +for a moment she was looking at him. + +"Do you mind telling me who you are, and where we are going?" he +asked. + +"I am Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain," she said. "My brigade is down +the river, M'sieu Carrigan." + +He was amazed at the promptness of her confession, for as one of +the working factors of the long arm of the police he accepted it +as that. He had scarcely expected her to divulge her name after +the cold-blooded way in which she had attempted to kill him. And +she had spoken quite calmly of "my brigade." He had heard of the +Boulain Brigade. It was a name associated with Chipewyan, as he +remembered it--or Fort McMurray. He was not sure just where the +Boulain scows had traded freight with the upper-river craft. Until +this year he was positive they had not come as far south as +Athabasca Landing. Boulain--Boulain--The name repeated itself over +and over in his mind. Bateese shoved off the canoe, and the +woman's paddle dipped in and out of the water beginning to shimmer +in moonlight. But he could not, for a time, get himself beyond the +pounding of that name in his brain. It was not merely that he had +heard the name before. There was something significant about it. +Something that made him grope back in his memory of things. +Boulain! He whispered it to himself, his eyes on the slender +figure of the woman ahead of him, swaying gently to the steady +sweep of the paddle in her hands. Yet he could think of nothing. A +feeling of irritation swept over him, disgust at his own mental +impotency. And the dizzying sickness was brewing in his head +again. + +"I have heard that name--somewhere--before," he said. There was a +space of only five or six feet between them, and he spoke with +studied distinctness. + +"Possibly you have, m'sieu." + +Her voice was exquisite, clear as the note of a bird, yet so soft +and low that she seemed scarcely to have spoken. And it was, +Carrigan thought, criminally evasive--under the circumstances. He +wanted her to turn round and say something. He wanted, first of +all, to ask her why she had tried to kill him. It was his right to +demand an explanation. And it was his duty to get her back to the +Landing, where the law would ask an accounting of her. She must +know that. There was only one way in which she could have learned +his name, and that was by prying into his identification papers +while he was unconscious. Therefore she not only knew his name, +but also that he was Sergeant Carrigan of the Royal Northwest +Mounted Police. In spite of all this she was apparently not very +deeply concerned. She was not frightened, and she did not appear +to be even slightly excited. + +He leaned nearer to her, the movement sending a sharp pain between +his eyes. It almost drew a cry from him, but he forced himself to +speak without betraying it. + +"You tried to murder me--and almost succeeded. Haven't you +anything to say?" + +"Not now, m'sieu--except that it was a mistake. and I am sorry. +But you must not talk. You must remain quiet. I am afraid your +skull is fractured." + +Afraid his skull was fractured! And she expressed her fear in the +casual way she might have spoken of a toothache. He leaned back +against his dunnage sack and closed his eyes. Probably she was +right. These fits of dizziness and nausea were suspicious. They +made him top-heavy and filled him with a desire to crumple up +somewhere. He was clear-mindedly conscious of this and of his +fight against the weakness. But in those moments when he felt +better and his head was clear of pain, he had not seriously +thought of a fractured skull. If she believed it, why did she not +treat him a bit more considerately? Bateese, with that strength of +an ox in his arms, had no use for her assistance with the paddle. +She might at least have sat facing him, even if she refused to +explain matters more definitely. + +A mistake, she called it. And she was sorry for him! She had made +those statements in a matter-of-fact way, but with a voice that +was like music. She had spoken perfect English, but in her words +were the inflection and velvety softness of the French blood which +must be running red in her veins. And her name was Jeanne Marie- +Anne Boulain! + +With eyes closed, Carrigan called himself an idiot for thinking of +these things at the present time. Primarily he was a man-hunter +out on important duty, and here was duty right at hand, a thousand +miles south of Black Roger Audemard, the wholesale murderer he was +after. He would have sworn on his life that Black Roger had never +gone at a killing more deliberately than this same Jeanne Marie- +Anne Boulain had gone after him behind the rock! + +Now that it was all over, and he was alive, she was taking him +somewhere as coolly and as unexcitedly as though they were +returning from a picnic. Carrigan shut his eyes tighter and +wondered if he was thinking straight. He believed he was badly +hurt, but he was as strongly convinced that his mind was clear. +And he lay quietly with his head against the pack, his eyes +closed, waiting for the coolness of the river to drive his nausea +away again. + +He sensed rather than felt the swift movement of the canoe. There +was no perceptible tremor to its progress. The current and a +perfect craftsmanship with the paddles were carrying it along at +six or seven miles an hour. He heard the rippling of water that at +times was almost like the tinkling of tiny bells, and more and +more bell-like became that sound as he listened to it. It struck a +certain note for him. And to that note another added itself, until +in the purling rhythm of the river he caught the murmuring +monotone of a name Boulain--Boulain--Boulain. The name became an +obsession. It meant something. And he knew what it meant--if he +could only whip his memory back into harness again. But that was +impossible now. When he tried to concentrate his mental faculties, +his head ached terrifically. + +He dipped his hand into the water and held it over his eyes. For +half an hour after that he did not raise his head. In that time +not a word was spoken by Bateese or Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. For +the forest people it was not an hour in which to talk. The moon +had risen swiftly, and the stars were out. Where there had been +gloom, the world was now a flood of gold and silver light. At +first Carrigan allowed this to filter between his fingers; then he +opened his eyes. He felt more evenly balanced again. + +Straight in front of him was Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. The +curtain of dusk had risen from between them, and she was full in +the radiance of the moon. She was no longer paddling, but was +looking straight ahead. To Cardigan her figure was exquisitely +girlish as he saw it now. She was bareheaded, as he had seen tier +first, and her hair hung down her back like a shimmering mass of +velvety sable in the star-and-moon glow. Something told Carrigan +she was going to turn her face in his direction, and he dropped +his hand over his eyes again, leaving a space between the fingers. +He was right in his guess. She fronted the moon, looking at him +closely--rather anxiously, he thought. She even leaned a little +toward him that she might see more clearly. Then she turned and +resumed her paddling. + +Carrigan was a bit elated. Probably she had looked at him a number +of times like that during the past half-hour. And she was +disturbed. She was worrying about him. The thought of being a +murderess was beginning to frighten her. In spite of the beauty of +her eyes and hair and the slim witchery of her body he had no +sympathy for her. He told himself that he would give a year of his +life to have her down at Barracks this minute. He would never +forget that three-quarters of an hour behind the rock, not if he +lived to be a hundred. And if he did live, she was going to pay, +even if she was lovelier than Venus and all the Graces combined. +He felt irritated with himself that he should have observed in +such a silly way the sable glow of her hair in the moonlight. And +her eyes. What the deuce did prettiness matter in the present +situation? The sister of Fanchet, the mail robber, was beautiful, +but her beauty had failed to save Fanchet. The Law had taken him +in spite of the tears in Carmin Fanchet's big black eyes, and in +that particular instance he was the Law. And Carmin Fanchet was +pretty--deucedly pretty. Even the Old Man's heart had been stirred +by her loveliness. + +"A shame!" he had said to Carrigan. "A shame!" But the rascally +Fanchet was hung by the neck until he was dead. + +Carrigan drew himself up slowly until he was sitting erect. He +wondered what Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain would say if he told her +about Carmin. But there was a big gulf between the names Fanchet +and Boulain. The Fanchets had come from the dance halls of Alaska. +They were bad, both of them. At least, so they had judged Carmin +Fanchet--along with her brother. And Boulain-- + +His hand, in dropping to his side, fell upon the butt of his +pistol. Neither Bateese nor the girl had thought of disarming him. +It was careless of them, unless Bateese was keeping a good eye on +him from behind. + +A new sort of thrill crept into Carrigan's blood. He began to see +where he had made a huge error in not playing his part more +cleverly. It was this girl Jeanne who had shot him. It was Jeanne +who had stood over him in that last moment when he had made an +effort to use his pistol. It was she who had tried to murder him +and who had turned faint-hearted when it came to finishing the +job. But his knowledge of these things he should have kept from +her. Then, when the proper moment came, he would have been in a +position to act. Even now it might be possible to cover his +blunder. He leaned toward her again, determined to make the +effort. + +"I want to ask your pardon," he said. "May I?" + +His voice startled her. It was as if the stinging tip of a whip- +lash had touched her bare neck. He was smiling when she turned. In +her face and eyes was a relief which she made no effort to +repress. + +"You thought I might be dead," he laughed softly. "I'm not, Miss +Jeanne. I'm very much alive again. It was that accursed fever--and +I want to ask your pardon! I think--I know--that I accused you of +shooting me. It's impossible. I couldn't think of it--In my clear +mind. I am quite sure that I know the rascally half-breed who pot- +shotted me like that. And it was you who came in time, and +frightened him away, and saved my life. Will you forgive me--and +accept my gratitude?" + +There came into the glowing eyes of the girl a reflection of his +own smile. It seemed to him that he saw the corners of her mouth +tremble a little before she answered him. + +"I am glad you are feeling better, m'sieu." + +"And you will forgive me for--for saying such beastly things to +you?" + +She was lovely when she smiled, and she was smiling at him now. +"If you want to be forgiven for lying, yes," she said. "I forgive +you that, because it is sometimes your business to lie. It was I +who tried to kill you, m'sieu. And you know it." + +"But--" + +"You must not talk, m'sieu. It is not good for you: Bateese, will +you tell m'sieu not to talk?" + +Carrigan heard a movement behind him. + +"M'sieu, you will stop ze talk or I brak hees head wit' ze paddle +in my han'!" came the voice of Bateese close to his shoulder. "Do +I mak' ze word plain so m'sieu compren'?" + +"I get you, old man," grunted Carrigan. "I get you--both!" + +And he leaned back against his dunnage-sack, staring again at the +witching slimness of the lovely Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain as she +calmly resumed her paddling in the bow of the canoe. + + + + + +V + + +In the few minutes following the efficient and unexpected warning +of Bateese an entirely new element of interest entered into the +situation for David Carrigan. He had more than once assured +himself that he had made a success of his profession of man- +hunting not because he was brighter than the other fellow, but +largely because he possessed a sense of humor and no vanities to +prick. He was in the game because he loved the adventure of it. He +was loyal to his duty, but he was not a worshipper of the law, nor +did he covet the small monthly stipend of dollars and cents that +came of his allegiance to it. As a member of the Scarlet Police, +and especially of "N" Division, he felt the pulse and thrill of +life as he loved to live it. And the greatest of all thrills came +when he was after a man as clever as himself, or cleverer. + +This time it was a woman--or a girl! He had not yet made up his +mind which she was. Her voice, low and musical, her poise, and the +tranquil and unexcitable loveliness of her face had made him, at +first, register her as a woman. Yet as he looked at the slim +girlishness of her figure in the bow of the canoe, accentuated by +the soft sheen of her partly unbraided hair, he wondered if she +were eighteen or thirty. It would take the clear light of day to +tell him. But whether a girl or a woman, she had handled him so +cleverly that the unpleasantness of his earlier experience began +to give way slowly to an admiration for her capability. + +He wondered what the superintendent of "N" Division would say if +he could see Black Roger Audemard's latest trailer propped up here +in the center of the canoe, the prisoner of a velvety-haired but +dangerously efficient bit of feminine loveliness--and a bull- +necked, chimpanzee-armed half-breed! + +Bateese had confirmed the suspicion that he was a prisoner, even +though this mysterious pair were bent on saving his life. Why it +was their desire to keep life in him when only a few hours ago one +of them had tried to kill him was a. question which only the +future could answer. He did not bother himself with that problem +now. The present was altogether too interesting, and there was but +little doubt that other developments equally important were close +at hand. The attitude of both Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain and her +piratical-looking henchman was sufficient evidence of that. +Bateese had threatened to knock his head off, and he could have +sworn that the girl--or woman--had smiled her approbation of the +threat. Yet he held no grudge against Bateese. An odd sort of +liking for the man began to possess him, just as he found himself +powerless to resist an ingrowing admiration for Marie-Anne. The +existence of Black Roger Audemard became with him a sort of +indefinite reality. Black Roger was a long way off. Marie-Anne and +Bateese were very near. He began thinking of her as Marie-Anne. He +liked the name. It was the Boulain part of it that worked in him +with an irritating insistence. + +For the first time since the canoe journey had begun, he looked +beyond the darkly glowing head and the slender figure in the bow. +It was a splendid night. Ahead of him the river was like a +rippling sheet of molten silver. On both sides, a quarter of a +mile apart, rose the walls of the forest, like low-hung, oriental +tapestries. The sky seemed near, loaded with stars, and the moon, +rising with almost perceptible movement toward the zenith, had +changed from red to a mellow gold. Carrigan's soul always rose to +this glory of the northern light. Youth and vigor, he told +himself, must always exist under those unpolluted lights of the +upper worlds, the unspeaking things which had told him more than +he had ever learned from the mouths of other men. They stood for +his religion, his faith, his belief in the existence of things +greater than the insignificant spark which animated his own body. +He appreciated them most when there was stillness. And tonight it +was still. It was so quiet that the trickling of the paddles was +like subdued music. From the forest there came no sound. Yet he +knew there was life there, wide-eyed, questing life, life that +moved on velvety wing and padded foot, just as he and Marie-Anne +and the half-breed Bateese were moving in the canoe. To have +called out in this hour would have taken an effort, for a supreme +and invisible Hand seemed to have commanded stillness upon the +earth. + +And then there came droning upon his ears a break in the +stillness, and as he listened, the shores closed slowly in, +narrowing the channel until he saw giant masses of gray rock +replacing the thick verdure of balsam, spruce, and cedar. The +moaning grew louder, and the rocks climbed skyward until they hung +in great cliffs. There could be but one meaning to this sudden +change. They were close to LE SAINT-ESPRIT RAPIDE--the Holy Ghost +Rapids. Carrigan was astonished. That day at noon he had believed +the Holy Ghost to be twenty or thirty miles below him. Now they +were at its mouth, and he saw that Bateese and Jeanne Marie-Anne +Boulain were quietly and unexcitedly preparing to run that vicious +stretch of water. Unconsciously he gripped the gunwales of the +canoe with both hands as the sound of the rapids grew into low and +sullen thunder. In the moonlight ahead he could see the rock walls +closing in until the channel was crushed between two precipitous +ramparts, and the moon and stars, sending their glow between those +walls, lighted up a frothing path of water that made Carrigan hold +his breath. He would have portaged this place even in broad day. + +He looked at the girl in the bow. The slender figure Was a little +more erect, the glowing head held a little higher. In those +moments he would have liked to see her face, the wonderful +something that must be in her eyes as she rode fearlessly into the +teeth of the menace ahead. For he could see that she was not +afraid, that she was facing this thing with a sort of exultation, +that there was something about it which thrilled her until every +drop of blood in her body was racing with the impetus of the +stream itself. Eddies of wind puffing out from between the chasm +walls tossed her loose hair about her back in a glistening veil. +He saw a long strand of it trailing over the edge of the canoe +into the water. It made him shiver, and he wanted to cry out to +Bateese that he was a fool for risking her life like this. He +forgot that he was the one helpless individual in the canoe, and +that an upset would mean the end for him, while Bateese and his +companion might still fight on. His thought and his vision were +focused on the girl--and what lay straight ahead. A mass of froth, +like a windrow of snow, rose up before them, and the canoe plunged +into it with the swiftness of a shot. It spattered in his face, +and blinded him for an instant. Then they were out of it, and he +fancied he heard a note of laughter from the girl in the bow. In +the next breath he called himself a fool for imagining that. For +the run was dead ahead, and the girl became vibrant with life, her +paddle flashing in and out, while from her lips came sharp, clear +cries which brought from Eateese frog-like bellows of response. +The walls shot past; inundations rose and plunged under them; +black rocks whipped with caps of foam raced up-stream with the +speed of living things; the roar became a drowning voice, and +then--as if outreached by the wings of a swifter thing--dropped +suddenly behind them. Smoother water lay ahead. The channel +broadened. Moonlight filled it with a clearer radiance, and +Carrigan saw the girl's hair glistening wet, and her arms +dripping. + +For the first time he turned about and faced Bateese. The half- +breed was grinning like a Cheshire cat! + +"You're a confoundedly queer pair!" grunted Carrigan, and he +turned about again to find Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain as +unconcerned as though running the Holy Ghost Rapids in the glow of +the moon was nothing more than a matter of play. + +It was impossible for him to keep his heart from beating a little +faster as he watched her, even though he was trying to regard her +in a most professional sort of way. He reminded himself that she +was an iniquitous little Jezebel who had almost murdered him. +Carmin Fanchet had been like her, an AME DAMNEE--a fallen angel-- +but his business was not sympathy in such matters as these. At the +same time he could not resist the lure of both her audacity and +her courage, and he found himself all at once asking himself the +amazing question as to what her relationship might be to Bateese. +It occurred to him rather unpleasantly that there had been +something distinctly proprietary in the way the half-breed had +picked her up on the sand, and that Bateese had shown no +hesitation a little later in threatening to knock his head off +unless he stopped talking to her. He wondered if Bateese was a +Boulain. + +The two or three minutes of excitement in the boiling waters of +the Holy Ghost had acted like medicine on Carrigan. It seemed to +him that something had given way in his head, relieving him of an +oppression that had been like an iron hoop drawn tightly about his +skull. He did not want Bateese to suspect this change in him, and +he slouched lower against the dunnage-pack with his eyes still on +the girl. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep from +looking at her. She had resumed her paddling, and Bateese was +putting mighty efforts in his strokes now, so that the narrow, +birchbark canoe shot like an arrow with the down-sweeping current +of the river. A few hundred yards below was a twist in the +channel, and as the canoe rounded this, taking the shoreward curve +with dizzying swiftness, a wide, still straight-water lay ahead. +And far down this Carrigan saw the glow of fires. + +The forest had drawn back from the river, leaving in its place a +broken tundra of rock and shale and a wide strip of black sand +along the edge of the stream itself. Carrigan knew what it was--an +upheaval of the tar-sand country so common still farther north, +the beginning of that treasure of the earth which would some day +make the top of the American continent one of the Eldorados of the +world. The fires drew nearer, and suddenly the still night was +broken by the wild chanting of men. David heard behind him a +choking note in the throat of Bateese. A soft word came from the +lips of the girl, and it seemed to Carrigan that her head was held +higher in the moon glow. The chant increased in volume, a +rhythmic, throbbing, savage music that for a hundred and fifty +years had come from the throats of men along the Three Rivers. It +thrilled Carrigan as they bore down upon it. It was not song as +civilization would have counted song. It was like an explosion, an +exultation of human voice unchained, ebullient with the love of +life, savage in its good-humor. It was LE GAITE DE COEUR of the +rivermen, who thought and sang as their forefathers did in the +days of Radisson and good Prince Rupert; it was their merriment, +their exhilaration, their freedom and optimism, reaching up to the +farthest stars. In that song men were straining their vocal +muscles, shouting to beat out their nearest neighbor, bellowing +like bulls in a frenzy of sudden fun. And then, as suddenly as it +had risen in the night, the clamor of voices died away. A single +shout came up the river. Carrigan thought he heard a low rumble of +laughter. A tin pan banged against another. A dog howled. The flat +of an oar played a tattoo for a moment on the bottom of a boat. +Then one last yell from a single throat--and the night was silent +again. + +And that was the Boulain Brigade--singing at this hour of the +night, when men should have been sleeping if they expected to be +up with the sun. Carrigan stared ahead. Shortly his adventure +would take a new twist. Something was bound to happen when they +got ashore. The peculiar glow of the fires had puzzled him. Now he +began to understand. Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain's men were camped +in the edge of the tar-sands and had lighted a number of natural +gas-jets that came up out of the earth. Many times he had seen +fires like these burning up and down the Three Rivers. He had +lighted fires of his own; he had cooked over them and had +afterward had the fun and excitement of extinguishing them with +pails of water. But he had never seen anything quite like this +that was unfolding itself before his eyes now. There were seven of +the fires over an area of half an acre--spouts of yellowish flame +burning like giant torches ten or fifteen feet in the air. And +between them he very soon made out great bustle and activity. Many +figures were moving about. They looked like dwarfs at first, +gnomes at play in a little world made out of witchcraft. But +Bateese was sending the canoe nearer with powerful strokes, and +the figures grew taller, and the spouts of flame higher. Then he +knew what was happening. The Boulain men were taking advantage of +the cool hours of the night and were tarring up. + +He could smell the tar, and he could see the big York boats drawn +up in the circle of yellowish light. There were half a dozen of +them, and men stripped to the waist were smearing the bottoms of +the boats with boiling tar and pitch. In the center was a big, +black cauldron steaming over a gas-jet, and between this cauldron +and the boats men were running back and forth with pails. Still +nearer to the huge kettle other men were filling a row of kegs +with the precious black GOUDRON that oozed up from the bowels of +the earth, forming here and there jet-black pools that Carrigan +could see glistening in the flare of the gas-lamps. He figured +there were thirty men at work. Six big York boats were turned keel +up in the black sand. Close inshore, just outside the circle of +light, was a single scow. + +Toward this scow Bateese sent the canoe. And as they drew nearer, +until the laboring men ashore were scarcely a stone's throw away, +the weirdness of the scene impressed itself more upon Carrigan. +Never had he seen such a crew. There were no Indians among them. +Lithe, quick-moving, bare-headed, their naked arms and shoulders +gleaming in the ghostly illumination, they were racing against +time with the boiling tar and pitch in the cauldron. They did not +see the approach of the canoe, and Bateese did not draw their +attention to it. Quietly he drove the birchbark under the shadow +of the big bateau. Hands were waiting to seize and steady it. +Carrigan caught but a glimpse of the faces. In another instant the +girl was aboard the scow, and Bateese was bending over him. A +second time he was picked up like a child in the chimpanzee-like +arms of the half-breed. The moonlight showed him a scow bigger +than he had ever seen on the upper river, and two-thirds of it +seemed to be cabin. Into this cabin Bateese carried him, and in +darkness laid him upon what Carrigan thought must be a cot built +against the wall. He made no sound, but let himself fall limply +upon it. He listened to Bateese as he moved about, and closed his +eyes when Bateese struck a match. A moment later he heard the door +of the cabin close behind the half-breed. Not until then did he +open his eyes and sit up. + +He was alone. And what he saw in the next few moments drew an +exclamation of amazement from him. Never had he seen a cabin like +this on the Three Rivers. It was thirty feet long if an inch, and +at least eight feet wide. The walls and ceiling were of polished +cedar; the floor was of cedar closely matched. It was the +exquisite finish and craftsmanship of the woodwork that caught his +eyes first. Then his astonished senses seized upon the other +things. Under his feet was a soft rug of dark green velvet. Two +magnificent white bearskins lay between him and the end of the +room. The walls were hung with pictures, and at the four windows +were curtains of ivory lace draped with damask. The lamp which +Bateese had lighted was fastened to the wall close to him. It was +of polished silver and threw a brilliant light softened by a shade +of old gold. There were three other lamps like this, unlighted. +The far end of the room was in deep shadow, but Carrigan made out +the thing he was staring at--a piano. He rose to his feet, +disbelieving his eyes, and made his way toward it. He passed +between chairs. Near the piano was another door, and a wide divan +of the same soft, green upholstery. Looking back, he saw that what +he had been lying upon was another divan. And dose to this were +book-shelves, and a table on which were magazines and papers and a +woman's workbasket, and in the workbasket--sound asleep--a cat! + +And then, over the table and the sleeping cat, his eyes rested +upon a triangular banner fastened to the wall. In white against a +background of black was a mighty polar bear holding at bay a horde +of Arctic wolves. And suddenly the thing he had been fighting to +recall came to Carrigan--the great bear--the fighting wolves--the +crest of St. Pierre Boulain! + +He took a quick step toward the table--then caught at the back of +a chair. Confound his head! Or was it the big bateau rocking under +his feet? The cat seemed to be turning round in its basket. There +were half a dozen banners instead of one; the lamp was shaking in +its bracket; the floor was tilting, everything was becoming +hideously contorted and out of place. A shroud of darkness +gathered about him, and through that darkness Carrigan staggered +blindly toward the divan. He reached it just in time to fall upon +it like a dead man. + + + + + +VI + + +For what seemed to be an interminable time after the final +breakdown of his physical strength David Carrigan lived in a black +world where a horde of unseen little devils were shooting red-hot +arrows into his brain. He did not sense the fact of human +presence; nor that the divan had been changed into a bed and the +four lamps lighted, and that wrinkled, brown hands with talon-like +fingers were performing a miracle of wilderness surgery upon him. +He did not see the age-old face of Nepapinas--"The Wandering Bolt +of Lightning"--as the bent and tottering Cree called upon all his +eighty years of experience to bring him back to life. And he did +not see Bateese, stolid-faced, silent, nor the dead-white face and +wide-open, staring eyes of Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain as her slim, +white fingers worked with the old medicine man's. He was in a gulf +of blackness that writhed with the spirits of torment. He fought +them and cried out against them, and his fighting and his cries +brought the look of death itself into the eyes of the girl who was +over him. He did not hear her voice nor feel the soothing of her +hands, nor the powerful grip of Bateese as he held him when the +critical moments came. And Nepapinas, like a machine that had +looked upon death a thousand times, gave no rest to his claw-like +fingers until the work was done--and it was then that something +came to drive the arrow-shooting devils out of the darkness that +was smothering Carrigan. + +After that Carrigan lived through an eternity of unrest, a life in +which he seemed powerless and yet was always struggling for +supremacy over things that were holding him down. There were +lapses in it, like the hours of oblivion that come with sleep, and +there were other times when he seemed keenly alive, yet unable to +move or act. The darkness gave way to flashes of light, and in +these flashes he began to see things, curiously twisted, fleeting, +and yet fighting themselves insistently upon his senses. He was +back in the hot sand again, and this time he heard the voices of +Jeanne Marie-Anne and Golden-Hair, and Golden-Hair flaunted a +banner in his face, a triangular pennon of black on which a huge +bear was fighting white Arctic wolves, and then she would run away +from him, crying out--"St. Pierre Boulain--St. Pierre Boulain--" +and the last he could see of her was her hair flaming like fire in +the sun. But it was always the other--the dark hair and dark eyes +--that came to him when the little devils returned to assault him +with their arrows. From somewhere she would come out of darkness +and frighten them away. He could hear her voice like a whisper in +his ears, and the touch of her hands comforted him and quieted his +pain. After a time he grew to be afraid when the darkness +swallowed her up, and in that darkness he would call for her, and +always he heard her voice in answer. + +Then came a long oblivion. He floated through cool space away from +the imps of torment; his bed was of downy clouds, and on these +clouds he drifted with a great shining river under him; and at +last the cloud he was in began to shape itself into walls and on +these walls were pictures, and a window through which the sun was +shining, and a black pennon--and he heard a soft, wonderful music +that seemed to come to him faintly from another world. Other +creatures were at work in his brain now. They were building up and +putting together the loose ends of things. Carrigan became one of +them, working so hard that frequently a pair of dark eyes came out +of the dawning of things to stop him, and quieting hands and a +voice soothed him to rest. The hands and the voice became very +intimate. He missed them when they were not near, especially the +hands, and he was always groping for them to make sure they had +not gone away. + +Only once after the floating cloud transformed itself into the +walls of the bateau cabin did the chaotic darkness of the sands +fully possess him again. In that darkness he heard a voice. It was +not the voice of Golden-Hair, or of Bateese, or of Jeanne Marie- +Anne. It was close to his ears. And in that darkness that +smothered him there was something terrible about it as it droned +slowly the words--"HAS-ANY-ONE-SEEN-BLACK-ROGER-AUDEMARD?" He +tried to answer, to call back to it, and the voice came again, +repeating the words, emotionless, hollow, as if echoing up out of +a grave. And still harder he struggled to reply to it, to say that +he was David Carrigan, and that he was out on the trail of Black +Roger Audemard, and that Black Roger was far north. And suddenly +it seemed to him that the voice changed into the flesh and blood +of Black Roger himself, though he could not see in the darkness-- +and he reached out, gripping fiercely at the warm substance of +flesh, until he heard another voice, the voice of Jeanne Marie- +Anne Boulain, entreating him to let his victim go. It was this +time that his eyes shot open, wide and seeing, and straight over +him was the face of Jeanne Marie-Anne, nearer him than it had been +even in the visionings of his feverish mind. His fingers were +clutching her shoulders, gripping like steel hooks. + +"M'sieu--M'sieu David!" she was crying. + +For a moment he stared; then his hands and fingers relaxed, and +his arms dropped limply. "Pardon--I--I was dreaming," he struggled +weakly. "I thought--" + +He had seen the pain in her face. Now, changing swiftly, it +lighted up with relief and gladness. His vision, cleared by long +darkness, saw the change come in an instant like a flash of +sunshine. And then--so near that he could have touched her--she +was smiling down into his eyes. He smiled back. It took an effort, +for his face felt stiff and unnatural. + +"I was dreaming--of a man--named Roger Audemard," he continued to +apologize. "Did I--hurt you?" + +The smile on her lips was gone as swiftly as it had come. "A +little, m'sieu. I am glad you are better. You have been very +sick." + +He raised a hand to his face. The bandage was there, and also a +stubble of beard on his cheeks. He was puzzled. This morning he +had fastened his steel mirror to the side of a tree and shaved. + +"It was three days ago you were hurt," she said quietly. "This is +the afternoon of the third day. You have been in a great fever. +Nepapinas, my Indian doctor, saved your life. You must lie quietly +now. You have been talking a great deal." + +"About--Black Roger?" he said. + +She nodded. + +"And--Golden--Hair?" + +"Yes, of Golden--Hair." + +"And--some one else--with dark hair--and dark eyes--" + +"It may be, m'sieu." + +"And of little devils with bows and arrows, and of polar bears, +and white wolves, and of a great lord of the north who calls +himself St. Pierre Boulain?" + +"Yes, of all those." + +"Then I haven't anything more to tell you," grunted David. "I +guess I've told you all I know. You shot me, back there. And here +I am. What are you going to do next?" + +"Call Bateese," she answered promptly, and she rose swiftly from +beside him and moved toward the door. + +He made no effort to call her back. His wits were working slowly, +readjusting themselves after a carnival in chaos, and he scarcely +sensed that she was gone until the cabin door closed behind her. +Then again he raised a hand to his face and felt his beard. Three +days! He turned his head so that he could take in the length of +the cabin. It was filled with subdued sunlight now, a western sun +that glowed softly, giving depth and richness to the colors on the +floor and walls, lighting up the piano keys, suffusing the +pictures with a warmth of life. David's eyes traveled slowly to +his own feet. The divan had been opened and transformed into a +bed. He was undressed. He had on somebody's white nightgown. And +there was a big bunch of wild roses on the table where three days +ago the cat had been sleeping in the work-basket. His head cleared +swiftly, and he raised himself a little on one elbow, with extreme +caution, and listened. The big bateau was not moving. It was still +tied up, but he could hear no voices out where the tar-sands were. + +He dropped back on his pillow, and his eyes rested on the black +pennon. His blood stirred again as he looked at the white bear and +the fighting wolves. Wherever men rode the waters of the Three +Rivers that pennon was known. Yet it was not common. Seldom was it +seen, and never had it come south of Chipewyan. Many things came +to Carrigan now, things that he had heard at the Landing and up +and down the rivers. Once he had read the tail-end of a report the +Superintendent of "N" Division had sent in to headquarters. + +"We do not know this St. Pierre. Few men have seen him out of his +own country, the far headwaters of the Yellowknife, where he rules +like a great overlord. Both the Yellowknives and the Dog Ribs call +him KICHEOO KIMOW, or King, and the same rumors say there is never +starvation or plague in his regions; and it is fact that neither +the Hudson's Bay nor Revillon Brothers in their cleverest +generalship and trade have been able to uproot his almost dynastic +jurisdiction. The Police have had no reason to investigate or +interfere." + +At least that was the gist of what Carrigan had read in McVane's +report. But he had never associated it with the name of Boulain. +It was of St. Pierre that he had heard stories, St. Pierre and his +black pennon with its white bear and fighting wolves. And so--it +was St. Pierre BOULAIN! + +He closed his eyes and thought of the long winter weeks he had +passed at Hay River Post, watching for Fanchet, the mail robber. +It was there he had heard most about this St. Pierre, and yet no +one he had talked with had ever seen him; no one knew whether he +was old or young, a pigmy or a giant. Some stories said that he +was strong, that he could twist a gun-barrel double in his hands; +others said that he was old, very old, so that he never set forth +with his brigades that brought down each year a treasure of furs +to be exchanged for freight. And never did a Dog Rib or a +Yellowknife open his mouth about KICHEOO KIMOW St. Pierre, the +master of their unmapped domains. In that great country north and +west of the Great Slave he remained an enigma and a sphinx. If he +ever came out with his brigades, he did not disclose his identity, +so that if one saw a fleet of boats or canoes with the St. Pierre +pennon, one had to make his own guess whether St. Pierre himself +was there or not. But these things were known--that the keenest, +quickest, and strongest men in the northland ran the St. Pierre +brigades, that they brought out the richest cargoes of furs, and +that they carried back with them into the secret fastnesses of +their wilderness the greatest cargoes of freight that treasure +could buy. So much the name St. Pierre dragged out of Carrigan's +memory. It came to him now why the name "Boulain" had pounded so +insistently in his brain. He had seen this pennon with its white +bear and fighting wolves only once before, and that had been over +a Boulain scow at Chipewyan. But his memory had lost its grip on +that incident while retaining vividly its hold on the stories and +rumors of the mystery-man, St. Pierre. + +Carrigan pulled himself a little higher on his pillow and with a +new interest scanned the cabin. He had never heard of Boulain +women. Yet here was the proof of their existence and of the +greatness that ran in the red blood of their veins. The history of +the great northland, hidden in the dust-dry tomes and guarded +documents of the great company, had always been of absorbing +interest to him. He wondered why it was that the outside world +knew so little about it and believed so little of what it heard. A +long time ago he had penned an article telling briefly the story +of this half of a great continent in which for two hundred years +romance and tragedy and strife for mastery had gone on in a way to +thrill the hearts of men. He had told of huge forts with thirty- +foot stone bastions, of fierce wars, of great warships that had +fired their broadsides in battle in the ice-filled waters of +Hudson's Bay. He had described the coming into this northern world +of thousands and tens of thousands of the bravest and best-blooded +men of England and France, and how these thousands had continued +to come, bringing with them the names of kings, of princes, and of +great lords, until out of the savagery of the north rose an +aristocracy of race built up of the strongest men of the earth. +And these men of later days he had called Lords of the North--men +who had held power of life and death in the hollow of their hands +until the great company yielded up its suzerainty to the +Government of the Dominion in 1870; men who were kings in their +domains, whose word was law, who were more powerful in their +wilderness castles than their mistress over the sea, the Queen of +Britain. + +And Carrigan, after writing of these things, had stuffed his +manuscript away in the bottom of his chest at barracks, for he +believed that it was not in his power to do justice to the people +of this wilderness world that he loved. The powerful old lords +were gone. Like dethroned monarchs, stripped to the level of other +men, they lived in the memories of what had been. Their might now +lay in trade. No more could they set out to wage war upon their +rivals with powder and ball. Keen wit, swift dogs, and the +politics of barter had taken the place of deadlier things. LE +FACTEUR could no longer slay or command that others be slain. A +mightier hand than his now ruled the destinies of the northern +people--the hand of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. + +It was this thought, the thought that Law and one of the powerful +forces of the wilderness had met in this cabin of the big bateau, +that came to Carrigan as he drew himself still higher against his +pillow. A greater thrill possessed him than the thrill of his hunt +for Black Roger Audemard. Black Roger was a murderer, a wholesale +murderer and a fiend, a Moloch for whom there could be no pity. Of +all men the Law wanted Black Roger most, and he, David Carrigan, +was the chosen one to consummate its desire. Yet in spite of that +he felt upon him the strange unrest of a greater adventure than +the quest for Black Roger. It was like an impending thing that +could not be seen, urging him, rousing his faculties from the +slough into which they had fallen because of his wound and +sickness. It was, after all, the most vital of all things, a +matter of his own life. Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain had tried to +kill him deliberately, with malice and intent. That she had saved +him afterward only added to the necessity of an explanation, and +he was determined that he would have that explanation and settle +the present matter before he allowed another thought of Black +Roger to enter his head. + +This resolution reiterated itself in his mind as the machine-like +voice of duty. He was not thinking of the Law, and yet the +consciousness of his accountability to that Law kept repeating +itself. In the very face of it Carrigan knew that something +besides the moral obligation of the thing was urging him, +something that was becoming deeply and dangerously personal. At +least--he tried to think of it as dangerous. And that danger was +his unbecoming interest in the girl herself. It was an interest +distinctly removed from any ethical code that might have governed +him in his experience with Carmin Fanchet, for instance. +Comparatively, if they had stood together, Carmin would have been +the lovelier. But he would have looked longer at Jeanne Marie-Anne +Boulain. + +He conceded the point, smiling a bit grimly as he continued to +study that part of the cabin which he could see from his pillow. +He had lost interest--temporarily at least--in Black Roger +Audemard. Not long ago the one question to which, above all +others, he had desired an answer was, why had Jeanne Marie-Anne +Boulain worked so desperately to kill him and so hard to save him +afterward? Now, as he looked about him, the question which +repeated itself insistently was, what relationship did she bear to +this mysterious lord of the north, St. Pierre? + +Undoubtedly she was his daughter, for whom St. Pierre had built +this luxurious barge of state. A fierce-blooded offspring, he +thought, one like Cleopatra herself, not afraid to kill--and +equally quick to make amends when there was a mistake. + +There came the quiet opening of the cabin door to break in upon +his thought. He hoped it was Jeanne Marie-Anne returning to him. +It was Nepapinas. The old Indian stood over him for a moment and +put a cold, claw-like hand to his forehead. He grunted and nodded +his head, his little sunken eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Then +he put his hands under David's arms and lifted him until he was +sitting upright, with three or four pillows at his back. + +"Thanks," said Carrigan. "That makes me feel better. And--if you +don't mind--my last lunch was three days ago, boiled prunes and a +piece of bannock--" + +"I have brought you something to eat, M'sieu David," broke in a +soft voice behind him. + +Nepapinas slipped away, and Jeanne Marie-Anne stood in his place. +David stared up at her, speechless. He heard the door close behind +the old Indian. Then Jeanne Marie-Anne drew up a chair, so that +for the first time he could see her clear eyes with the light of +day full upon her. + +He forgot that a few days ago she had been his deadliest enemy. He +forgot the existence of a man named Black Roger Audemard. Her +slimness was as it had pictured itself to him in the hot sands. +Her hair was as he had seen it there. It was coiled upon her head +like ropes of spun silk, jet-black, glowing softly. But it was her +eyes he stared at, and so fixed was his look that the red lips +trembled a bit on the verge of a smile. She was not embarrassed. +There was no color in the clear whiteness of her skin, except that +redness of her lips. + +"I thought you had black eyes," he said bluntly. "I'm glad you +haven't. I don't like them. Yours are as brown as--as--" + +"Please, m'sieu," she interrupted him, sitting down close beside +him. "Will you eat--now?" + +A spoon was at his mouth, and he was forced to take it in or have +its contents spilled over him. The spoon continued to move quickly +between the bowl and his mouth. He was robbed of speech. And the +girl's eyes, as surely as he was alive, were beginning to laugh at +him. They were a wonderful brown, with little, golden specks in +them, like the freckles he had seen in wood-violets. Her lips +parted. Between their bewitching redness he saw the gleam of her +white teeth. In a crowd, with her glorious hair covered and her +eyes looking straight ahead, one would not have picked her out. +But close, like this, with her eyes smiling at him, she was +adorable. + +Something of Carrigan's thoughts must have shown in his face, for +suddenly the girl's lips tightened a little, and the warmth went +out of her eyes, leaving them cold and distant. He finished the +soup, and she rose again to her feet. + +"Please don't go," he said. "If you do, I think I shall get up and +follow. I am quite sure I am entitled to a little something more +than soup." + +"Nepapinas says that you may have a bit of boiled fish for +supper," she assured him. + +"You know I don't mean that. I want to know why you shot me, and +what you think you are going to do with me." + +"I shot you by mistake--and--I don't know just what to do with +you," she said, looking at him tranquilly, but with what he +thought was a growing shadow of perplexity in her eyes. "Bateese +says to fasten a big stone to your neck and throw you in the +river. But Bateese doesn't always mean what he says. I don't think +he is quite as bloodthirsty--" + +"--As the young lady who tried to murder me behind the rock," +Carrigan interjected. + +"Exactly, m'sieu. I don't think he would throw you into the river +--unless I told him to. And I don't believe I am going to ask him +to do that," she added, the soft glow flashing back into her eyes +for an instant. "Not after the splendid work Nepapinas has done on +your head. St. Pierre must see that. And then, if St. Pierre +wishes to finish you, why--" She shrugged her slim shoulders and +made a little gesture with her hands. + +In that same moment there came over her a change as sudden as the +passing of light itself. It was as if a thing she was hiding had +broken beyond her control for an instant and had betrayed her. The +gesture died. The glow went out of her eyes, and in its place came +a light that was almost fear--or pain. She came nearer to Carrigan +again, and somehow, looking up at her, he thought of the little +brush warbler singing at the end of its birch twig to give him +courage. It must have been because of her throat, white and soft, +which he saw pulsing like a beating heart before she spoke to him. + +"I have made a terrible mistake, m'sieu David," she said, her +voice barely rising above a whisper. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I +thought it was some one else behind the rock. But I can not tell +you more than that--ever. And I know it is impossible for us to be +friends." She paused, one of her hands creeping to her bare +throat, as if to cover the throbbing he had seen there. + +"Why is it impossible?" he demanded, leaning away from his pillows +so that he might bring himself nearer to her. + +"Because--you are of the police, m'sieu." + +"The police, yes," he said, his heart thrumming inside his breast. +"I am Sergeant Carrigan. I am out after Roger Audemard, a +murderer. But my commission has nothing to do with the daughter of +St. Pierre Boulain. Please--let's be friends--" + +He held out his hand; and in that moment David Carrigan placed +another thing higher than duty--and in his eyes was the confession +of it, like the glow of a subdued fire. The girl's fingers drew +more closely at her throat, and she made no movement to accept his +hand. + +"Friends," he repeated. "Friends--in spite of the police." + +Slowly the girl's eyes had widened, as if she saw that new-born +thing riding over all other things in his swiftly beating heart. +And afraid of it, she drew a step away from him. + +"I am not St. Pierre Boulain's daughter," she said, forcing the +words out one by one. "I am--his wife." + + + + + +VII + + +Afterward Carrigan wondered to what depths he had fallen in the +first moments of his disillusionment. Something like shock, +perhaps even more than that, must have betrayed itself in his +face. He did not speak. Slowly his outstretched arm dropped to the +white counterpane. Later he called himself a fool for allowing it +to happen, for it was as if he had measured his proffered +friendship by what its future might hold for him. In a low, quiet +voice Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain was saying again that she was St. +Pierre's wife. She was not excited, yet he understood now why it +was he had thought her eyes were very dark. They had changed +swiftly. The violet freckles in them were like little flecks of +gold. They were almost liquid in their glow, neither brown nor +black now, and with that threat of gathering lightning in them. +For the first time he saw the slightest flush of color in her +cheeks. It deepened even as he held out his hand again. He knew +that it was not embarrassment. It was the heat of the fire back of +her eyes. "It's--funny," he said, making an effort to redeem +himself with a lie and smiling. "You rather amaze me. You see, I +have been told this St. Pierre is an old, old man--so old that he +can't stand on his feet or go with his brigades, and if that is +the truth, it is hard for me to picture you as his wife. But that +isn't a reason why we should not be friends. Is it?" + +He felt that he was himself again, except for the three days' +growth of beard on his face. He tried to laugh, but it was rather +a poor attempt. And St. Pierre's wife did not seem to hear him. +She was looking at him, looking into and through him with those +wide-open glowing eyes. Then she sat down, out of reach of the +hand which he had held toward her. + +"You are a sergeant of the police," she said, the softness gone +suddenly out of her voice. "You are an honorable man, m'sieu. Your +hand is against all wrong. Is it not so?" It was the voice of an +inquisitor. She was demanding an answer of him. + +He nodded. "Yes, it is so." + +The fire in her eyes deepened. "And yet you say you want to be the +friend of a stranger who has tried to kill you. WHY, m'sieu?" + +He was cornered. He sensed the humiliation of it, the +impossibility of confessing to her the wild impulse that had moved +him before he knew she was St. Pierre's wife. And she did not wait +for him to answer. + +"This--this Roger Audemard--if you catch him--what will you do +with him?" she asked. + +"He will be hanged," said David. "He is a murderer." + +"And one who tries to kill--who almost succeeds--what is the +penalty for that?" She leaned toward him, waiting. Her hands were +clasped tightly in her lap, the spots were brighter in her cheeks. + +"From ten to twenty years," he acknowledged. "But, of course, +there may be circumstances--" + +"If so, you do not know them," she interrupted him. "You say Roger +Audemard is a murderer. You know I tried to kill you. Then why is +it you would be my friend and Roger Audemard's enemy? Why, +m'sieu?" + +Carrigan shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. "I shouldn't," he +confessed. "I guess you are proving I was wrong in what I said. I +ought to arrest you and take you back to the Landing as soon as I +can. But, you see, it strikes me there is a big personal element +in this. I was the man almost killed. There was a mistake,--must +have been, for as soon as you put me out of business you began +nursing me back to life again. And--" + +"But that doesn't change it," insisted St. Pierre's wife. "If +there had been no mistake, there would have been a murder. Do you +understand, m'sieu? If it had been some one else behind that rock, +I am quite certain he would have died. The Law, at least, would +have called it murder. If Roger Audemard is a criminal, then I +also am a criminal. And an honorable man would not make a +distinction because one of them is a woman!" + +"But--Black Roger was a fiend. He deserves no mercy. He--" + +"Perhaps, m'sieu!" + +She was on her feet, her eyes flaming down upon him. In that +moment her beauty was like the beauty of Carmin Fanchet. The poise +of her slender body, her glowing cheeks, her lustrous hair, her +gold-flecked eyes with the light of diamonds in them, held him +speechless. + +"I was sorry and went back for you," she said. "I wanted you to +live, after I saw you like that on the sand. Bateese says I was +indiscreet, that I should have left you there to die. Perhaps he +is right. And yet--even Roger Audemard might have had that pity +for you." + +She turned quickly, and he heard her moving away from him. Then, +from the door, she said, + +"Bateese will make you comfortable, m'sieu." + +The door opened and closed. She was gone. And he was alone in the +cabin again. + +The swiftness of the change in her amazed him. It was as if he had +suddenly touched fire to an explosive. There had been the flare, +but no violence. She had not raised her voice, yet he heard in it +the tremble of an emotion that was consuming her. He had seen the +flame of it in her face and eyes. Something he had said, or had +done, had tremendously upset her, changing in an instant her +attitude toward him. The thought that came to him made his face +burn under its scrub of beard. Did she think he was a scoundrel? +The dropping of his hand, the shock that must have betrayed itself +in his face when she said she was St. Pierre's wife--had those +things warned her against him? The heat went slowly out of his +face. It was impossible. She could not think that of him. It must +have been a sudden giving way under terrific strain. She had +compared herself to Roger Audemard, and she was beginning to +realize her peril--that Bateese was right--that she should have +left him to die in the sand! + +The thought pressed itself heavily upon Carrigan. It brought him +suddenly back to a realization of how small a part he had played +in this last half hour in the cabin. He had offered to Pierre's +wife a friendship which he had no right to offer and which she +knew he had no right to offer. He was the Law. And she, like Roger +Audemard, was a criminal. Her quick woman's instinct had told her +there could be no distinction between them, unless there was a +reason. And now Carrigan confessed to himself that there had been +a reason. That reason had come to him with the first glimpse of +her as he lay in the hot sand. He had fought against it in the +canoe; it had mastered him in those thrilling moments when he had +beheld this slim, beautiful creature riding fearlessly into the +boiling waters of the Holy Ghost. Her eyes, her hair, the sweet, +low voice that had been with him in his fever, had become a +definite and unalterable part of him. And this must have shown in +his eyes and face when he dropped his hand--when she told him she +was St. Pierre's wife. + +And now she was afraid of him! She was regretting that she had not +left him to die. She had misunderstood what she had seen betraying +itself during those few seconds of his proffered friendship. She +saw only a man whom she had nearly killed, a man who represented +the Law, a man whose power held her in the hollow of his hand. And +she had stepped back from him, startled, and had told him that she +was not St. Pierre's daughter, but his wife! + +In the science of criminal analysis Carrigan always placed himself +in the position of the other man. And he was beginning to see the +present situation from the view-point of Jeanne Marie-Anne +Boulain. He was satisfied that she had made a desperate mistake +and that until the last moment she had believed it was another man +behind the rock. Yet she had shown no inclination to explain away +her error. She had definitely refused to make an explanation. And +it was simply a matter of common sense to concede that there must +be a powerful motive for her refusal. There was but one conclusion +for him to arrive at--the error which St. Pierre's wife had made +in shooting the wrong man was less important to her than keeping +the secret of why she had wanted to kill some other man. + +David was not unconscious of the breach in his own armor. He had +weakened, just as the Superintendent of "N" Division had weakened +that day four years ago when they had almost quarreled over Carmin +Fanchet. + +"I'll swear to Heaven she isn't bad, no matter what her brother +has been," McVane had said. "I'll gamble my life on that, +Carrigan!" + +And because the Chief of Division with sixty years of experience +behind him, had believed that, Carmin Fanchet had not been held as +an accomplice in her brother's evildoing, but had gone back into +her wilderness uncrucified by the law that had demanded the life +of her brother. He would never forget the last time he had seen +Carmin Fanchet's eyes--great, black, glorious pools of gratitude +as they looked at grizzled old McVane; blazing fires of venomous +hatred when they turned on him. And he had said to McVane, + +"The man pays, the woman goes--justice indeed is blind!" + +McVane, not being a stickler on regulations when it came to +Carrigan, had made no answer. + +The incident came back vividly to David as he waited for the +promised coming of Bateese. He began to appreciate McVane's point +of view, and it was comforting, because he realized that his own +logic was assailable. If McVane had been comparing the two women +now, he knew what his argument would be. There had been no +absolute proof of crime against Carmin Fanchet, unless to fight +desperately for the life of her brother was a crime. In the case +of Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain there was proof. She had tried to +kill. Therefore, of the two, Carmin Fanchet would have been the +better woman in the eyes of McVane. + +In spite of the legal force of the argument which he was bringing +against himself, David felt unconvinced. Carmin Fanchet, had she +been in the place of St. Pierre's wife, would have finished him +there in the sand. She would have realized the menace of letting +him live and would probably have commanded Bateese to dump him in +the river. St. Pierre's wife had gone to the other extreme. She +was not only repentant, but was making restitution, for her +mistake, and in making that restitution had crossed far beyond the +dead-line of caution. She had frankly told him who she was; she +had brought him into the privacy of what was undeniably her own +home; in her desire to undo what she had done she had hopelessly +enmeshed herself in the net of the Law--if that Law saw fit to +act. She had done these things with courage and conviction. And of +such a woman, Carrigan thought, St. Pierre must be very proud. + +He looked slowly about the cabin again and each thing that he saw +was a living voice breaking up a dream for him. These voices told +him that he was in a temple built because of a man's worship for a +woman--and that man was St. Pierre. Through the two western +windows came the last glow of the western sun, like a golden +benediction finding its way into a sacred place. Here there was-- +or had been--a great happiness, for only a great pride and a great +happiness could have made it as it was. Nothing that wealth and +toil could drag up out of a civilization a thousand miles away had +been too good for St. Pierre's wife. And about him, looking more +closely, David saw the undisturbed evidences of a woman's +contentment. On the table were embroidery materials with which she +had been working, and a lamp-shade half finished. A woman's +magazine printed in a city four thousand miles away lay open at +the fashion plates. There were other magazines, and many books, +and open music above the white keyboard of the piano, and vases +glowing red and yellow with wild-flowers and silver birch leaves. +He could smell the faint perfume of the fireglow blossoms, red as +blood. In a pool of sunlight on one of the big white bear rugs lay +the sleeping cat. And then, at the far end of the cabin, an ivory- +white Cross of Christ glowed for a few moments in a last homage of +the sinking sun. + +Uneasiness stole upon him. This was the woman's holy ground, her +sanctuary and her home, and for three days his presence had driven +her from it. There was no other room. In making restitution she +had given up to him her most sacred of all things. And again there +rose up in him that new-born thing which had set strange fires +stirring in his heart, and which from this hour on he knew he must +fight until it was dead. + +For an hour after the last of the sun was obirterated by the +western mountains he lay in the gloom of coming darkness. Only the +lapping of water under the bateau broke the strange stillness of +the evening. He heard no sound of life, no voice, no tread of +feet, and he wondered where the woman and her men had gone and if +the scow was still tied up at the edge of the tar-sands. And for +the first time he asked himself another question, Where was the +man, St. Pierref + + + + + +VIII + + +It was utterly dark in the cabin, when the stillness was broken by +low voices outside. The door opened, and some one came in. A +moment later a match flared up, and in the shifting glow of it +Carrigan saw the dark face of Bateese, the half-breed. One after +another he lighted the four lamps. Not until he had finished did +he turn toward the bed. It was then that David had his first good +impression of the man. He was not tall, but built with the +strength of a giant. His arms were long. His shoulders were +stooped. His head was like the head of a stone gargoyle come to +life. Wide-eyed, heavy-lipped, with the high cheek-bones of an +Indian and uncut black hair bound with the knotted red MOUCHOIR, +he looked more than ever like a pirate and a cutthroat to David. +Such a man, he thought, might make play out of the business of +murder. And yet, in spite of his ugliness, David felt again the +mysterious inclination to like the man. + +Bateese grinned. It was a huge grin, for his mouth was big. "You +ver' lucky fellow," he announced. "You sleep lak that in nice sof +bed an' not back on san'-bar, dead lak ze feesh I bring you, +m'sieu. That ees wan beeg mistake. Bateese say, 'Tie ze stone +roun' hees neck an' mak' heem wan ANGE DE MER. Chuck heem in ze +river, MA BELLE Jeanne!' An' she say no, mak heem well, an' feed +heem feesh. So I bring ze feesh which she promise, an' when you +have eat, I tell you somet'ing!" + +He returned to the door and brought back with him a wicker basket. +Then he drew up the table beside Carrigan and proceeded to lay out +before him the boiled fish which St. Pierre's wife had promised +him. With it was bread and an earthen pot of hot tea. + +"She say that ees all you have because of ze fever. Bateese say, +'Stuff heem wit' much so that he die queek!'" + +"You want to see me dead. Is that it, Bateese?" + +"OUI. You mak' wan ver' good dead man, m'sieu!" Bateese was no +longer grinning. He stood back and pointed at the food. "You eat-- +queek. An' when you have finish' I tell you somet'ing!" + +Now that he saw the luscious bit of whitefish before him, Carrigan +was possessed of the hungering emptiness of three days and nights. +As he ate, he observed that Bateese was performing curious duties. +He straightened a couple of rugs, ran fresh water into the flower +vases, picked up half a dozen scattered magazines, and then, to +David's increasing interest, produced a dust-cloth from somewhere +and began to dust. David finished his fish, the one slice of +bread, and his cup of tea. He felt tremendously good. The hot tea +was like a trickle of new life through every vein in his body, and +he had the desire to get up and try out his legs. Suddenly Bateese +discovered that his patient was laughing at him. + +"QUE DIABLE!" he demanded, coming up ferociously with the cloth in +his great hand. "You see somet'ing ver' fonny, m'sieu?" + +"No, nothing funny, Bateese," grinned Carrigan. "I was just +thinking what a handsome chambermaid you make. You are so gentle, +so nice to look at, so--" + +"DIABLE!" exploded Bateese, dropping his dust cloth and bringing +his huge hands down upon the table with a smash that almost +wrecked the dishes. "You have eat, an' now you lissen. You have +never hear' before of Concombre Bateese. An' zat ees me. See! Wit' +these two hands I have choke' ze polar bear to deat'. I am +strongest man w'at ees in all nort' countree. I pack four hundre' +pound ovair portage. I crack ze caribou bones wit' my teeth, lak a +dog. I run sixt' or hundre' miles wit'out stop for rest. I pull +down trees w'at oder man cut wit' axe. I am not 'fraid of not'ing. +You lissen? You hear w'at I say?" + +"I hear you." + +"BIEN! Then I tell you w'at Concombre Bateese ees goin' do wit' +you, M'sieu Sergent de Police! MA BELLE Jeanne she mak' wan gran' +meestake. She too much leetle bird heart, too much pity for want +you to die. Bateese say, 'Keel him, so no wan know w'at happen +t'ree day ago behin' ze rock.' But MA BELLE Jeanne, she say, 'No, +Bateese, he ees meestake for oder man, an' we mus' let heem live.' +An' then she tell me to come an' bring you feesh, an' tell you +w'at is goin' happen if you try go away from thees bateau. You +COMPREN'? If you try run away, Bateese ees goin' keel you! See-- +wit' thees han's I br'ak your neck an' t'row you in river. MA +BELLE Jeanne say do zat, an' she tell oder mans-twent', thirt', +almos' hundre' GARCONS--to keel you if you try run away. She tell +me bring zat word to you wit' ze feesh. You listen hard w'at I +say?" + +If ever a worker of iniquity lived on earth, Carrigan might have +judged Bateese as that man in these moments. The half-breed had +worked himself up to a ferocious pitch. His eyes rolled. His wide +mouth snarled in the virulence of its speech. His thick neck grew +corded, and his huge hands clenched menacingly upon the table. Yet +David had no fear. He wanted to laugh, but he knew laughter would +be the deadliest of insults to Bateese just now. He remembered +that the half-breed, fierce as a pirate, had a touch as gentle as +a woman's. This man, who could choke an ox with his monstrous +hands, had a moment before petted a cat, straightened out rugs, +watered the woman's flowers, and had dusted. He was harmless--now. +And yet in the same breath David sensed the fact that a single +word from St. Pierre's wife would be sufficient to fire his brute +strength into a blazing volcano of action. Such a henchman was +priceless--under certain conditions! And he had brought a warning +straight from the woman. + +"I think I understand what you mean, Bateese," he said. "She says +that I am to make no effort to leave this bateau--that I am to be +killed if I try to escape? Are you sure she said that?" + +"PAR LES MILLE CORNES DU DIABLE, you t'ink Bateese lie, m'sieu? +Concombre Bateese, who choke ze w'ite bear wit' hees two ban', who +pull down ze tree--" + +"No, no, I don't think you lie. But I am wondering why she didn't +tell me that when she was here." + +"Becaus' she have too much leetle bird heart, zat ees w'y. She +say: 'Bateese, you tell heem he mus' wait for St. Pierre. An' you +tell heem good an' hard, lak you choke ze w'ite bear an' lak you +pull down ze tree, so he mak' no meestake an' try get away.' An' +she tell zat before all ze BATELIERS--all ze St. Pierre mans +gathered 'bout a beeg fire--an' they shout up lak wan gargon that +they watch an' keel you if you try get away." + +Carrigan reached out a hand. "Let's shake, Bateese. I'll give you +my word that I won't try to escape--not until you and I have a +good stand-up fight with the earth under our feet, and I've +whipped you. Is it a go?" + +Bateese stared for a moment, and then his face broke into a wide +grin. "You lak ze fight, m'sieu?" + +"Yes. I love a scrap with a good man like you." + +One of Bateese's huge hands crawled slowly over the table and +engulfed David's. Joy shone on his face. + +"An' you promise give me zat fight, w'en you are strong?" + +"If I don't, I'll let you tie a stone around my neck and drop me +into the river." + +"You are brave GARCON," cried the delighted Bateese. "Up an' down +ze rivers ees no man w'at can whip Concombre Bateese!" Suddenly +his face grew clouded. "But ze head, m'sieu?" he added anxiously. + +"It will get well quickly if you will help me, Bateese. Right now +I want to get up. I want to stretch my legs. Was my head bad?" + +"NON. Ze bullet scrape ze ha'r off--so--so--an' turn ze brain +seek. I t'ink you be good fighting man in week!" + +"And you will help me up?" + +Bateese was a changed man. Again David felt that mighty but gentle +strength of his arms as he helped him to his feet. He was a trifle +unsteady for a moment. Then, with the half-breed close at his +side, ready to catch him if his legs gave way, he walked to one of +the windows and looked out. Across the river, fully half a mile +away, he saw the glow of fires. + +"Her camp?" he asked. + +"OUI, m'sieu." + +"We have moved from the tar-sands?" + +"Yes, two days down ze river." + +"Why are they not camping over here with us?" + +Bateese gave a disgusted grunt. "Becaus' MA BELLE Jeanne have such +leetle bird heart, m'sieu. She say you mus' not have noise near, +lak ze talk an' laugh an' ZE CHANSONS. She say it disturb, an' zat +it rnak you worse wit' ze fever. She ees mak you lak de baby, +Bateese say to her. But she on'y laugh at zat an' snap her leetle +w'ite finger. Wait St. Pierre come! He brak yo'r head wit' hees +two fists. I hope we have ze fight before then, m'sieu!" + +"We'll have it anyway, Bateese. Where is St. Pierre, and when +shall we see him?" + +Bateese shrugged his shoulders. "Mebby week, mebby more. He long +way off." + +"Is he an old man?" + +Slowly Bateese turned David about until he was facing him. "You +ask not'ing more about St. Pierre," he warned. "No mans talk 'bout +St. Pierre. Only wan--MA BELLE Jeanne. You ask her, an' she tell +you shut up. W'en you don't shut up she call Bateese to brak your +head." + +"You're a--a sort of all-round head-breaker, as I understand it," +grunted David, walking slowly back to his bed. "Will you bring me +my pack and clothes in the morning? I want to shave and dress." + +Bateese was ahead of him, smoothing the pillows and straightening +out the rumpled bed-clothes. His huge hands were quick and capable +as a woman's, and David could not keep himself from chuckling at +this feminine ingeniousness of the powerful half-breed. Once in +the crush of those gorilla-like arms that were working over his +bed now, he thought, and it would be all over with the strongest +man in "N" Division. Bateese heard the chuckle and looked up. + +"Somet'ing ver' funny once more, is eet--w'at?" he demanded. + +"I was thinking, Bateese--what will happen to me if you get me in +those arms when we fight? But it isn't going to happen. I fight +with my fists, and I'm going to batter you up so badly that nobody +will recognize you for a long time." + +"You wait!" exploded Bateese, making a horrible grimace. "I choke +you lak w'ite bear, I t'row you ovair my should'r, I mash you lak +leetle strawberr', I--" He paused in his task to advance with a +formidable gesture. + +"Not now," warned Carrigan. "I'm still a bit groggy, Bateese." He +pointed down at the bed. "I'm driving HER from that," he said. "I +don't like it. Is she sleepin' over there--in the camp?" + +"Mebby--an' mebby not, m'sieu," growled Bateese. "You mak' guess, +eh?" + +He began extinguishing the lights, until only the one nearest the +door was left burning. He did not turn toward Carrigan or speak to +him again. When he Went out, David heard the click of a lock in +the door. Bateese had not exaggerated. It was the intention of St. +Pierre's wife that he should consider himself a prisoner--at least +for tonight. + +He had no desire to lie down again. There was an unsteadiness in +his legs, but outside of that the evil of his sickness no longer +oppressed him. The staff doctor at the Landing would probably have +called him a fool for not convalescing in the usual prescribed +way, but Carrigan was already beginning to feel the demand for +action. In spite of what physical effort he had made, his head did +not hurt him, and his mind was keenly alive. He returned to the +window through which he could see the fires on the western shore, +and found no difficulty in opening it. A strong screen netting +kept him from thrusting out his head and shoulders. Through it +came the cool night breeze of the river. It seemed good to fill +his lungs with it again and smell the fresh aroma of the forest. +It was very dark, and the fires across the river were brighter +because of the deep gloom. There was no promise of the moon in the +sky. He could not see a star. From far in the west he caught the +low intonation of thunder. + +Carrigan turned from the window to the end of the cabin in which +the piano stood. Here, too, was the second divan, and he saw the +meaning now of two close-tied curtains, one at each side of the +cabin. Drawn together on a taut wire stretched two inches under +the ceiling, they shut off this end of the bateau and turned at +least a third of the cabin into the privacy of the woman's +bedroom. With growing uneasiness David saw the evidences that this +had been her sleeping apartment. At each side of the piano was a +small door, and he opened one of these just enough to discover +that it was a wardrobe closet. A third door opened on the shore +side of the bateau, but this was locked. Shut out from the view of +the lower end of the cabin by a Japanese screen were a small +dresser and a mirror. In the dim illumination that came from the +distant lamp David bent over the open sheet of music on the piano. +It was Mascagni's AVE MARIA. + +His blood tingled. His brain was stirred by a new emotion, a +growing thing that made him uneasy and filled him with a strange +restlessness. He felt as though he had come suddenly to the edge +of a great danger; somewhere within him an intelligence seized +upon it and understood. Yet it was not physical enough for him to +fight. It was a danger which crept up and about him, something +which he could not see or touch and yet which made his heart beat +faster and the blood come into his face. It drew him, triumphed +over him, dragged his hand forth until his fingers closed upon a +lacy, crumpled bit of a handkerchief that lay on the edge of the +piano keys. It was the woman's handkerchief, and like a thief he +raised it slowly. It smelled faintly of crushed violets; it was as +if she were bending over him in his sickness again, and it was her +breath that came to him. He was not thinking of her as St. +Pierre's wife. And then sharply he caught himself and placed the +handkerchief back on the piano keys. He tried to laugh at himself, +but there was an emptiness where a moment before there had been +that thrill of which he was now ashamed. + +He turned back to the window. The thunder had come nearer. It was +coming up fast out of the west, and with it a darkness that was +like the blackness of a pit. A dead stillness was preceding it +now, and in that stillness it seemed to Carrigan that he could +hear the soapy, slitting sound of the streaming flashes of +electrical fire that blazoned the advance of the storm. The camp- +fires across the river were dying down. One of them went out as he +looked at it, and he stared into the darkness as if trying to +pierce distance and gloom to see what sort of a shelter it was +that St. Pierre's wife had over there. And there came over him in +these moments a desire that was almost cowardly. It was the desire +to escape, to leave behind him the memory of the rock and of St. +Pierre's wife, and to pursue once more his own great adventure, +the quest of Black Roger Audemard. + +He heard the rain coming. At first the sound of it was like the +pattering of ten million tiny feet in dry leaves; then, suddenly, +it was like the roar of an avalanche. It was an inundation, and +with it came crash after crash of thunder, and the black skies +were illumined by an almost uninterrupted glare of lightning. It +had been a long time since Carrigan had felt the shock of such a +storm. He closed the window to keep the rain out, and after that +stood with his face flattened against the glass, staring over the +river. The camp-fires were all gone now, blotted out like so many +candles snuffed between thumb and forefinger, and he shuddered. No +canvas ever made would keep that deluge out. And now there was +growing up a wind with it. The tents on the other side would be +beaten down like pegged sheets of paper, ripped up and torn to +pieces. He imagined St. Pierre's wife in that tumult and distress +--the breath blown out of her, half drowned, blinded by deluge and +lightning, broken and beaten because of him. Thought of her +companions did not ease his mind. Human hands were entirely +inadequate to cope with a storm like this that was rocking the +earth about him. + +Suddenly he went to the door, determined that if Bateese was +outside he would get some satisfaction out of him or challenge him +to a fight right there. He beat against it, first with one fist +and then with both. He shouted. There was no response. Then he +exerted his strength and his weight against the door. It was +solid. + +He was half turned when his eyes discovered, in a corner where the +lamplight struck dimly, his pack and clothes. In thirty seconds he +had his pipe and tobacco. After that for half an hour he paced up +and down the cabin, while the storm crashed and thundered &s if +bent upon destroying all life off the face of the earth. + +Comforted by the company of his pipe, Carrigan did not beat at the +door again. He waited, and at the end of another half-hour the +storm had softened down into a steady patter of rain. The thunder +had traveled east, and the lightning had gone with it. David +opened the window again. The air that came in was rain-sweet, +soft, and warm. He puffed out a cloud of smoke and smiled. His +pipe always brought his good humor to the surface, even in the +worst places. St. Pierre's wife had certainly had a good soaking. +And in a way the whole thing was a bit funny. He was thinking now +of a poor little golden-plumaged partridge, soaked to the skin, +with its tail-feathers dragging pathetically. Grinning, he told +himself that it was an insult to think of her and a half-drowned +partridge in the same breath. But the simile still remained, and +he chuckled. Probably she was wringing out her clothes now, and +the men were cursing under their breath while trying to light a +fire. He watched for the fire. It failed to appear. Probably she +was hating him for bringing all this discomfort and humiliation +upon her. It was not impossible that tomorrow she would give +Bateese permission to brain him. And St. Pierre? What would this +man, her husband, think and do if he knew that his wife had given +up her bedroom to this stranger? What complications might arise IF +HE KNEW! + +It was late--past midnight--when Carrigan went to bed. Even then +he did not sleep for a long time. The patter of the rain grew less +and less on the roof of the bateau, and as the sound of it droned +itself off into nothingness, slumber came. David was conscious of +the moment when the rain ceased entirely. Then he slept. At least +he must have been very close to sleep, or had been asleep and was +returning for a moment close to consciousness, when he heard a +voice. It came several times before he was roused enough to +realize that it was a voice. And then, suddenly, piercing his +slowly wakening brain almost with the shock of one of the thunder +crashes, it came to him so distinctly that he found himself +sitting up straight, his hands clenched, eyes staring in the +darkness, waiting for it to come again. + +Somewhere very near him, in his room, within the reach of his +hands, a strange and indescribable voice had cried out in the +darkness the words which twice before had beat themselves +mysteriously into David Carrigan's brain--"HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK +ROGER AUDEMARD? HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD?" + +And David, holding his breath, listened for the sound of another +breath which he knew was in that room. + + + + + +IX + + +For perhaps a minute Carrigan made no sound that could have been +heard three feet away from him. It was not fear that held him +quiet. It was something which he could not explain afterward, the +sensation, perhaps, of one who feels himself confronted for a +moment by a presence more potent than that of flesh and blood. +BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD! Three times, twice in his sickness, some one +had cried out that name in his ears since the hour when St. +Pierre's wife had ambushed him on the white carpet of sand. And +the voice was now in his room! + +Was it Bateese, inspired by some sort of malformed humor? Carrigan +listened. Another minute passed. He reached out a hand and groped +about him, very careful not to make a sound, urged by the feeling +that some one was almost within reach of him. He flung back his +blanket and stood out in the middle of the floor. + +Still he heard no movement, no soft footfalls of retreat or +advance. He lighted a match and held it high above his head. In +its yellow illumination he could see nothing alive. He lighted a +lamp. The cabin was empty. He drew a deep breath and went to the +window. It was still open. The voice had undoubtedly come to him +through that window, and he fancied he could see where the screen +netting was crushed a bit inward, as though a face had pressed +heavily against it. Outside the night was beautifully calm. The +sky, washed by storm, was bright with stars. But there was not a +ripple of movement that he could hear. + +After that he looked at his watch. He must have been sleeping for +some time when the voice roused him, for it was nearly three +o'clock. In spite of the stars, dawn was close at hand. When he +looked out of the window again they were paler and more distant. +He had no intention of going back to bed. He was restless and felt +himself surrendering more and more to the grip of presentiment. + +It was still early, not later than six o'clock, when Bateese came +in with his breakfast. He was surprised, as he had heard no +movement or sound of voices to give evidence of life anywhere near +the bateau. Instantly he made up his mind that it was not Bateese +who had uttered the mysterious words of a few hours ago, for the +half-breed had evidently experienced a most uncomfortable night. +He was like a rat recently pulled out of water. His clothes hung +upon him sodden and heavy, his head kerchief dripped, and his lank +hair was wet. He slammed the breakfast things down on the table +and went out again without so much as nodding at his prisoner. + +Again a sense of discomfort and shame swept over David, as he sat +down to breakfast. Here he was comfortably, even luxuriously, +housed, while out there somewhere St. Pierre's lovely wife was +drenched and even more miserable than Bateese. And the breakfast +amazed him. It was not so much the caribou tenderloin, rich in its +own red juice, or the potato, or the pot of coffee that was +filling the cabin with its aroma, that roused his wonder, but the +hot, brown muffins that accompanied the other things. Muffins! And +after a deluge that had drowned every square inch of the earth! +How had Bateese turned the trick? + +Bateese did not return immediately for the dishes, and for half an +hour after he had finished breakfast Carrigan smoked his pipe and +watched the blue haze of fires on the far side of the river. The +world was a blaze of sunlit glory. His imagination carried him +across the river. Somewhere over there, in an open spot where the +sun was blazing, Jeanne Marie-Anne was probably drying herself +after the night of storm. There was but little doubt in his mind +that she was already heaping the ignominy of blame upon him. That +was the woman of it. + +A knock at his door drew him about. It was a light, quick TAP, +TAP, TAP--not like the fist of either Bateese or Nepapinas. In +another moment the door swung open, and in the flood of sunlight +that poured into the cabin stood St. Pierre's wife! + +It was not her presence, but the beauty of her, that held him +spellbound. It was a sort of shock after the vivid imaginings of +his mind in which he had seen her beaten and tortured by storm. +Her hair, glowing in the sun and piled up in shining coils on the +crown of her head, was not wet. She was not the rain-beaten little +partridge that had passed in tragic bedragglement through his +mind. Storm had not touched her. Her cheeks were soft with the +warm flush of long hours of sleep. When she came in, her lips +greeting him with a little smile, all that he had built up for +himself in the hours of the night crumbled away in dust. Again he +forgot for a moment that she was St. Pierre's wife. She was woman, +and as he looked upon her now, the most adorable woman in all the +world. + +"You are better this morning," she said. Real pleasure shone in +her eyes. She had left the door open, so that the sun filled the +room. "I think the storm helped you. Wasn't it splendid?" + +David swallowed hard. "Quite splendid," he managed to say. "Have +you seen Bateese this morning?" + +A little note of laughter came into her throat. "Yes. I don't +think he liked it. He doesn't understand why I love storms. Did +you sleep well, M'sieu Carrigan?" + +"An hour or two, I think. I was worrying about you. I didn't like +the thought that I had turned you out into the storm. But it +doesn't seem to have touched you." + +"No. I was there--quite comfortable." She nodded to the forward +bulkhead of the cabin, beyond the wardrobe closets and the piano. +"There is a little dining-room and kitchenette ahead," she +explained. "Didn't Bateese tell you that?" + +"No, he didn't. I asked him where you were, and I think he told me +to shut up." + +"Bateese is very odd," said St. Pierre's wife. "He is exceedingly +jealous of me, M'sieu David. Even when I was a baby and he carried +me about in his arms, he was just that way. Bateese, you know, is +older than he appears. He is fifty-one." + +She was moving about, quite as if his presence was in no way going +to disturb her usual duties of the day. She rearranged the damask +curtains which he had crumpled with his hands, placed two or three +chairs in their usual places, and moved from this to that with the +air of a housewife who is in the habit of brushing up a bit in the +morning. + +She seemed not at all embarrassed because he was her prisoner, nor +uncomfortably restrained because of the message she had sent to +him by Bateese. She was warmly and gloriously human. In her +apparent unconcern at his presence he found himself sweating +inwardly. A bit nervously he struck a match to light his pipe, +then extinguished it. + +She noticed what he had done. "You may smoke," she said, with that +little note in her throat which he loved to hear, like the +faintest melody of laughter that did not quite reach her lips. +"St. Pierre smokes a great deal, and I like it." + +She opened a drawer in the dressing-table and came to him with a +box half filled with cigars. + +"St. Pierre prefers these--on occasions," she said, "Do you?" + +His fingers seemed all thumbs as he took a cigar from the +proffered box. He cursed himself because his tongue felt thick. +Perhaps it was his silence, betraying something of his mental +clumsiness, that brought a faint flush of color into her cheeks. +He noted that; and also that the top of her shining head came just +about to his chin, and that her mouth and throat, looking down on +them, were bewitchingly soft and sweet. + +And what she said, when her eyes opened wide and beautiful on him +again, was like a knife cutting suddenly into the heart of his +thoughts. + +"In the evening I love to sit at St. Pierre's feet and watch him +smoke," she said. "I am glad it doesn't annoy you, because--I like +to smoke," he replied lamely. + +She placed the box on the little reading table and looked at his +breakfast things. "You like muffins, too. I was up early this +morning, making them for you!" + +"You made them?" he demanded, as if her words were a most amazing +revelation to him. + +"Surely, M'sieu David. I make them every morning for St. Pierre. +He is very fond of them. He says the third nicest thing about me +is my muffins!" + +"And the other two?" asked David. + +"Are St. Pierre's little secrets, m'sieu," she laughed softly, the +color deepening in her cheeks. "It wouldn't be fair to tell you, +would it?" + +"Perhaps it wouldn't," he said slowly. "But there are one or two +other things, Mrs.