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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/4703-h.zip b/4703-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..73a07e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/4703-h.zip diff --git a/4703-h/4703-h.htm b/4703-h/4703-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..60c60f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/4703-h/4703-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10884 @@ +<!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 Flower of the North, 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 Flower of the North, 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: Flower of the North + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Posting Date: September 6, 2009 [EBook #4703] +Release Date: December, 2003 +First Posted: March 3, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLOWER OF THE NORTH *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +FLOWER OF THE NORTH +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +A MODERN ROMANCE +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR OF THE DANGER TRAIL, PHILIP STEELS, ETC. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +TO MY COMRADES OF THE GREAT NORTHERN WILDERNESS, THOSE FAITHFUL +COMPANIONS WITH WHOM I HAVE SHARED THE JOYS AND HARDSHIPS OF THE "LONG +SILENT TRAIL," AND ESPECIALLY TO THAT "JEANNE D'ARCAMBAL." WHO WILL +FIND IN HERSELF THE HEROINE OF THIS STORY, THE WRITER GRATEFULLY +DEDICATES THIS VOLUME. +<BR><BR> +DETROIT. MICHIGAN +<BR><BR> +JANUARY, 1912 +</P> + +<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"> </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"> +FLOWER OF THE NORTH +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +I +</H3> + +<P> +"Such hair! Such eyes! Such color! Laugh if you will, Whittemore, but I +swear that she was the handsomest girl I've ever laid my eyes upon!" +</P> + +<P> +There was an artist's enthusiasm in Gregson's girlishly sensitive face +as he looked across the table at Whittemore and lighted a cigarette. +</P> + +<P> +"She wouldn't so much as give me a look when I stared," he added. "I +couldn't help it. Gad, I'm going to make a full-page 'cover' of her +to-morrow for Burke's. Burke dotes on pretty women for the cover of his +magazine. Why, demmit, man, what the deuce are you laughing at?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not at this particular case, Tom," apologized Whittemore. "But—I'm +wondering—" +</P> + +<P> +His eyes wandered ruminatively about the rough interior of the little +cabin, lighted by a single oil-lamp hanging from a cross-beam in the +ceiling, and he whistled softly. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm wondering," he went on, "if you'll ever strike a place where you +won't see 'one of the most beautiful things on earth.' The last one was +at Rio Piedras, wasn't it, Tom? A Spanish girl, or was she a Creole? I +believe I've got your letter yet, and I'll read it to you to-morrow. I +wasn't surprised. There are pretty women down in Porto Rico. But I +didn't think you'd have the nerve to discover one up here—in the +wilderness." +</P> + +<P> +"She's got them all beat," retorted the artist, flecking the ash from +the tip of his cigarette. +</P> + +<P> +"Even the Valencia girl, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a chuckling note of pleasure in Philip Whittemore's voice as +he leaned half across the table, his handsome face, bronzed by snow and +wind, illumined in the lamp-glow. Gregson, in strong contrast, with his +round, smooth cheeks, slim hands, and build that was almost womanish, +leaned over his side to meet him. For the twentieth time that evening +the two men shook hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't forgotten Valencia, eh?" chuckled the artist, gloatingly. +"Lord, but I'm glad to see you again, Phil. Seems like a century since +we were out raising the Old Ned together, and yet it's less than three +years since we came back from South America. Valencia! Will we ever +forget it? When Burke handed me his first turn-down a month ago and +said, 'Tom, your work begins to show you want a rest,' I thought of +Valencia, and was so confoundedly homesick for those old days when you +and I pretty nearly started a revolution, and came within an ace of +getting our scalps lifted, that I moped for a week. Gad, do I remember +it? You got out by fighting, and I through a pretty girl." +</P> + +<P> +"And your nerve," chuckled Whittemore, crushing the other's hand. "That +was when I made up my mind you were the nerviest man alive, Greggy. Did +you ever learn what became of Donna Isobel?" +</P> + +<P> +"She appeared twice in Burke's, once as the 'Goddess of the Southern +Republics' and again as 'The Girl of Valencia.' She married that +reprobate of a Carabobo planter, and I believe they're happy." +</P> + +<P> +"It seems to me there were others," continued Whittemore, pondering for +a moment in mock seriousness. "There was one at Rio whom you swore +would make your fortune if you could get her to sit for you, and whose +husband was on the point of putting six inches of steel into you for +telling her so, when I explained that you were young and harmless, and +a little out of your head—" +</P> + +<P> +"With your fist," cried Gregson, joyously. "Gad, but that was a mighty +blow! I can see that knife now. I was just beginning my paternoster +when—chug!—and down he went! And he deserved it. I said nothing +wrong. In my very best Spanish I asked her if she would sit for me, and +why the devil did he take that as an insult? And she was beautiful." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," agreed Whittemore. "If I remember, she was 'the loveliest +creature you had ever seen.' And after that there were others—a score +of them at least, each lovelier than the one before." +</P> + +<P> +"They make up my life," said Gregson, more seriously than he had yet +spoken. "They're the only thing I can draw and do well. I'd think an +editor was mad if he asked me to do something without a pretty woman in +it. God bless 'em, I hope I'll go on seeing them forever. When I can't +see beauty in woman I want to die." +</P> + +<P> +"And you always want to see it in the superlative degree." +</P> + +<P> +"I insist upon it. If she lacks something, as Donna Isobel wanted +color, I imagine that it is there, and she is perfect! But this one +that I saw to-night is perfect! Now what I want to know is this, Who +the deuce is she!" +</P> + +<P> +—"where can she be found, and will she sit for a 'Burke,' two or three +miscellaneous, and a 'study' for the annual sale," struck in +Whittemore. "Is that it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly. You've a natural ability for hitting the nail on the head, +Phil." +</P> + +<P> +"And Burke told you to take a rest." +</P> + +<P> +Gregson offered his cigarettes. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Burke is a good-natured, poetic old soul who has a horror of +spiders, snakes, and sky-scrapers. He said to me: 'Greggy, go and seek +nature in some quiet, secluded place, and forget everything for a +fortnight or two except your clothes and half a dozen cases of beer.' +Rest! Nature! Beer! Think of those cheerful suggestions, Phil, while I +was dreaming of Valencia, of Donna Isobels, and places where Nature +cuts up as though she had been taking champagne all her life. Gad, your +letter came just in time!" +</P> + +<P> +"And I told you little enough in that," said Philip, quickly, rising +and pacing uneasily back and forth across the cabin floor. "I gave you +promise of excitement, and urged you to join me if you could. And why? +Because—" +</P> + +<P> +He turned sharply, and faced Gregson across the table. +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted you to come because the thing that happened down in Valencia, +and that other at Rio, isn't a circumstance to the hell that's going to +cut loose pretty soon up here—and I'm in need of help. Understand? +It's not fun—this time. I'm playing a single hand in what looks like a +losing game. If I ever needed a fighter in my life I need one now. +That's why I sent for you." +</P> + +<P> +Gregson shoved back his chair and rose to his feet. He was a head +shorter than his companion, of almost delicate physique. Yet there was +something in the cold gray-blue of his eyes, a peculiar hardness of his +chin, that compelled one to look at him twice and rendered first +judgment unsafe. His slim fingers closed like steel about Philip's. +</P> + +<P> +"Now you're coming down to business, Phil," he exclaimed. "I've been +waiting with the patience of Job—or of little Bobby Tuckett, if you +remember him, who began courting Minnie Sheldon seven years ago—and +married her the day after I got your letter. I was too busy figuring +out what you hadn't written to go to the wedding. I tried to read +between the lines, and fell down completely. I've been thinking all the +way up from Le Pas, and I'm still at sea. You called. I came. What's +up?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's going to sound a little mad—at first, Greggy," chuckled +Whittemore, lighting his pipe. "It's going to give your esthetic tastes +a jar. Look here!" +</P> + +<P> +He seized Gregson by the arm and led him to the door. +</P> + +<P> +The cold northern sky was brilliant with stars. The cabin, its logs +half smothered in dying masses of verdure which had climbed about it +during the summer, was built on the summit of one of the wind-cropped +ridges which are called mountains in the far north. Into that north +swept infinite wilderness, white and gray where the starlit tops of the +spruce rose up at their feet, black in the distance. From somewhere out +of it there came the low, weeping monotone of surf beating on a shore. +Philip, with one hand on Gregson's shoulder, pointed with the other +into the lonely desolation which they were facing. +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't much between us and the Arctic Ocean, Greggy," he said. +"See that light off there, like a great fire that has half a mind to +die out one minute and flares up the next? Doesn't it remind you of the +night we got away from Carabobo, when Donna Isobel pointed out our way +to us, with the moon coming up over the mountains as a guide? That +isn't the moon. It's the aurora borealis. You can hear the wash of the +Bay down there, and if you're keen you can catch the smell of icebergs. +There's Fort Churchill—a rifle-shot beyond the ridge, asleep. There's +nothing but Hudson's Bay Company's posts, Indian camps, and trappers +between here and civilization, which is four hundred miles down there. +Seems like a quiet and peaceful country, doesn't it? There's something +about it that makes you thrill and wonder if this isn't the biggest +part of the universe after all. Listen! Hear the Indian dogs wailing +down at Churchill! That's the primal voice in this world, the voice of +the wild. Even that beating of the surf is filled with the same thing, +for it's rolling up mystery instead of history. It is telling what man +doesn't know, and in a language which he cannot understand. You're a +beauty scientist, Greggy. This must sink deep." +</P> + +<P> +"It does," said Gregson. "What the deuce are you getting at, Phil?