--Mrs. Boulain--" + +"You may call me Jeanne, or Marie-Anne, if you care to," she +interrupted him. "It will be quite all right." + +She was picking up the breakfast dishes, not at all perturbed by +the fact that she was offering him a privilege which had the +effect of quickening his pulse for a moment or two. + +"Thank you," he said. "I don't mind telling you it is going to be +difficult for me to do that--because--well, this is a most unusual +situation, isn't it? In spite of all your kindness, including what +was probably your good-intentioned endeavor to put an end to my +earthly miseries behind the rock, I believe it is necessary for +you to give me some kind of explanation. Don't you?" + +"Didn't Bateese explain to you last night?" she asked, facing him. + +"He brought a message from you to the effect that I was a +prisoner, that I must make no attempt to escape, and that if I did +try to escape, you had given your men instructions to kill me." + +She nodded, quite seriously. "That is right, M'sieu David." + +His face flamed. "Then I am a prisoner? You threaten me with +death?" + +"I shall treat you very nicely if you make no attempt to escape, +M'sieu David. Isn't that fair?" + +"Fair!" he cried, choking back an explosion that would have vented +itself on a man. "Don't you realize what has happened? Don't you +know that according to every law of God and man I should arrest +you and give you over to the Law? Is it possible that you don't +comprehend my own duty? What I must do?" + +If he had noticed, he would have seen that there was no longer the +flush of color in her cheeks. But her eyes, looking straight at +him, were tranquil and unexcited. She nodded. + +"That is why you must remain a prisoner, M'sieu David, It is +because I do realize, I shall not tell you why that happened +behind the rock, and if you ask me, I shall refuse to talk to you. +If I let you go now, you would probably have me arrested and put +in jail. So I must keep you until St. Pierre comes. I don't know +what to do--except to keep you, and not let you escape until then. +What would you do?" + +The question was so honest, so like a question that might have +been asked by a puzzled child, that his argument for the Law was +struck dead. He stared into the pale face, the beautiful, waiting +eyes, saw the pathetic intertwining of her slim fingers, and +suddenly he was grinning in that big, honest way which made people +love Dave Carrigan. + +"You're--doing--absolutely--right," he said. + +A swift change came in her face. Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes +filled with a sudden glow that made the little violet-freckles in +them dance like tiny flecks of gold. + +"From your point of view you are right," he repeated, "and I shall +make no attempt to escape until I have talked with St. Pierre. But +I can't quite see--just now--how he is going to help the +situation." + +"He will," she assured him confidently. + +"You seem to have an unlimited faith in St. Pierre," he replied a +little grimly. + +"Yes, M'sieu David. He is the most wonderful man in the world. And +he will know what to do." + +David shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps, in some nice, quiet place, +he will follow the advice Bateese gave you--tie a stone round my +neck and sink me to the bottom of the river." + +"Perhaps. But I don't think he will do that I should object to +it." + +"Oh, you would!" + +"Yes. St. Pierre is big and strong, afraid of nothing in the +world, but he will do anything for me. I don't think he would kill +you if I asked him not to." She turned to resume her task of +cleaning up the breakfast things. + +With a sudden movement David swung one of the' big chairs close to +her. "Please sit down," he commanded. "I can talk to you better +that way. As an officer of the law it is my duty to ask you a few +questions. It rests in your power to answer all of them or none of +them. I have given you my word not to act until I have seen St. +Pierre, and I shall keep that promise. But when we do meet I shall +act largely on the strength of what you tell me during the next +tea minutes. Please sit down!" + + + + + +X + + +In that big, deep chair which must have been St. Pierre's own, +Marie-Anne sat facing Carrigan. Between its great arms her slim +little figure seemed diminutive and out of place. Her brown eyes +were level and clear, waiting. They were not warm or nervous, but +so coolly and calmly beautiful that they disturbed Carrigan. She +raised her hands, her slim fingers crumpling for a moment in the +soft, thick coils of her hair. That little movement, the +unconscious feminism of it, the way she folded her hands in her +lap afterward, disturbed Carrigan even more. What a glory on earth +it must be to possess a woman like that! The thought made him +uneasy. And she sat waiting, a vivid, softly-breathing question- +mark against the warm coloring of the upholstered chair. + +"When you shot me," he began, "I saw you, first, standing over me. +I thought you had come to finish me. It was then that I saw +something in your face--horror, amazement, as though you had done +something you did not know you were doing. You see, I want to be +charitable. I want to understand. I want to excuse you if I can. +Won't you tell me why you shot me, and why that change came over +you when you saw me lying there?" + +"No, M'sieu David, I shall not tell." She was not antagonistic or +defiant. Her voice was not raised, nor did it betray an unusual +emotion. It was simply decisive, and the unflinching steadiness of +her eyes and the way in which she sat with her hands folded gave +to it an unqualified definiteness. + +"You mean that I must make my own guess?" + +She nodded. + +"Or get it out of St. Pierre?" + +"If St. Pierre wishes to tell you, yes." + +"Well--" He leaned a little toward her. "After that you dragged me +up into the shade, dressed my wound and made me comfortable. In a +hazy sort of way I knew what was going on. And a curious thing +happened. At times--" he leaned still a little nearer to her--"at +times--there seemed to be two of you!" + +He was not looking at her hands, or he would have seen her fingers +slowly tighten in her lap. + +"You were badly hurt," she said. "It is not strange that you +should have imagined things, M'sieu David." + +"And I seemed to hear two voices," he went on. + +She made no answer, but continued to look at him steadily. + +"And the other had hair that was like copper and gold fire in the +sun. I would see your face and then hers, again and again--and-- +since then--I have thought I was a heavy load for your hands to +drag up through that sand to the shade alone." + +She held up her two hands, looking at them. "They are strong," she +said. + +"They are small," he insisted, "and I doubt if they could drag me +across this floor." + +For the first time the quiet of her eyes gave way to a warm fire. +"It was hard work," she said, and the note in her voice gave him +warning that he was approaching the dead-line again. "Bateese says +I was a fool for doing it. And if you saw two of me, or three or +four, it doesn't matter. Are you through questioning me, M'sieu +David? If so, I have a number of things to do." + +He made a gesture of despair. "No, I am not through. But why ask +you questions if you won't answer them?" + +"I simply can not. You must wait." + +"For your husband?" + +"Yes, for St. Pierre." + +He was silent for a moment, then said, "I raved about a number of +things when I was sick, didn't I?" + +"You did, and especially about what you thought happened in the +sand. You called this--this other person--the Fire Goddess. You +were so near dying that of course it wasn't amusing. Otherwise it +would have been. You see MY hair is black, almost!" Again, in a +quick movement, her fingers were crumpling the lustrous coils on +the crown of her head. + +"Why do you say 'almost'?" he asked. + +"Because St. Pierre has often told me that when I am in the sun +there are red fires in it. And the sun was very bright that +afternoon in the sand, M'sieu David." + +"I think I understand," he nodded. "And I'm rather glad, too. I +like to know that it was you who dragged me up into the shade +after trying to kill me. It proves you aren't quite so savage as--" + +"Carmin Fanchet," she interrupted him softly. "You talked about +her in your sickness, M'sieu David. It made me terribly afraid of +you--so much so that at times I almost wondered if Bateese wasn't +right. It made me understand what would happen to me if I should +let you go. What terrible thing did she do to you? What could she +have done more terrible than I have done?" + +"Is that why you have given your men orders to kill me if I try to +escape?" he asked. "Because I talked about this woman, Carmin +Fanchet?" + +"Yes, it is because of Carmin Fanchet that I am keeping you for +St. Pierre," she acknowledged. "If you had no mercy for her, you +could have none for me. What terrible thing did she do to you, +M'sieu?" + +"Nothing--to me," he said, feeling that she was putting him where +the earth was unsteady under his feet again. "But her brother was +a criminal of the worst sort. And I was convinced then, and am +convinced now, that his sister was a partner in his crimes. She +was very beautiful. And that, I think, was what saved her." + +He was fingering his unlighted cigar as he spoke. When he looked +up, he was surprised at the swift change that had come into the +face of St. Pierre's wife. Her cheeks were flaming, and there were +burning fires screened behind the long lashes of her eyes. But her +voice was unchanged. It was without a quiver that betrayed the +emotion which had sent the hot flush into her face. + +"Then--you judged her without absolute knowledge of fact? You +judged her--as you hinted in your fever--because she fought so +desperately to save a brother who had gone wrong?" + +"I believe she was bad." + +The long lashes fell lower, like fringes of velvet closing over +the fires in her eyes. "But you didn't know!" + +"Not absolutely," he conceded. "But investigations--" + +"Might have shown her to be one of the most wonderful women that +ever lived, M'sieu David. It is not hard to fight for a good +brother--but if he is bad, it may take an angel to do it!" + +He stared, thoughts tangling themselves in his head. A slow shame +crept over him. She had cornered him. She had convicted him of +unfairness to the one creature on earth his strength and his +manhood were bound to protect--a woman. She had convicted him of +judging without fact. And in his head a voice seemed to cry out to +him, "What did Carmin Fanchet ever do to you?" + +He rose suddenly to his feet and stood at the back of his chair, +his hands gripping the top of it. "Maybe you are right," he said. +"Maybe I was wrong. I remember now that when I got Fanchet I +manacled him, and she sat beside him all through that first night. +I didn't intend to sleep, but I was tired--and did. I must have +slept for an hour, and SHE roused me--trying to get the key to the +handcuffs. She had the opportunity then--to kill me." + +Triumph swept over the face that was looking up at him. "Yes, she +could have killed you--while you slept. But she didn't. WHY?" + +"I don't know. Perhaps she had the idea of getting the key and +letting her brother do the job. Two or three days later I am +convinced she would not have hesitated. I caught her twice trying +to steal my gun. And a third time, late at night, when we were +within a day or two of Athabasca Landing, she almost got me with a +club. So I concede that she never did anything very terrible to +me. But I am sure that she tried, especially toward the last." + +"And because she failed, she hated you; and because she hated you, +something was warped inside you, and you made up your mind she +should be punished along with her brother. You didn't look at it +from a woman's viewpoint. A woman will fight, and kill, to save +one she loves. She tried, perhaps, and failed. The result was that +her brother was killed by the Law. Was not that enough? Was it +fair or honest to destroy her simply because you thought she might +be a partner in her brother's crimes?" + +"It is rather strange," he replied, a moment of indecision in his +voice. "McVane, the superintendent, asked me that same question. I +thought he was touched by her beauty. And I'm sorry--very sorry-- +that I talked about her when I was sick. I don't want you to think +I am a bad sort--that way. I'm going to think about it. I'm going +over the whole thing again, from the time I manacled Fanchet, and +if I find that I was wrong--and I ever meet Carmin Fanchet again-- +I shall not be ashamed to get down on my knees and ask her pardon, +Marie-Anne!" + +For the first time he spoke the name which she had given him +permission to use. And she noticed it. He could not help seeing +that--a flashing instant in which the indefinable confession of it +was in her face, as though his use of it had surprised her, or +pleased her, or both. Then it was gone. + +She did not answer, but rose from the big chair, and went to the +window, and stood with her back toward him, looking out over the +river. And then, suddenly, they heard a voice. It was the voice he +had heard twice in his sickness, the voice that had roused him +from his sleep last night, crying out in his room for Black Roger +Audemard. It came to him distinctly through the open door in a low +and moaning monotone. He had not taken his eyes from the slim +figure of St. Pierre's wife, and he saw a little tremor pass +through her now. + +"I heard that voice--again--last night," said David. "It was in +this cabin, asking for Black Roger Audemard." + +She did not seem to hear him, and he also turned so that he was +looking at the open door of the cabin. + +The sun, pouring through in a golden flood, was all at once +darkened, and in the doorway--framed vividly against the day--was +the figure of a man. A tense breath came to Carrigan's lips. At +first he felt a shock, then an overwhelming sense of curiosity and +of pity. The man was terribly deformed. His back and massive +shoulders were so twisted and bent that he stood no higher than a +twelve-year-old boy; yet standing straight, he would have been six +feet tall if an inch, and splendidly proportioned. And in that +same breath with which shock and pity came to him, David knew that +it was accident and not birth that had malformed the great body +that stood like a crouching animal in the open door. At first he +saw only the grotesqueness of it--the long arms that almost +touched the floor, the broken back, the twisted shoulders--and +then, with a deeper thrill, he saw nothing of these things but +only the face and the head of the man. There was something god- +like about them, fastened there between the crippled shoulders. It +was not beauty, but strength--the strength of rock, of carven +granite, as if each feature had been chiseled out of something +imperishable and everlasting, yet lacking strangely and +mysteriously the warm illumination that comes from a living soul. +The man was not old, nor was he young. And he did not seem to see +Carrigan, who stood nearest to him. He was looking at St. Pierre's +wife. + +The look which David saw in her face was infinitely tender. She +was smiling at the misshapen hulk in the door as she might have +smiled at a little child. And David, looking back at the wide, +deep-set eyes of the man, saw the slumbering fire of a dog-like +worship in them. They shifted slowly, taking in the cabin, +questing, seeking, searching for something which they could not +find. The lips moved, and again he heard that weird and mysterious +monotone, as if the plaintive voice of a child were coming out of +the huge frame of the man, crying out as it had cried last night, +"HAS-ANY-ONE-SEEN-BLACK-ROGER-AUDEMARD?" + +In another moment St. Pierre's wife was at the deformed giant's +side. She seemed tall beside him. She put her hands to his head +and brushed back the grizzled black hair, laughing softly into his +upturned face, her eyes shining and a strange glow in her cheeks. +Carrigan, looking at them, felt his heart stand still. WAS THIS +MAN ST. PIERRE? The thought came like a lightning flash--and went +as quickly; it was impossible and inconceivable. And yet there was +something more than pity in the voice of the woman who was +speaking now. + +"No, no, we have not seen him, Andre--we have not seen Black Roger +Audemard. If he comes, I will call you. I promise, Michiwan. I +will call you!" + +She was stroking his bearded cheek, and then she put an arm about +his twisted shoulders, and slowly she turned so that in a moment +or two they were facing the sun--and it seemed to Carrigan that +she was talking and sobbing and laughing in the same breath, as +that great, broken hulk of a man moved out slowly from under the +caress of her arm and went on his way. For a space she looked +after him. Then in a swift movement she closed the door and faced +Carrigan. She did not speak, but waited. Her head was high. She +was breathing quickly. The tenderness that a moment before had +filled her face was gone, and in her eyes was the blaze of +fighting fires as she waited for him to speak--to give voice to +what she knew was passing in his mind. + + + + + +XI + +For a space there was silence between Carrigan and St. Pierre's +wife. He knew what she was thinking as she stood with her back to +the door, waiting half defiantly, her cheeks still flushed, her +eyes bright with the anticipation of battle. She was ready to +fight for the broken creature on the other side of the door. She +expected him to give no quarter in his questioning of her, to +corner her if he could, to demand of her why the deformed giant +had spoken the name of the man he was after, Black Roger Audemard. +The truth hammered in David's brain. It had not been a delusion of +his fevered mind after all; it was not a possible deception of the +half-breed's, as he had thought last night. Chance had brought him +face to face with the mystery of Black Roger. St. Pierre's wife, +waiting for him to speak, was in some way associated with that +mystery, and the cripple was asking for the man McVane had told +him to bring in dead or alive! Yet he did not question her. He +turned to the window and looked out from where Marie-Anne had +stood a few moments before. + +The day was glorious. On the far shore he saw life where last +night's camp had been. Men were moving about close to the water, +and a York boat was putting out slowly into the stream. Close +under the window moved a canoe with a single occupant. It was +Andre, the Broken Man. With powerful strokes he was paddling +across the river. His deformity was scarcely noticeable in the +canoe. His bare head and black beard shone in the sun, and between +his great shoulders his head looked more than ever to Carrigan +like the head of a carven god. And this man, like a mighty tree +stricken by lightning, his mind gone, was yet a thing that was +more than mere flesh and blood to Marie-Anne Boulain! + +David turned toward her. Her attitude was changed. It was no +longer one of proud defiance. She had expected to defend herself +from something, and he had given her no occasion for defense. She +did not try to hide the fact from him, and he nodded toward the +window. + +"He is going away in a canoe. I am afraid you didn't want me to +see him, and I am sorry I happened to be here when he came." + +"I made no effort to keep him away, M'sieu David. Perhaps I wanted +you to see him. And I thought, when you did--" She hesitated. + +"You expected me to crucify you, if necessary, to learn the truth +of what he knows about Roger Audemard," he said. "And you were +ready to fight back. But I am not going to question you unless you +give me permission." + +"I am glad," she said in a low voice. "I am beginning to have +faith in you, M'sieu David. You have promised not to try to +escape, and I believe you. Will you also promise not to ask me +questions, which I can not answer--until St. Pierre comes?" + +"I will try." + +She came up to him slowly and stood facing him, so near that she +could have reached out and put her hands on his shoulders. + +"St. Pierre has told me a great deal about the Scarlet Police," +she said, looking at him quietly and steadily. "He says that the +men who wear the red jackets never play low tricks, and that they +come after a man squarely and openly. He says they are men, and +many times he has told me wonderful stories of the things they +have done. He calls it 'playing the game.' And I'm going to ask +you, M'sieu David, will you play square with me? If I give you the +freedom of the bateau, of the boats, even of the shore, will you +wait for St. Pierre and play the rest of the game out with him, +man to man?" + +Carrigan bowed his head slightly. "Yes, I will wait and finish the +game with St. Pierre." + +He saw a quick throb come and go in her white throat, and with a +sudden, impulsive movement she held out her hand to him. For a +moment he held it close. Her little fingers tightened about his +own, and the warm thrill of them set his blood leaping with the +thing he was fighting down. She was so near that he could feel the +throb of her body. For an instant she bowed her head, and the +sweet perfume of her hair was in his nostrils, the lustrous beauty +of it close under his lips. + +Gently she withdrew her hand and stood back from him. To Carrigan +she was like a young girl now. It was the loveliness of girlhood +he saw in the flush of her face and in the gladness that was +flaming unashamed in her eyes. + +"I am not frightened any more," she exclaimed, her voice trembling +a bit. "When St. Pierre comes, I shall tell him everything. And +then you may ask the questions, and he will answer. And he will +not cheat! He will play square. You will love St. Pierre, and you +will forgive me for what happened behind the rock!" + +She made a little gesture toward the door. "Everything is free to +you out there now," she added. "I shall tell Bateese and the +others. When we are tied up, you may go ashore. And we will forget +all that has happened, M'sieu David. We will forget until St. +Pierre comes." + +"St. Pierre!" he groaned. "If there were no St. Pierre!" + +"I should be lost," she broke in quickly. "I should want to die!" + +Through the open window came the sound of a voice. It was the +weird monotone of Andre, the Broken Man. Marie-Anne went to the +window. And David, following her, looked over her head, again so +near that his lips almost touched her hair. Andre had come back. +He was watching two York boats that were heading for the bateau. + +"You heard him asking for Black Roger Audemard," she said. "It is +strange. I know how it must have shocked you when he stood like +that in the door. His mind, like his body, is a wreck, M'sieu +David. Years ago, after a great storm, St. Pierre found him in the +forest. A tree had fallen on him. St. Pierre carried him in on his +shoulders. He lived, but he has always been like that. St. Pierre +loves him, and poor Andre worships St. Pierre and follows him +about like a dog. His brain is gone. He does not know what his +name is, and we call him Andre. And always, day and night, he is +asking that same question, 'Has any one seen Black Roger +Audemard?' Sometime--if you will, M'sieu David--I should like to +have you tell me what it is so terrible that you know about Roger +Audemard." + +The York boats were half-way across the river, and from them came +a sudden burst of wild song. David could make out six men in each +boat, their oars flashing in the morning sun to the rhythm of +their chant. Marie-Anne looked up at him suddenly, and in her face +and eyes he saw what the starry gloom of evening had half hidden +from him in those thrilling moments when they shot through the +rapids of the Holy Ghost. She was girl now. He did not think of +her as woman. He did not think of her as St. Pierre's wife. In +that upward glance of her eyes was something that thrilled him to +the depth of his soul. She seemed, for a moment, to have dropped a +curtain from between herself and him. + +Her red lips trembled, she smiled at him, and then she faced the +river again, and he leaned a little forward, so that a breath of +wind floated a shimmering tress of her hair against his cheek. An +irresistible impulse seized upon him. He leaned still nearer to +her, holding his breath, until his lips softly touched one of the +velvety coils of her hair. And then he stepped back. Shame swept +over him. His heart rose and choked him, and his fists were +clenched at his side. She had not noticed what he had done, and +she seemed to him like a bird yearning to fly out through the +window, throbbing with the desire to answer the chanting song that +came over the water. And then she was smiling up again into his +face hardened with the struggle which he was making with himself. + +"My people are happy," she cried. "Even in storm they laugh and +sing. Listen, m'sieu. They are singing La Derniere Domaine. That +is our song. It is what we call our home, away up there in the +lost wilderness where people never come--the Last Domain. Their +wives and sweethearts and families are up there, and they are +happy in knowing that today we shall travel a few miles nearer to +them. They are not like your people in Montreal and Ottawa and +Quebec, M'sieu David. They are like children. And yet they are +glorious children!" + +She ran to the wall and took down the banner of St. Pierre +Boulain. "St. Pierre is behind us," she explained. "He is coming +down with a raft of timber such as we can not get in our country, +and we are waiting for him. But each day we must float down with +the stream a few miles nearer the homes of my people. It makes +them happier, even though it is but a few miles. They are coming +now for my bateau. We shall travel slowly, and it will be +wonderful on a day like this. It will do you good to come outside, +M'sieu David--with me. Would you care for that? Or would you +rather be alone?" + +In her face there was no longer the old restraint. On her lips was +the witchery of a half-smile; in her eyes a glow that flamed the +blood in his veins. It was not a flash of coquetry. It was +something deeper and warmer than that, something real--a new +Marie-Anne Boulain telling him plainly that she wanted him to +come. He did not know that his hands were still clenched at his +side. Perhaps she knew. But her eyes did not leave his face, eyes +that were repeating the invitation of her lips, openly asking him +not to refuse. + +"I shall be happy to come," he said. + +The words fell out of him numbly. He scarcely heard them or knew +what he was saying, yet he was conscious of the unnatural note in +his voice. He did not know he was betraying himself beyond that, +did not see the deepening of the wild-rose flush in the cheeks of +St. Pierre's wife. He picked up his pipe from the table and moved +to accompany her. + +"You must wait a little while," she said, and her hand rested for +an instant upon his arm. Its touch was as light as the touch of +his lips had been against her shining hair, but he felt it in +every nerve of his body. "Nepapinas is making a special lotion for +your hurt. I will send him in, and then you may come." + +The wild chant of the rivermen was near as she turned to the door. +From it she looked back at him swiftly. + +"They are happy, M'sieu David," she repeated softly. "And I, too, +am happy. I am no longer afraid. And the world is beautiful again. +Can you guess why? It is because you have given me your promise, +M'sieu David, and because I believe you!" + +And then she was gone. + +For many minutes he did not move. The chanting of the rivermen, a +sudden wilder shout, the voices of men, and after that the grating +of something alongside the bateau came to him like sounds from +another world. Within himself there was a crash greater than that +of physical things. It was the truth breaking upon him, truth +surging over him like the waves of a sea, breaking down the +barriers he had set up, inundating him with a force that was +mightier than his own will. A voice in his soul was crying out the +truth--that above all else in the world he wanted to reach out his +arms to this glorious creature who was the wife of St. Pierre, +this woman who had tried to kill him and was sorry. He knew that +it was not desire for beauty. It was the worship which St. Pierre +himself must have for this woman who was his wife. And the shock +of it was like a conflagration sweeping through him, leaving him +dead and shriven, like the crucified trees standing in the wake of +a fire. A breath that was almost a cry came from him, and his +fists knotted until they were purple. She was St. Pierre's wife! +And he, David Carrigan, proud of his honor, proud of the strength +that made him man, had dared covet her in this hour when her +husband was gone! He stared at the closed door, beginning to cry +out against himself, and over him there swept slowly and terribly +another thing--the shame of his weakness, the hopelessness of the +thing that for a space had eaten into him and consumed him. + +And as he stared, the door opened, and Nepapinas came in. + + + + + +XII + + +During the next quarter of an hour David was as silent as the old +Indian doctor. He was conscious of no pain when Nepapinas took off +his bandage and bathed his head in the lotion he had brought. +Before a fresh bandage was put on, he looked at himself for a +moment in the mirror. It was the first time he had seen his wound, +and he expected to find himself marked with a disfiguring scar. To +his surprise there was no sign of his hurt except a slightly +inflamed spot above his temple. He stared at Nepapinas, and there +was no need of the question that was in his mind. + +The old Indian understood, and his dried-up face cracked and +crinkled in a grin. "Bullet hit a piece of rock, an' rock, not +bullet, hit um head," he explained. "Make skull almost break--bend +um in--but Nepapinas straighten again with fingers, so-so." He +shrugged his thin shoulders with a cackling laugh of pride as he +worked his claw-like fingers to show how the operation had been +done. + +David shook hands with him in silence; then Nepapinas put on the +fresh bandage, and after that went out, chuckling again in his +weird way, as though he had played a great joke on the white man +whom his wizardry had snatched out of the jaws of death. + +For some time there had been a subdued activity outside. The +singing of the boatmen had ceased, a low voice was giving +commands, and looking through the window, David saw that the +bateau was slowly swinging away from the shore. He turned from the +window to the table and lighted the cigar St. Pierre's wife had +given him. + +In spite of the mental struggle he had made during the presence of +Nepapinas, he had failed to get a grip on himself. For a time he +had ceased to be David Carrigan, the man-hunter. A few days ago +his blood had run to that almost savage thrill of the great game +of one against one, the game in which Law sat on one side of the +board and Lawlessness on the other, with the cards between. It was +the great gamble. The cards meant life or death; there was never a +checkmate--one or the other had to lose. Had some one told him +then that soon he would meet the broken and twisted hulk of a man +who had known Black Roger Audemard, every nerve in him would have +thrilled in anticipation of that hour. He realized this as he +paced back and forth over the thick rugs of the bateau floor. And +he knew, even as he struggled to bring them back, that the old +thrill and the old desire were gone. It was impossible to lie to +himself. St. Pierre, in this moment, was of more importance to him +than Roger Audemard. And St. Pierre's wife, Marie-Anne-- + +His eyes fell on the crumpled handkerchief on the piano keys. +Again he was crushing it in the palm of his hand, and again the +flood of humiliation and shame swept over him. He dropped the +handkerchief, and the great law of his own life seemed to rise up +in his face and taunt him. He was clean. That had been his +greatest pride. He hated the man who was unclean. It was his +instinct to kill the man who desecrated another man's home. And +here, in the sacredness of St. Pierre's paradise, he found himself +at last face to face with that greatest fight of all the ages. + +He faced the door. He threw back his shoulders until they snapped, +and he laughed, as if at the thing that had risen up to point its +finger at him. After all, it did not hurt a man to go through a +bit of fire--if he came out of it unburned. And deep in his heart +he knew it was not a sin to love, even as he loved, if he kept +that love to himself. What he had done when Marie-Anne stood at +the window he could not undo. St. Pierre would probably have +killed him for touching her hair with his lips, and he would not +have blamed St. Pierre. But she had not felt that stolen caress. +No one knew--but himself. And he was happier because of it. It was +a sort of sacred thing, even though it brought the heat of shame +into his face. + +He went to the door, opened it, and stood out in the sunshine. It +was good to feel the warmth of the sun in his face again and the +sweet air of the open day in his lungs. The bateau was free of the +shore and drifting steadily towards midstream. Bateese was at the +great birchwood rudder sweep, and to David's surprise he nodded in +a friendly way, and his wide mouth broke into a grin. + +"Ah, it is coming soon, that fight of ours, little coq de +bruyere!" he chuckled gloatingly. "An' ze fight will be jus' lak +that, m'sieu--you ze little fool-hen's rooster, ze partridge, an' +I, Concombre Bateese, ze eagle!" + +The anticipation in the half-breed's eyes reflected itself for an +instant in David's. He turned back into the cabin, bent over his +pack, and found among his clothes two pairs of boxing gloves. He +fondled them with the loving touch of a brother and comrade, and +their velvety smoothness was more soothing to his nerves than the +cigar he was smoking. His one passion above all others was boxing, +and wherever he went, either on pleasure or adventure, the gloves +went with him. In many a cabin and shack of the far hinterland he +had taught white men and Indians how to use them, so that he might +have the pleasure of feeling the thrill of them on his hands. And +now here was Concombre Bateese inviting him on, waiting for him to +get well! + +He went out and dangled the clumsy-looking mittens under the half- +breed's nose. + +Bateese looked at them curiously. "Mitaines," he nodded. "Does ze +little partridge rooster keep his claws warm in those in ze +winter? They are clumsy, m'sieu. I can make a better mitten of +caribou skin." Putting on one of the gloves, David doubled up his +fist. "Do you see that, Concombre Bateese?" he asked. "Well, I +will tell you this, that they are not mittens to keep your hands +warm. I am going to fight you in them when our time comes. With +these mittens I will fight you and your naked fists. Why? Because +I do not want to hurt you too badly, friend Bateese! I do not want +to break your face all to pieces, which I would surely do if I did +not put on these soft mittens. Then, when you have really learned +to fight--" + +The bull neck of Concombre Bateese looked as if it were about to +burst. His eyes seemed ready to pop out of their sockets, and +suddenly he let out a roar. "What!--You dare talk lak that to +Concombre Bateese, w'at is great'st fightin' man on all T'ree +River? You talk lak that to me, Concombre Bateese, who will kill +ze bear wit' hees ban's, who pull down ze tree, who--who--" + +The word-flood of his outraged dignity sprang to his lips; emotion +choked him, and then, looking suddenly over Carrigan's shoulder-- +he stopped. Something in his look made David turn. Three paces +behind him stood Marie-Anne, and he knew that from the corner of +the cabin she had heard what had passed between them. She was +biting her lips, and behind the flash of her eyes he saw laughter. + +"You must not quarrel, children," she said. "Bateese, you are +steering badly." + +She reached out her hands, and without a word David gave her the +gloves. With her palm and fingers she caressed them softly, yet +David saw little lines of doubt come into her white forehead. + +"They are pretty--and soft, M'sieu David. Surely they can not hurt +much! Some day when St. Pierre comes, will you teach me how to use +them?" + +"Always it is 'When St. Pierre comes,'" he replied. "Shall we be +waiting long?" + +"Two or three days, perhaps a little longer. Are you coming with +me to the proue, m'sieu?" + +She did not wait for his answer, but went ahead of him, dangling +the two pairs of gloves at her side. David caught a last glimpse +of the half-breed's face as he followed Marie-Anne around the end +of the cabin. Bateese was making a frightful grimace and shaking +his huge fist, but scarcely were they out of sight on the narrow +footway that ran between the cabin and the outer timbers of the +scow when a huge roar of laughter followed them. Bateese had not +done laughing when they reached the proue, or bow-nest, a deck +fully ten feet in length by eight in width, sheltered above by an +awning, and comfortably arranged with chairs, several rugs, a +small table, and, to David's amazement, a hammock. He had never +seen anything like this on the Three Rivers, nor had he ever heard +of a scow so large or so luxuriously appointed. Over his head, at +the tip of a flagstaff attached to the forward end of the cabin, +floated the black and white pennant of St. Pierre Boulain. And +under this staff was a screened door which undoubtedly opened into +the kitchenette which Marie-Anne had told him about. He made no +effort to hide his surprise. But St. Pierre's wife seemed not to +notice it. The puckery little lines were still in her forehead, +and the laughter had faded out of her eyes. The tiny lines +deepened as there came another wild roar of laughter from Bateese +in the stern. + +"Is it true that you have given your word to fight Bateese?" she +asked. + +"It is true, Marie-Anne. And I feel that Bateese is looking ahead +joyously to the occasion." + +"He is," she affirmed. "Last night he spread the news among all my +people. Those who left to join St. Pierre this morning have taken +the news with them, and there is a great deal of excitement and +much betting. I am afraid you have made a bad promise. No man has +offered to fight Bateese in three years--not even my great St. +Pierre, who says that Concombre is more than a match for him." + +"And yet they must have a little doubt, as there is betting, and +it takes two to make a bet," chuckled David. + +The lines went out of Marie-Anne's forehead, and a half-smile +trembled on her red lips. "Yes, there is betting. But those who +are for you are offering next autumn's muskrat skins and frozen +fish against lynx and fisher and marten. The odds are about thirty +to one against you, M'sieu David!" + +The look of pity which was clearly in her eyes brought a rush of +blood to David's face. "If only I had something to wager!" he +groaned. + +"You must not fight. I shall forbid it!" + +"Then Bateese and I will steal off into the forest and have it out +by ourselves." + +"He will hurt you badly. He is terrible, like a great beast, when +he fights. He loves to fight and is always asking if there is not +some one who will stand up to him. I think he would desert even me +for a good fight. But you, M'sieu David--" + +"I also love a fight," he admitted, unashamed. + +St. Pierre's wife studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "With +these?" she asked then, holding up the gloves. + +"Yes, with those. Bateese may use his fists, but I shall use +those, so that I shall not disfigure him permanently. His face is +none too handsome as it is." + +For another flash her lips trembled on the edge of a smile. Then +she gave him the gloves, a bit troubled, and nodded to a chair +with a deep, cushioned seat and wide arms. "Please make yourself +comfortable, M'sieu David. I have something to do in the cabin and +will return in a little while." + +He wondered if she had gone back to settle the matter with Bateese +at once, for it was clear that she did not regard with favor the +promised bout between himself and the half-breed. It was on the +spur of a careless moment that he had promised to fight Bateese, +and with little thought that it was likely to be carried out or +that it would become a matter of importance with all of St. +Pierre's brigade. He was evidently in for it, he told himself, and +as a fighting man it looked as though Concombre Bateese was at +least the equal of his braggadocio. He was glad of that. He +grinned as he watched the bending backs of St. Pierre's men. So +they were betting thirty to one against him! Even St. Pierre might +be induced to bet--with HIM. And if he did-- + +The hot blood leaped for a moment in Carrigan's veins. The thrill +went to the tips of his fingers. He stared out over the river, +unseeing, as the possibilities of the thing that had come into his +mind made him for a moment oblivious of the world. He possessed +one thing against which St. Pierre and St. Pierre's wife would +wager a half of all they owned in the world! And if he should +gamble that one thing, which had come to him like an inspiration, +and should whip Bateese-- + +He began to pace back and forth over the narrow deck, no longer +watching the rowers or the shore. The thought grew, and his mind +was consumed by it. Thus far, from the moment the first shot was +fired at him from the ambush, he had been playing with adventure +in the dark. But fate had at last dealt him a trump card. That +something which he possessed was more precious than furs or gold +to St. Pierre, and St. Pierre would not refuse the wager when it +was offered. He would not dare refuse. More than that, he would +accept eagerly, strong in the faith that Bateese would whip him as +he had whipped all other fighters who had come up against him +along the Three Rivers. And when Marie-Anne knew what that wager +was to be, she, too, would pray for the gods of chance to be with +Concombre Bateese! + +He did not hear the light footsteps behind him, and when he turned +suddenly in his pacing, he found himself facing Marie-Anne, who +carried in her hands the little basket he had seen on the cabin +table. She seated herself in the hammock and took from the basket +a bit of lace work. For a moment he watched her fingers flashing +in and out with the needles. + +Perhaps his thought went to her. He was almost frightened as he +saw her cheeks coloring under the long, dark