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm arriving gradually and without undue haste to the point, Greggy. +I'm about to tell you why I induced you to join me up here. I hesitate +at the last word. It seems almost brutal, taking into consideration +your philosophy of beauty, to drop from all this—from that blackness +and mystery out there, from Donna Isobels and pretty eyes, down +to—fish." +</P> + +<P> +"Fish!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, fish." +</P> + +<P> +Gregson, lighting a fresh cigarette, held the match so that the tiny +flame lighted up his companion's face for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here," he expostulated, "you haven't got me up here to +go—fishing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—and no," said Philip. "But even if I have—" +</P> + +<P> +He caught Gregson by the arm again, and there was a tightness in the +grip of his fingers which convinced the other that he was speaking +seriously now. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember what started the revolution down in Honduras the +second week after we struck Puerto Barrios, Greggy? It was a girl, +wasn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and she wasn't half pretty at that." +</P> + +<P> +"It was less than a girl," went on Philip. "Scene: the palm plaza at +Ceiba. President Belize is drinking wine with his cousin, the fiancee +of General O'Kelly Bonilla, the half Irish, half Latin-American leader +of his forces, and his warmest friend. At a moment when their corner of +the plaza is empty Belize helps himself to a cousinly kiss. O'Kelly, +unperceived, arrives in time to witness the act. From that moment his +friendship for Belize turns to hatred and jealousy. Within three weeks +he has started a revolution, beats the government forces at Ceiba, +chases Belize from the capital, gets Nicaragua mixed up in the trouble, +and draws three French, two German, and two American war-ships to the +scene. Six weeks after the wine-drinking he is President of the +Republic, en facto. And all of this, Greggy, because of a kiss. Now, if +a kiss can start a revolution, unseat a President, send a government to +smash, what must be the possibilities of a fish?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm getting interested," said Gregson. "If there's a climax, come to +it, Phil. I admit that there must be enormous possibilities in—a fish. +Go on!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +II +</H3> + +<P> +For a moment the two men stood in silence, listening to the sullen beat +of surf beyond the black edge of forest. Then Philip led the way back +into the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +Gregson followed. In the light of the big oil-lamp which hung suspended +from the ceiling he noticed something in Whittemore's face he had not +observed before, a tenseness about the muscles of his mouth, a +restlessness in his eyes, rigidity of jaw, an air of suppressed emotion +which puzzled him. He was keenly observant of details, and knew that +these things had been missing a short time before. The pleasure of +their meeting that afternoon, after a separation of nearly two years, +had dispelled for a time the trouble which he now saw revealing itself +in his companion's face and attitude, and the lightness of Whittemore's +manner in beginning his explanation for inducing him to come into the +north had helped to complete the mask. There occurred to him, for an +instant, a picture which he had once drawn of Whittemore as he had +known him in certain stirring times still fresh in the memory of +each—a picture of the old, cool, irresistible Whittemore, smiling in +the face of danger, laughing outright at perplexities, always ready to +fight with a good-natured word on his lips. He had drawn that picture +for Burke's, and had called it "The Fighter." Burke himself had +criticized it because of the smile. But Gregson knew his man. It was +Whittemore. +</P> + +<P> +There was a change now. He had grown older, surprisingly older. There +were deeper lines about his eyes. His face was thinner. He saw, now, +that Philip's lightness had been but a passing flash of his old +buoyancy, that the old life and sparkle had gone from him. Two years, +he judged, had woven things into Philip's life which he could not +understand, and he wondered if this was why in all that time he had +received no word from his old college chum. +</P> + +<P> +They had seated themselves at opposite sides of the table, and from an +inside pocket Philip produced a small bundle of papers. From these he +drew forth a map, which he smoothed out under his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, there are possibilities—and more, Greggy," he said. "I didn't +ask you up here to help me fight air and moonshine. And I've promised +you a fight. Have you ever seen a rat in a trap with a blood-thirsty +terrier guarding the little door that is about to be opened? Thrilling +sport for the prisoner, isn't it? But when the rat happens to be +human—" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought it was a fish," protested Gregson, mildly. "Pretty soon +you'll be having it a girl in a trap—or at the end of a fish-line—" +</P> + +<P> +"And if I should?" interrupted Philip, looking steadily at him. "What +if I should say there is a girl—a woman—in this trap—not only one, +but a score, a hundred of them? What then, Greggy?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd say there was going to be a glorious scrap." +</P> + +<P> +"And so there is, the biggest and most unusual scrap of its kind you +ever heard of, Greggy. It's going to be a queer kind of fight—and +queer fighting. And it's possible—very probable—that you and I will +get lost in the shuffle somewhere. We're two, no more. And we're going +up against forces which would make a dozen South American revolutions +look like thirty cents. More than that, it's likely we'll be in the +wrong locality when certain people rise in a wrath which a Helen of +Troy aroused in another people some centuries ago. See here—" +</P> + +<P> +He turned the map to Gregson, pointing with his finger. +</P> + +<P> +"See that red line? That's the new railroad to Hudson's Bay. It is well +above Le Pas now, and its builders plan to complete it by next spring. +It is the most wonderful piece of railroad building on the American +continent, Greggy—wonderful because it has been neglected so long. +Something like a hundred million people have been asleep to its +enormous value, and they're just waking up now. That road, cutting +across four hundred miles of wilderness, is opening up a country half +as big as the United States, in which more mineral wealth will be dug +during the next fifty years than will ever be taken from Yukon or +Alaska. It is shortening the route from Montreal, Duluth, Chicago, and +the Middle West to Liverpool and other European ports by a thousand +miles. It means the making of a navigable sea out of Hudson's Bay, +cities on its shores, and great steel-foundries close to the Arctic +Circle—where there is coal and iron enough to supply the world for +hundreds of years. That's only a small part of what this road means, +Greggy. Two years ago—you remember I asked you to join me in the +adventure—I came up seeking opportunity. I didn't dream then—" +</P> + +<P> +Whittemore paused, and a flash of his old smile passed over his face. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't dream that fate had decreed me to stir up what I'm going to +tell you about, Greggy. I followed the line of the proposed railroad, +looking for chances. All Canada was asleep, or too much interested in +its west, and gave me no competition. I was alone west of the surveyed +line; east of it steel-corporation men had optioned mountains of iron +and another interest had a grip on coal-fields. Six months I spent +among the Indians, French, and half-breeds. I lived with them, trapped +and hunted with them, and picked up a little Cree and French. The life +suited me. I became a northerner in heart and soul, if not quite yet in +full experience. Clubs and balls and cities grew to be only memories. +You know how I have always hated that hothouse sort of existence, and +you know that same world of clubs and balls and cities has gripped at +my throat, downing me again and again, as though it returned my +sentiment with interest. Up here I learned to hate it more than ever. I +was completely happy. And then—" +</P> + +<P> +He had refolded the map, and drew another from the bundle of papers. It +was drawn in pencil. +</P> + +<P> +"And then, Greggy," he went on, smoothing out this map where the other +had been, "I struck my chance. It fairly clubbed me into recognizing +it. It came in the middle of the night, and I sat up with a camp-fire +laughing at me through the flap in my tent, stunned by the knockout it +had given me. It seemed, at first, as though a gold-mine had walked up +and laid itself down at my feet, and I wondered how there could be so +many silly fools in this world of ours. Take a look at that map, +Greggy. What do you see?" +</P> + +<P> +Gregson had listened like one under a spell. It was one of his careless +boasts that situations could not faze him, that he was immune to +outward betrayals of sensation. This seeming indifference—his +light-toned attitude in the face of most serious affairs would have +made a failure of him in many things. But his tense interest did not +hide itself now. A cigarette remained unlighted between his fingers. +His eyes never took themselves for an instant from his companion's +face. Something that Whittemore had not yet said thrilled him. He +looked at the map. +</P> + +<P> +"There's not much to see," he said, "but lakes and rivers." +</P> + +<P> +"You're right," exclaimed Philip, jumping suddenly from his chair and +beginning to walk back and forth across the cabin. "Lakes and +rivers—hundreds of them—thousands of them! Greggy, there are more +than three thousand lakes between here and civilization and within +forty miles of the new railroad. And nine out of ten of those lakes are +so full of fish that the bears along 'em smell fishy. Whitefish, +Gregson—whitefish and trout. There is a fresh-water area represented +on that map three times as large as the whole of the five Great Lakes, +and yet the Canadians and the government have never wakened up to what +it means. There's a fish supply in this northland large enough to feed +the world, and that little rim of lakes that I've mapped out along the +edge of the coming railroad represents a money value of millions. That +was the idea that came to me in the middle of the night, and then I +thought—if I could get a corner on a few of these lakes, secure +fishing privileges before the road came—" +</P> + +<P> +"You'd be a millionaire," said Gregson. +</P> + +<P> +"Not only that," replied Philip, pausing for a moment in his restless +pacing. "I didn't think of money, at first; at least, it was a +secondary consideration after that night beside the camp-fire. I saw +how this big vacant north could be made to strike a mighty blow at +those interests which make a profession of cornering meatstuffs on the +other side, how it could be made to fight the fight of the people by +sending down an unlimited supply of fish that could be sold at a