lashes. He faced the +rivermen again, and while he gripped at his own weakness, he tried +to count the flashings of their oars. And behind him, the +beautiful eyes of St. Pierre's wife were looking at him with a +strange glow in their depths. + +"Do you know," he said, speaking slowly and still looking toward +the flashing of the oars, "something tells me that unexpected +things are going to happen when St. Pierre returns. I am going to +make a bet with him that I can whip Bateese. He will not refuse. +He will accept. And St. Pierre will lose, because I shall whip +Bateese. It is then that these unexpected things will begin to +happen. And I am wondering--after they do happen--if you will care +so very much?" + +There was a moment of silence. And then, "I don't want you to +fight Bateese," she said. + +The needles were working swiftly when he turned toward her again, +and a second time the long lashes shadowed what a moment before he +might have seen in her eyes. + + + + + +XIII + + +The morning passed like a dream to Carrigan. He permitted himself +to live and breathe it as one who finds himself for a space in the +heart of a golden mirage. He was sitting so near Marie-Anne that +now and then the faint perfume of her came to him like the +delicate scent of a flower. It was a breath of crushed violets, +sweet as the air he was breathing, violets gathered in the deep +cool of the forest, a whisper of sweetness about her, as if on her +bosom she wore always the living flowers. He fancied her gathering +them last bloom-time, a year ago, alone, her feet seeking out the +damp mosses, her little fingers plucking the smiling and laughing +faces of the violet flowers to be treasured away in fragrant +sachets, as gentle as the wood-thrush's note, compared with the +bottled aromas fifteen hundred miles south. It seemed to be a +physical part of her, a thing born of the glow in her cheeks, a +living exhalation of her soft red lips--and yet only when he was +near, very near, did the life of it reach him. + +She did not know he was thinking these things. There was nothing +in his voice, he thought, to betray him. He was sure she was +unconscious of the fight he was making. Her eyes smiled and +laughed with him, she counted her stitches, her fingers worked, +and she talked to him as she might have talked to a friend of St. +Pierre's. She told him how St. Pierre had made the barge, the +largest that had ever been on the river, and that he had built it +entirely of dry cedar, so that it floated like a feather wherever +there was water enough to run a York boat. She told him how St. +Pierre had brought the piano down from Edmonton, and how he had +saved it from pitching in the river by carrying the full weight of +it on his shoulders when they met with an accident in running +through a dangerous rapids bringing it down. St. Pierre was a very +strong man, she said, a note of pride in her voice. And then she +added, + +"Sometimes, when he picks me up in his arms, I feel that he is +going to squeeze the life out of me!" + +Her words were like a sharp thrust into his heart. For an instant +they painted a vision for him, a picture of that slim and adorable +creature crushed close in the great arms of St. Pierre, so close +that she could not breathe. In that mad moment of his hurt it was +almost a living, breathing reality for him there on the golden +fore-deck of the scow. He turned his face toward the far shore, +where the wilderness seemed to reach off into eternity. What a +glory it was--the green seas of spruce and cedar and balsam, the +ridges of poplar and birch rising like silvery spume above the +darker billows, and afar off, mellowed in the sun-mists, the +guardian crests of Trout Mountains sentineling the country beyond! +Into that mystery-land on the farther side of the Wabiskaw +waterways Carrigan would have loved to set his foot four days ago. +It was that mystery of the unpeopled places that he most desired, +their silence, the comradeship of spaces untrod by the feet of +man. And now, what a fool he was! Through vast distances the +forests he loved seemed to whisper it to him, and ahead of him the +river seemed to look back, nodding over its shoulder, beckoning to +him, telling him the word of the forests was true. It streamed on +lazily, half a mile wide, as if resting for the splashing and +roaring rush it would make among the rocks of the next rapids, and +in its indolence it sang the low and everlasting song of deep and +slowly passing water. In that song David heard the same whisper, +that he was a fool! And the lure of the wilderness shores crept in +on him and gripped him as of old. He looked at the rowers in the +two York boats, and then his eyes came back to the end of the +barge and to St. Pierre's wife. + +Her little toes were tapping the floor of the deck. She, too, was +looking out over the wilderness. And again it seemed to him that +she was like a bird that wanted to fly. + +"I should like to go into those hills," she said, without looking +at him. "Away off yonder!" + +"And I--I should like to go with you." + +"You love all that, m'sieu?" she asked. + +"Yes, madame!" + +"Why 'madame,' when I have given you permission to call me 'Marie- +Anne'?" she demanded. + +"Because you call me 'm'sieu'." + +"But you--you have not given me permission--" + +"Then I do now," he interrupted quickly. + +"Merci! I have wondered why you did not return the courtesy," she +laughed softly. "I do not like the m'sieu. I shall call you +'David'!" + +She rose out of the hammock suddenly and dropped her needles and +lace work into the little basket. "I have forgotten something. It +is for you to eat when it comes dinner-time, m'sieu--I mean David. +So I must turn fille de cuisine for a little while. That is what +St. Pierre sometimes calls me, because I love to play at cooking. +I am going to bake a pie!" + +The dark-screened door of the kitchenette closed behind her, and +Carrigan walked out from under the awning, so that the sun beat +down upon him. There was no longer a doubt in his mind. He was +more than fool. He envied St. Pierre, and he coveted that which +St. Pierre possessed. And yet, before he would take what did not +belong to him, he knew he would put a pistol to his head and blow +his life out. He was confident of himself there. Yet he had +fallen, and out of the mire into which he had sunk he knew also +that he must drag himself, and quickly, or be everlastingly +lowered in his own esteem. He stripped himself naked and did not +lie to that other and greater thing of life that was in him. + +He was not only a fool, but a coward. Only a coward would have +touched the hair of St. Pierre's wife with his lips; only a coward +would have let live the thoughts that burned in his brain. She was +St. Pierre's wife--and he was anxious now for the quick homecoming +of the chief of the Boulains. After that everything would happen +quickly. He thanked God that the inspiration of the wager had come +to him. After the fight, after he had won, then once more would he +be the old Dave Carrigan, holding the trump hand in a thrilling +game. + +Loud voices from the York boats ahead and answering cries from +Bateese in the stern drew him to the open deck. The bateau was +close to shore, and the half-breed was working the long stern +sweep as if the power of a steam-engine was in his mighty arms. +The York boats had shortened their towline and were pulling at +right angles within a few yards of a gravelly beach. A few strokes +more, and men who were bare to the knees jumped out into shallow +water and began tugging at the tow rope with their hands. David +looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock. Never in his life had +time passed so swiftly as that morning on the forward deck of the +barge. And now they were tying up, after a drop of six or eight +miles down the river, and he wondered how swiftly St. Pierre was +overtaking them with his raft. + +He was filled with the desire to feel the soft crush of the earth +under his feet again, and not waiting for the long plank that +Bateese was already swinging from the scow to the shore, he made a +leap that put him on the sandy beach, St. Pierre's wife had given +him this permission, and he looked to see what effect his act had +on the half-breed. The face of Concombre Bateese was like sullen +stone. Not a sound came from his thick lips, but in his eyes was a +deep and dangerous fire as he looked at Carrigan. There was no +need for words. In them were suspicion, warning, the deadly threat +of what would happen if he did not come back when it was time to +return. David nodded. He understood. Even though St. Pierre's wife +had faith in him, Bateese had not. He passed between the men, and +to a man their faces turned on him, and in their quiet and +watchful eyes he saw again that warning and suspicion, the +unspoken threat of what would happen if he forgot his promise to +Marie-Anne Boulain. Never, in a single outfit, had he seen such +splendid men. They were not a mongrel assortment of the lower +country. Slim, tall, clean-cut, sinewy--they were stock of the old +voyageurs of a hundred years ago, and all of them were young. The +older men had gone to St. Pierre. The reason for this dawned upon +Carrigan. Not one of these twelve but could beat him in a race +through the forest; not one that could not outrun him and cut him +off though he had hours the start! + +Passing beyond them, he paused and looked back at the bateau. On +the forward deck stood Marie-Anne, and she, too, was looking at +him now. Even at that distance he saw that her face was quiet and +troubled with anxiety. She did not smile when he lifted his hat to +her, but gave only a little nod. Then he turned and buried himself +in the green balsams that grew within fifty paces of the river. +The old joy of life leaped into him as his feet crushed in the +soft moss of the shaded places where the sun did not break +through. He went on, passing through a vast and silent cathedral +of spruce and cedar so dense that the sky was hidden, and came +then to higher ground, where the evergreen was sprinkled with +birch and poplar. About him was an invisible choir of voices, the +low twittering of timid little gray-backs, the song of hidden-- +warblers, the scolding of distant jays. Big-eyed moose-birds +stared at him as he passed, fluttering so close to his face that +they almost touched his shoulders in their foolish +inquisitiveness. A porcupine crashed within a dozen feet of his +trail. And then he came to a beaten path, and other paths worn +deep in the cool, damp earth by the hoofs of moose and caribou. +Half a mile from the bateau he sat down on a rotting log and +filled his pipe with fresh tobacco, while he listened to catch the +subdued voice of the life in this land that he loved. + +It was then that the curious feeling came over him that he was not +alone, that other eyes than those of beast and bird were watching +him. It was an impression that grew on him. He seemed to feel +their stare, seeking him out from the darkest coverts, waiting for +him to shove on, dogging him like a ghost. Within him the hound- +like instincts of the man-hunter rose swiftly to the suspicion of +invisible presence. + +He began to note the changes in the cries of certain birds. A +hundred yards on his right a jay, most talkative of all the forest +things, was screeching with a new note in its voice. On the other +side of him, in a dense pocket of poplar and spruce, a warbler +suddenly brought its song to a jerky end. He heard the excited Pe- +wee--Pe-wee--Pe-wee of a startled little gray-back giving warning +of an unwelcome intruder near its nest. And he rose to his feet, +laughing softly as he thumbed down the tobacco in his pipe. Jeanne +Marie-Anne Boulain might believe in him, but Bateese and her wary +henchmen had ways of their own of strengthening their faith. + +It was close to noon when he turned back, and he did not return by +the moose path. Deliberately he struck out a hundred yards on +either side of it, traveling where the moss grew thick and the +earth was damp and soft. And five times he found the moccasin- +prints of men. + +Bateese, with his sleeves up, was scrubbing the deck of the bateau +when David came over the plank. + +"There are moose and caribou in there, but I fear I disturbed your +hunters," said Carrigan, grinning at the half-breed. "They are too +clumsy to hunt well, so clumsy that even the birds give them away. +I am afraid we shall go without fresh meat tomorrow!" + +Concombre Bateese stared as if some one had stunned him with a +blow, and he spoke no word as David went on to the forward deck. +Marie-Anne had come out under the awning. She gave a little cry of +relief and pleasure. + +"I am glad you have come back, M'sieu David!" + +"So am I, madame," he replied. "I think the woods are unhealthful +to travel in!" + +Out of the earth he felt that a part of the old strength had +returned to him. Alone they sat at dinner, and Marie-Anne waited +on him and called him David again--and he found it easier now to +call her Marie-Anne and look into her eyes without fear that he +was betraying himself. A part of the afternoon he spent in her +company, and it was not difficult for him to tell her something of +his adventuring in the north, and how, body and soul, the +northland had claimed him, and that he hoped to die in it when his +time came. Her eyes glowed at that. She told him of two years she +had spent in Montreal and Quebec, of her homesickness, her joy +when she returned to her forests. It seemed, for a time, that they +had forgotten St. Pierre. They did not speak of him. Twice they +saw Andre, the Broken Man, but the name of Roger Audemard was not +spoken. And a little at a time she told him of the hidden paradise +of the Boulains away up in the unmapped wildernesses of the +Yellowknife beyond the Great Bear, and of the great log chateau +that was her home. + +A part of the afternoon he spent on shore. He filled a moosehide +bag full of sand and suspended it from the limb of a tree, and for +three-quarters of an hour pommeled it with his fists, much to the +curiosity and amusement of St. Pierre's men, who could see nothing +of man-fighting in these antics. But the exercise assured David +that he had lost but little of his strength and that he would be +in form to meet Bateese when the time came. Toward evening Marie- +Anne joined him, and they walked for half an hour up and down the +beach. It was Bateese who got supper. And after that Carrigan sat +with Marie-Anne on the foredeck of the barge and smoked another of +St. Pierre's cigars. + +The camp of the rivermen was two hundred yards below the bateau, +screened between by a finger of hardwood, so that except when they +broke into a chorus of laughter or strengthened their throats with +snatches of song, there was no sound of their voices. But Bateese +was in the stern, and Nepapinas was forever flitting in and out +among the shadows on the shore, like a shadow himself, and Andre, +the Broken Man, hovered near as night came on. At last he sat down +in the edge of the white sand of the beach, and there he remained, +a silent and lonely figure, as the twilight deepened. Over the +world hovered a sleepy quiet. Out of the forest came the droning +of the wood-crickets, the last twitterings of the day birds, and +the beginning of night sounds. A great shadow floated out over the +river close to the bateau, the first of the questing, blood- +seeking owls adventuring out like pirates from their hiding-places +of the day. One after another, as the darkness thickened, the +different tribes of the people of the night answered the summons +of the first stars. A mile down the river a loon gave its harsh +love-cry; far out of the west came the faint trail-song of a wolf; +in the river the night-feeding trout splashed like the tails of +beaver; over the roof of the wilderness came the coughing, moaning +challenge of a bull moose that yearned for battle. And over these +same forest tops rose the moon, the stars grew thicker and +brighter, and through the finger of hardwood glowed the fire of +St. Pierre Boulain's men--while close beside him, silent in these +hours of silence, David felt growing nearer and still nearer to +him the presence of St. Pierre's wife. + +On the strip of sand Andre, the Broken Man, rose and stood like +the stub of a misshapen tree. And then slowly he moved on and was +swallowed up in the mellow glow of the night. + +"It is at night that he seeks," said St. Pierre's wife, for it was +as if David had spoken the thought that was in his mind. + +David, for a moment, was silent. And then he said, "You asked me +to tell you about Black Roger Audemard. I will, if you care to +have me. Do you?" + +He saw the nodding of her head, though the moon and star-mist +veiled her face. + +"Yes. What do the Police say about Roger Audemard?" + +He told her. And not once in the telling of the story did she +speak or move. It was a terrible story at best, he thought, but he +did not weaken it by smoothing over the details. This was his +opportunity. He wanted her to know why he must possess the body of +Roger Audemard, if not alive, then dead, and he wanted her to +understand how important it was that he learn more about Andre, +the Broken Man. + +"He was a fiend, this Roger Audemard," he began. "A devil in man +shape, afterward called 'Black Roger' because of the color of his +soul." + +Then he went on. He described Hatchet River Post, where the +tragedy had happened; then told of the fight that came about one +day between Roger Audemard and the factor of the post and his two +sons. It was an unfair fight; he conceded that--three to one was +cowardly in a fight. But it could not excuse what happened +afterward. Audemard was beaten. He crept off into the forest, +almost dead. Then he came back one stormy night in the winter with +three strange friends. Who the friends were the Police never +learned. There was a fight, but all through the fight Black Roger +Audemard cried out not to kill the factor and his sons. In spite +of that one of the sons was killed. Then the terrible thing +happened. The father and his remaining son were bound hand and +foot and fastened in the ancient dungeon room under the Post +building. Then Black Roger set the building on fire, and stood +outside in the storm and laughed like a madman at the dying +shrieks of his victims. It was the season when the trappers were +on their lines, and there were but few people at the post. The +company clerk and one other attempted to interfere, and Black +Roger killed them with his own hands. Five deaths that night--two +of them horrible beyond description! + +Resting for a moment, Carrigan went on to tell of the long years +of unavailing search made by the Police after that; how Black +Roger was caught once and killed his captor. Then came the rumor +that he was dead, and rumor grew into official belief, and the +Police no longer hunted for his trails. Then, not long ago, came +the discovery that Black Roger was still living, and he, Dave +Carrigan, was after him. + +For a time there was silence after he had finished. Then St. +Pierre's wife rose to her feet. "I wonder," she said in a low +voice, "what Roger Audemard's own story might be if he were here +to tell it?" + +She stepped out from under the awning, and in the full radiance of +the moon he saw the pale beauty of her face and the crowning +luster of her hair. + +"Good night!" she whispered. + +"Good night!" said David. + +He listened until her retreating footsteps died away, and for +hours after that he had no thought of sleep. He had insisted that +she take possession of her cabin again, and Bateese had brought +out a bundle of blankets. These he spread under the awning, and +when he drowsed off, it was to dream of the lovely face he had +seen last in the glow of the moon. + +It was in the afternoon of the fourth day that two things +happened--one that he had prepared himself for, and another so +unexpected that for a space it sent his world crashing out of its +orbit. With St. Pierre's wife he had gone again to the ridge-line +for flowers, half a mile back from the river. Returning a new way, +they came to a shallow stream, and Marie-Anne stood at the edge of +it, and there was laughter in her shining eyes as she looked to +the other side of it. She had twined flowers into her hair. Her +cheeks were rich with color. Her slim figure was exquisite in its +wild pulse of life. + +Suddenly she turned on him, her red lips smiling their witchery in +his face. "You must carry me across," she said. + +He did not answer. He was a-tremble as he drew near her. She +raised her arms a little, waiting. And then he picked her up. She +was against his breast. Her two hands went to his shoulders as he +waded into the stream; he slipped, and they clung a little +tighter. The soft note of laughter was in her throat when the +current came to his knees out in the middle of the stream. He held +her tighter; and then stupidly, he slipped again, and the movement +brought her lower in his arms, so that for a space her head was +against his breast and his face was crushed in the soft masses of +her hair. He came with her that way to the opposite shore and +stood her on her feet again, standing back quickly so that she +would not hear the pounding of his heart. Her face was radiantly +beautiful, and she did not look at David, but away from him. + +"Thank you," she said. + +And then, suddenly, they heard running feet behind them, and in +another moment one of the brigade men came dashing through the +stream. At the same time there came from the river a quarter of a +mile away a thunderous burst of voice. It was not the voice of a +dozen men, but of half a hundred, and Marie-Anne grew tense, +listening, her eyes on fire even before the messenger could get +the words out of his mouth. + +"It is St. Pierre!" he cried then. "He has come with the great +raft, and you must hurry if you would reach the bateau before he +lands!" + +In that moment it seemed to David that Marie-Anne forgot he was +alive. A little cry came to her lips, and then she left him, +running swiftly, saying no word to him, flying with the speed of a +fawn to St. Pierre Boulain! And when David turned to the man who +had come up behind them, there was a strange smile on the lips of +the lithe-limbed forest-runner as his eyes followed the hurrying +figure of St. Pierre's wife. + +Until she was out of sight he stood in silence and then he said: + +"Come, m'sieu. We, also, must meet St. Pierre!" + + + + + +XIV + + +David moved slowly behind the brigade man. He had no desire to +hurry. He did not wish to see what happened when Marie-Anne met +St. Pierre Boulain. Only a moment ago she had been in his arms; +her hair had smothered his face; her hands had clung to his +shoulders; her flushed cheeks and long lashes had for an instant +lain close against his breast. And now, swiftly, without a word of +apology, she was running away from him to meet her husband. + +He almost spoke that word aloud as he saw the last of her slim +figure among the silver birches. She was going to the man to whom +she belonged, and there was no hesitation in the manner of her +going. She was glad. And she was entirely forgetful of him, Dave +Carrigan, in that gladness. + +He quickened his steps, narrowing the distance between him and the +hurrying brigade man. Only the diseased thoughts in his brain had +made the happening in the creek anything but an accident. It was +all an accident, he told himself. Marie-Anne had asked him to +carry her across just as she would have asked any one of her +rivermen. It was his fault, and not hers, that he had slipped in +mid-stream, and that his arms had closed tighter about her, and +that her hair had brushed his face. He remembered she had laughed, +when it seemed for a moment that they were going to fall into the +stream together. Probably she would tell St. Pierre all about it. +Surely she would never guess it had been nearer tragedy than +comedy for him. + +Once more he was convinced he had proved himself a weakling and a +fool. His business now was with St. Pierre, and the hour was at +hand when the game had ceased to be a woman's game. He had looked +ahead to this hour. He had prepared himself for it and had +promised himself action that would be both quick and decisive. And +yet, as he went on, his heart was still thumping unsteadily, and +in his arms and against his face remained still the sweet, warm +thrill of his contact with Marie-Anne. He could not drive that +from him. It would never completely go. As long as he lived, what +had happened in the creek would live with him. He did not deny +that crying voice inside him. It was easy for his mouth to make +words. He could call himself a fool and a weakling, but those +words were purely mechanical, hollow, meaningless. The truth +remained. It was a blazing fire in his breast, a conflagration +that might easily get the best of him, a thing which he must fight +and triumph over for his own salvation. He did not think of danger +for Marie-Anne, for such a thought was inconceivable. The tragedy +was one-sided. It was his own folly, his own danger. For just as +he loved Marie-Anne, so did she love her husband, St. Pierre. + +He came to the low ridge close to the river and climbed up through +the thick birches and poplars. At the top was a bald knob of +sandstone, over which the riverman had already passed. David +paused there and looked down on the broad sweep of the Athabasca. + +What he saw was like a picture spread out on the great breast of +the river and the white strip of shoreline. Still a quarter of a +mile upstream, floating down slowly with the current, was a mighty +raft, and for a space his eyes took in nothing else. On the +Mackenzie, the Athabasca, the Saskatchewan, and the Peace he had +seen many rafts, but never a raft like this of St. Pierre Boulain. +It was a hundred feet in width and twice and a half times as long, +and with the sun blazing down upon it from out of a cloudless sky +it looked to him like a little city swept up from out of some +archaic and savage desert land to be transplanted to the river. It +was dotted with tents and canvas shelters. Some of these were +gray, and some were white, and two or three were striped with +broad bands of yellow and red. Behind all these was a cabin, and +over this there rose a slender staff from which floated the black +and white pennant of St. Pierre. The raft was alive. Men were +running between the tents. The long rudder sweeps were flashing in +the sun. Rowers with naked arms and shoulders were straining their +muscles in four York boats that were pulling like ants at the +giant mass of timber. And to David's ears came a deep monotone of +human voices, the chanting of the men as they worked. + +Nearer to him a louder response suddenly made answer to it. A +dozen steps carried him round a projecting thumb of brush, and he +could see the open shore where the bateau was tied. Marie-Anne had +crossed the strip of sand, and Bateese was helping her into a +waiting York boat. Then Bateese shoved it off, and the four men in +it began to row. Two canoes were already half-way to the raft, and +David recognized the occupant of one of them as Andre, the Broken +Man. Then he saw Marie-Anne rise in the York boat and wave +something white in her hand. + +He looked again toward the raft. The current and the sweeps and +the tugging boats were drawing it steadily nearer. Standing at the +very edge of it he saw now a solitary figure, and in the clear +sunlight the man stood out clean-cut as a carven statue. He was a +giant in size. His head and arms were bare, and he was looking +steadily toward the bateau and the approaching York boat. He +raised an arm, and a moment later the movement was followed by a +voice that rose above all other voices. It boomed over the river +like the rumble of a gun. In response to it Marie-Anne waved the +white thing in her hand, and David thought he heard her voice in +an answering cry. He stared again at the solitary figure of the +man, seeing nothing else, hearing no other sound but the booming +of the deep cry that came again over the river. His heart was +thumping. In his eyes was a gathering fire. His body grew tense. +For he knew that at last he was looking at St. Pierre, chief of +the Boulains, and husband of the woman he loved. + +As the significance of the situation grew upon him, a flash of his +old humor returned. It was the same grim humor that had possessed +him behind the rock, when he had thought he was going to die. Fate +had played him a dishonest turn then, and it was doing the same +thing by him now. Unless he deliberately turned his face away, he +was going to see the reunion of Marie-Anne and St. Pierre. + +Yesterday he had strapped his binoculars to his belt. Today Marie- +Anne had looked through them a dozen times. They had been a source +of pleasure and thrill to her. Now, David thought, they would be +good medicine for him. He would see the whole thing through, and +at close range. He would leave himself no room for doubt. He had +laughed behind the rock, when bullets were zipping close to his +head, and the same grim smile came to his lips now as he focused +his glasses on the solitary figure at the head of the raft. + +The smile died away when he saw St. Pierre. It was as if he could +reach out and touch him with his hand. And never, he thought, had +he seen such a man. A moment before, a flashing vision had come to +him from out of an Arabian desert; the multitude of colored tents, +the half-naked men, the great raft floating almost without +perceptible motion on the placid breast of the river had stirred +his imagination until he saw a strange picture. But there was +nothing Arabic, nothing desert-like, in this man his binoculars +brought within a few feet of his eyes. He was more like a viking +pirate who had roved the sea a few centuries ago. One great, bare +arm was raised as David looked, and his booming voice was rolling +over the river again. His hair was shaggy, and untrimmed, and red; +he wore a short beard that glistened in the sun--he was laughing +as he waved and shouted to Marie-Anne--a joyous, splendid giant of +a man who seemed almost on the point of leaping into the water in +his eagerness to clasp in his naked arms the woman who was coming +to him. + +David drew a deep breath, and there came an unconscious tightening +at his heart as he turned his glasses upon Marie-Anne. She was +still standing in the bow of the York boat, and her back was +toward him. He could see the glisten of the sun in her hair. She +was waving her handkerchief, and the poise of her slim body told +him that in her eagerness she would have darted from the bow of +the boat had she possessed wings. + +Again he looked at St. Pierre. And this was the man who was no +match for Concombre Bateese! It was inconceivable. Yet he heard +Marie-Anne's voice repeating those very words in his ear. But she +had surely been joking with him. She had been storing up this +little surprise for him. She had wanted him to discover with his +own eyes what a splendid man was this chief of the Boulains. And +yet, as David stared, there came to him an unpleasant thought of +the incongruity of this thing he was looking upon. It struck upon +him like a clashing discord, the fact of matehood between these +two--a condition inconsistent and out of tune with the beautiful +things he had built up in his mind about the woman. In his soul he +had enshrined her as a lovely wildflower, easily crushed, easily +destroyed, a sweet treasure to be guarded from all that was rough +and savage, a little violet-goddess as fragile as she was brave +and loyal. And St. Pierre, standing there at the edge of his raft, +looked as if he had come up out of the caves of a million years +ago! There was something barbaric about him. He needed only a club +and a shield and the skin of a beast about his loins to transform +him into prehistoric man. At least these were his first +impressions--impressions roused by thought of Marie-Anne's slim, +beautiful body crushed close in the embrace of that laughing, +powerful-lunged giant. Then the reaction swept over him. St. +Pierre was not a monster, even though his disturbed mind +unconsciously made an effort to conceive him as such. There were +gladness and laughter in his face. There was the contagion of joy +and good cheer in the voice that boomed over the water. Laughter +and shouts answered it from the shore. The rowers in Marie-Anne's +York boat burst into a wild and exultant snatch of song and made +their oars fairly crack. There came a solitary yell from Andre, +the Broken Man, who was close to the head of the raft now. And +from the raft itself came a slowly swelling volume of sound, the +urge and voice and exultation of red-blooded men a-thrill with the +glory of this day and the wild freedom of their world. The truth +came to David. St. Pierre Boulain was the beloved Big Brother of +his people. + +He waited, his muscles tense, his jaws set tight. Good medicine, +he called it again, a righteous sort of punishment set upon him +for the moral cowardice he had betrayed in falling down in worship +at the feet of another man's wife. The York boat was very close to +the head of the raft now. He saw Marie-Anne herself fling a rope +to St. Pierre. Then the boat swung alongside. In another moment +St. Pierre had leaned over, and Marie-Anne was with him on the +raft. For a space everything else in the world was obliterated for +David. He saw St. Pierre's arms gather the slim form into their +embrace. He saw Marie-Anne's hands go up fondly to the bearded +face. And then-- + +Carrigan cut the picture there. He turned his shoulder to the raft +and snapped the binoculars in the case at his belt. Some one was +coming in his direction from the bateau. It was the riverman who +had brought to Marie-Anne the news of St. Pierre's arrival. David +went down to meet him. From the foot of the ridge he again turned +his eyes in the direction of the raft. St. Pierre and Marie-Anne +were just about to enter the little cabin built in the center of +the drifting mass of timber. + + + + + +XV + + +It was easy for Carrigan to guess why the riverman had turned back +for him. Men were busy about the bateau, and Concombre Bateese +stood in the stern, a long pole in his hands, giving commands to +the others. The bateau was beginning to swing out into the stream +when he leaped aboard. A wide grin spread over the half-breed's +face. He eyed David keenly and laughed in his deep chest, an +unmistakable suggestiveness in the note of it. + +"You look seek, m'sieu," he said in an undertone, for David's ears +alone, "You look ver' unhappy, an' pale lak leetle boy! Wat happen +w'en you look t'rough ze glass up there, eh? Or ees it zat you +grow frighten because ver' soon you stan' up an' fight Concombre +Bateese? Eh, coq de bruyere? Ees it zat?" + +A quick thought came to David. "Is it true that St. Pierre can not +whip you, Bateese?" + +Bateese threw out his chest with a mighty intake of breath. Then +he exploded: "No man on all T'ree River can w'ip Concombre +Bateese." + +"And St. Pierre is a powerful man," mused David, letting his eyes +travel slowly from the half-breed's moccasined feet to the top of +his head. "I measured him well through the glasses, Bateese. It +will be a great fight. But I shall whip you!" + +He did not wait for the half-breed to reply, but went into the +cabin and closed the door behind him. He did not like the taunting +note of suggestiveness in the other's words. Was it possible that +Bateese suspected the true state of his mind, that he was in love +with the wife of St. Pierre, and that his heart was sick because +of what he had seen aboard the raft? He flushed hotly. It made him +uncomfortable to feel that even the half-breed might have guessed +his humiliation. + +David looked through the window toward the raft. The bateau was +drifting downstream, possibly a hundred feet from the shore, but +it was quite evident that Concombre Bateese was making no effort +to bring it close to the floating mass of timber, which had made +no change in its course down the river. David's mind painted +swiftly what was happening in the cabin into which Marie-Anne and +St. Pierre had disappeared. At this moment Marie-Anne was telling +of him, of the adventure in the hot patch of sand. He fancied the +suppressed excitement in her voice as she unburdened herself. He +saw St. Pierre's face darken, his muscles tighten--and crouching +in silence, he seemed to see the misshapen hulk of Andre, the +Broken Man, listening to what was passing between the other two. +And he heard again the mad monotone of Andre's voice, crying +plaintively, "HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD?" + +His blood ran a little faster, and his old craft was a dominantly +living thing within him once more. Love had dulled both his +ingenuity and his desire. For a space a thing had risen before him +that was mightier than the majesty of the Law, and he had TRIED to +miss the bull's-eye--because of his love for the wife of St. +Pierre Boulain. Now he shot squarely for it, and the bell rang in +his brain. Two times two again made four. Facts assembled +themselves like arguments in flesh and blood. Those facts would +have convinced Superintendent McVane, and they now convinced +David. He had set out to get Black Roger Audemard, alive or dead. +And Black Roger, wholesale murderer, a monster who had painted the +blackest page of crime known in the history of Canadian law, was +closely and vitally associated with Marie-Anne and St. Pierre +Boulain! + +The thing was a shock, but Carrigan no longer tried to evade the +point. His business was no longer with a man supposed to be a +thousand or fifteen hundred miles farther north. It was with +Marie-Anne, St. Pierre, and Andre, the Broken Man. And also with +Concombre Bateese. + +He smiled a little grimly as he thought of his approaching battle +with the half-breed. St. Pierre would be astounded at the +proposition he had in store for him. But he was sure that St. +Pierre would accept. And then, if he won the fight with Bateese-- + +The smile faded from his lips. His face grew older as he looked +slowly about the bateau cabin, with its sweet and lingering +whispers of a woman's presence. It was a part of her. It breathed +of her fragrance and her beauty; it seemed to be waiting for her, +crying softly for her return. Yet once had there been another +woman even lovelier than the wife of St. Pierre. He had not +hesitated then. Without great effort he had triumphed over the +loveliness of Carmin Fanchet and had sent her brother to the +hangman. And now, as he recalled those days, the truth came to him +that even in the darkest hour Carmin Fanchet had made not the +slightest effort to buy him off with her beauty. She had not tried +to lure him. She had fought proudly and defiantly. And had Marie- +Anne done that? His fingers clenched slowly, and a thickening came +in his throat. Would she tell St. Pierre of the many hours they +had spent together? Would she confess to him the secret of that +precious moment when she had lain close against his breast, her +arms about him, her face pressed to his? Would she speak to him of +secret hours, of warm flushes that had come to her face, of +glowing fires that at times had burned in her eyes when he had +been very near to her? Would she reveal EVERYTHING to St. Pierre-- +her husband? He was powerless to combat the voice that told him +no. Carmin Fanchet had fought him openly as an enemy and had not +employed her beauty as a weapon. Marie-Anne had put in his way a +great temptation. What he was thinking seemed to him like a +sacrilege, yet he knew there could be no discriminating +distinctions between weapons, now that he was determined to play +the game to the end, for the Law. + +When Carrigan went out on deck, the half-breed was sweating from +his exertion at the stern sweep. He looked at the agent de police +who was going to fight him, perhaps tomorrow or the next day. +There was a change in Carrigan. He was not the same man who had +gone into the cabin an hour before, and the fact impressed itself +upon Bateese. There was something in his appearance that held back +the loose talk at the end of Concombre's tongue. And so it was +Carrigan himself who spoke first. + +"When will this man St. Pierre come to see me?" he demanded. "If +he doesn't come soon, I shall go to him." + +For an instant Concombre's face darkened. Then, as he bent over +the sweep with his great back to David, he chuckled audibly, and +said: + +"Would you go, m'sieu? Ah--it is le malade d'amour over there in +the cabin. Surely you would not break in upon their love-making?" + +Bateese did not look over his shoulder, and so he did not see the +hot flush that gathered in David's face. But David was sure he +knew it was there and that Concombre had guessed the truth of +matters. There was a sly note in his voice, as if he could not +quite keep to himself his exultation that beauty and bright eyes +had played a clever trick on this man who, if his own judgment had +been followed, would now be resting peacefully at the bottom of +the river. It was the final stab to Carrigan. His muscles tensed. +For the first time he felt the desire to shoot a naked fist into +the grinning mouth of Concombre Bateese. He laid a hand on the +half-breed's shoulder, and Bateese turned about slowly. He saw +what was in the other's eyes. + +"Until this moment I have not known what a great pleasure it will +be to fight you, Bateese," said David quietly. "Make it tomorrow-- +in the morning, if you wish. Take word to St. Pierre that I will +make him a great wager that I win, a gamble so large that I think +he will be afraid to cover it. For I don't think much of this St. +Pierre of yours, Bateese. I believe him to be a big-winded bluff, +like yourself. And also a coward. Mark my word, he will be so much +afraid that he will not accept my wager!" + +Bateese did not answer. He was looking over David's shoulder. He +seemed not to have heard what the other had said, yet there had +come a sudden gleam of exultation in his eyes, and he replied, +still gazing toward the raft, + +"Diantre, m'sieu coq de bruyere may keep ze beeg word in hees +mout'! See!