profit +in New York, Boston, or Chicago for a half of what the trust demands. +My scheme wasn't aroused entirely by philanthropy, mind you. I saw in +it a chance to get back at the very people who brought about my +father's ruin, and who kept pounding him after he was in a corner until +he broke down and died. They killed him. They robbed me a few years +later. They made me hate what I was once, a moving, joyous part +of—life down there. I went from the north, first to Ottawa, then to +Toronto and Winnipeg. After that I went to Brokaw, my father's old +partner, with the scheme. I've told you of Brokaw—one of the deepest, +shrewdest old fighters in the Middle West. It was only a year after my +father's death that he was on his feet again, as strong as ever. Brokaw +drew in two or three others as strong as himself, and we went after the +privileges. It was a fight from the beginning. Hardly were our plans +made public before we were met by powerful opposition. A combination of +Canadian capital quickly organized and petitioned for the same +privileges. Old Brokaw knew what it meant. It was the hand of the +trust—disguised under a veneer of Canadian promoters. They called us +'aliens'—American 'money-grabbers' robbing Canadians of what justly +belonged to them. They aroused two-thirds of the press against us, and +yet—" +</P> + +<P> +The lines in Whittemore's face softened. He chuckled as he pulled out +his pipe and began filling it. +</P> + +<P> +"They had to go some to beat the old man, Greggy. I don't know just how +Brokaw pulled the thing off, but I do know that when we won out three +members of parliament and half a dozen other politicians were honorary +members of our organization, and that it cost Brokaw a hundred thousand +dollars! Our opponents had raised such a howl, calling upon the +patriotism of the country and pointing out that the people of the north +would resent this invasion of foreigners, that we succeeded in getting +only a provisional license, subject to withdrawal by the government at +any time conditions seemed to warrant it. I saw in this no blow to my +scheme, for I was certain that we could carry the thing along on such a +square basis that within a year the whole country would be in sympathy +with us. I expressed my views with enthusiasm at our final meeting, +when the seven of us met to complete our plans. Brokaw and the other +five were to direct matters in the south; I was to have full command of +affairs in the north. A month later I was at work. Over here"—he +leaned over Gregson's shoulder and placed a forefinger on the map—"I +established our headquarters, with MacDougall, a Scotch engineer, to +help me. Within six months we had a hundred and fifty men at Blind +Indian Lake, fifty canoemen bringing in supplies, and another gang +putting in stations over a stretch of more than a hundred miles of lake +country. Everything was working smoothly, better than I had expected. +At Blind Indian Lake we had a shipyard, two warehouses, ice-houses, a +company store, and a population of three hundred, and had nearly +completed a ten-mile roadbed for narrow-gauge steel, which would +connect us with the main line when it came up to us. I was completely +lost in my work. At times I almost forgot Brokaw and the others. I was +particularly careful of the funds sent up to me, and had accomplished +my work at a cost of a little under a hundred thousand. At the end of +the six months, when I was about to make a visit into the south, one of +our warehouses and ten thousand dollars' worth of supplies went up in +smoke. It was our first misfortune, and it was a big one. It was about +the first matter that I brought up after I had shaken hands with +Brokaw." +</P> + +<P> +Philip's face was set and white as he stood in the middle of the room +looking at Gregson. +</P> + +<P> +"And what do you think was his reply, Greggy? He looked at me for a +moment, a peculiar twitching around the corners of his mouth, and then +said, 'Don't allow a trivial matter like that to worry you, Philip. +Why—we've already cleaned up a million on this little fish deal!'" +</P> + +<P> +Gregson sat up with a jerk. +</P> + +<P> +"A million! Great Scott—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, a million, Greggy," said Philip, softly, with his old fighting +smile. "There was a hundred thousand dollars to my credit in a First +National Bank. Pleasant surprise, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +Gregson had dropped his cigarette. His slim hands gripped the edges of +the table. He made no reply as he waited for Whittemore to continue. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +III +</H3> + +<P> +For a full minute Philip paced back and forth without speaking. Then he +stopped, and faced Gregson, who was staring at him. +</P> + +<P> +"A million, Greggy," he repeated, in the same soft voice. "A hundred +thousand dollars to my credit—in a First National Bank! While I was up +here hustling to get affairs on a working basis, eager to show the +government and the people what we could do and would do, triumphing in +our victory over the trust, and figuring each day on my scheme of +making this big, rich north deal a staggering blow to those accursed +combinations down there, they were at work, too. While I was dreaming +and doing these things, Brokaw and the others had formed the Great +Northern Fish and Development Company, had incorporated it under the +laws of New Jersey, and had already sold over a million dollars' worth +of stock! The thing was in full swing when I reached headquarters. I +had authorized Brokaw to act for me, and I found that I was +vice-president of one of the biggest legalized robbery combinations of +recent years. More money had been spent in advertising than in +development work. Hundreds of thousands of copies of my letters from +the north, filled to the brim with the enthusiasm I had felt for my +work and projects, had been sent out broadcast, luring buyers of stock. +In one of these letters I had said that if a half of the lakes I had +mapped out were fished the north could be made to produce a million +tons of fish a year. Two hundred thousand copies of this letter were +sent out, but Brokaw and his associates had omitted the words, 'If a +half of the lakes mapped out were fished.' It would take fifteen +thousand men, a thousand refrigerator cars, and a capital of five +million to bring this about. I was stunned by the enormity of their +fraud, and yet when I threatened to bring the whole thing to smash +Brokaw only laughed and pointed out that not a single caution had been +omitted. In all of the advertising it was frankly stated that our +license was provisional, subject to withdrawal if the company did not +keep within laws. That very frankness was an advertisement. It was +something different. It struck home where it was meant to strike—among +small and unfledged investors. It roped them in by thousands. The +shares were ten dollars each, and non-assessable. Five out of six +orders were from one to five shares; ninety-nine out of every hundred +were not above ten shares. It was damnable. The very people for whom I +wanted the north to fight had been humbugged to the tune of a million +and a quarter dollars. Within a year Brokaw and the others had floated +a scheme which was worse than any trust, for the trusts pay back a part +of their steals in dividends. And <I>I</I> was responsible! Do you realize +that, Greggy? It was I who started the project. It was my reports from +the north which chiefly induced people to buy. And this company—a +company of robbers licensed under the law—I am its founder and its +vice-president!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip dropped back into his chair. The face that he turned to Gregson +was damp with perspiration, though the room was chilly. +</P> + +<P> +"You stayed in," said Gregson. +</P> + +<P> +"I had to. There wasn't a loophole left open to me. There wasn't a +single point at which I could bring attack against Brokaw and the +others. They were six veritable Bismarcks of deviltry and shrewdness. +They hadn't over-stepped the law. They had sold a million and a quarter +of stock on a hundred-thousand-dollar investment, but Brokaw only +laughed when I raged at this. 'Why, Philip,' he said, 'we value our +license alone at over a million!' And there was no law which could +prevent them from placing that value upon it, or more. There was one +thing that I could do—and only one. I could resign, decline to accept +my stock and the hundred thousand, and publicly announce why I had +broken off my connections with the company. I was about to do this when +cooler judgment prevailed. It occurred to me that there would have to +be an accounting. The company might sell a million and a quarter of +stock—but in the end there would have to be an accounting. If I was +out of the game it would be easily made. If I was in—well, do you see, +Greggy? There was still a chance of making the company win out as a +legitimate enterprise, even though it began under the black flag of +piratical finance and fraud. Brokaw and the others were astonished at +the stand I took. It was like throwing a big, ripe plum into the fire +Brokaw was the first to hedge. He came over to my side in a private +interview which we had, and for the first time I convinced him +completely of the tremendous possibilities before us. To my surprise he +began to show actual enthusiasm in my favor. We figured out how the +company, if properly developed, could be made to pay a dividend of +fifty cents a share on the stock issued within two years. This, I +thought, would be at least a partial return of the original steal. +Brokaw worked the thing through in his own way. He was authorized to +vote for one of the directors, who was in Europe, and he won over two +of the others. As a consequence we voted all of the money in the +treasury, nearly six hundred thousand dollars, and the remainder of the +stock that was on the market, for development purposes. Brokaw then +made the proposition that the company buy up any interest that wished +to withdraw. The two M. P.'s and a professional promoter from Toronto +immediately sold out at fifty thousand each. With their original +hundred thousand these three retired with an aggregate steal of nearly +half a million. Pretty good work for yours truly, eh, Greggy! Good +Heaven, think of it! I started out to strike a blow, to launch a +gigantic project for the people, and this was what I had hatched! +Robbery, bribery, fraud—" +</P> + +<P> +He paused, his hands clenched until the blue veins stood out on them +like whipcords. +</P> + +<P> +"And—" +</P> + +<P> +Gregson spoke, uneasily. +</P> + +<P> +"And what?" +</P> + +<P> +Philip's fingers relaxed their grip on the table. +</P> + +<P> +"If that had been all, I wouldn't have called you up here," he +continued. "I've taken a long time in coming down to the real hell of +the affair, because I wanted you to understand the situation from the +beginning. After I left Brokaw I came north again. I possessed all the +funds necessary to make an honest working organization out of the +Northern Fish and Development Company. I hired two hundred additional +men, added twenty new fishing-stations, began a second road-bed to the +main line, and started a huge dam at Blind Indian Lake. We