--St. Pierre, he ees comin' to answer for himself. Mon +Dieu, I hope he does not wring ze leetle rooster's neck, for zat +would spoil wan great, gran' fight tomorrow!" + +David turned toward the big raft. At the distance which separated +them he could make out the giant figure of St. Pierre Boulain +getting into a canoe. The humped-up form already in that canoe he +knew was the Broken Man. He could not see Marie-Anne. + +Very lightly Bateese touched his arm. "M'sieu will go into ze +cabin," he suggested softly. "If somet'ing happens, it ees bes' +too many eyes do not see it. You understan', m'sieu agent de +police?" + +Carrigan nodded. "I understand," he said. + + + + + +XVI + + +In the cabin David waited. He did not look through the window to +watch St. Pierre's approach. He sat down and picked up a magazine +from the table upon which Marie-Anne's work-basket lay. He was +cool as ice now. His blood flowed evenly and his pulse beat +unhurriedly. Never had he felt himself more his own master, more +like grappling with a situation. St. Pierre was coming to fight. +He had no doubt of that. Perhaps not physically, at first. But, +one way or another, something dynamic was bound to happen in the +bateau cabin within the next half-hour. Now that the impending +drama was close at hand, Carrigan's scheme of luring St. Pierre +into the making of a stupendous wager seemed to him rather +ridiculous. With calculating coldness he was forced to concede +that St. Pierre would be somewhat of a fool to accept the wager he +had in mind, when he was so completely in St. Pierre's power. For +Marie-Anne and the chief of the Boulains, the bottom of the river +would undoubtedly be the best and easiest solution, and the half- +breed's suggestion might be acted upon after all. + +As his mind charged itself for the approaching struggle, David +found himself staring at a double page in the magazine, given up +entirely to impossibly slim young creatures exhibiting certain +bits of illusive and mysterious feminine apparel. Marie-Anne had +expressed her approbation in the form of pencil notes under +several of them. Under a cobwebby affair that wreathed one of the +slim figures he read, "St. Pierre will love this!" There were two +exclamation points after that particular notation! + +David replaced the magazine on the table and looked toward the +door. No, St. Pierre would not hesitate to put him at the bottom +of the river, for her. Not if he, Dave Carrigan, made the solution +of the matter a necessity. There were times, he told himself, when +it was confoundedly embarrassing to force the letter of the law. +And this was one of them. He was not afraid of the river bottom. +He was thinking again of Marie-Anne. + +The scraping of a canoe against the side of the bateau recalled +him suddenly to the moment at hand. He heard low voices, and one +of them, he knew, was St. Pierre's. For an interval the voices +continued, frequently so low that he could not distinguish them at +all. For ten minutes he waited impatiently. Then the door swung +open, and St. Pierre came in. + +Slowly and coolly David rose to meet him, and at the same moment +the chief of the Boulains closed the door behind him. There was no +greeting in Carrigan's manner. He was the Law, waiting, unexcited, +sure of himself, impassive as a thing of steel. He was ready to +fight. He expected to fight. It only remained for St. Pierre to +show what sort of fight it was to be. And he was amazed at St. +Pierre, without betraying that amazement. In the vivid light that +shot through the western windows the chief of the Boulains stood +looking at David. He wore a gray flannel shirt open at the throat, +and it was a splendid throat David saw, and a splendid head above +it, with its reddish beard and hair. But what he saw chiefly were +St. Pierre's eyes. They were the sort of eyes he disliked to find +in an enemy--a grayish, steely blue that reflected sunlight like +polished flint. But there was no flash of battle-glow in them now. +St. Pierre was neither excited nor in a bad humor. Nor did +Carrigan's attitude appear to disturb him in the least. He was +smiling; his eyes glowed with almost boyish curiosity as he stared +appraisingly at David--and then, slowly, a low chuckle of laughter +rose in his deep chest, and he advanced with an outstretched hand. + +"I am St. Pierre Boulain," he said. "I have heard a great deal +about you, Sergeant Carrigan. You have had an unfortunate time!" + +Had the man advanced menacingly, David would have felt more +comfortable. It was disturbing to have this giant come to him with +an extended hand of apparent friendship when he had anticipated an +entirely different sort of meeting. And St. Pierre was laughing at +him! There was no doubt of that. And he had the colossal nerve to +tell him that he had been unfortunate, as though being shot up by +somebody's wife was a fairly decent joke! + +Carrigan's attitude did not change. He did not reach out a hand to +meet the other. There was no responsive glimmer of humor in his +eyes or on his lips. And seeing these things, St. Pierre turned +his extended hand to the open box of cigars, so that he stood for +a moment with his back toward him. + +"It's funny," he said, as if speaking to himself, and with only a +drawling note of the French patois in his voice. "I come home, +find my Jeanne in a terrible mix-up, a stranger in her room--and +the stranger refuses to let me laugh or shake hands with him. +Tonnerre, I say it is funny! And my Jeanne saved his life, and +made him muffins, and gave him my own bed, and walked with him in +the forest! Ah, the ungrateful cochon!" + +He turned, laughing openly, so that his deep voice filled the +cabin. "Vous aves de la corde de pendu, m'sieu--yes, you are a +lucky dog! For only one other man in the world would my Jeanne +have done that. You are lucky because you were not ended behind +the rock; you are lucky because you are not at the bottom of the +river; you are lucky--" + +He shrugged his big shoulders hopelessly. "And now, after all our +kindness and your good luck, you wait for me like an enemy, +m'sieu. Diable, I can not understand!" + +For the life of him Carrigan could not, in these few moments, +measure up his man. He had said nothing. He had let St. Pierre +talk. And now St. Pierre stood there, one of the finest men he had +ever looked upon, as if honestly overcome by a great wonder. And +yet behind that apparent incredulity in his voice and manner David +sensed the deep underflow of another thing. St. Pierre was all +that Marie-Anne had claimed for him, and more. She had given him +assurance of her unlimited confidence that her husband could +adjust any situation in the world, and Carrigan conceded that St. +Pierre measured up splendidly to that particular type of man. The +smile had not left his face; the good humor was still in his eyes. + +David smiled back at him coldly. He recognized the cleverness of +the other's play. St. Pierre was a man who would smile like that +even as he fought, and Carrigan loved a smiling fighter, even when +he had to slip steel bracelets over his wrists. + +"I am Sergeant Carrigan, of 'N' Division, Royal Northwest Mounted +Police," he said, repeating the formula of the law. "Sit down, St. +Pierre, and I will tell you a few things that have happened. And +then--" + +"Non, non, it is not necessary, m'sieu. I have already listened +for an hour, and I do not like to hear a story twice. You are of +the Police. I love the Police. They are brave men, and brave men +are my brothers. You are out after Roger Audemard, the rascal! Is +it not so? And you were shot at behind the rock back there. You +were almost killed. Ma foi, and it was my Jeanne who did the +shooting! Yes, she thought you were another man." The chuckling, +drum-like note of laughter came again out of St. Pierre's great +chest. "It was bad shooting. I have taught her better, but the sun +was blinding there in the hot, white sand. And after that--I know +everything that has happened. Bateese was wrong. I shall scold him +for wanting to put you at the bottom of the river--perhaps. Oui, +ce que femme veut, Dieu le veut--that is it. A woman must have her +way, and my Jeanne's gentle heart was touched because you were a +brave and handsome man, M'sieu Carrigan. But I am not jealous. +Jealousy is a worm that does not make friendship! And we shall be +friends. Only as a friend could I take you to the Chateau Boulain, +far up on the Yellowknife. And we are going there." + +In spite of what might have been the entirely proper thing to do +at this particular moment, Carrigan's face broke into a smile as +he drew a second chair up close to the table. He was swift to +readjust himself. It came suddenly back to him how he had grinned +behind the rock, when death seemed close at hand. And St. Pierre +was like that now. David measured him again as the chief of the +Boulains sat down opposite him. Such a man could not be afraid of +anything on the face of the earth, even of the Law. The gleam that +lay in his eyes told David that as they met his own over the +table. "We are smiling now because it happens to please us," David +read in them. "But in a moment, if it is necessary, we shall +fight." + +Carrigan leaned a little over the table. "You know we are not +going to the Chateau Boulain, St. Pierre," he said. "We are going +to stop at Fort McMurray, and there you and your wife must answer +for a number of things that have happened. There is one way out-- +possibly. That is largely up to you. Why did your wife try to kill +me behind the rock? And what did you know about Black Roger +Audemard?" + +St. Pierre's eyes did not for an instant leave Carrigan's face. +Slowly a change came into them; the smile faded, the blue went +out, and up from behind seemed to come another pair of eyes that +were hard as steel and cold as ice. Yet they were not eyes that +threatened, nor eyes that betrayed excitement or passion. And St. +Pierre's voice, when he spoke, lacked the deep and vibrant note +that had been in it. It was as if he had placed upon it the force +of a mighty will, chaining it back, just as something hidden and +terrible lay chained behind his eyes. + +"Why play like little children, M'sieu Carrigan?" he asked. "Why +not come out squarely, honestly, like men? I know what has +happened. Mon Dieu, it was bad! You were almost killed, and you +heard that poor wreck, Andre, call for Roger Audemard. My Jeanne +has told you about that--how I found him in the forest with his +broken mind and body. And about my Jeanne--" St. Pierre's fists +grew into knotted lumps on the table. "Non, I will die--I will +kill you--before I will tell you why she shot at you behind the +rock! We are men, both of us. We are not afraid. And you--in my +place--what would YOU do, m'sieu?" + +In the moment's silence each man looked steadily at the other. + +"I would--fight," said David slowly. "If it was for her, I am +pretty sure I would fight." + +He believed that he was drawing the net in now, that it would +catch St. Pierre. He leaned a little farther over the table. + +"And I, too, must fight," he added. "You know our law, St. Pierre. +We don't go back without our man--unless we happen to die. And I +would be stupid if I did not understand the situation here. It +would be quite easy for you to get rid of me. But I don't believe +you are a murderer, even if your Jeanne tried to be." A flicker of +a smile crossed his lips. "And Marie-Anne--I beg pardon!--your +wife--" + +St. Pierre interrupted him. "It will please me to have you call +her Marie-Anne. And it will please her also, m'sieu. Dieu, if we +only had eyes that could see what is in a woman's heart! Life is +funny, m'sieu. It is a great joke, I swear it on my soul!" + +He shrugged his shoulders, smiling again straight into David's +eyes. "See what has happened! You set out for a murderer. My +Jeanne makes a great mistake and shoots you. Then she pities you, +saves your life, brings you here, and--ma foi! it is true--learns +to care for you more than she should! But that does not make me +want to kill you. Non, her happiness is mine. Dead men tell no +tales, m'sieu, but there are times when living men also keep tales +to themselves. And that is what you are going to do, M'sieu +Carrigan. You are going to keep to yourself the thing that +happened behind the rock. You are going to keep to yourself the +mumblings of our poor mad Andre. Never will they pass your lips. I +know. I swear it. I stake my life on it!" St. Pierre was talking +slowly and unexcitedly. There was an immeasurable confidence in +his deep voice. It did not imply a threat or a warning. He was +sure of himself. And his eyes had deepened into blue again and +were almost friendly. + +"You would stake your life?" repeated Carrigan questioningly. "You +would do that?" + +St. Pierre rose to his feet and looked about the cabin with a +shining light in his eyes that was both pride and exaltation. He +moved toward the end of the room, where the piano stood, and for a +moment his big fingers touched the keys; then, seeing the lacy bit +of handkerchief that lay there, he picked it up--and placed it +back again. Carrigan did not urge his question, but waited. In +spite of his effort to fight it down he found himself in the grip +of a mysterious and growing thrill as he watched St. Pierre. Never +had the presence of another man had the same effect upon him, and +strangely the thought came to him that he was matched--even +overmatched. It was as if St. Pierre had brought with him into the +cabin something more than the splendid strength of his body, a +thing that reached out in the interval of silence between them, +warning Carrigan that all the law in the world would not swerve +the chief of the Boulains from what was already in his mind. For a +moment the thought passed from David that fate had placed him up +against the hazard of enmity with St. Pierre. His vision centered +in the man alone. And as he, too, rose to his feet, an unconscious +smile came to his lips as he recalled the boastings of Bateese. + +"I ask you," said he, "if you would really stake your life in a +matter such as that? Of course, if your words were merely +accidental, and meant nothing--" + +"If I had a dozen lives, I would stake them, one on top of the +other, as I have said," interrupted St. Pierre. Suddenly his laugh +boomed out and his voice became louder. "M'sieu Carrigan, I have +come to offer you just that test! Oui, I could kill you now. I +could put you at the bottom of the river, as Bateese thinks is +right. Mon Dieu, how completely I could make you disappear! And +then my Jeanne would be safe. She would not go behind prison bars. +She would go on living, and laughing, and singing in the big +forests, where she belongs. And Black Roger Audemard, the rascal, +would be safe for a time! But that would be like destroying a +little child. You are so helpless now. So you are going on to the +Chateau Boulain with us, and if at the end of the second month +from today you do not willingly say I have won my wager--why-- +m'sieu--I will go with you into the forest, and you may shoot out +of me the life which is my end of the gamble. Is that not fair? +Can you suggest a better way--between men like you and me?" + +"I can at least suggest a way that has the virtue of saving time," +replied David. "First, however, I must understand my position +here. I am, I take it, a prisoner." + +"A guest, with certain restrictions placed upon you, m'sieu," +corrected St. Pierre. + +The eyes of the two men met on a dead level. + +"Tomorrow morning I am going to fight Bateese," said David. "It is +a little sporting event we have fixed up between us for the +amusement of--your men. I have heard that Bateese is the best +fighting man along the Three Rivers. And I--I do not like to have +any other man claim that distinction when I am around." + +For the first time St. Pierre's placidity seemed to leave him. His +brow became clouded, a moment's frown grew in his face, and there +was a certain disconsolate hopelessness in the shrug of his +shoulders. It was as if Carrigan's words had suddenly robbed the +day of all its sunshine for the chief of the Boulains. His voice, +too, carried an unhappy and disappointed note as he made a gesture +toward the window. + +"M'sieu, on that raft out there are many of my men, and they have +scarcely rested or slept since word was brought to them that a +stranger was to fight Concombre Bateese. Tonnerre, they have +gambled without ever seeing you until the clothes on their backs +are in the hazard, and they have cracked their muscles in labor to +overtake you! They have prayed away their very souls that it would +be a good fight, and that Bateese would not eat you up too +quickly. It has been a long time since we have seen a good fight, +a long time since the last man dared to stand up against the half- +breed. Ugh, it tears out my heart to tell you that the fight can +not be!" + +St. Pierre made no effort to suppress his emotion. He was like a +huge, disappointed boy. He walked to the window, peered forth at +the raft, and as he shrugged his big shoulders again something +like a groan came from him. + +The thrill of approaching triumph swept through David's blood. The +flame of it was in his eyes when St. Pierre turned from the +window. + +"And you are disappointed, St. Pierre? You would like to see that +fight!" + +The blue steel in St. Pierre's eyes flashed back. "If the price +were a year of my life, I would give it--if Bateese did not eat +you up too quickly. I love to look upon a good fight, where there +is no venom of hatred in the blows!" + +"Then you shall see a good fight, St. Pierre." + +"Bateese would kill you, m'sieu. You are not big. You are not his +match." + +"I shall whip him, St. Pierre--whip him until he avows me his +master." + +"You do not know the half-breed, m'sieu. Twice I have tried him in +friendly combat myself and have been beaten." + +"But I shall whip him," repeated Carrigan. "I will wager you +anything--anything in the world--even life against life--that I +whip him!" + +The gloom had faded from the face of St. Pierre Boulain. But in a +moment it clouded again. + +"My Jeanne has made me promise that I will stop the fight," he +said. + +"And why--why should she insist in a matter such as this, which +properly should be settled among men?" asked David. + +Again St. Pierre laughed; with an effort, it seemed, "She is +gentle-hearted, m'sieu. She laughed and thought it quite a joke +when Bateese humbled me. 'What! My great St. Pierre, with the +blood of old France in his veins, beaten by a man who has been +named after a vegetable!' she cried. I tell you she was merry over +it, m'sieu! She laughed until the tears came into her eyes. But +with you it is different. She was white when she entreated me not +to let you fight Bateese. Yes, she is afraid you will be badly +hurt. And she does not want to see you hurt again. But I tell you +that I am not jealous, m'sieu! She does not try to hide things +from me. She tells me everything, like a little child. And so--" + +"I am going to fight Bateese," said David. He wondered if St. +Pierre could hear the thumping of his heart, or if his face gave +betrayal of the hot flood it was pumping through his body. +"Bateese and I have pledged ourselves. We shall fight, unless you +tie one of us hand and foot. And as for a wager--" + +"Yes--what have you to wager?" demanded St. Pierre eagerly. + +"You know the odds are great," temporized Carrigan. + +"That I concede, m'sieu." + +"But a fight without a wager would be like a pipe without tobacco, +St. Pierre." + +"You speak truly, m'sieu." + +David came nearer and laid a hand on the other's arm. "St. Pierre, +I hope you--and your Jeanne--will understand what I am about to +offer. It is this. If Bateese whips me, I will disappear into the +forests, and no word shall ever pass my lips of what has passed +since that hour behind the rock--and this. No whisper of it will +ever reach the Law. I will forget the attempted murder and the +suspicious mumblings of your Broken Man. You will be safe. Your +Jeanne will be safe--if Bateese whips me." + +He paused, and waited. St. Pierre made no answer, but amazement +came into his face, and after that a slow and burning fire in his +eyes which told how deeply and vitally Carrigan's words had struck +into his soul. + +"And if I should happen to win," continued David, turning a bit +carelessly toward the window, "why, I should expect as large a +payment from you. If I win, your fulfillment of the wager will be +to tell me in every detail why your wife tried to kill me behind +the rock, and you will also tell me all that you know about the +man I am after, Black Roger Audemard. That is all. I am asking for +no odds, though you concede the handicap is great." + +He did not look at St. Pierre. Behind him he heard the other's +deep breathing. For a space neither spoke. Outside they could hear +the soft swish of water, the low voices of men in the stern, and a +shout and the barking of a dog coming from the raft far out on the +river. For David the moment was one of suspense. He turned again, +a bit carelessly, as if his proposition were a matter of but +little significance to him. St. Pierre was not looking at him. He +was staring toward the door, as if through it he could see the +powerful form of Bateese bending over the stern sweep. And +Carrigan could see that his face was flaming with a great desire, +and that the blood in his body was pounding to the mighty urge of +it. + +Suddenly he faced Carrigan. + +"M'sieu, listen to me," he said. "You are a brave man. You are a +man of honor, and I know you will bury sacredly in your heart what +I am going to tell you now, and never let a word of it escape-- +even to my Jeanne. I do not blame you for loving her. Non! You +could not help that. You have fought well to keep it within +yourself, and for that I honor you. How do I know? Mon Dieu, she +has told me! A woman's heart understands, and a woman's ears are +quick to hear, m'sieu. When you were sick, and your mind was +wandering, you told her again and again that you loved her--and +when she brought you back to life, her eyes saw more than once the +truth of what your lips had betrayed, though you tried to keep it +to yourself. Even more, m'sieu--she felt the touch of your lips on +her hair that day. She understands. She has told me everything, +openly, innocently--yet her heart thrills with that sympathy of a +woman who knows she is loved. M'sieu, if you could have seen the +light in her eyes and the glow in her cheeks as she told me these +secrets. But I am not jealous! Non! It is only because you are a +brave man, and one of honor, that I tell you all this. She would +die of shame did she know I had betrayed her confidence. Yet it is +necessary that I tell you, because if we make the big wager we +must drop my Jeanne from the gamble. Do you comprehend me, m'sieu? + +"We are two men, strong men, fighting men. I--Pierre Boulain--can +not feel the shame of jealousy where a woman's heart is pure and +sweet, and where a man has fought against love with honor as you +have fought. And you, m'sieu--David Carrigan, of the Police--can +not strike with your hard man's hand that tender heart, that is +like a flower, and which this moment is beating faster than it +should with the fear that some harm is going to befall you. Is it +not so, m'sieu? We will make the wager, yes. But if you whip +Bateese--and you can not do that in a hundred years of fighting--I +will not tell you why my Jeanne shot at you behind the rock. Non, +never! Yet I swear I will tell you the other. If you win, I will +tell you all I know about Roger Audemard, and that is +considerable, m'sieu. Do you agree?" + +Slowly David held out a hand. St. Pierre's gripped it. The fingers +of the two men met like bands of steel. + +"Tomorrow you will fight," said St. Pierre. "You will fight and be +beaten so terribly that you may always show the marks of it. I am +sorry. Such a man as you I would rather have as a brother than an +enemy. And she will never forgive me. She will always remember it. +The thought will never die out of her heart that I was a beast to +let you fight Bateese. But it is best for all. And my men? Ah! +Diable, but it will be great sport for them, m'sieu!" + +His hand unclasped. He turned to the door. A moment later it +closed behind him, and David was alone. He had not spoken. He had +not replied to the engulfing truths that had fallen quietly and +without a betrayal of passion from St. Pierre's lips. Inwardly he +was crushed. Yet his face was like stone, hiding his shame. And +then, suddenly, there came a sound from outside that sent the +blood through his cold veins again. It was laughter, the great, +booming laughter of St. Pierre! It was not the merriment of a man +whose heart was bleeding, or into whose life had come an +unexpected pain or grief. It was wild and free, and filled with +the joy of the sun-filled day. + +And David, listening to it, felt something that was more than +admiration for this man growing within him. And unconsciously his +lips repeated St. Pierre's words. + +"Tomorrow--you will fight." + + + + + +XVII + + +For many minutes David stood at the bateau window and watched the +canoe that carried St. Pierre Boulain and the Broken Man back to +the raft. It moved slowly, as if St. Pierre was loitering with a +purpose and was thinking deeply of what had passed. Carrigan's +fingers tightened, and his face grew tense, as he gazed out into +the glow of the western sun. Now that the stress of nerve-breaking +moments in the cabin was over, he no longer made an effort to +preserve the veneer of coolness and decision with which he had +encountered the chief of the Boulains. Deep in his soul he was +crushed and humiliated. Every nerve in his body was bleeding. + +He had heard St. Pierre's big laugh a moment before, but it must +have been the laugh of a man who was stabbed to the heart. And he +was going back to Marie-Anne like that--drifting scarcely faster +than the current that he might steal time to strengthen himself +before he looked into her eyes again. David could see him, +motionless, his giant shoulders hunched forward a little, his head +bowed, and in the stern the Broken Man paddled listlessly, his +eyes on the face of his master. Without voice David cursed +himself. In his egoism he had told himself that he had made a +splendid fight in resisting the temptation of a great love for the +wife of St. Pierre. But what was his own struggle compared with +this tragedy which St. Pierre was now facing? + +He turned from the window and looked about the cabin room again-- +the woman's room and St. Pierre's--and his face burned in its +silent accusation. Like a living thing it painted another picture +for him. For a space he lost his own identity. He saw himself in +the place of St. Pierre. He was the husband of Marie-Anne, +worshipping her even as St. Pierre must worship her, and he came, +as St. Pierre had come, to find a stranger in his home, a stranger +who had lain in his bed, a stranger whom his wife had nursed back +to life, a stranger who had fallen in love with his most +inviolable possession, who had told her of his love, who had +kissed her, who had held her close, in his arms, whose presence +had brought a warmer flush and a brighter glow into eyes and +cheeks that until this stranger's coming had belonged only to him. +And he heard her, as St. Pierre had heard her, pleading with him +to keep this man from harm; he heard her soft voice, telling of +the things that had passed between them, and he saw in her eyes-- + +With almost a cry he swept the thought and the picture from him. +It was an atrocious thing to conceive, impossible of reality. And +yet the truth would not go. What would he have done in St. +Pierre's place? + +He went to the window again. Yes, St. Pierre was a bigger man than +he. For St. Pierre had come quietly and calmly, offering a hand of +friendship, generous, smiling, keeping his hurt to himself, while +he, Dave Carrigan, would have come with the murder of man in his +heart. + +His eyes passed from the canoe to the raft, and from the big raft +to the hazy billows of green and golden forest that melted off +into interminable miles of distance beyond the river. He knew that +on the other side of him lay that same distance, north, east, +south, and west, vast spaces in an unpeopled world, the same green +and golden forests, ten thousand plains and rivers and lakes, a +million hiding-places where romance and tragedy might remain +forever undisturbed. The thought came to him that it would not be +difficult to slip out into that world and disappear. He almost +owed it to St. Pierre. It was the voice of Bateese in a snatch of +wild and discordant song that brought him back into grim reality. +There was, after all, that embarrassing matter of justice--and the +accursed Law! + +After a little he observed that the canoe was moving faster, and +that Andre's paddle was working steadily and with force. St. +Pierre no longer sat hunched in the bow. His head was erect, and +he was waving a hand in the direction of the raft. A figure had +come from the cabin on the huge mass of floating timber. David +caught the shimmer of a woman's dress, something white fluttering +over her head, waving back at St. Pierre. It was Marie-Anne, and +he moved away from the window. + +He wondered what was passing between St. Pierre and his wife in +the hour that followed. The bateau kept abreast of the raft, +moving neither faster nor slower than it did, and twice he +surrendered to the desire to scan the deck of the floating timbers +through his binoculars. But the cabin held St. Pierre and Marie- +Anne, and he saw neither of them again until the sun was setting. +Then St. Pierre came out--alone. + +Even at that distance over the broad river he heard the booming +voice of the chief of the Boulains. Life sprang up where there had +been the drowse of inactivity aboard the raft. A dozen more of the +great sweeps were swiftly manned by men who appeared suddenly from +the shaded places of canvas shelters and striped tents. A murmur +of voices rose over the water, and then the murmur was broken by +howls and shouts as the rivermen ran to their places at the +command of St. Pierre's voice, and as the sweeps began to flash in +the setting sun, it gave way entirely to the evening chant of the +Paddling Song. + +David gripped himself as he listened and watched the slowly +drifting glory of the world that came down to the shores of the +river. He could see St. Pierre clearly, for the bateau had worked +its way nearer. He could see the bare heads and naked arms of the +rivermen at the sweeps. The sweet breath of the forests filled his +lungs, as that picture lay before him, and there came into his +soul a covetousness and a yearning where before there had been +humiliation and the grim urge of duty. He could breathe the air of +that world, he could look at its beauty, he could worship it--and +yet he knew that he was not a part of it as those others were a +part of it. He envied the men at the sweeps; he felt his heart +swelling at the exultation and joy in their song. They were going +home--home down the big rivers, home to the heart of God's +Country, where wives and sweethearts and happiness were waiting +for them, and their visions were his visions as he stared wide- +eyed and motionless over the river. And yet he was irrevocably an +alien. He was more than that--an enemy, a man-hound sent out on a +trail to destroy, an agent of a powerful and merciless force that +carried with it punishment and death. + +The crew of the bateau had joined in the evening song of the +rivermen on the raft, and over the ridges and hollows of the +forest tops, red and green and gold in the last warm glory of the +sun, echoed that chanting voice of men. David understood now what +St. Pierre's command had been. The huge raft with its tented city +of life was preparing to tie up for the night. A quarter of a mile +ahead the river widened, so that on the far side was a low, clean +shore toward which the efforts of the men at the sweeps were +slowly edging the raft. York boats shot out on the shore side and +dropped anchors that helped drag the big craft in. Two others +tugged at tow-lines fastened to the shoreside bow, and within +twenty minutes the first men were plunging up out of the water on +the white strip of beach and were whipping the tie-lines about the +nearest trees. David unconsciously was smiling in the thrill and +triumph of these last moments, and not until they were over did he +sense the fact that Bateese and his crew were bringing the bateau +in to the opposite shore. Before the sun was quite down, both raft +and house-boat were anchored for the night. + +As the shadows of the distant forests deepened, Carrigan felt +impending about him an oppression of emptiness and loneliness +which he had not experienced before. He was disappointed that the +bateau had not tied up with the raft. Already he could see men +building fires. Spirals of smoke began to rise from the shore, and +he knew that the riverman's happiest of all hours, supper time, +was close at hand. He looked at his watch. It was after seven +o'clock. Then he watched the fading away of the sun until only the +red glow of it remained in the west, and against the still thicker +shadows the fires of the rivermen threw up yellow flames. On his +own side, Bateese and the bateau crew were preparing their meal. +It was eight o'clock when a man he had not seen before brought in +his supper. He ate, scarcely sensing the taste of his food, and +half an hour later the man reappeared for the dishes. + +It was not quite dark when he returned to his window, but the far +shore was only an indistinct blur of gloom. The fires were +brighter. One of them, built solely because of the rivermen's +inherent love of light and cheer, threw the blaze of its flaming +logs twenty feet into the air. + +He wondered what Marie-Anne was doing in this hour. Last night +they had been together. He had marveled at the witchery of the +moonlight in her hair and eyes, he had told her of the beauty of +it, she had smiled, she had laughed softly with him--for hours +they had sat in the spell of the golden night and the glory of the +river. And tonight--now--was she with St. Pierre, waiting as they +had waited last night for the rising of the moon? Had she +forgotten? COULD she forget? Or was she, as he thought St. Pierre +had painfully tried to make him believe, innocent of all the +thoughts and desires that had come to him, as he sat worshipping +her in their stolen hours? He could think of them only as stolen, +for he did not believe Marie-Anne had revealed to her husband all +she might have told him. + +He was sure he would never see her again as he had seen her then, +and something of bitterness rose in him as he thought of that. St. +Pierre, could he have seen her face and eyes when he told her that +her hair in the moonlight was lovelier than anything he had ever +seen, would have throttled him with his naked hands in that +meeting in the cabin. For St. Pierre's code would not have had her +eyes droop under their long lashes or her cheeks flush so warmly +at the words of another man--and he could not take vengeance on +the woman herself. No, she had not told St. Pierre all she might +have told! There were things which she must have kept to herself, +which she dared not reveal even to this great-hearted man who was +her husband. Shame, if nothing more, had kept her silent. + +Did she feel that shame as he was feeling it? It was inconceivable +to think otherwise. And for that reason, more than all others, he +knew that she would not meet him face to face again--unless he +forced that meeting. And there was little chance of that, for his +pledge with St. Pierre had eliminated her from the aftermath of +tomorrow's drama, his fight with Bateese. Only when St. Pierre +might stand in a court of law would there be a possibility of her +eyes meeting his own again, and then they would flame with the +hatred that at another time had been in the eyes of Carmin +Fanchet. + +With the dull stab of a thing that of late had been growing inside +him, he wondered what had happened to Carmin Fanchet in the years +that had gone since he had brought about the hanging of her +brother. Last night and the night before, strange dreams of her +had come to him in restless slumber. It was disturbing to him that +he should wake up in the middle of the night dreaming of her, when +he had gone to his bed with a mind filled to overflowing with the +sweet presence of Marie-Anne Boulain. And now his mind reached out +poignantly into mysterious darkness and doubt, even as the +darkness of night spread itself in a thickening canopy over the +river. + +Gray clouds had followed the sun of a faultless day, and the stars +were veiled overhead. When David turned from the window, it was so +dark in the cabin that he could not see. He did not light the +lamps, but made his way to St. Pierre's couch and sat down in the +silence and gloom. + +Through the open windows came to him the cadence of the river and +the forests. There was silence of human voice ashore, but under +him he heard the lapping murmur of water as it rustled under the +stern and side of the bateau, and from the deep timber came the +never-ceasing whisper of the spruce and cedar tops, and the +subdued voice of creatures whose hours of activity had come with +the dying out of the sun. + +For a long time he sat in this darkness. And then there came to +him a sound that was different than the other sounds--a low +monotone of voices, the dipping of a paddle--and a canoe passed +close under his windows and up the shore. He paid small attention +to it until, a little later, the canoe returned, and its occupants +boarded the bateau. It would have roused little interest in him +then had he not heard a voice that was thrillingly like the voice +of a woman. + +He drew his hunched shoulders erect and stared through the +darkness toward the door. A moment more and there was no doubt. It +was almost shock that sent the blood leaping suddenly through his +veins. The inconceivable had happened. It was Marie-Anne out +there, talking in a low voice to Bateese! + +Then there came a heavy knock at his door, and he heard the door +open. Through it he saw the grayer gloom of the outside night +partly shut out a heavy shadow. + +"M'sieu!" called the voice of Bateese. + +"I am here," said David. + +"You have not gone to bed, m'sieu?" + +"No." + +The heavy shadow seemed to fade away, and yet there still remained +a shadow there. David's heart thumped as he noted the slenderness +of it. For a space there was silence. And then, + +"Will you light the lamps, M'sieu David?" a soft voice came to +him. "I want to come in, and I am afraid of this terrible +darkness!" + +He rose to his feet, fumbling in his pocket for matches. + + + + + +XVIII + + +He did not turn toward Marie-Anne when he had lighted the first of +the great brass lamps hanging at the side of the bateau. He went +to the second, and struck another match, and flooded the cabin +with light. + +She still stood silhouetted against the darkness beyond the cabin +door when he faced her. She was watching him, her eyes intent, her +face a little pale, he thought. Then he smiled and nodded. He +could not see a great change in her since this afternoon, except +that there seemed to be a little more fire in the glow of her +eyes. They were looking at him steadily as she smiled and nodded, +wide, beautiful eyes in which there was surely no revelation of +shame or regret, and no very clear evidence of unhappiness. David +stared, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. + +"Why is it that you sit in darkness?" she asked, stepping within +and closing the door. "Did you not expect me to return and +apologize for leaving you so suddenly this afternoon? It was +impolite. Afterward I was ashamed. But I was excited, M'sieu +David. I--" + +"Of course," he hurried to interrupt her. "I understand. St. +Pierre is a lucky man. I congratulate you--as well as him. He is +splendid, a man in whom you can place great faith and confidence." + +"He scolded me for running away from you as I did, M'sieu David. +He said I should have shown better courtesy than to leave like +that one who was a guest in our--home. So I have returned, like a +good child, to make amends." + +"It was not necessary." + +"But you were lonesome and in darkness!" + +He nodded. "Yes." + +"And besides," she added, so quietly and calmly that he was +amazed, "you know my sleeping apartment is also on the bateau. And +St. Pierre made me promise to say good night to you." + +"It is an imposition," cried David, the blood rushing to his face. +"You have given up all this to me! Why not let me go into that +little room forward, or sleep on the raft and you and St. Pierre-- +" + +"St. Pierre would not leave the raft," replied Marie-Anne, turning +from him toward the table on which were the books and magazines +and her work-basket. "And I like my little room forward." + +"St. Pierre--" + +He stopped himself. He could see a sudden color deepening in the +cheek of St. Pierre's wife as she made pretense of looking for +something in her basket. He felt that if he went on he would +blunder, if he had not already blundered. He was uncomfortable, +for he believed he had guessed the truth. It was not quite +reasonable to expect that Marie-Anne would come to him like this +on the first night of St. Pierre's homecoming. Something had +happened over in the little cabin on the raft, he told himself. +Perhaps there had been a quarrel--at least ironical implications +on St. Pierre's part. And his sympathy was with St. Pierre. + +He caught suddenly a little tremble at the corner of Marie-Anne's +mouth as her face was turned partly from him, and he stepped to +the opposite side of the table so he could look at her fairly. If +there had been unpleasantness in the cabin on the raft, St. +Pierre's wife in no way gave evidence of it. The color had +deepened to almost a blush in her cheeks, but it was not on +account of embarrassment, for one who is embarrassed is not +usually amused, and as she looked up at him her eyes were filled +with the flash of laughter which he had caught her lips struggling +to restrain. Then, finding a bit of lace work with the needles +meshed in it, she seated herself, and again he was looking down on +the droop of her long lashes and the seductive glow of her +lustrous hair. Yesterday, in a moment of irresistible impulse, he +had told her how lovely it was as she had dressed it, a bewitching +crown of interwoven coils, not drawn tightly, but crumpled and +soft, as if the mass of tresses were openly rebelling at closer +confinement. She had told him the effect was entirely accidental, +largely due to carelessness and haste in dressing it. Accidental +or otherwise, it was the same tonight, and in the heart of it were +the drooping red petals of a flower she had gathered with him +early that afternoon. + +"St. Pierre brought me over," she said in a calmly matter-of-fact +voice, as though she had expected David to know that from the +beginning. "He is ashore talking over important matters with +Bateese. I am sure he will drop in and say good night before he +returns to the raft. He asked me to wait for him--here." She +raised her eyes, so clear and untroubled, so quietly unembarrassed +under his gaze, that he would have staked his life she had no +suspicion of the confessions which St. Pierre had revealed to him. + +"Do you care? Would you rather put out the lights and go to bed?" + +He shook his head. "No. I am glad. I was beastly lonesome. I had +an idea--" + +He was on the point of blundering again when he caught himself. +The effect of her so near him was more than ever disturbing, in +spite of St. Pierre. Her eyes, clear and steady, yet soft as +velvet when they looked at him, made his tongue and his thoughts +dangerously uncertain. + +"You had an idea, M'sieu David?" + +"That you would have no desire to see me again after my talk with +St. Pierre," he said. "Did he tell you about it?" + +"He said you were very fine, M'sieu David--and that he liked you." + +"And he told you it is determined that I shall fight Bateese in +the morning?" + +"Yes." + +The one word was spoken with a quiet lack of excitement, even of +interest--it seemed to belie some of the things St. Pierre had +told him, and he could scarcely believe, looking at her now, that +she had entreated her husband to prevent the encounter, or that +she had betrayed any unusual emotion in the matter at all. + +"I was afraid you would object," he could not keep from saying. +"It does not seem nice to pull off such a thing as that, when +there is a lady about--" + +"Or LADIES." She caught him up quickly, and he saw a sudden little +tightening of her pretty mouth as she turned her eyes to the bit +of lace work again. "But I do not object, because what St. Pierre +says is right--must be right." + +And the softness, he thought, went altogether out of the curve of +her lips for an instant. In a flash their momentary betrayal of +vexation was gone, and St. Pierre's wife had replaced the work- +basket on the table and was on her feet, smiling at him. There was +something of wild daring in her eyes, something that made him +think of the glory of adventure he had seen flaming in her face +the night they had run the rapids of the Holy Ghost. + +"Tomorrow will be very unpleasant, M'sieu David," she cried +softly. "Bateese will beat you--terribly. Tonight we must think of +things more agreeable." + +He had never seen her more radiant than when she turned toward the +piano. What the deuce did it mean? Had St. Pierre been making a +fool of him? She actually appeared unable to restrain her elation +at the thought that Bateese would surely beat him up! He stood +without moving and made no effort to answer her. Just before they +had started on that thrilling adventure into the forest, which had +ended with his carrying her in his arms, she had gone to the piano +and had played for him. Now her fingers touched softly the same +notes. A little humming trill came in her throat, and it seemed to +David that she was deliberately recalling his thoughts to the +things that had happened before the coming of St. Pierre. He had +not lighted the lamp over the piano, and for a flash her dark eyes +smiled at him out of the half shadow. After a moment she began to +sing. + +Her voice was low and without effort, untrained, and subdued as if +conscious and afraid of its limitations, yet so exquisitely sweet +that to David it was a new and still more wonderful revelation of +St. Pierre's wife. He drew nearer, until he stood close at her +side, the dark luster of her hair almost touching his arm, her +partly upturned face a bewitching profile in the shadows. + +Her voice grew lower, almost a whisper in its melody, as if meant +for him alone. Many times he had heard the Canadian Boat Song, but +never as its words came now from the lips of Marie-Anne Boulain. + + "Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune, and +our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll +sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn; Row, brothers, row, the +stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past." + +She paused. And David, staring down at her shining head, did not +speak. Her fingers trembled over the keys, he could see dimly the +shadow of her long lashes, and the spirit-like scent of crushed +violets rose to him from the soft lace about her throat and her +hair. + +"It is your music," he whispered. "I have never heard the Boat +Song like that!" + +He tried to drag his eyes from her face and hair, sensing that he +was a near-criminal, fighting a mighty impulse. The notes under +her fingers changed, and again--by chance or design--she was +stabbing at him; bringing him face to face with the weakness of +his flesh, the iniquity of his desire to reach out his arms and +crumple her in them. Yet she did not look up, she did not see him, +as she began to sing "Ave Maria." + + "Ave, Maria, hear my cry! O, guide my path where no harm, no +harm is nigh--" + +As she went on, he knew she had forgotten to think of him. With +the reverence of a prayer the holy words came from her lips, +slowly, softly, trembling with a pathos and sweetness that told +David they came not alone from the lips, but from the very soul of +St, Pierre's wife. And then-- + + "Oh, Mother, hear me where thou art, And guard and guide my +aching heart, my aching heart!" + +The last words drifted away into a whisper, and David was glad +that he was not looking into the face of St. Pierre's wife, for +there must have been something there now which it would have been +sacrilege for him to stare at, as he was staring at her hair. + +No sound of opening door had come from behind them. Yet St. Pierre +had opened it and stood there, watching them with a curious humor +in eyes that seemed still to hold a glitter of the fire that had +leaped from the half-breed's flaming birch logs. His voice was a +shock to Carrigan. + +"PESTE, but you are a gloomy pair!" he boomed. "Why no light over +there in the corner, and why sing that death-song to chase away +the devil when there is no devil near?" + +Guilt was in David's heart, but there was no sting of venom in St. +Pierre's words, and he was laughing at them now, as though what he +saw were a pretty joke and amused him. + +"Late hours and shady bowers! I say it should be a love song or +something livelier," he cried, closing the door behind him and +coming toward them. "Why not En Roulant ma Boule, my sweet Jeanne? +You know that is my favorite." + +He suddenly interrupted himself, and his voice rolled out in a +wild chant that rocked the cabin. + + "The wind is fresh, the wind is free, En roulant ma boule! The +wind is fresh--my love waits me, Rouli, roulant, ma boule +roulant! Behind our house a spring you see, In it three ducks +swim merrily, And hunting, the Prince's son went he, With a +silver gun right fair to see--" + +David was conscious that St. Pierre's wife had risen to her feet, +and now she came out of shadow into light, and he was amazed to +see that she was laughing back at St. Pierre, and that her two +fore-fingers were thrust in her ears to keep out the bellow of her +husband's voice. She was not at all discomfited by his unexpected +appearance, but rather seemed to join in the humor of the thing +with St. Pierre, though he fancied he could see something in her +face that was forced and uneasy. He believed that under the +surface of her composure she was suffering a distress which she +did not reveal. + +St. Pierre advanced and carelessly patted her shoulder with one of +his big hands, while he spoke to David. + +"Has she not the sweetest voice in the world, m'sieu? Did you ever +hear a sweeter or as sweet? I say it is enough to get down into +the soul of a man, unless he is already half dead! That voice--" + +He caught Marie-Anne's eyes. Her cheeks were flaming. Her look, +for an instant, flashed lightning as she halted him. + +"Ma foi, I speak it from the heart," he persisted, with a shrug of +his shoulders. "Am I not right, M'sieu Carrigan? Did you ever hear +a sweeter voice?" + +"It is wonderful," agreed David, wondering if he was hazarding too +much. + +"Good! It fills me with happiness to know I am right. And now, +cherie, good-night! I must return to the raft." + +A shadow of vexation crossed Marie-Anne's face. "You seem in great +haste." + +"Plagues and pests! You are right, Pretty Voice! I am most anxious +to get back to my troubles there, and you--" + +"Will also bid M'sieu Carrigan good-night," she quickly +interrupted him. "You will at least see me to my room, St. Pierre, +and safely put away for the night." + +She held out her hand to David. There was not a tremor in it as it +lay for an instant soft and warm in his own. She made no effort to +withdraw it quickly, nor did her eyes hide their softness as they +looked into his own. + +Mutely David stood as they went out. He heard St. Pierre's loud +voice rumbling about the darkness of the night. He heard them pass +along the side of the bateau forward, and half a minute later he +knew that St. Pierre was getting into his canoe. The dip of a +paddle came to him. + +For a space there was silence, and then, from far out in the black +shadow of the river, rolled back the great voice of St. Pierre +Boulain singing the wild river chant, "En Roulant ma Boule." + +At the open window he listened. It seemed to him that from far +over the river, where the giant raft lay, there came a faint +answer to the words of the song, + + + + + +XIX + + +With the slow approach of the storm which was advancing over the +wilderness, Carrigan felt more poignantly the growing unrest that +was in him. He heard the last of St. Pierre's voice, and after +that the fires on the distant shore died out slowly, giving way to +utter blackness. Faintly there came to him the far-away rumbling +of thunder. The air grew heavy and thick, and there was no sound +of night-bird over the breast of the river, and out of the thick +cedar and spruce and balsam there came no cry or whisper of the +nocturnal life waiting in silence for the storm to break. In that +stillness David put out the lights in the cabin and sat close to +the window in darkness. + +He was more than sleepless. Every nerve in his body demanded +action, and his brain was fired by strange thoughts until their +vividness seemed to bring him face to face with a reality that set +his blood stirring with an irresistible thrill. He believed he had +made a discovery, that St. Pierre had betrayed himself. What he +had visioned, the conclusion he had arrived at, seemed +inconceivable, yet what his own eyes had seen and his ears had +heard pointed to the truth of it all. The least he could say was +that St. Pierre's love for Marie-Anne Boulain was a strange sort +of love. His attitude toward her seemed more like that of a man in +the presence of a child of whom he was fond in a fatherly sort of +way. His affection, as he had expressed it, was parental and +careless. Not for an instant had there been in it a betrayal of +the lover, no suggestion of the husband who cared deeply or who +might be made jealous by another man. + +Sitting in darkness thickening with the nearer approach of storm, +David recalled the stab of pain mingled with humiliation that had +come into the eyes of St. Pierre's wife when she had stood facing +her husband. He heard again, with a new understanding, the low +note of pathos in her voice as in song she had called upon the +Mother of Christ to hear her--and help her. He had not guessed at +the tragedy of it then. Now he knew, and he thought of her lying +awake in the gloom beyond the bulkhead, her eyes were with tears. +And St. Pierre had gone back to his raft, singing in the night! +Where before there had been sympathy for him, there rose a sincere +revulsion. There had been a reason for St. Pierre's masterly +possession of himself, and it had not been, as he had thought, +because of his bigness of soul. It was because he had not cared. +He was a splendid hypocrite, playing his game well at the +beginning, but betraying the lie at the end. He did not love +Marie-Anne as he, Dave Carrigan, loved her. He had spoken of her +as a child, and he had treated her as a child, and was serenely +dispassionate in the face of a situation which would have roused +the spirit in most men. And suddenly, recalling that thrilling +hour in the white strip of sand and all that had happened since, +it flashed upon David that St. Pierre was using his wife as the +vital moving force in a game of his own--that under the masquerade +of his apparent faith and bigness of character he was sacrificing +her to achieve a certain mysterious something it the scheme of his +own affairs. + +Yet he could not forget the infinite faith Marie-Anne Boulain had +expressed in her husband. There had been no hypocrisy in her +waiting and her watching for him, or in her belief that he would +straighten out the tangles of the dilemma in which she had become +involved. Nor had there been make-believe in the manner she had +left him that day in her eagerness to go to St. Pierre. Adding +these facts as he had added the others, he fancied he saw the +truth staring at him out of the darkness of his cabin room. Marie- +Anne loved her husband. And St. Pierre was merely the possessor, +careless and indifferent, almost brutally dispassionate in his +consideration of her. + +A heavy crash of thunder brought Carrigan back to a realization of +the impending storm. He rose to his feet in the chaotic gloom, +facing the bulkhead beyond which he was certain St. Pierre's wife +lay wide awake. He tried to laugh. It was inexcusable, he told +himself, to let his thoughts become involved in the family affairs +of St. Pierre and Marie-Anne. That was not his business. Marie- +Anne, in the final analysis, did not appear to be especially +abused, and her mind was not a child's mind. Probably she would +not thank him for his interest in the matter. She would tell him, +like any other woman with pride, that it was none of his business +and that he was presuming upon forbidden ground. + +He went to the window. There was scarcely a breath of air, and +unfastening the screen, he thrust out his head and shoulders into +the night. It was so black that he could not see the shadow of the +water almost within reach of his hands, but through the chaos of +gloom that lay between him and the opposite shore he made out a +single point of yellow light. He was positive the light was in the +cabin on the raft. And St. Pierre was probably in that cabin. + +A huge drop of rain splashed on his hand, and behind him he heard +sweeping over the forest tops the quickening march of the deluge. +There was no crash of thunder or flash of lightning when it broke. +Straight down, in an inundation, it came out of a sky thick enough +to slit with a knife. Carrigan drew in his head and shoulders and +sniffed the sweet freshness of it. He tried again to make out the +light on the raft, but it was obliterated. + +Mechanically he began taking off his clothes, and in a few moments +he stood again at the window, naked. Thunder and lightning had +caught up with the rain, and in the flashes of fire Carrigan's +ghost-white face stared in the direction of the raft. In his veins +was at work an insistent and impelling desire. Over there was St. +Pierre, he was undoubtedly in the cabin, and something might +happen if he, Dave Carrigan, took advantage of storm and gloom to +go to the raft. + +It was almost a presentiment that drew his bare head and shoulders +out through the window, and every hunting instinct in him urged +him to the adventure. The stygian darkness was torn again by a +flash of fire. In it he saw the river and the vivid silhouette of +the distant shore. It would not be a difficult swim, and it would +be good training for tomorrow. + +Like a badger worming his way out of a hole a bit too small for +him, Carrigan drew himself through the window. A lightning flash +caught him at the edge of the bateau, and he slunk back quickly +against the cabin, with the thought that other eyes might be +staring out into that same darkness. In the pitch gloom that +followed he lowered himself quietly into the river, thrust himself +under water, and struck out for the opposite shore. + +When he came to the surface again it was in the glare of another +lightning flash. He flung the water from his face, chose a point +several hundred yards above the raft, and with quick, powerful +strokes set out in its direction. For ten minutes he quartered the +current without raising his head. Then he paused, floating +unresistingly with the slow sweep of the river, and waited for +another illumination. When it came, he made out the tented raft +scarcely a hundred yards away and a little below him. In the next +darkness he found the edge of it and dragged himself up on the +mass of timbers. + +The thunder had been rolling steadily westward, and David crouched +low, hoping for one more flash to illumine the raft. It came at +last from a mass of inky cloud far to the west, so indistinct that +it made only dim shadows out of the tents and shelters, but it was +sufficient to give him direction. Before its faint glare died out, +he saw the deeper shadow of the cabin forward. + +For many minutes he lay where he had dragged himself, without +making a movement in its direction. Nowhere about him could he see +a sign of light, nor could he hear any sound of life. St. Pierre's +people were evidently deep in slumber. + +Carrigan had no very definite idea of the next step in his +adventure. He had swum from the bateau largely under impulse, with +no preconceived scheme of action, urged chiefly by the hope that +he would find St. Pierre in the cabin and that something might +come of it. As for knocking at the door and rousing the chief of +the Boulains from sleep--he had at the present moment no very good +excuse for that. No sooner had the thought and its objection come +to him than a broad shaft of light shot with startling suddenness +athwart the blackness of the raft, darkened in another instant by +an obscuring shadow. Swift as the light itself David's eyes turned +to the source of the unexpected illumination. The door of St. +Pierre's cabin was wide open. The interior was flooded with +lampglow, and in the doorway stood St. Pierre himself. + +The chief of the Boulains seemed to be measuring the weather +possibilities of the night. His subdued voice reached David, +chuckling with satisfaction, as he spoke to some one who was +behind him in the cabin. + +"Pitch and brimstone, but it's black!" he cried. "You could carve +it with a knife, and stand it on end, AMANTE. But it's going west. +In a few hours the stars will be out." + +He drew back into the cabin, and the door closed. David held his +breath in amazement, staring at the blackness where a moment +before the light had been. Who was it St. Pierre had called +sweetheart? AMANTE! He could not have been mistaken. The word had +come to him clearly, and there was but one guess to make. Marie- +Anne was not on the bateau. She had played him for a fool, had +completely hoodwinked him in her plot with St. Pierre. They were +cleverer than he had supposed, and in darkness she had rejoined +her husband on the raft! But why that senseless play of falsehood? +What could be their object in wanting him to believe she was still +aboard the bateau? + +He stood up on his feet and mopped the warm rain from his face, +while the gloom hid the grim smile that came slowly to his lips. +Close upon the thrill of his astonishment he felt a new stir in +his blood which added impetus to his determination and his action. +He was not disgusted with himself, nor was he embittered by what +he had thought of a moment ago as the lying hypocrisy of his +captors. To be beaten in his game of man-hunting was sometimes to +be expected, and Carrigan always gave proper credit to the +winners. It was also "good medicine" to know that Marie-Anne, +instead of being an unhappy and neglected wife, had blinded him +with an exquisitely clever simulation. Just why she had done it, +and why St. Pierre had played his masquerade, it was his duty now +to find out. + +An hour ago he would have cut off a hand before spying upon St. +Pierre's wife or eavesdropping under her window. Now he felt no +uneasiness of conscience as he approached the cabin, for Marie- +Anne herself had destroyed all reason for any delicate +discrimination on his part. + +The rain had almost stopped, and in one of the near tents he heard +a sleepy voice. But he had no fear of chance discovery. The night +would remain dark for a long time, and in his bare feet he made no +sound the sharpest ears of a dog ten feet away might have heard. +Close to the cabin door, yet in such a way that the sudden opening +of it would not reveal him, he paused and listened. + +Distinctly he heard St. Pierre's voice, but not the words. A +moment later came the soft, joyous laughter of a woman, and for an +instant a hand seemed to grip David's heart, filling it with pain. +There was no unhappiness in that laughter. It seemed, instead, to +tremble in an exultation of gladness. + +Suddenly St. Pierre came nearer the door, and his voice was more +distinct. "Chere-coeur, I tell you it is the greatest joke of my +life," he heard him say. "We are safe. If it should come to the +worst, we can settle the matter in another way. I can not but sing +and laugh, even in the face of it all. And she, in that very +innocence which amuses me so, has no suspicion--" + +He turned, and vainly David keyed his ears to catch the final +words. The voices in the cabin grew lower. Twice he heard the soft +laughter of the woman. St. Pierre's voice, when he spoke, was +unintelligible. + +The thought that his random adventure was bringing him to an +important discovery possessed Carrigan. St. Pierre, he believed, +had been on the very edge of disclosing something which he would +have given a great deal to know. Surely in this cabin there must +be a window, and the window would be open-- + +Quietly he felt his way through the darkness to the shore side of +the cabin. A narrow bar of light at least partly confirmed his +judgment. There was a window. But it was almost entirely +curtained, and it was closed. Had the curtain been drawn two +inches lower, the thin stream of light would have been shut +entirely out from the night. + +Under this window David crouched for several minutes, hoping that +in the calm which was succeeding the storm it might be opened. The +voices were still more indistinct inside. He scarcely heard St. +Pierre, but twice again he heard the low and musical laughter of +the woman. She had laughed differently with HIM--and the grim +smile settled on his lips as he looked up at the narrow slit of +light over his head. He had an overwhelming desire to look in. +After all, it was a matter of professional business--and his duty. + +He was glad the curtain was drawn so low. From experiments of his +own he knew there was small chance of those inside seeing him +through the two-inch slit, and he raised himself boldly until his +eyes were on a level with the aperture. + +Directly in the line of his vision was St. Pierre's wife. She was +seated, and her back was toward him, so he could not see her face. +She was partly disrobed, and her hair was streaming loose about +her. Once, he remembered, she had spoken of fiery lights that came +into her hair under certain illumination. He had seen them in the +sun, but never as they revealed themselves now in that cabin lamp +glow. He scarcely looked at St. Pierre, who was on his feet, +looking down upon her--not until St. Pierre reached out and +crumpled the smothering mass of glowing tresses in his big hands, +and laughed. It was a laugh filled with the unutterable joy of +possession. The woman rose to her feet. Up through her hair went +her two white, bare arms, encircling St. Pierre's neck. The giant +drew her close. Her slim form seemed to melt in his, and their +lips met. + +And then the woman threw back her head, laughing, so that her +glory of hair fell straight down, and she was out of reach of St. +Pierre's lips. They turned. Her face fronted the window, and out +in the night Carrigan stifled a cry that almost broke from his +lips. For a flash he was looking straight into her eyes. Her +parted lips seemed smiling at him; her white throat and bosom were +bared to him. He dropped down, his heart choking him as he +stumbled through the darkness to the edge of the raft. There, with +the lap of the water at his feet, he paused. It was hard for him +to get Breath. He stared through the gloom in the direction of the +bateau. Marie-Anne Boulain, the woman he loved, was there! In her +little cabin, alone, on the bateau, was St. Pierre's wife, her +heart crushed. + +And in this cabin on the raft, forgetful of her degradation and +her grief, was the vilest wretch he had ever known--St. Pierre +Boulain. And with him, giving herself into his arms, caressing him +with her lips and hair, was the sister of the man he had helped to +hang--CARMIN FANCHET! + + + + + +XX + + +The shock of the amazing discovery which Carrigan had made was as +complete as it was unexpected. His eyes had looked upon the last +thing in the world he might have guessed at or anticipated when +they beheld through the window of St. Pierre's cabin the beautiful +face and partly disrobed figure of Carmin Fanchet. The first +effect of that shock had been to drive him away. His action had +been involuntary, almost without the benefit of reason, as if +Carmin had been Marie-Anne herself receiving the caresses which +were rightfully hers, and upon which it was both insult and +dishonor for him to spy. He realized now that he had made a +mistake in leaving the window too quickly. + +But he did not move back through the gloom, for there was +something too revolting in what he had seen, and with the +revulsion of it a swift understanding of the truth which made his +hands clench as he sat down on the edge of the raft with his feet +and legs submerged in the slow-moving current of the river. The +thing was not uncommon. It was the same monstrous story, as old as +the river itself, but in this instance it filled him with a +sickening sort of horror which gripped him at first even more than +the strangeness of the fact that Carmin Fanchet was the other +woman. His vision and his soul were reaching out to the bateau +lying in darkness on the far side of the river, where St. Pierre's +wife was alone in her unhappiness. His first impulse was to fling +himself in the river and race to her--his second, to go back to +St. Pierre, even in his nakedness, and call him forth to a +reckoning. In his profession of man-hunting he had never had the +misfortune to kill, but he could kill St. Pierre--now. His fingers +dug into the slippery wood of the log under him, his blood ran +hot, and in his eyes blazed the fury of an animal as he stared +into the wall of gloom between him and Marie-Anne Boulain. + +How much did she know? That was the first question which pounded +in his brain. He suddenly recalled his reference to the fight, his +apology to Marie-Anne that it should happen so near to her +presence, and he saw again the queer little twist of her mouth as +she let slip the hint that she was not the only one of her sex who +would know of tomorrow's fight. He had not noticed the +significance of it then. But now it struck home. Marie-Anne was +surely aware of Carmin Fanchet's presence on the raft. + +But did she know more than that? Did she know the truth, or was +her heart filled only with suspicion and fear, aggravated by St. +Pierre's neglect and his too-apparent haste to return to the raft +that night? Again David's mind flashed back, recalling her defense +of Carmin Fanchet when he had first told her his story of the +woman whose brother he had brought to the hangman's justice. There +could be but one conclusion. Marie-Anne knew Carmin Fanchet, and +she also knew she was on the raft with St. Pierre. + +As cooler judgment returned to him, Carrigan refused to concede +more than that. For any one of a dozen reasons Carmin Fanchet +might be on the raft going down the river, and it was also quite +within reason that Marie-Anne might have some apprehension of a +woman as beautiful as Carmin, and possibly intuition had begun to +impinge upon her a disturbing fear of a something that might +happen. But until tonight he was confident she had fought against +this suspicion, and had overridden it, even though she knew a +woman more beautiful than herself was slowly drifting down the +stream with her husband. She had betrayed no anxiety to him in the +days that had passed; she had waited eagerly for St. Pierre; like +a bird she had gone to him when at last he came, and he had seen +her crushed close in St. Pierre's arms in their meeting. It was +this night, with its gloom and its storm, that had made the +shadowings of her unrest a torturing reality. For St. Pierre had +brought her back to the bateau and had played a pitiably weak part +in concealing his desire to return to the raft. + +So he told himself Marie-Anne did not know the truth, not as he +had seen it through the window of St. Pierre's cabin. She had been +hurt, for he had seen the sting of it, and in that same instant he +had seen her soul rise up and triumph. He saw again the sudden +fire that came into her eyes when St. Pierre urged the necessity +of his haste, he saw her slim body grow tense, her red lips curve +in a flash of pride and disdain. And as Carrigan thought of her in +that way his muscles grew tighter, and he cursed St. Pierre. +Marie-Anne might be hurt, she might guess that her husband's eyes +and thoughts were too frequently upon another's face--but in the +glory of her womanhood it was impossible for her to conceive of a +crime such as he had witnessed through the cabin window. Of that +he was sure. + +And then, suddenly, like a blinding sheet of lightning out of a +dark sky, came back to him all that St. Pierre had said about +Marie-Anne. He had pitied St. Pierre then; he had pitied this +great cool-eyed giant of a man who was fighting gloriously, he had +thought, in the face of a situation that would have excited most +men. Frankly St. Pierre had told him Marie-Anne cared more for him +than she should. With equal frankness he had revealed his wife's +confessions to him, that she knew of his love for her, of his kiss +upon her hair. + +In the blackness Carrigan's face burned hot. If he had in him the +desire to kill St. Pierre now, might not St. Pierre have had an +equally just desire to kill him? For he had known, even as he +kissed her hair, and as his arms held her close to his breast in +crossing the creek, that she was the wife of St. Pierre. And +Marie-Anne-- + +His muscles relaxed. Slowly he lowered himself into the cool wash +of the river, and struck out toward the bateau. He did not breast +the current with the same fierce determination with which he had +crossed through the storm to the raft, but drifted with it and +reached the opposite shore a quarter of a mile below the bateau. +Here he waited for a time, while the thickness of the clouds +broke, and a gray light came through them, revealing dimly the +narrow path of pebbly wash along the shore. Silently, a stark +naked shadow in the night, he came back to the bateau and crawled +through his window. + +He lighted a lamp, and turned it very low, and in the dim glow of +it rubbed his muscles until they burned. He was fit for tomorrow, +and the knowledge of that fitness filled him with a savage +elation. A good-humored love of sport had induced him to fling his +first half-bantering challenge into the face of Concombre Bateese, +but that sentiment was gone. The approaching fight was no longer +an incident, a foolish error into which he had unwittingly plunged +himself. In this hour it was the biggest physical thing that had +ever loomed up in his life, and he yearned for the dawn with the +eagerness of a beast that waits for the kill which comes with the +break of day. But it was not the half-breed's face he saw under +the hammering of his blows. He could not hate the half-breed. He +could not even dislike him now. He forced himself to bed, and +later he slept. In the dream that came to him it was not Bateese +who faced him in battle, but St. Pierre Boulain. + +He awoke with that dream a thing of fire in his brain. The sun was +not yet up, but the flush of it was painting the east, and he +dressed quietly and carefully, listening for some sound of +awakening beyond the bulkhead. If Marie-Anne was awake, she was +very still. There was noise ashore. Across the river he could hear +the singing of men, and through his window saw the white smoke of +early fires rising above the tree-tops. It was the Indian who +unlocked the door and brought in his breakfast, and it was the +Indian who returned for the dishes half an hour later. + +After that Carrigan waited, tense with the desire for action to +begin. He sensed no premonition of evil about to befall him. Every +nerve and sinew in his body was alive for the combat. He thrilled +with an overwhelming confidence, a conviction of his ability to +win, an almost dangerous, self-conviction of approaching triumph +in spite of the odds in weight and brute strength which were +pitted against him. A dozen times he listened at the bulkhead +between him and Marie-Anne, and still he heard no movement on the +other side. + +It was eight o'clock when one of the bateau men appeared at the +door and asked if he was ready. Quickly David joined him. He +forgot his taunts to Concombre Bateese, forgot the softly padded +gloves in his pack with which he had promised to pommel the half- +breed into oblivion. He was thinking only of naked fists. + +Into a canoe he followed the bateau man, who turned his craft +swiftly in the direction of the opposite shore. And as they went, +David was sure he caught the slight movement of a curtain at the +little window of Marie-Anne's forward cabin. He smiled back and +raised his hand, and at that the curtain was drawn back entirely, +and he knew that St. Pierre's wife was watching him as he went to +the fight. + +The raft was deserted, but a little below it, on a wide strip of +beach made hard and smooth by flood water, had gathered a crowd of +men. It seemed odd to David they should remain so quiet, when he +knew the natural instinct of the riverman was to voice his emotion +at the top of his lungs. He spoke of this to the bateau man, who +shrugged his shoulders and grinned. + +"Eet ees ze command of St. Pierre," he explained. "St. Pierre say +no man make beeg noise at--what you call heem--funeral? An' theese +goin' to be wan gran' fun-e-RAL, m'sieu!" + +"I see," David nodded. He did not grin back at the other's humor. + +He was looking at the crowd. A giant figure had appeared out of +the center of it and was coming slowly down to the river. It was +St. Pierre. Scarcely had the prow of the canoe touched shore when +David leaped out and hurried to meet him. Behind St. Pierre came +Bateese, the half-breed. He was stripped to the waist and naked +from the knees down. His gorilla-like arms hung huge and loose at +his sides, and the muscles of his hulking body stood out like +carven mahogany in the glisten of the morning sun. He was like a +grizzly, a human beast of monstrous power, something to look at, +to back away from, to fear. + +Yet, David scarcely noticed him. He met St. Pierre, faced him, and +stopped--and he had gone swiftly to this meeting, so that the +chief of the Boulains was within earshot of all his men. + +St. Pierre was smiling. He held out his hand as he had held it out +once before in the bateau cabin, and his big voice boomed out a +greeting. + +Carrigan did not answer, nor did he look at the extended hand. For +an instant the eyes of the two men met, and then, swift as +lightning, Carrigan's arm shot out, and with the flat of his hand +he struck St. Pierre a terrific blow squarely on the cheek. The +sound of the blow was like the smash of a paddle on smooth water. +Not a riverman but heard it, and as St. Pierre staggered back, +flung almost from his feet by its force, a subdued cry of +amazement broke from the waiting men. Concombre Bateese stood like +one stupefied. And then, in another flash, St. Pierre had caught +himself and whirled like a wild beast. Every muscle in his body +was drawn for a gigantic, overwhelming leap; his eyes blazed; the +fury of a beast was in his face. Before all his people he had +suffered the deadliest insult that could be offered a man of the +Three River Country--a blow struck with the flat of another's +hand. Anything else one might forgive, but not that. Such a blow, +if not avenged, was a brand that passed down into the second and +third generations, and even children would call out "Yellow-Back-- +Yellow-Back," to the one who was coward enough to receive it +without resentment. A rumbling growl rose in the throat of +Concombre Bateese in that moment when it seemed as though St. +Pierre Boulain was about to kill the man who had struck him. He +saw the promise of his own fight gone in a flash. For no man in +all the northland could now fight David Carrigan ahead of St. +Pierre. + +David waited, prepared to meet the rush of a madman. And then, for +a second time, he saw a mighty struggle in the soul of St. Pierre. +The giant held himself back. The fury died out of his face, but +his great hands remained clenched as he said, for David alone, + +"That was a playful blow, m'sieu? It was--a joke?" + +"It was for you, St. Pierre," replied Carrigan, "You are a coward +--and a skunk. I swam to the raft last night, looked through your +window, and saw what happened there. You are not fit for a decent +man to fight, yet I will fight you, if you are not too great a +coward--and dare to let our wagers stand as they were made." + +St. Pierre's eyes widened, and for a breath or two he stared at +Carrigan, as if looking into him and not at him. His big hands +relaxed, and slowly the panther-like readiness went out of his +body. Those who looked beheld the transformation in amazement, for +of all who waited only St. Pierre and the half-breed had heard +Carrigan's words, though they had seen and heard the blow of +insult. + +"You swam to the raft," repeated St. Pierre in a low voice, as if +doubting what he had heard. "You looked through the window--and +saw--" + +David nodded. He could not cover the sneering poison in his voice, +his contempt for the man who stood before him. + +"Yes, I looked through the window. And I saw you, and the lowest +woman on the Three Rivers--the sister of a man I helped to hang, +I--" + +"STOP!" + +St. Pierre's voice broke out of him like the sudden crash of +thunder. He came a step nearer, his face livid, his eyes shooting +flame. With a mighty effort he controlled himself again. And then, +as if he saw something which David could not see, he tried to +smile, and in that same instant David caught a grin cutting a +great slash across the face of Concombre Bateese. The change that +came over St. Pierre now was swift as sunlight coming out from +shadowing cloud. A rumble grew in his great chest. It broke in a +low note of laughter from his lips, and he faced the bateau across +the river. + +"M'sieu, you are sorry for HER. Is that it? You would fight--" + +"For the cleanest, finest little girl who ever lived--your wife!" + +"It is funny," said St. Pierre, as if speaking to himself, and +still looking at the bateau. "Yes, it is very funny, ma belle +Marie-Anne! He has told you he loves you, and he has kissed your +hair and held you in his arms--yet he wants to fight me because he +thinks I am steeped in sin, and to make me fight in place of +Bateese he has called my Carmin a low woman! So what else can I +do? I must fight. I must whip him until he can not walk. And then +I will send him back for you to nurse, cherie, and for that +blessing I think he will willingly take my punishment! Is it not +so, m'sieu?" + +He was smiling and no longer excited when he turned to David. + +"M'sieu, I will fight you. And the wagers shall stand. And in this +hour let us be honest, like men, and make confession. You love ma +belle Jeanne--Marie-Anne? Is it not so? And I--I love my Carmin, +whose brother you hanged, as I love no other woman in the world. +Now, if you will have it so, let us fight!" + +He began stripping off his shirt, and with a bellow in his throat +Concombre Bateese slouched away like a beaten gorilla to explain +to St. Pierre's people the change in the plan of battle. And as +that news spread like fire in the fir-tops, there came but a +single cry in response--shrill and terrible--and that was from the +throat of Andre, the Broken Man. + + + + + +XXI + + +As Carrigan stripped off his shirt, he knew that at least in one +way he had met more than his match in St. Pierre Boulain. In the +splendid service of which he was a part he had known many men of +iron and steel, men whose nerve and coolness not even death could +very greatly disturb. Yet St. Pierre, he conceded, was their +master--and his own. For a flash he had transformed the chief of +the Boulains into a volcano which had threatened to break in +savage fury, yet neither the crash nor destruction had come. And +now St. Pierre was smiling again, as Carrigan faced him, stripped +to the waist. He betrayed no sign of the tempest of passion that +had swept him a few minutes before. His cool, steely eyes had in +them a look that was positively friendly, as Concombre Bateese +marked in the hard sand the line of the circle within which no man +might come. And as he did this and St. Pierre's people crowded +close about it, St. Pierre himself spoke in a low voice to David. + +"M'sieu, it seems a shame that we should fight. I like you. I have +always loved a man who would fight to protect a woman, and I shall +be careful not to hurt you more than is necessary to make you see +reason--and to win the wagers. So you need not be afraid of my +killing you, as Bateese might have done. And I promise not to +destroy your beauty, for the sake of--the lady in the bateau. My +Carmin, if she knew you spied through her window last night, would +say kill you with as little loss of time as possible, for as +regards you her sweet disposition was spoiled when you hung her +brother, m'sieu. Yet to me she is an angel!" + +Contempt for the man who spoke of his wife and the infamous Carmin +Fanchet in the same breath drew a sneer to Carrigan's lips. He +nodded toward the waiting circle of men. + +"They are ready for the show, St. Pierre. You talk big. Now let us +see if you can fight." + +For another moment St. Pierre hesitated. "I am so sorry, m'sieu-- + +"Are you ready, St. Pierre?" + +"It is not fair, and she will never forgive me. You are no match +for me. I am half again as heavy." + +"And as big a coward as you are a scoundrel, St. Pierre." + +"It is like a man fighting a boy." + +"Yet it is less dishonorable than betraying the woman who is your +wife for another who should have been hanged along with her +brother, St. Pierre." + +Boulain's face darkened. He drew back half a dozen steps and cried +out a word to Bateese. Instantly the circle of waiting men grew +tense as the half-breed jerked the big handkerchief from his head +and held it out at arm's length. Yet, with that eagerness for the +fight there was something else which Carrigan was swift to sense. +The attitude of the watchers was not one of uncertainty or of very +great expectation, in spite of the staring faces and the muscular +tightening of the line. He knew what was passing in their minds +and in the low whispers from lip to lip. They were pitying him. +Now that he stood stripped, with only a few paces between him and +the giant figure of St. Pierre, the unfairness of the fight struck +home even to Concombre Bateese. Only Carrigan himself knew how +like tempered steel the sinews of his body were built. But to the +eye, in size alone, he stood like a boy before St. Pierre. And St. +Pierre's people, their voices stilled by the deadly inequality of +it, were waiting for a slaughter and not a fight. + +A smile came to Carrigan's lips as he saw Bateese hesitating to +drop the handkerchief, and with the swiftness of the trained +fighter he made his first plan for the battle before the cloth +fell from the half-breed's fingers, As the handkerchief fluttered +to the ground, he faced St. Pierre, the smile gone. + +"Never smile when you fight," the greatest of all masters of the +ring had told him. "Never show anger, Don't betray any emotion at +all if you can help it." + +Carrigan wondered what the old ring-master would say could he see +him now, backing away slowly from St. Pierre as the giant advanced +upon him, for he knew his face was betraying to St. Pierre and his +people the deadliest of all sins--anxiety and indecision. Very +closely, yet with eyes that seemed to shift uneasily, he watched +the effect of his trick on Boulain. Twice the huge riverman +followed him about the ring of sand, and the steely glitter in his +eyes changed to laughter, and the tense faces of the men about +them relaxed. A subdued ripple of merriment rose where there had +been silence. A third time David maneuvered his retreat, and his +eyes shot furtively to Concombre Bateese and the men at his back. +They were grinning. The half-breed's mouth was wide open, and his +grotesque body hung limp and astonished. This was not a fight! It +was a comedy--like a rooster following a sparrow around a +barnyard! And then a still funnier thing happened, for David began +to trot in a circle around St. Pierre, dodging and feinting, and +keeping always at a safe distance. A howl of laughter came from +Bateese and broke in a roar from the men. St. Pierre stopped in +his tracks, a grin on his face, his big arms and shoulders limp +and unprepared as Carrigan dodged in close and out again. And +then-- + +A howl broke in the middle of the half-breed's throat. Where there +had been laughter, there came a sudden shutting off of sound, a +great gasp, as if made by choking men. Swifter than anything they +had ever seen in human action Carrigan had leaped in. They saw him +strike. They heard the blow. They saw St. Pierre's great head rock +back, as if struck from his shoulders by a club, and they saw and +heard another blow, and a third--like so many flashes of +lightning--and St. Pierre went down as if shot. The man they had +laughed at was no longer like a hopping sparrow. He was waiting, +bent a little forward, every muscle in his body ready for action. +They watched for him to leap upon his fallen enemy, kicking and +gouging and choking in the riverman way. But David waited, and St. +Pierre staggered to his feet. His mouth was bleeding and choked +with sand, and a great lump was beginning to swell over his eye. A +deadly fire blazed in his face, as he rushed like a mad bull at +the insignificant opponent who had tricked and humiliated him. +This time Carrigan did not retreat, but held his ground, and a +yell of joy went up from Bateese as the mighty bulk of the giant +descended upon his victim. It was an avalanche of brute-force, +crushing in its destructiveness, and Carrigan seemed to reach for +it as it came upon him. Then his head went down, swifter than a +diving grebe, and as St. Pierre's arm swung like an oaken beam +over his shoulder, his own shot in straight for the pit of the +other's stomach. It was a bull's-eye blow with the force of a +pile-driver behind it, and the groan that forced its way out of +St. Pierre's vitals was heard by every ear in the cordon of +watchers. His weight stopped, his arms opened, and through that +opening Carrigan's fist went a second time to the other's jaw, and +a second time the great St. Pierre Boulain sprawled out upon the +sand. And there he lay, and made no effort to rise. + +Concombre Bateese, with his great mouth agape, stood for an +instant as if the blow had stunned him in place of his master. +Then, suddenly he came to life, and leaped to David's side. + +"Diable! Tonnerre! You have not fight Concombre Bateese yet!" he +howled. "Non, you have cheat me, you have lie, you have run lak +cat from Concombre Bateese, ze stronges' man on all T'ree River! +You are wan' gran' coward, wan poltroon, an' you 'fraid to fight +ME, who ees greates' fightin' man in all dees countree! Sapristi! +Why you no hit Concombre Bateese, m'sieu? Why you no hit ze +greates' fightin' man w'at ees--" + +David did not hear the rest. The opportunity was too tempting. He +swung, and with a huge grunt the gorilla-like body of Concombre +Bateese rolled over that of the chief of the Boulains. This time +Carrigan did not wait, but followed up so closely that the half- +breed had scarcely gathered the crook out of his knees when +another blow on the jaw sent him into the sand again. Three times +he tried the experiment of regaining his feet, and three times he +was knocked down. After the last blow he raised himself groggily +to a sitting posture, and there he remained, blinking like a +stunned pig, with his big hands clutching in the sand. He stared +up unseeingly at Carrigan, who waited over him, and then stupidly +at the transfixed cordon of men, whose eyes were bulging and who +were holding their breath in the astonishment of this miracle +which had descended upon them. They heard Bateese muttering +something incoherent as his head wobbled, and St. Pierre himself +seemed to hear it, for he stirred and raised himself slowly, until +he also was sitting in the sand, staring at Bateese. + +Carrigan picked up his shirt, and the riverman who had brought him +from the bateau returned with him to the canoe. There was no +demonstration behind them. To David himself the whole thing had +been an amazing surprise, and he was not at all reluctant to leave +as quickly as his dignity would permit, before some other of St. +Pierre's people offered to put a further test upon his prowess. He +wanted to laugh. He wanted to thank God at the top of his voice +for the absurd run of luck that had made his triumph not only easy +but utterly complete. He had expected to win, but he had also +expected a terrific fight before the last blow was struck. And +there had been no fight! He was returning to the bateau without a +scratch, his hair scarcely ruffled, and he had defeated not only +St, Pierre, but the giant half-breed as well! It was +inconceivable--and yet it had happened; a veritable burlesque, an +opera-bouffe affair that might turn quickly into a tragedy if +either St. Pierre or Concombre Bateese guessed the truth of it. +For in that event he might have to face them again, with the god +of luck playing fairly, and he was honest enough with himself to +confess that the idea no longer held either thrill or desire for +him. Now that he had seen both St. Pierre and Bateese stripped for +battle, he had no further appetite for fistic discussion with +them. After all, there was a merit in caution, and he had several +lucky stars to bless just at the present moment! + +Inwardly he was a bit suspicious of the ultimate ending of the +affair. St. Pierre had almost no cause for complaint, for it was +his own carelessness, coupled with his opponent's luck, that had +been his undoing--and luck and carelessness are legitimate factors +of every fight, Carrigan told himself. But with Bateese it was +different. He had held up his big jaw, uncovered and tempting, +entreating some one to hit him, and Carrigan had yielded to that +temptation. The blow would have stunned an ox. Three others like +it had left the huge half-breed sitting weak-mindedly in the sand, +and no one of those three blows were exactly according to the +rules of the game. They had been mightily efficacious, but the +half-breed might demand a rehearing when he came fully into his +senses. + +Not until they were half-way to the bateau did Carrigan dare to +glance back over his shoulder at the man who was paddling, to see +what effect the fistic travesty had left on him. He was a big- +mouthed, clear-eyed, powerfully-muscled fellow, and he was +grinning from ear to ear. + +"Well, what did you think of it, comrade?" + +The other gave his shoulders a joyous shrug. + +"Mon Dieu! Have you heard of wan garcon named Joe Clamart, m'sieu? +Non? Well, I am Joe Clamart what was once great fightin' man. +Bateese hav' whip' me five times, m'sieu--so I say it was wan gr- +r-r-a-n' fight! Many years ago I have seen ze same t'ing in +Montreal--ze boxeur de profession. Oui, an' Rene Babin pays me +fifteen prime martin against which I put up three scrubby red fox +that you would win. They were bad, or I would not have gambled, +m'sieu. It ees fonny!" + +"Yes, it is funny," agreed David. "I think it is a bit too funny. +It is a pity they did not stand up on their legs a little longer!" +Suddenly an inspiration hit him. "Joe, what do you say--shall you +and I return and put up a REAL fight for them?" + +Like a sprung trap Joe Clamart's grinning mouth dosed. "Non, non, +non," he grunted. "Dere has been plenty fight, an' Joe Clamart +mus' save hees face tor Antoinette Roland, who hate ze sign of +fight lak she hate ze devil, m'sieu! Non, non!" + +His paddle dug deeper into the water, and David's heart felt +lighter. If Joe was an average barometer, and he was a husky and +fearless-looking chap, it was probable that neither St. Pierre nor +Bateese would demand another chance at him, and St. Pierre would +pay his wager. + +He could see no one aboard the bateau when he climbed from the +canoe. Looking back, he saw that two other canoes had started from +the opposite shore. Then he went to his cabin door, opened it, and +entered, Scarcely had the door closed behind him when he stopped, +staring toward the window that opened on the river. + +Standing full in the morning glow of it was Marie-Anne Boulain. +She was facing him. Her cheeks were flushed. Her red lips were +parted. Her eyes were aglow with a fire which she made no effort +to hide from him. In her hand she still held the binoculars he had +left on the cabin table. He guessed the truth. Through the glasses +she had watched the whole miserable fiasco. + +He felt creeping over him a sickening shame, and his eyes fell +slowly from her to the table. What he saw there caught his breath +in the middle. It was the entire surgical outfit of Nepapinas, the +old Indian doctor. And there were basins of water, and white +strips of linen ready for use, and a pile of medicated cotton, and +all sorts of odds and ends that one might apply to ease the +agonies of a dying man, And beyond the table, huddled in so small +a heap that he was almost hidden by it, was Nepapinas himself, +disappointment writ in his mummy-like face as his beady eyes +rested on David. + +The evidence could not be mistaken. They had expected him to come +back more nearly dead than alive, and St. Pierre's wife had +prepared for the thing she had thought inevitable. Even his bed +was nicely turned down, its fresh white sheets inviting an +occupant! + +And David, looking at St. Pierre's wife again, felt his heart +beating hard in his breast at the look which was in her eyes. It +was not the scintillation of laughter, and the flame in her cheeks +was not embarrassment. She was not amused. The ludicrousness of +her mislaid plans had not struck her as they had struck him. She +had placed the binoculars on the table, and slowly she came to +him. Her hands reached out, and her fingers rested like the touch +of velvet on his arms. + +"It was splendid!" she said softly, "It was splendid!" + +She was very near, her breast almost touching him, her hands +creeping up until the tips of her fingers rested on his shoulders, +her scarlet mouth so close he could feel the soft breath of it in +his face. + +"It was splendid!" she whispered again. + +And then, suddenly, she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. So +swiftly was it done that she was gone before he sensed that wild +touch of her lips against his own. Like a swallow she was at the +door, and the door opened and closed behind her, and for a moment +he heard the quick running of her feet. Then he looked at the old +Indian, and the Indian, too, was staring at the door through which +St. Pierre's wife had flown. + + + + + +XXII + + +For many seconds that seemed like minutes David stood where she +had left him, while Nepapinas rose gruntingly to his feet, and +gathered up his belongings, and hobbled sullenly to the bateau +door and out. He was scarcely conscious of the Indian's movement, +for his soul was aflame with a red-hot fire. Deliberately--with +that ravishing glory of something in her eyes--St. Pierre's wife +had kissed him! On her tiptoes, her cheeks like crimson flowers, +she had given her still redder lips to him! And his own lips +burned, and his heart pounded hard, and he stared for a time like +one struck dumb at the spot where she had stood by the window. +Then suddenly, he turned to the door and flung it wide open, and +on his lips was the reckless cry of Marie-Anne's name. But St. +Pierre's wife was gone, and Nepapinas was gone, and at the tail of +the big sweep sat only Joe Clamart, guarding watchfully. + +The two canoes were drawing near, and in one of them were two men, +and in the other three, and David knew that--like Joe Clamart-- +they were watchers set over him by St. Pierre. Then a fourth canoe +left the far shore, and when it had reached mid-stream, he +recognized the figure in the stern as that of Andre, the Broken +Man. The other, he thought, must be St. Pierre. + +He went back into the cabin and stood where Marie-Anne had stood-- +at the window. Nepapinas had not taken away the basins of water, +and the bandages were still there, and the pile of medicated +cotton, and the suspiciously made-up bed. After all, he was losing +something by not occupying the bed--and yet if St. Pierre or +Bateese had messed him up badly, and a couple of fellows had +lugged him in between them, it was probable that Marie-Anne would +not have kissed him. And that kiss of St. Pierre's wife would +remain with him until the day he died! + +He was thinking of it, the swift, warm thrill of her velvety lips, +red as strawberries and twice as sweet, when the door opened and +St. Pierre came in. The sight of him, in this richest moment of +his life, gave David no sense of humiliation or shame. Between him +and St. Pierre rose swiftly what he had seen last night--Carmin +Fanchet in all the lure of her disheveled beauty, crushed close in +the arms of the man whose wife only a moment before had pressed +her lips close to his; and as the eyes of the two met, there came +over him a desire to tell the other what had happened, that he +might see him writhe with the sting of the two-edged thing with +which he was playing. Then he saw that even that would not hurt +St. Pierre, for the chief of the Boulains, standing there with the +big lump over his eye, had caught sight of the things on the table +and the nicely turned down bed, and his one good eye lit up with +sudden laughter, and his white teeth flashed in an understanding +smile. + +"TONNERRE, I said she would nurse you with gentle hands," he +rumbled. "See what you have missed, M'sieu Carrigan!" + +"I received something which I shall remember longer than a fine +nursing," retorted David. "And yet right now I have a greater +interest in knowing what you think of the fight, St. Pierre--and +if you have come to pay your wager." + +St. Pierre was chuckling mysteriously in his throat. "It was +splendid--splendid," he said, repeating Marie-Anne's words. "And +Joe Clamart says she ran out, blushing like a red rose in August, +and that she said no word, but flew like a bird into the white- +birch ashore!" + +"She was dismayed because I beat you, St. Pierre." + +"Non, non--she was like a lark filled with joy." + +Suddenly his eyes rested on the binoculars. + +David nodded. "Yes, she saw it all through the glasses." + +St. Pierre seated himself at the table and heaved out a groan as +he took one of the bandage strips between his fingers. "She saw my +disgrace. And she didn't wait to bandage ME up, did she?" + +"Perhaps she thought Carmin Fanchet would do that, St. Pierre." + +"And I am ashamed to go to Carmin--with this great lump over my +eye, m'sieu. And on top of that disgrace--you insist that I pay +the wager?" + +"I do." + +St. Pierre's face hardened. + +"OUI, I am to pay. I am to tell you all I know about that BETE +NOIR--Black Roger Audemard. Is it not so?" + +"That is the wager." + +"But after I have told you--what then? Do you recall that I gave +you any other guarantee, M'sieu Carrigan? Did I say I would let +you go? Did I promise I would not kill you and sink your body to +the bottom of the river? If I did, I can not remember." + +"Are you a beast, St. Pierre--a murderer as well as--" + +"Stop! Do not tell me again what you saw through the window, for +it has nothing to do with this. I am not a beast, but a man. Had I +been a beast, I should have killed you the first day I saw you in +this cabin. I am not threatening to kill you, and yet it may be +necessary if you insist that I pay the wager. You understand, +m'sieu. To refuse to pay a wager is a greater crime among my +people than the killing of a man, if there is a good reason for +the killing. I am helpless. I must pay, if you insist. Before I +pay it is fair that I give you warning." + +"You mean?" + +"I mean nothing, as yet. I can not say what it will be necessary +for me to do, after you have heard what I know about Roger +Audemard. I am quite settled on a plan just now, m'sieu, but the +plan might change at any moment. I am only warning you that it is +a great hazard, and that you are playing with a fire of which you +know nothing, because it has not burned you yet." + +Carrigan seated himself slowly in a chair opposite St. Pierre, +with the table between them. + +"You are wasting time in attempting to frighten me," he said. "I +shall insist on the payment of the wager, St Pierre." + +For a moment St. Pierre was clearly troubled. Then his lips +tightened, and he smiled grimly over the table at David. + +"I am sorry, M'sieu David. I like you. You are a fighting man and +no coward, and I should like to travel shoulder to shoulder with +you in many things. And such a thing might be, for you do not +understand. I tell you it would have been many times better for +you had I whipped you out there, and it had been you--and not me-- +to pay the wager!" + +"It is Roger Audemard I am interested in, St. Pierre. Why do you +hesitate?" + +"I? Hesitate? I am not hesitating, m'sieu. I am giving you a +chance." He leaned forward, his great arms bent on the table. "And +you insist, M'sieu David?" + +"Yes, I insist." + +Slowly the fingers of St. Pierre's hands closed into knotted +fists, and he said in a low voice, "Then I will pay, m'sieu. _I_ +AM ROGER AUDEMARD!" + + + + + +XXIII + + +The astounding statement of the man who sat opposite him held +David speechless. He had guessed at some mysterious relationship +between St. Pierre and the criminal he was after, but not this, +and Roger Audemard, with his hands unclenching and a slow humor +beginning to play about his mouth, waited coolly for him to +recover from his amazement. In those moments, when his heart +seemed to have stopped beating, Carrigan was staring at the other, +but his mind had shot beyond him--to the woman who was his wife. +Marie-Anne AUDEMARD--the wife of Black Roger! He wanted to cry out +against the possibility of such a fact, yet he sat like one struck +dumb, as the monstrous truth took possession of his brain and a +whirlwind of understanding swept upon him. He was thinking +quickly, and with a terrific lack of sentiment now. Opposite him +sat Black Roger, the wholesale murderer. Marie-Anne was his wife. +Carmin Fanchet, sister of a murderer, was simply one of his kind. +And Bateese, the man-gorilla, and the Broken Man, and all the +dark-skinned pack about them were of Black Roger's breed and kind. +Love for a woman had blinded him to the facts which crowded upon +him now. Like a lamb he had fallen among wolves, and he had tried +to believe in them. No wonder Bateese and the man he had known as +St. Pierre had betrayed such merriment at times! + +A fighting coolness possessed him as he spoke to Black Roger. + +"I will admit this is a surprise. And yet you have cleared up a +number of things very quickly. It proves to me again that comedy +is not very far removed from tragedy at times." + +"I am glad you see the humor of it, M'sieu David." Black Roger was +smiling as pleasantly as his swollen eye would permit. "We must +not be too serious when we die. If I were to die a-hanging, I +would sing as the rope choked me, just to show the world one need +not be unhappy because his life is coming to an end." + +"I suppose you understand that ultimately I am going to give you +that opportunity," said David. + +Almost eagerly Black Roger leaned toward him over the table. "You +believe you are going to hang me?" + +"I am sure of it." + +"And you are willing to wager the point, M'sieu David?" + +"It is impossible to gamble with a condemned man." + +Black Roger chuckled, rubbing his big hands together until they +made a rasping sound, and his one good eye glowed at Carrigan. + +"Then I will make a wager with myself, M'sieu David. MA FOI, I +swear that before the leaves fall from the trees, you will be +pleading for the friendship of Black Roger Audemard, and you will +be as much in love with Carmin Fanchet as I am! And as for Marie- +Anne--" + +He thrust back his chair and rose to his feet, the old note of +subdued laughter rumbling in his chest. "And because I make this +wager with myself, I cannot kill you, M'sieu David--though that +might be the best thing to do. I am going to take you to the +Chateau Boulain, which is in the forests of the Yellowknife, +beyond the Great Slave. Nothing will happen to you if you make no +effort to escape. If you do that, you will surely die. And that +would hurt me, M'sieu David, because I love you like a brother, +and in the end I know you are going to grip the hand of Black +Roger Audemard, and get down on your knees to Carmin Fanchet. And +as for Marie-Anne--" Again he interrupted himself, and went out of +the cabin, laughing. And there was no mistake in the metallic +click of the lock outside the door. + +For a time David did not move from his seat near the table. He had +not let Roger Audemard see how completely the confession had upset +his inner balance, but he made no pretense of concealing the thing +from himself now. He was in the power of a cut-throat, who in turn +had an army of cut-throats at his back, and both Marie-Anne and +Carmin Fanchet were a part of this ring. And he was not only a +prisoner. It was probable, under the circumstances, that Black +Roger would make an end of him when a convenient moment came. It +was even more than a probability. It was a grim necessity. To let +him live and escape would be fatal to Black Roger. + +From back of these convictions, riding over them as if to +demoralize any coherence and logic that might go with the evidence +he was building up, came question after question, pounding at him +one after the other, until his mind became more than ever a +whirling chaos of uncertainty. If St. Pierre was Black Roger, why +would he confess to that fact simply to pay a wager? What reason +could he have for letting him live at all? Why had not Bateese +killed him? Why had Marie-Anne nursed him back to life? His mind +shot to the white strip of sand in which he had nearly died. That, +at least, was convincing. Learning in some way that he was after +Black Roger, they had attempted to do away with him there. But if +that were so, why was it Bateese and Black Roger's wife and the +Indian Nepapinas had risked so much to make him live, when if they +had left him where he had fallen he would have died and caused +them no trouble? + +There was something exasperatingly uncertain and illogical about +it all. Was it possible that St. Pierre Boulain was playing a huge +joke on him? Even that was inconceivable. For there was Carmin +Fanchet, a fitting companion for a man like Black Roger, and there +was Marie-Anne, who, if it had been a joke, would not have played +her part so well. + +Suddenly his mind was filled only with her. Had she been his +friend, using all her influence to protect him, because her heart +was sick of the environment of which she was a part? His own heart +jumped at the thought. It was easy to believe. In Marie-Anne he +had faith, and that faith refused to be destroyed, but persisted-- +even clearer and stronger as he thought again of Carmin Fanchet +and Black Roger. In his heart grew the conviction it was sacrilege +to believe the kiss she had given him that morning was a lie. It +was something else--a spontaneous gladness, a joyous exultation +that he had returned unharmed, a thing unplanned in the soul of +the woman, leaping from her before she could stop it. Then had +come shame, and she had run away from him so swiftly he had not +seen her face again after the touch of her lips. If it had been a +subterfuge, a lie, she would not have done that. + +He rose to his feet and paced restlessly back and forth as he +tried to bring together a few tangled bits of the puzzle. He heard +voices outside, and very soon felt the movement of the bateau +under his feet, and through one of the shoreward windows he saw +trees and sandy beach slowly drifting away. On that shore, as far +as his eyes could travel up and down, he saw no sign of Marie- +Anne, but there remained a canoe, and near the canoe stood Black +Roger Audemard, and beyond him, huddled like a charred stump in +the sand, was Andre, the Broken Man. On the opposite shore the +raft was getting under way. + +During the next half-hour several things happened which told him +there was no longer a sugar-coating to his imprisonment. On each +side of the bateau two men worked at his windows, and when they +had finished, no one of them could be opened more than a few +inches. Then came the rattle of the lock at the door, the grating +of a key, and somewhat to Carrigan's surprise it was Bateese who +came in. The half-reed bore no facial evidence of the paralyzing +blows which had knocked him out a short time before. His jaw, on +which they had landed, was as aggressive as ever, yet in his face +and his attitude, as he stared curiously at Carrigan, there was no +sign of resentment or unfriendliness. Nor did he seem to be +ashamed. He merely stared, with the curious and rather puzzled +eyes of a small boy gazing at an inexplicable oddity. Carrigan, +standing before him, knew what was passing in the other's mind, +and the humor of it brought a smile to his lips. + +Instantly Concombre's face split into a wide grin. "MON DIEU, w'at +if you was on'y brother to Concombre Bateese, m'sieu. T'ink of +zat--you--me--FRERE D'ARMES! VENTRE SAINT GRIS, but we mak' all +fightin' men in nort' countree run lak rabbits ahead of ze fox! +OUI, we mak' gr-r-r-eat pair, m'sieu--you, w'at knock down +Bateese--an' Bateese, w'at keel polar bear wit hees naked hands, +w'at pull down trees, w'at chew flint w'en hees tobacco gone." + +His voice had risen, and suddenly there came a laugh from outside +the door, and Concombre cut himself short and his mouth closed +with a snap. It was Joe Clamart who had laughed. + +"I w'ip heem five time, an' now I w'ip heem seex!" hissed Bateese +in an undertone. "Two time each year I w'ip zat gargon Joe Clamart +so he understan' w'at good fightin' man ees. An' you will w'ip +heem, eh, m'sieu? Oui? An' I will breeng odder good fightin' mans +for you to w'ip--all w'at Concombre Bateese has w'ipped--ten, +dozen, forty--an' you w'ip se gran' bunch, m'sieu. Eh, shall we +mak' ze bargain?" + +"You are planning a pleasant time for me, Bateese," said Carrigan, +"but I am afraid it will be impossible. You see, this captain of +yours, Black Roger Audemard--" + +"W'at!" Bateese jumped as if stung. "W'at you say, m'sieu?" + +"I said that Roger Audemard, Black Roger, the man I thought was +St. Pierre Boulain--" + +Carrigan said no more. What he had started to say was unimportant +compared with the effect of Roger Audernard's name on Concombre +Bateese. A deadly light glittered in the half-breed's eyes, and +for the first time David realized that in the grotesque head of +the riverman was a brain quick to grip at the significance of +things. The fact was evident that Black Roger had not confided in +Bateese as to the price of the wager and the confession of his +identity, and for a moment after the repetition of Audemard's name +came from David's lips the half-breed stood as if something had +stunned him. Then slowly, as if forcing the words in the face of a +terrific desire that had transformed his body into a hulk of +quivering steel, he said: + +"M'sieu--I come with message--from St. Pierre. You see windows-- +closed. Outside door--she locked. On bot' sides de bateau, all de +time, we watch. You try get away, an' we keel you. Zat ees all. We +shoot. We five mans on ze bateau, all ze day, TOUTE LA NUIT. You +unnerstan'?" + +He turned sullenly, waiting for no reply, and the door opened and +closed after him--and again came the snap of the lock outside. + +Steadily the bateau swept down the big river that day. There was +no let-up in the steady creaking of the long sweep. Even in the +swifter currents David could hear the working of it, and he knew +he had seen the last of the more slowly moving raft. Near one of +the partly open windows he heard two men talking just before the +bateau shot into the Brule Point rapids. They were strange voices. +He learned that Audemard's huge raft was made up of thirty-five +cribs, seven abreast, and that nine times between the Point Brule +and the Yellowknife the raft would be split up, so that each crib +could be run through dangerous rapids by itself. + +That would be a big job, David assured himself. It would be slow +work as well as hazardous, and as his own life was in no immediate +jeopardy, he would have ample time in which to formulate some plan +of action for himself. At the present moment, it seemed, the one +thing for him to do was to wait--and behave himself, according to +the half-breed's instructions. There was, when he came to think +about it, a saving element of humor about it all. He had always +wanted to make a trip down the Three Rivers in a bateau. And now-- +he was making it! + +At noon a guard brought in his dinner. He could not recall that he +had ever seen this man before, a tall, lithe fellow built to run +like a hound, and who wore a murderous-looking knife at his belt. +As the door opened, David caught a glimpse of two others. They +were business-like looking individuals, with muscles built for +work or fight; one sitting cross-legged on the bateau deck with a +rifle over his knees, and the other standing with a rifle in his +hand. The man who brought his dinner wasted no time or words. He +merely nodded, murmured a curt bonjour, and went out. And +Carrigan, as he began to eat, did not have to tell himself twice +that Audemard had been particular in his selection of the bateau's +crew, and that the eyes of the men he had seen could be as keen as +a hawk's when leveled over the tip of a rifle barrel. They meant +business, and he felt no desire to smile in the face of them, as +he had smiled at Concombre Bateese. + +It was another man, and a stranger, who brought in his supper. And +for two hours after that, until the sun went down and gloom began +to fall, the bateau sped down the river. It had made forty miles +that day, he figured. + +It was still light when the bateau was run ashore and tied up, but +tonight there were no singing voices or wild laughter of men whose +hours of play-time and rest had come. To Carrigan, looking through +his window, there was an oppressive menace about it all. The +shadowy figures ashore were more like a death-watch than a guard, +and to dispel the gloom of it he lighted two of the lamps in the +cabin, whistled, drummed a simple chord he knew on the piano, and +finally settled down to smoking his pipe. He would have welcomed +the company of Bateese, or Joe Clamart, or one of the guards, and +as his loneliness grew upon him there was something of +companionship even in the subdued voices he heard occasionally +outside. He tried to read, but the printed words jumbled +themselves and meant nothing. + +It was ten o'clock, and clouds had darkened the night, when +through his open windows he heard a shout coming from the river. +Twice it came before it was answered from the bateau, and the +second time Carrigan recognized it as the voice of Roger Audemard. +A brief interval passed between that and the scraping of a canoe +alongside, and then there was a low conversation in which even +Audemard's great voice was subdued, and after that the grating of +a key in the lock, and the opening of the door, and Black Roger +came in, bearing an Indian reed basket under his arm. Carrigan did +not rise to meet him. It was not like the coming of the old St. +Pierre, and on Black Roger's lips there was no twist of a smile, +nor in his eyes the flash of good-natured greeting. His face was +darkly stern, as if he had traveled far and hard on an unpleasant +mission, but in it there was no shadow of menace, as there had +been in that of Concombre Bateese. It was rather the face of a +tired man, and yet David knew what he saw was not physical +exhaustion. Black Roger guessed something of his thought, and his +mouth for an instant repressed a smile. + +"Yes, I have been having a rough time," he nodded, "This is for +you!" + +He placed the basket on the table. It held half a bushel, and was +filled to the curve of the handle. What lay in it was hidden under +a cloth securely tied about it. + +"And you are responsible," he added, stretching himself in a chair +with a gesture of weariness. "I should kill you, Carrigan. And +instead of that I bring you good things to eat! Half the day she +has been fussing with the things in the basket, and then insisted +that I bring them to you. And I have brought them simply to tell +you another thing. I am sorry for her. I think, M'sieu Carrigan, +you will find as many tears in the basket as anything else, for +her heart is crushed and sick because of the humiliation she +brought upon herself this morning." + +He was twisting his big, rough hands, and David's own heart went +sick as he saw the furrowed lines that had deepened in the other's +face. Black Roger did not look at him as he went on. + +"Of course, she told me. She tells me everything. And if she knew +I was telling you this, I think she would kill herself. But I want +you to understand. She is not what you might think she is. That +kiss came from the lips of the best woman God ever made, M'sieu +Carrigan!" + +David, with the blood in him running like fire, heard himself +answering, "I know it. She was excited, glad you had not stained +your hands with my life--" + +This time Audemard smiled, but it was the smile of a man ten years +older than he had appeared yesterday. "Don't try to answer, +m'sieu. I only want you to know she is as pure as the stars. It +was unfortunate, but to follow the impulse of one's heart can not +be a sin. Everything has been unfortunate since you came. But I +blame no one, except--" + +"Carmin Fanchet?" + +Audemard nodded. "Yes. I have sent her away. Marie-Anne is in the +cabin on the raft now. But even Carmin I can not blame very +greatly, m'sieu, for it is impossible to hold anything against one +you love. Tell me if I am right? You must know. You love my Marie- +Anne. Do you hold anything against her?" + +"It is unfair," protested David. "She is your wife, Audemard, is +it possible you don't love her?" + +"Yes, I love her." + +"And Carmin Fanchet?" + +"I love her, too. They are so different. Yet I love them both. Is +it not possible for a big heart like mine to do that, m'sieu?" + +With almost a snort David rose to his feet and stared through one +of the windows into the darkness of the river. "Black Roger," he +said without turning his head, "the evidence at Headquarters +condemns you as one of the blackest-hearted murderers that ever +lived. But that crime, to me, is less atrocious than the one you +are committing against your own wife. I am not ashamed to confess +I love her, because to deny it would be a lie. I love her so much +that I would sacrifice myself--soul and body--if that sacrifice +could give you back to her, clean and undefiled and with your hand +unstained by the crime for which you must hang!" + +He did not hear Roger Audemard as he rose from his chair. For a +moment the riverman stared at the back of David's head, and in +that moment he was fighting to keep back what wanted to come from +his lips in words. He turned before David faced him again, and did +not pause until he stood at the cabin door with his hand at the +latch. There he was partly in shadow. + +"I shall not see you again until you reach the Yellowknife," he +said. "Not until then will you know--or will I know--what is going +to happen. I think you will understand strange things then, but +that is for the hour to tell. Bateese has explained to you that +you must not make an effort to escape. You would regret it, and so +would I. If you have red blood in you, m'sieu--if you would +understand all that you cannot understand now--wait as patiently +as you can. Bonne nuit, M'sieu Carrigan!" + +"Good night!" nodded David. + +In the pale shadows he thought a mysterious light of gladness +illumined Black Roger's face before the door opened and closed, +leaving him alone again. + + + + + +XXIV + + +With the going of Black Roger also went the oppressive loneliness +which had gripped Carrigan, and as he stood listening to the low +voices outside, the undeniable truth came to him that he did not +hate this man as he wanted to hate him. He was a murderer, and a +scoundrel in another way, but he felt irresistibly the impulse to +like him and to feel sorry for him. He made an effort to shake off +the feeling, but a small voice which he could not quiet persisted +in telling him that more than one good man had committed what the +law called murder, and that perhaps he didn't fully understand +what he had seen through the cabin window on the raft. And yet, +when unstirred by this impulse, he knew the evidence was damning. + +But his loneliness was gone. With Audemard's visit had come an +unexpected thrill, the revival of an almost feverish anticipation, +the promise of impending things that stirred his blood as he +thought of them. "You will understand strange things then," Roger +Audemard had said, and something in his voice had been like a key +unlocking mysterious doors for the first time. And then, "Wait, as +patiently as you can!" Out of the basket on the table seemed to +come to him a whispering echo of that same word--wait! He laid his +hands upon it, and a pulse of life came with the imagined +whispering. It was from Marie-Anne. It seemed as though the warmth +of her hands were still there, and as he removed the cloth the +sweet breath of her came to him. And then, in the next instant, he +was trying to laugh at himself and trying equally hard to call +himself a fool, for it was the breath of newly-baked things which +her fingers had made. + +Yet never had he felt the warmth of her presence more strangely in +his heart. He did not try to explain to himself why Roger +Audemard's visit had broken down things which had seemed +insurmountable an hour ago. Analysis was impossible, because he +knew the transformation within himself was without a shred of +reason. But it had come, and with it his imprisonment took on +another form. Where before there had been thought of escape and a +scheming to jail Black Roger, there filled him now an intense +desire to reach the Yellowknife and the Chateau Boulain. + +It was after midnight when he went to bed, and he was up with the +early dawn. With the first break of day the bateau men were +preparing their breakfast. David was glad. He was eager for the +day's work to begin, and in that eagerness he pounded on the door +and called out to Joe Clamart that he was ready for his breakfast +with the rest of them, but that he wanted only hot coffee to go +with what Black Roger had brought to him in the basket. + +That afternoon the bateau passed Fort McMurray, and before the sun +was well down in the west Carrigan saw the green slopes of +Thickwood Hills and the rising peaks of Birch Mountains. He +laughed outright as he thought of Corporal Anderson and Constable +Frazer at Fort McMurray, whose chief duty was to watch the big +waterway. How their eyes would pop if they could see through the +padlocked door of his prison! But he had no inclination to be +discovered now. He wanted to go on, and with a growing exultation +he saw there was no intention on the part of the bateau's crew to +loiter on the way. There was no stop at noon, and the tie-up did +not come until the last glow of day was darkening into the gloom +of night in the sky. For sixteen hours the bateau had traveled +steadily, and it could not have made less than sixty miles as the +river ran. The raft, David figured, had not traveled a third of +the distance. + +The fact that the bateau's progress would bring him to Chateau +Boulain many days, and perhaps weeks, before Black Roger and +Marie-Anne could arrive on the raft did not check his enthusiasm. +It was this interval between their arrivals which held a great +speculative promise for him. In that time, if his efficiency had +not entirely deserted him, he would surely make discoveries of +importance. + +Day after day the journey continued without rest. On the fourth +day after leaving Fort McMurray it was Joe Clamart who brought in +David's supper, and he grunted a protest at his long hours of +muscle-breaking labor at the sweeps. When David questioned him he +shrugged his shoulders, and his mouth closed tight as a clam. On +the fifth, the bateau crossed the narrow western neck of Lake +Athabasca, slipping past Chipewyan in the night, and on the sixth +it entered the Slave River. It was the fourteenth day when the +bateau entered Great Slave Lake, and the second night after that, +as dusk gathered thickly between the forest walls of the +Yellowknife, David knew that at last they had reached the mouth of +the dark and mysterious stream which led to the still more +mysterious domain of Black Roger Audemard. + +That night the rejoicing of the bateau men ashore was that of men +who had come out from under a strain and were throwing off its +tension for the first time in many days. A great fire was built, +and the men sang and laughed and shouted as they piled wood upon +it. In the flare of this fire a smaller one was built, and kettles +and pans were soon bubbling and sizzling over it, and a great +coffee pot that held two gallons sent out its steam laden with an +aroma that mingled joyously with the balsam and cedar smells in +the air. David could see the whole thing from his window, and when +Joe Clamart came in with supper, he found the meat they were +cooking over the fire was fresh moose steak. As there had been no +trading or firing of guns coming down, he was puzzled and when he +asked where the meat had come from Joe Clamart only shrugged his +shoulders and winked an eye, and went out singing about the +allouette bird that had everything plucked from it, one by one. +But David noticed there were never more than four men ashore at +the same time. At least one was always aboard the bateau, watching +his door and windows. + +And he, too, felt the thrill of an excitement working subtly +within him, and this thrill pounded in swifter running blood when +he saw the men about the fire jump to their feet suddenly and go +to meet new and shadowy figures that came up indistinctly just in +the edge of the forest gloom. There they mingled and were lost in. +identity for a long time, and David wondered if the newcomers were +of the people of Chateau Boulain. After that, Bateese and Joe +Clamart and two others stamped out the fires and came over the +plank to the bateau to sleep. David followed their example and +went to bed. + +The cook fires were burning again before the gray dawn was broken +by a tint of the sun, and when the voices of many men roused +David, he went to his window and saw a dozen figures where last +night there had been only four. When it grew lighter he recognized +none of them. All were strangers. Then he realized the +significance of their presence. The bateau had been traveling +north, but downstream. Now it would still travel north, but the +water of the Yellow-knife flowed south into Great Slave Lake, and +the bateau must be towed. He caught a glimpse of the two big York +boats a little later, and six rowers to a boat, and after that the +bateau set out slowly but steadily upstream. + +For hours David was at one window or the other, with something of +awe working inside him as he saw what they were passing through-- +and between. He fancied the water trail was like an entrance into +a forbidden land, a region of vast and unbroken mystery, a country +of enchantment, possibly of death, shut out from the world he had +known. For the stream narrowed, and the forest along the shores +was so dense he could not see into it. The tree-tops hung in a +tangled canopy overhead, and a gloom of twilight filled the +channel below, so that where the sun shot through, it was like +filtered moonlight shining on black oil. There was no sound except +the dull, steady beat of the rowers' oars, and the ripple of water +along the sides of the bateau. The men did not sing or laugh, and +if they talked it must have been in whispers. There was no cry of +birds from ashore. And once David saw Joe Clamart's face as he +passed the window, and it was set and hard and filled with the +superstition of a man who was passing through a devil-country. + +And then suddenly the end of it came. A flood of sunlight burst in +at the windows, and all at once voices came from ahead, a laugh, a +shout, and a yell of rejoicing from the bateau, and Joe Clamart +started again the everlasting song of the allouette bird that was +plucked of everything it had. Carrigan found himself grinning. +They were a queer people, these bred-in-the-blood northerners-- +still moved by the superstitions of children. Yet he conceded that +the awesome deadness of the forest passage had put strange +thoughts into his own heart. + +Before nightfall Bateese and Joe Clamart came in and tied his arms +behind him, and he was taken ashore with the rumble of a waterfall +in his ears. For two hours he watched the labors of the men as +they beached the bateau on long rollers of smooth birch and rolled +it foot by foot over a cleared trail until it was launched again +above the waterfall. Then he was led back into the cabin and his +arms freed. That night he went to sleep with the music of the +waterfall in his ears. + +The second day the Yellowknife seemed to be no longer a river, but +a narrow lake, and the third day the rowers came into the Nine +Lake country at noon, and until another dusk the bateau threaded +its way through twisting channels and impenetrable forests, and +beached at last at the edge of a great open where the timber had +been cut. There was more excitement here, but it was too dark for +David to understand the meaning of it. There were many voices; +dogs barked. Then voices were at his door, a key rattled in the +lock, and it opened. David saw Bateese and Joe Clamart first. And +then, to his amazement, Black Roger Audemard stood there, smiling +at him and nodding good-evening. + +It was impossible for David to repress his astonishment. + +"Welcome to Chateau Boulain," greeted Black Roger. "You are +surprised? Well, I beat you out by half a dozen hours--in a canoe, +m'sieu. It is only courtesy that I should be here to give you +welcome!" + +Behind him Bateese and Joe Clamart were grinning widely, and then +both came in, and Joe Clamart picked up his dunnage-sack and threw +it over his shoulder. + +"If you will come with us, m'sieu--" + +David followed, and when he stepped ashore there were Bateese, and +Joe Clamart and one other behind him, and three or four shadowy +figures ahead, with Black Roger walking at his side. There were no +more voices, and the dog had ceased barking. Ahead was a wall of +darkness, which was the deep black forest beyond the clearing, and +into it led a trail which they followed. It was a path worn smooth +by the travel of many feet, and for a mile not a star broke +through the tree-tops overhead, nor did a flash of light break the +utter chaos of the way but once, when Joe Clamart lighted his +pipe. No one spoke. Even Black Roger was silent, and David found +no word to say. + +At the end of the mile the trees began to open above their heads, +and they soon came to the edge of the timber. In the darkness +David caught his breath. Dead ahead, not a rifle shot away, was +the Chateau Boulain. He knew it before Black Roger had said a +word. He guessed it by the lighted windows, full a score of them, +without a curtain drawn to shut out their illumination from the +night. He could see nothing but these lights, yet they measured +off a mighty place to be built of logs in the heart of a +wilderness, and at his side he heard Black Roger chuckling in low +exultation. + +"Our home, m'sieu," he said. "Tomorrow, when you see it in the +light of day, you will say it is the finest chateau in the north-- +all built of sweet cedar where birch is not used, so that even in +the deep snows it gives us the perfume of springtime and flowers." + +David did not answer, and in a moment Audemard said: + +"Only on Christmas and New Year and at birthdays and wedding +feasts is it lighted up like that. Tonight it is in your honor, +M'sieu David." Again he laughed softly, and under his breath he +added, "And there is some one waiting for you there whom you will +be surprised to see!" + +David's heart gave a jump. There was meaning in Black Roger's +words and no double twist to what he meant. Marie-Anne had come +ahead with her husband! + +Now, as they passed on to the brilliantly lighted chateau, David +made out the indistinct outlines of other buildings almost hidden +in the out-creeping shadows of the forest-edges, with now and then +a ray of light to show people were in them. But there was a +brooding silence over it all which made him wonder, for there was +no voice, no bark of dog, not even the opening or closing of a +door. As they drew nearer, he saw a great veranda reaching the +length of the chateau, with screening to keep out the summer pests +of mosquitoes and flies and the night prowling insects attracted +by light. Into this they went, up wide birch steps, and ahead of +them was a door so heavy it looked like the postern gate of a +castle. Black Roger opened it, and in a moment David stood beside +him in a dimly lighted hall where the mounted heads of wild beasts +looked down like startled things from the gloom of the walls. And +then David heard the low, sweet notes of a piano coming to them +very faintly. + +He looked at Black Roger. A smile was on the lips of the chateau +master; his head was up, and his eyes glowed with pride and joy as +the music came to him. He spoke no word, but laid a hand on +David's arm and led him toward it, while Bateese and Joe Clamart +remained standing at the entrance to the hall. David's feet trod +in thick rugs of fur; he saw the dim luster of polished birch and +cedar in the walls, and over his head the ceiling was rich and +matched, as in the bateau cabin. They drew nearer to the music and +came to a closed door. This Black Roger opened very quietly, as if +anxious not to disturb the one who was playing. + +They entered, and David held his breath. It was a great room he +stood in, thirty feet or more from end to end, and scarcely less +in width--a room brilliant with light, sumptuous in its comfort, +sweet with the perfume of wild-flowers, and with a great black +fireplace at the end of it, from over which there stared at him +the glass eyes of a monster moose. Then he saw the figure at the +piano, and something rose up quickly and choked him when his eyes +told him it was not Marie-Anne. It was a slim, beautiful figure in +a soft and shimmering white gown, and its head was glowing gold in +the lamplight. + +Roger Audemard spoke, "Carmin!" + +The woman at the piano turned about, a little startled at the +unexpectedness of the voice, and then rose quickly to her feet-- +and David Carrigan found himself looking into the eyes of Carmin +Fanchet! + +Never had he seen her more beautiful than in this moment, like an +angel in her shimmering dress of white, her hair a radiant glory, +her eyes wide and glowing--and, as she looked at him, a smile +coming to her red lips. Yes, SHE WAS SMILING AT HIM--this woman +whose brother he had brought to the hangman, this woman who had +stolen Black Roger from another! She knew him--he was sure of +that; she knew him as the man who had believed her a criminal +along with her brother, and who had fought to the last against her +freedom. Yet from her lips and her eyes and her face the old +hatred was gone. She was coming toward him slowly; she was +reaching out her hand, and half blindly his own went out, and he +felt the warmth of her fingers for a moment, and he heard her +voice saying softly, + +"Welcome to Chateau Boulain, M'sieu Carrigan." + +He bowed and mumbled something, and Black Roger gently pressed his +arm, drawing him back to the door. As he went he saw again that +Carmin Fanchet was very beautiful as she stood there, and that her +lips were very red--but her face was white, whiter than he had +ever seen the face of a woman before. + +As they went up a winding stair to the second floor, Roger +Audemard said, "I am proud of my Carmin, M'sieu David. Would any +other woman in the world have given her hand like that to the man +who had helped to kill her brother?" + +They stopped at another door. Black Roger opened it. There were +lights within, and David knew it was to be his room. Audemard did +not follow him inside, but there was a flashing humor in his eyes. + +"I say, is there another woman like her in the world, m'sieu?" + +"What have you done to Marie-Anne--your wife?" asked David. + +It was hard for him to get the words out. A terrible thing was +gripping at his throat, and the clutch of it grew tighter as he +saw the wild light in Black Roger's eyes. + +"Tomorrow you will know, m'sieu. But not to-night. You must wait +until tomorrow," + +He nodded and stepped back, and the door closed--and in the same +instant came the harsh grating of a key in the lock. + + + + + +XXV + + +Carrigan turned slowly and looked about his room. There was no +other door except one opening into a closet, and but two windows. +Curtains were drawn at these windows, and he raised them. A grim +smile came to his lips when he saw the white bars of tough birch +nailed across each of them, outside the glass. He could see the +birch had been freshly stripped of bark and had probably been +nailed there that day. Carmin Fanchet and Black Roger had welcomed +him to Chateau Boulain, but they were evidently taking no chances +with their prisoner. And where was Marie-Anne? + +The question was insistent, and with it remained that cold grip of +something in his heart that had come with the sight of Carmin +Fanchet below. Was it possible that Carmin's hatred still lived, +deadlier than ever, and that with Black Roger she had plotted to +bring him here so that her vengeance might be more complete--and a +greater torture to him? Were they smiling and offering him their +hands, even as they knew he was about to die? And if that was +conceivable, what had they done with Marie-Anne? + +He looked about the room. It was singularly bare, in an unusual +sort of way, he thought. There were rich rugs on the floor--three +magnificent black bearskins, and two wolf. The heads of two bucks +and a splendid caribou hung against the walls. He could see, from +marks on the floor, where a bed had stood, but this bed was now +replaced by a couch made up comfortably for one inclined to sleep. +The significance of the thing was clear--nowhere in the room could +he lay his hand upon an object that might be used as a weapon! + +His eyes again sought the white-birch bars of his prison, and he +raised the two windows so that the cool, sweet breath of the +forests reached in to him. It was then that he noticed the +mosquito-proof screening nailed outside the bars. It was rather +odd, this thinking of his comfort even as they planned to kill +him! + +If there was truth to this new suspicion that Black Roger and his +mistress were plotting both vengeance and murder, their plans must +also involve Marie-Anne. Suddenly his mind shot back to the raft. +Had Black Roger turned a clever coup by leaving his wife there, +while he came on ahead of the bateau with Carmin Fanchet? It would +be several weeks before the raft reached the Yellowknife, and in +that time many things might happen. The thought worried him. He +was not afraid for himself. Danger, the combating of physical +forces, was his business. His fear was for Marie-Anne. He had seen +enough to know that Black Roger was hopelessly infatuated with +Carmin Fanchet. And several things might happen aboard the raft, +planned by agents as black-souled as himself. If they killed +Marie-Anne-- + +His hand gripped the knob of the door, and for a moment he was +filled with the impulse to shout for Black Roger and face him with +what was in his mind. And as he stood there, every muscle in his +body ready to fight, there came to him faintly the sound of music. +He heard the piano first, and then a woman's voice singing. Soon a +man's voice joined the woman's, and he knew it was Black Roger, +singing with Carmin Fanchet. + +Suddenly the mad impulse in his heart went out, and he leaned his +head nearer to the crack of the door, and strained his ears to +hear. He could make out no word of the song, yet the singing came +to him with a thrill that set his lips apart and brought a staring +wonder into his eyes. In the room below him, fifteen hundred miles +from civilization, Black Roger and Carmin Fanchet were singing +"Home, Sweet Home!" + +An hour later David looked through one of the barred windows upon +a world lighted by a splendid moon. He could see the dark edge of +the distant forest that rimmed in the chateau, and about him +seemed to be a level meadow, with here and there the shadow of a +building in which the lights were out. Stars were thick in the +sky, and a strange quietness hovered over the world he looked +upon. From below him floated up now and then a perfume of tobacco +smoke. The guard under his window was awake, but he made no sound. + +A little later he undressed, put out the two lights in his room, +and stretched himself between the cool, white sheets on the couch. +After a time he slept, but it was a restless slumber filled with +troubled dreams. Twice he was half awake, and the second time it +seemed to him his nostrils sensed a sharper tang of smoke than +that of burning tobacco, yet he did not fully rouse himself, and +the hours passed, and new sounds and smells that rose in the night +impinged themselves upon him only as a part of the troublous +fabric of his dreams. But at last there came a shock, something +which beat over these things which chained him, and seized upon +his consciousness, demanding that he rouse himself, open his eyes, +and get up. + +He obeyed the command, and before he was fully awake, found +himself on his feet. It was still dark, but he heard voices, +voices no longer subdued, but filled with a wild note of +excitement and command. And what he smelled was not the smell of +tobacco smoke! It was heavy in his room. It filled his lungs. His +eyes were smarting with the sting of it. + +Then came vision, and with a startled cry he leaped to a window. +To the north and east he looked out upon a flaming world! + +With his fist he rubbed his smarting eyes. The moon was gone. The +gray he saw outside must be the coming of dawn, ghostly with that +mist of smoke that had come into his room. He could see shadowy +figures of men running swiftly in and out and disappearing, and he +could hear the voices of women and children, and from beyond the +edge of the forest to the west came the howling of many dogs. One +voice rose above the others. It was Black Roger's, and at its +commands little groups of figures shot out into the gray smoke- +gloom and did not appear again. + +North and east the sky was flaming sullen red, and a breath of air +blowing gently in David's face told him the direction of the wind. +The chateau lay almost in the center of the growing line of +conflagration. + +He dressed himself and went again to the window. Quite distinctly +now, he could make out Joe Clamart under his window, running +toward the edge of the forest at the head of half a dozen men and +boys who carried axes and cross-cut saws over their shoulders. It +was the last of Black Roger's people that he saw for some time in +the open meadow, but from the front of the chateau he could hear +many voices, chiefly of women and children, and guessed it was +from there that the final operations against the fire were being +directed. The wind was blowing stronger in his face. With it came +a sharper tang of smoke, and the widening light of day was +fighting to hold its own against the deepening pall of flame-lit +gloom advancing with the wind. + +There seemed to come a low and distant sound with that wind, so +indistinct that to David's ears it was like a murmur a thousand +miles away. He strained his ears to hear, and as he listened, +there came another sound--a moaning, sobbing voice below his +window! It was grief he heard now, something that went to his +heart and held him cold and still. The voice was sobbing like that +of a child, yet he knew it was not a child's. Nor was it a +woman's. A figure came out slowly in his view, humped over, +twisted in its shape, and he recognized Andre, the Broken Man. +David could see that he was crying like a child, and he was facing +the flaming forests, with his arms reaching out to them in his +moaning. Then, of a sudden, he gave a strange cry, as if defiance +had taken the place of grief, and he hurried across the meadow and +disappeared into the timber where a great lightning-riven spruce +gleamed dully white through the settling veil of smoke-mist. + +For a space David looked after him, a strange beating in his +heart. It was as if he had seen a little child going into the face +of a deadly peril, and at last he shouted out for some one to +bring back the Broken Man. But there was no answer from under his +window. The guard was gone. Nothing lay between him and escape--if +he could force the white birch bars from the window. + +He thrust himself against them, using his shoulder as a battering- +ram. Not the thousandth part of an inch could he feel them give, +yet he worked until his shoulder was sore. Then he paused and +studied the bars more carefully. Only one thing would avail him, +and that was some object which he might use as a lever. + +He looked about him, and not a thing was there in the room to +answer the purpose. Then his eyes fell on the splendid horns of +the caribou head. Black Roger's discretion had failed him there, +and eagerly David pulled the head down from the wall. He knew the +woodsman's trick of breaking off a horn from the skull, yet in +this room, without log or root to help him, the task was +difficult, and it was a quarter of an hour after he had last seen +the Broken Man before he stood again at the window with the +caribou horn in his hands. He no longer had to hold his breath to +hear the low moaning in the wind, and where there had been smoke- +gloom before there were now black clouds rolling and twisting up +over the tops of the north and eastern forests, as if mighty +breaths were playing with them from behind. + +David thrust the big end of the caribou horn between two of the +white-birch bars, but before he had put his weight to the lever he +heard a great voice coming round the end of the chateau, and it +was calling for Andre, the Broken Man. In a moment it was followed +by Black Roger Audemard, who ran under the window and faced the +lightning-struck spruce as he shouted Andre's name again. + +Suddenly David called down to him, and Black Roger turned and +looked up through the smoke-gloom, his head bare, his arms naked, +and his eyes gleaming wildly as he listened. + +"He went that way twenty minutes ago," David shouted. "He +disappeared into the forest where you see the dead spruce yonder. +And he was crying, Black Roger--he was crying like a child." + +If there had been other words to finish, Black Roger would not +have heard them. He was running toward the old spruce, and David +saw him disappear where the Broken Man had gone. Then he put his +weight on the horn, and one of the tough birch bars gave way +slowly, and after that a second was wrenched loose, and a third, +until the lower half of the window was free of them entirely. He +thrust out his head and found no one within the range of his +vision. Then he worked his way through the window, feet first, and +hanging the length of arms and body from the lower sill, dropped +to the ground. + +Instantly he faced the direction taken by Roger Audemard, it was +HIS turn now, and he felt a savage thrill in his blood. For an +instant he hesitated, held by the impulse to rush to Carmin +Fanchet and with his fingers at her throat, demand what she and +her paramour had done with Marie-Anne. But the mighty +determination to settle it all with Black Roger himself +overwhelmed that impulse like an inundation. Black Roger had gone +into the forest. He was separated from his people, and the +opportunity was at hand. + +Positive that Marie-Anne had been left with the raft, the thought +that the Chateau Boulain might be devoured by the onrushing +conflagration did not appal David. The chateau held little +interest for him now. It was Black Roger he wanted. As he ran +toward the old spruce, he picked up a club that lay in the path. + +This path was a faintly-worn trail where it entered the forest +beyond the spruce, very narrow, and with brush hanging close to +the sides of it, so that David knew it was not in general use and +that but few feet had ever used it. He followed swiftly, and in +five minutes came suddenly out into a great open thick with smoke, +and here he saw why Chateau Boulain would not burn. The break in +the forest was a clearing a rifle-shot in width, free of brush and +grass, and partly tilled; and it ran in a semi-circle as far as he +could see through the smoke in both directions. Thus had Black +Roger safeguarded his wilderness castle, while providing tillable +fields for his people; and as David followed the faintly beaten +path, he saw green stuffs growing on both sides of him, and +through the center of the clearing a long strip of wheat, green +and very thick. Up and down through the fog of smoke he could hear +voices, and he knew it was this great, circular fire-clearing the +people of Chateau Boulain were watching and guarding. + +But he saw no one as he trailed across the open. In soft patches +of the earth he found footprints deeply made and wide apart, the +footprints of hurrying men, telling him Black Roger and the Broken +Man were both ahead of him, and that Black Roger was running when +he crossed the clearing. + +The footprints led him to a still more indistinct trail in the +farther forest, a trail which went straight into the face of the +fire ahead. He followed it. The distant murmur had grown into a +low moaning over the tree-tops, and with it the wind was coming +stronger, and the smoke thicker. For a mile he continued along the +path, and then he stopped, knowing he had come to the dead-line. +Over him was a swirling chaos. The fire-wind had grown into a roar +before which the tree-tops bent as if struck by a gale, and in the +air he breathed he could feel a swiftly growing heat. For a space +he stood there, breathing quickly in the face of a mighty peril. +Where had Black Roger and the Broken Man gone? What mad impulse +could it be that dragged them still farther into the path of +death? Or had they struck aside from the trail? Was he alone in +danger? + +As if in answer to the questions there came from far ahead of him +a loud cry. It was Black Roger's voice, and as he listened, it +called over and over again the Broken Man's name, + +"Andre--Andre--Andre--" + +Something in the cry held Carrigan. There was a note of terror in +it, a wild entreaty that was almost drowned in the trembling wind +and the moaning that was in the air. David was ready to turn back. +He had already approached too near to the red line of death, yet +that cry of Black Roger urged him on like the lash of a whip. He +plunged ahead into the chaos of smoke, no longer able to +distinguish a trail under his feet. Twice again in as many minutes +he heard Black Roger's voice, and ran straight toward it. The +blood of the hunter rushed over all other things in his veins. The +man he wanted was ahead of him and the moment had passed when +danger or fear of death could drive him back. Where Black Roger +lived, he could live, and he gripped his club and ran through the +low brush that whipped in stinging lashes against his face and +hands. + +He came to the foot of a ridge, and from the top of this he knew +Black Roger had called. It was a huge hog's-back, rising a hundred +feet up out of the forest, and when he reached the top of it, he +was panting for breath. It was as if he had come suddenly within +the blast of a hot furnace. North and east the forest lay under +him, and only the smoke obstructed his vision. But through this +smoke he could make out a thing that made him rub his eyes in a +fierce desire to see more clearly. A mile away, perhaps two, the +conflagration seemed to be splitting itself against the tip of a +mighty wedge. He could hear the roar of it to the right of him and +to the left, but dead ahead there was only a moaning whirlpool of +fire-heated wind and smoke. And out of this, as he looked, came +again the cry, + +"Andre--Andre--Andre!" + +Again he stared north and south through the smoke-gloom. Mountains +of resinous clouds, black as ink, were swirling skyward along the +two sides of the giant wedge. Under that death-pall the flames +were sweeping through the spruce and cedar tops like race-horses, +hidden from his eyes. If they closed in there could be no escape; +in fifteen minutes they would inundate him, and it would take him +half an hour to reach the safety of the clearing. + +His heart thumped against his ribs as he hurried down the ridge in +the direction of Black Roger's voice. The giant wedge of the +forest was not burning--yet, and Audemard was hurrying like mad +toward the tip of that wedge, crying out now and then the name of +the Broken Man. And always he kept ahead, until at last--a mile +from the ridge--David came to the edge of a wide stream and saw +what it was that made the wedge of forest. For under his eyes the +stream split, and two arms of it widened out, and along each shore +of the two streams was a wide fire-clearing made by the axes of +Black Roger's people, who had foreseen this day when fire might +sweep their world. + +Carrigan dashed water into his eyes, and it was warm. Then he +looked across. The fire had passed, the pall of smoke was clearing +away, and what he saw was the black corpse of a world that had +been green. It was smoldering; the deep mold was afire. Little +tongues of flame still licked at ten thousand stubs charred by the +fire-death--and there was no wind here, and only the whisper of a +distant moaning sweeping farther and farther away. + +And then, out of that waste across the river, David heard a +terrible cry. It was Black Roger, still calling--even in that +place of hopeless death--for Andre, the Broken Man! + + + + + +XXVI + + +Into the stream Carrigan plunged and found it only waist-deep in +crossing. He saw where Black Roger had come out of the water and +where his feet had plowed deep in the ash and char and smoldering +debris ahead. This trail he followed. The air he breathed was hot +and filled with stifling clouds of ash and char-dust and smoke. +His feet struck red-hot embers under the ash, and he smelled +burning leather. A forest of spruce and cedar skeletons still +crackled and snapped and burst out into sudden tongues of flame +about him, and the air he breathed grew hotter, and his face +burned, and into his eyes came a smarting pain--when ahead of him +he saw Black Roger. He was no longer calling out the Broken Man's +name, but was crashing through the smoking chaos like a great +beast that had gone both blind and mad. Twice David turned aside +where Black Roger had rushed through burning debris, and a third +time, following where Audemard had gone, his feet felt the sudden +stab of living coals. In another moment he would have shouted +Black Roger's name, but even as the words were on his lips, +mingled with a gasp of pain, the giant river-man stopped where the +forest seemed suddenly to end in a ghostly, smoke-filled space, +and when David came up behind him, he was standing at the black +edge of a cliff which leaped off into a smoldering valley below. + +Out of this narrow valley between two ridges, an hour ago choked +with living spruce and cedar, rose up a swirling, terrifying heat. +Down into this pit of death Black Roger stood looking, and David +heard a strange moaning coming in his breath. His great, bare arms +were black and scarred with heat; his hair was burned; his shirt +was torn from his shoulders. When David spoke--and Black Roger +turned at the sound--his eyes glared wildly out of a face that was +like a black mask. And when he saw it was David who had spoken, +his great body seemed to sag, and with an unintelligible cry he +pointed down. + +David, staring, saw nothing with his half-blind eyes, but under +his feet he felt a sudden giving way, and the fire-eaten tangle of +earth and roots broke off like a rotten ledge, and with it both he +and Black Roger went crashing into the depths below, smothered in +an avalanche of ash and sizzling earth. At the bottom David lay +for a moment, partly stunned. Then his fingers clutched a bit of +living fire, and with a savage cry he staggered to his feet and +looked to see Black Roger. For a space his eyes were blinded, and +when at last he could see, he made out Black Roger, fifty feet +away, dragging himself on his hands and knees through the +blistering muck of the fire. And then, as he stared, the stricken +giant came to the charred remnant of a stump and crumpled over it +with a great cry, moaning again that name-- + +"Andre--Andre--" + +David hurried to him, and as he put his hands under Black Roger's +arms to help him to his feet, he saw that the charred stump was +not a stump, but the fire-shriveled corpse of Andre, the Broken +Man! + +Horror choked back speech on his own lips. Black Roger looked up +at him, and a great breath came in a sob out of his body. Then, +suddenly, he seemed to get grip of himself, and his burned and +bleeding fingers closed about David's hand at his shoulder. + +"I knew he was coming here," he said, the words forcing themselves +with an effort through his swollen lips. "He came home--to die." + +"Home--?" + +"Yes. His mother and father were buried here nearly thirty years +ago, and he worshiped them. Look at him, Carrigan. Look at him +closely. For he is the man you have wanted all these years, the +finest man God ever made, Roger Audemard! When he saw the fire, he +came to shield their graves from the flames. And now he is dead!" + +A moan came to his lips, and the weight of his body grew so heavy +that David had to exert his strength to keep him from falling. + +"And YOU?" he cried. "For God's sake, Audemard--tell me--" + +"I, m'sieu? Why, I am only St. Pierre Audemard, his brother." + +And with that his head dropped heavily, and he was like a dead man +in David's arms. + +How at last David came to the edge of the stream again, with the +weight of St. Pierre Audemard on his shoulders, was a torturing +nightmare which would never be quite clear in his brain. The +details were obliterated in the vast agony of the thing. He knew +that he fought as he had never fought before; that he stumbled +again and again in the fire-muck; that he was burned, and blinded, +and his brain was sick. But he held to St. Pierre, with his +twisted, broken leg, knowing that he would die if he dropped him +into the flesh-devouring heat of the smoldering debris under his +feet. Toward the end he was conscious of St. Pierre's moaning, and +then of his voice speaking to him. After that he came to the water +and fell down in the edge of it with St. Pierre, and inside his +head everything went as black as the world over which the fire had +swept. + +He did not know how terribly he was hurt. He did not feel pain +after the darkness came. Yet he sensed certain things. He knew +that over him St. Pierre was shouting. For days, it seemed, he +could hear nothing but that great voice bellowing away in the +interminable distance. And then came other voices, now near and +now far, and after that he seemed to rise up and float among the +clouds, and for a long time he heard no other sound and felt no +movement, but was like one dead. + +Something soft and gentle and comforting roused him out of +darkness. He did not move, he did not open his eyes for a time, +while reason came to him. He heard a voice, and it was a woman's +voice, speaking softly, and another voice replied to it. Then he +heard gentle movement, and some one went away from him, and he +heard the almost noiseless opening and closing of a door. A very +little he began to see. He was in a room, with a patch of sunlight +on the wall. Also, he was in a bed. And that gentle, comforting +hand was still stroking his forehead and hair, light as +thistledown. He opened his eyes wider and looked up. His heart +gave a great throb. Over him was a glorious, tender face smiling +like an angel into his widening eyes. And it was the face of +Carmin Fanchet! + +He made an effort, as if to speak. + +"Hush," she whispered, and he saw something shining in her eyes, +and something wet fell upon his face. "She is returning--and I +will go. For three days and nights she has not slept, and she must +be the first to see you open your eyes." + +She bent over him. Her soft lips touched his forehead, and he +heard her sobbing breath. + +"God bless you, David Carrigan!" + +Then she was going to the door, and his eyes dropped shut again. +He began to experience pain now, a hot, consuming pain all over +him, and he remembered the fight through the path of the fire. +Then the door opened very softly once more, and some one came in, +and knelt down at his side, and was so quiet that she scarcely +seemed to breathe. He wanted to open his eyes, to cry out a name, +but he waited, and lips soft as velvet touched his own. They lay +there for a moment, then moved to his closed eyes, his forehead, +his hair--and after that something rested gently against him. + +His eyes shot open. It was Marie-Anne, with her head nestled in +the crook of his arm as she knelt there beside him on the floor. +He could see only a bit of her face, but her hair was very near, +crumpled gloriously on his breast, and he could see the tips of +her long lashes as she remained very still, seeming not to +breathe. She did not know he had roused from his sleep--the first +sleep of those three days of torture which he could not remember +now; and he, looking at her, made no movement to tell her he was +awake. One of his hands lay over the edge of the bed, and so +lightly he could scarce feel the weight of her fingers she laid +one of her own upon it, and a little at a time drew it to her, +until the bandaged thing was against her lips. It was strange she +did not hear his heart, which seemed all at once to beat like a +drum inside him! + +Suddenly he sensed the fact that his other hand was not bandaged. +He was lying on his side, with his right arm partly under him, and +against that hand he felt the softness of Marie-Anne's cheek, the +velvety crush of her hair! + +And then he whispered, "Marie-Anne--" + +She still lay, for a moment, utterly motionless. Then, slowly, as +if believing he had spoken her name in his sleep, she raised her +head and looked into his wide-open eyes. There was no word between +them in that breath or two. His bandaged hand and his well hand +went to her face and hair, and then a sobbing cry came from Marie- +Anne, and swiftly she crushed her face down to his, holding him +close with both her arms for a moment. And after that, as on that +other day when she kissed him after the fight, she was up and gone +so quickly that her name had scarcely left his lips when the door +closed behind her, and he heard her running down the hall. + +He called after her, "Marie-Anne! Marie-Anne!" + +He heard another door, and voices, and quick footsteps again, +coming his way, and he was waiting eagerly, half on his elbow, +when into his room came Nepapinas and Carmin Fanchet. And again he +saw the glory of something in the woman's face. + +His eyes must have burned strangely as he stared at her, but it +did not change that light in her own, and her hands were +wonderfully gentle as she helped Nepapinas raise him so that he +was sitting up straight, with pillows at his back. + +"It doesn't hurt so much now, does it?" she asked, her voice low +with a mothering tenderness. + +He shook his head. "No. What is the matter?" + +"You were burned--terribly. For two days and nights you were in +great pain, but for many hours you have been sleeping, and +Nepapinas says the burns will not hurt any more. If it had not +been for you--" + +She bent over him. Her hand touched his face, and now he began to +understand the meaning of that glory shining in her eyes. + +"If it hadn't been for you--he would have died!" + +She drew back, turning to the door. "He is coming to see you-- +alone," she said, a little broken note in her throat. "And I pray +God you will see with clear understanding, David Carrigan--and +forgive me--as I have forgiven you--for a thing that happened long +ago." + +He waited. His head was in a jumble, and his thoughts were +tumbling over one another in an effort to evolve some sort of +coherence out of things amazing and unexpected. One thing was +impressed upon him--he had saved St. Pierre's life, and because he +had done this Carmin Fanchet was very tender to him. She had +kissed him, and Marie-Anne had kissed him, and-- + +A strange dawning was coming to him, thrilling him to his finger- +tips. He listened. A new sound was approaching from the hall. His +door was opened, and a wheel-chair was rolled in by old Nepapinas. +In the chair was St. Pierre Audemard. Feet and hands and arms were +wrapped in bandages, but his face was uncovered and wreathed in +smiling happiness when he saw David propped up against his +pillows. Nepapinas rolled him close to the bed and then shuffled +out, and as he closed the door, David was sure he heard the +subdued whispering of feminine voices down the hall. + +"How are you, David?" asked St. Pierre. + +"Fine," nodded Carrigan. "And you?" + +"A bit scorched, and a broken leg." He held up his padded hands. +"Would be dead if you hadn't carried me to the river. Carmin says +she owes you her life for having saved mine." + +"And Marie-Anne?" + +"That's what I've come to tell you about," said St. Pierre. "The +instant they knew you were able to listen, both Carmin and Marie- +Anne insisted that I come and tell you things. But if you don't +feel well enough to hear me now--" + +"Go on!" almost threatened David. + +The look of cheer which had illumined St. Pierre's face faded +away, and David saw in its place the lines of sorrow which had +settled there. He turned his gaze toward a window through which +the afternoon sun was coming, and nodded slowly. + +"You saw--out there. He's dead. They buried him in a casket made +of sweet cedar. He loved the smell of that. He was like a little +child. And once--a long time ago--he was a splendid man, a greater +and better man than St. Pierre, his brother, will ever be. What he +did was right and just, M'sieu David. He was the oldest--sixteen-- +when the thing happened. I was only nine, and didn't fully +understand. But he saw it all--the death of our father because a +powerful factor wanted my mother. And after that he knew how and +why our mother died, but not a word of it did he tell us until +years later--after the day of vengeance was past. + +"You understand, David? He didn't want me in that. He did it +alone, with good friends from the upper north. He killed the +murderers of our mother and father, and then he buried himself +deeper into the forests with us, and we took our mother's family +names which was Boulain, and settled here on the Yellowknife. +Roger--Black Roger, as you know him--brought the bones of our +father and mother and buried them over in the edge of that plain +where he died and where our first cabin stood. Five years ago a +falling tree crushed him out of shape, and his mind went at the +same time, so that he has been like a little child, and was always +seeking for Roger Audemard--the man he once was. That was the man +your law wanted. Roger Audemard. Our brother," + +"OUR brother," cried David. "Who is the other?" + +"My sister." + +"Yes?" + +"Marie-Anne." + +"Good God!" choked David. "St. Pierre, do you lie? Is this another +bit of trickery?" + +"It is the truth," said St. Pierre. "Marie-Anne is my sister, and +Carmin--whom you saw in my arms through the cabin window--" + +He paused, smiling into David's staring eyes, taking full measure +of recompense in the other's heart-breaking attitude as he waited. +"--Is my wife, M'sieu David." + +A great gasp of breath came out of Carrigan. + +"Yes, my wife, and the greatest-hearted woman that ever lived, +without one exception in all the world!" cried St. Pierre, a +fierce pride in his voice. "It was she, and not Marie-Anne, who +shot you on that strip of sand, David Carrigan! Mon Dieu, I tell +you not one woman in a million would have done what she did--let +you live! Why? Listen, m'sieu, and you will understand at last. +She had a brother, years younger than she, and to that brother she +was mother, sister, everything, because they had no parents almost +from babyhood. She worshiped him. And he was bad. Yet the worse he +became, the more she loved him and prayed for him. Years ago she +became my wife, and I fought with her to save the brother. But he +belonged to the devil hand and foot, and at last he left us and +went south, and became what he was when you were sent out to get +him, Sergeant Carrigan. It was then that my wife went down to make +a last fight to save him, to bring him back, and you know how she +made that fight, m'sieu--until the day you hanged him!" + +St. Pierre was leaning from his chair, his face ablaze. "Tell me, +did she not fight?" he cried. "And YOU, until the last--did you +not fight to have her put behind prison bars with her brother?" + +"Yes, it is so," murmured Carrigan. + +"She hated you," went on St. Pierre. "You hanged her brother, who +was almost a part of her flesh and body. He was bad, but he had +been hers from babyhood, and a mother will love her son if he is a +devil. And then--I won't take long to tell the rest of it! Through +friends she learned that you, who had hanged her brother, were on +your way to run down Roger Audemard. And Roger Audemard, mind you, +was the same as myself, for I had sworn to take my brother's place +if it became necessary. She was on the bateau with Marie-Anne when +the messenger came. She had but one desire--to save me--to kill +you. If it had been some other man, but it was you, who had hanged +her brother! She disappeared from the bateau that day with a +rifle. You know, M'sieu David, what happened. Marie-Anne heard the +shooting and came--alone--just as you rolled out in the sand as if +dead. It was she who ran out to you first, while my Carmin +crouched there with her rifle, ready to send another bullet into +you if you moved. It was Marie-Anne you saw standing over you, it +was she who knelt down at your side, and then--" + +St. Pierre paused, and he smiled, and then grimaced as he tried to +rub his two bandaged hands together. "David, fate mixes things up +in a funny way. My Carmin came out and stood over you, hating you; +and Marie-Anne knelt down there at your side, loving you. Yes, it +is true. And over you they fought for life or death, and love won, +because it is always stronger than hate. Besides, as you lay there +bleeding and helpless, you looked different to my Carmin than as +you did when you hanged her brother. So they dragged you up under +a tree, and after that they plotted together and planned, while I +was away up the river on the raft. The feminine mind works +strangely, M'sieu David, and perhaps it was that thing we call +intuition which made them do what they did. Marie-Anne knew it +would never do for you to see and recognize my Carmin, so in their +scheming of things she insisted on passing herself off as my wife, +while my Carmin came back in a canoe to meet me. They were +frightened, and when I came, the whole thing had gone too far for +me to mend, and I knew the false game must be played out to the +end. When I saw what was happening--that you loved Marie-Anne so +well that you were willing to fight for her honor even when you +thought she was my wife--I was sure it would all end well. But I +could take no chances until I knew. And so there were bars at your +windows, and--" + +St. Pierre shrugged his shoulders, and the lines of grief came +into his face again, and in his voice was a little break as he +continued: "If Roger had not gone out there to fight back the +flames from the graves of his dead, I had planned to tell you as +much as I dared, M'sieu David, and I had faith that your love for +our sister would win. I did not tell you on the river because I +wanted you to see with your own eyes our paradise up here, and I +knew you would not destroy it once you were a part of it. And so I +could not tell you Carmin was my wife, for that would have +betrayed us--and--besides--that fight of yours against a love +which you thought was dishonest interested me very much, for I saw +in it a wonderful test of the man who might become my brother if +he chose wisely between love and what he thought was duty. I loved +you for it, even when you sat me there on the sand like a silly +loon. And now, even my Carmin loves you for bringing me out of the +fire--But you are not listening!" + +David was looking past him toward the door, and St. Pierre smiled +when he saw the look that was in his face. + +"Nepapinas!" he called loudly. "Nepapinas!" + +In a moment there was shuffling of feet outside, and Nepapinas +came in. St. Pierre held out his two great, bandaged hands, and +David met them with his own, one bandaged and one free. Not a word +was spoken between them, but their eyes were the eyes of men +between whom had suddenly come the faith and understanding of a +brotherhood as strong as life itself. + +Then Nepapinas wheeled St. Pierre from the room and David +straightened himself against his pillows, and waited, and +listened, until it seemed two hearts were thumping inside him in +the place of one. + +It was an interminable time, he thought, before Marie-Anne stood +in the doorway. For a breath she paused there, looking at him as +he stretched out his bandaged arm to her, moved by every yearning +impulse in her soul to come in, yet ready as a bird to fly away. +And then, as he called her name, she ran to him and dropped upon +her knees at his side, and his arms went about her, insensible to +their hurt--and her hot face was against his neck, and his lips +crushed in the smothering sweetness of her hair. He made no effort +to speak, beyond that first calling of her name. He could feel her +heart throbbing against him, and her hands tightened at his +shoulders, and at last she raised her glorious face so near that +the breath of it was on his lips. Then, seeing what was in his +eyes, her soft mouth quivered in a little smile, and with a broken +throb in her throat she whispered, + +"Has it all ended--right--David?" + +He drew the red mouth to his own, and with a glad cry which was no +word in itself he buried his face in the lustrous tresses he +loved. Afterward he could not remember all it was that he said, +but at the end Marie-Anne had drawn a little away so that she was +looking at him, her eyes shining gloriously and her cheeks +beautiful as the petals of a wild rose. And he could see the +throbbing in her white throat, like the beating of a tiny heart. + +"And you'll take me with you?" she whispered joyously. + +"Yes; and when I show you to the old man--Superintendent Me Vane, +you know--and tell him you're my wife, he can't go back on his +promise. He said if I settled this Roger Audemard affair, I could +have anything I might ask for. And I'll ask for my discharge, I +ought to have it in September, and that will give us time to +return before the snow flies. You see--" + +He held out his arms again. "You see," he cried, his face +smothered in her hair again, "I've found the place of my dreams up +here, and I want to stay--always. Are you a little glad, Marie- +Anne?" + +In a great room at the end of the hall, with windows opening in +three directions upon the wilderness, St. Pierre waited in his +wheel-chair, grunting uneasily now and then at the long time it +was taking Carmin to discover certain things out in the hall. +Finally he heard her coming, tiptoeing very quietly from the +direction of David Carrigan's door, and St. Pierre chuckled and +tried to rub his bandaged hands when she came in, her face pink +and her eyes shining with the greatest thrill that can stir a +feminine heart. + +"If we'd only known," he tried to whisper, "I would have had the +keyhole made larger, Cherie! He deserves it for having spied on us +at the cabin window. But--tell me!--Could you see? Did you hear? +What--" + +Carmin's soft hand went over his mouth. "In another moment you'll +be shouting," she warned. "Maybe I didn't see, and maybe I didn't +hear, Big Bear--but I know there are four very happy people in +Chateau Boulain. And now, if you want to guess who is the +happiest--" + +"I am, chere-coeur." + +"No." + +"Well, then, if you insist--YOU are." + +"Yes. And the next?" + +St. Pierre chuckled. "David Carrigan," he said. + +"No, no, no! If you mean that--" + +"I mean--always--that I am second, unless you will ever let me be +first," corrected St. Pierre, kissing the hand that was gently +stroking his cheek. + +And then he leaned his great head back against her where she stood +behind him, and Carmin's fingers ran where his hair was crisp with +the singe of fire, and for a long time they said no other word, +but let their eyes rest upon the dim length of the hall at the far +end of which was David Carrigan's room. + + + + + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Flaming Forest, by James Oliver Curwood +***********This file should be named flmft10.txt or flmft10.zip*********** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, flmft11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, flmft10a.txt + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +More information about this book is at the top of this file. + +We are now trying to release all our etexts one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. 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