had thirty +horses, driven up through the wilderness from Le Pas, and twenty teams +on the way. There didn't appear to be an important obstacle in the path +of our success, and I had recovered most of my old enthusiasm when +Brokaw sprung a new mine under my feet. +</P> + +<P> +"He had written a long letter almost immediately after I left him, +which had been delayed at several places. In it he told me that he had +discovered a plot to wreck our enterprise, that some powerful force was +about to be pitted against us in the very country we were holding. I +could see that Brokaw was tremendously worked up when he wrote the +letter, and that for once he felt himself outwitted by a rival faction, +and realized to the full a danger which it took me some time to +comprehend. He had discovered absolute evidence, he said, that the +bunch of trust capitalists whom he had beaten were about to attack us +in another way. Their forces were already moving into the north +country. Their object was to stir up the country against us, to bring +about that condition of unrest and antagonism between the people of the +north and ourselves which would compel the government to take away our +license. Remember, this license was only provisional. It was, in fact, +left to the people of the north to decide whether we should remain +among them or not. If they turned against us there would be only one +thing for the government to do. +</P> + +<P> +"At first Brokaw's letter caused me no very great uneasiness. I knew +the people up here. I knew that the Indian, the Breed, the Frenchman, +and the White of this God's country were as invulnerable to bribery as +Brokaw himself is to the pangs of conscience. I loved them. I had faith +in them. I knew them to possess an honor which is not known down there, +where we have a church on every four corners, and where the Word of God +is preached day and night on the open streets. I felt myself warming +with indignation as I replied to Brokaw, resenting his insinuations as +to the crimes which a 'half-savage' people might be induced to commit +for a little whisky and a little money. And then—" +</P> + +<P> +Whittemore wiped his face. The lines settled deeper about his mouth. +</P> + +<P> +"Greggy, a week after I received this letter two warehouses were burned +on the same night at Blind Indian Lake. They were three hundred yards +apart. There is absolutely no doubt that it was incendiarism." +</P> + +<P> +He waited in silence, but Gregson still sat watching him in silence. +</P> + +<P> +"That was the beginning—three months ago. Since then some mysterious +force has been fighting us at every step. A week after the warehouses +burned, a dredge and boat-building yard, which we had constructed at +considerable expense at the mouth of the Gray Beaver, was destroyed by +fire. A little later a 'premature' explosion of dynamite cost us ten +thousand dollars and two weeks' labor of fifty men. I organized a +special guard service, composed of fifty of my best men, but it seemed +to do no good. Since then we have lost three miles of road-bed, +destroyed by a washout. A terrific charge of dynamite had been used to +let down upon us the water of a lake which was situated at the top of a +ridge near our right of way. Whoever our enemies are, they seem to know +our most secret movements, and attack us whenever we leave a vulnerable +point open. The most surprising part of the whole affair is this: in +spite of my own efforts to keep our losses quiet the rumor has spread +for hundreds of miles around us, even reaching Churchill, that the +northerners have declared war against our enterprise and are determined +to drive us out. Two-thirds of my men believe this. MacDougall, my +engineer, believes it. Between my working forces and the Indians, +French, and half-breeds about us there has slowly developed a feeling +of suspicion and resentment. It is growing—every day, every hour. If +it continues it can result in but two things—ruin for ourselves, +triumph for those who are getting at us in this dastardly manner. If +something is not done very soon—within a month—perhaps less—the +country will run with the blood of vengeance from Churchill to the +Barrens. If what I expect to happen does happen there will be no +government road built to the Bay, the new buildings at Churchill will +turn gray with disuse, the treasures of the north will remain +undisturbed, the country itself will slip back a hundred years. The +forest people will be filled with hatred and suspicion so long as the +story of great wrong travels down from father to son. And this wrong, +this crime—" +</P> + +<P> +Philip's face was white, cold, almost passionless in the grim hardness +that had settled in it. He unfolded a long typewritten letter, and +handed it to Gregson. +</P> + +<P> +"That letter is the final word," he explained. "It will tell you what I +have not told you. In some way it was mixed in my mail and I did not +discover the error until I had opened it. It is from the headquarters +of our enemies, addressed to the man who is in charge of their plot up +here." +</P> + +<P> +"He waited, scarce breathing, while Gregson bent over the typewritten +pages. He noted the slow tightening of the other's fingers as he turned +from the first sheet to the second; he watched Gregson's face, the slow +ebbing of color, the gray white that followed it, the stiffening of his +arms and shoulders as he finished. Then Gregson looked up. +</P> + +<P> +"Good God!" he breathed. +</P> + +<P> +For a full half-minute the two men gazed at each other across the +table, without speaking. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IV +</H3> + +<P> +Philip broke the silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Now—you understand." +</P> + +<P> +"It is impossible!" gasped Gregson. "I cannot believe this! It—it +might have happened a thousand—two thousand years ago—but not now. My +God, man!" he cried, more excitedly. "You do not mean to tell me that +you believe this will be done?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"It is impossible!" exclaimed Gregson again, crushing the letter in his +hand. "A man doesn't live—a combination doesn't exist—that would +start such a hell loose as this—in this way!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip smiled grimly. +</P> + +<P> +"The man does live, and the combination does exist," he said, slowly. +"Greggy, I have known of men, and of combinations who have spent +millions, who have sacrificed everything of honor and truth, who have +driven thousands of men, women, and children to starvation—and +worse—to achieve a victory in high finance. I have known of men and +combinations who have broken almost every law of man and God in the +fight for money and power. And so have you! You have associated with +some of these men. You have laughed and talked with them, smoked with +them, and have dined at their tables. You spent a week at Selden's +summer borne, and it was Selden who cornered wheat three years ago and +raised the price of bread two cents a loaf. It was Selden who brought +about the bread riots in New York, Chicago, and a score of other +cities, who swung wide the prison doors for thousands, whose millions +were gained at a cost of misery, crime, and even death. And Selden is +only one out of thousands who live to-day, watching for their +opportunities, giving no heed to those who may fall under the +juggernaut of their capital. This isn't the age of petty +discrimination, Greggy. It's the age of the almighty dollar, and of the +fight for it. And there's no chivalry, no quarter shown in this fight. +Men of Selden's stamp don't stop at women and children. The +scrubwoman's dollar is just as big as yours or mine, and if a scheme +could be promoted whereby every scrubwoman in America could be safely +robbed of a dollar you'd find thousands of men down there in our cities +ready to go into it to-morrow. And to such men as these what is the +sacrifice of a few women up here?" +</P> + +<P> +Gregson dropped the letter, crumpled and twisted, upon the table. +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder—if I understand," he said, looking into Philip's white face. +"There has undoubtedly been previous correspondence, and this letter +contains the final word. It shows that your enemies have already +succeeded in working up the forest people against you, and have filled +them with suspicion. Their last blow is to be—" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped, and Philip nodded at the horrified question in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Greggy, up here there is one law which reigns above all other law. +When I was in Prince Albert a year ago I was sitting on the veranda of +the little old Windsor Hotel. About me were a dozen wild men of the +north, who had come down for a day or two to the edge of civilization. +Most of those men had not been out of the forests for a year. Two of +them were from the Barrens, and this was their first glimpse of +civilized life in five years. As we sat there a woman came up the +street. She turned in at the hotel. About me there was a sudden +lowering of voices, a shuffling of feet. As she passed, every one of +those twelve rose from their seats and stood with bowed heads and their +caps in their hands until she had gone. I was the only one who remained +sitting! That, Greggy, is the one great law of life up here, the +worship of woman because she is woman. A man may steal, he may kill, +but he must not break this law. If he steals or kills, the mounted +police may bring the offender to justice; but if he breaks this other +law there is but one punishment, and that is the punishment of the +people. That is what this letter purposes to do—to break this law in +order that its penalty may fall upon us. And if they succeed, God help +us!" +</P> + +<P> +It was Gregson who jumped to his feet now. He took half a dozen nervous +steps, paused, lighted a cigarette, and looked down into Philip's +upturned face. +</P> + +<P> +"I understand now where the fight is coming in," he said. "If this +thing goes through, these people will rise and wipe you off the map. +They'll lay it to you and your men, of course. And I fancy it won't be +a job half done if they feel about it as I'd feel. But," he demanded, +sharply, "why don't you put the affair into the hands of the proper +authorities—the police or the government? You've got—By George, you +must have the name of the man to whom that letter was addressed!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip handed him a soiled white envelope, of the kind in which +official documents are usually mailed. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the man." +</P> + +<P> +Gregson gave a low whistle. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord—Fitzhugh—Lee!" he read, slowly, as though scarce believing his +eyes. "Great Scott! A British peer!" +</P> + +<P> +The cynical smile on Philip's lips cut his words short. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps," he said. "But if there is a British lord up here he isn't +very well known, Greggy. No one knows of him. No one has heard a rumor +of him. That is why we can't go to the police or the government. They'd +give small credence to what we've got to show. This letter wouldn't +count the weight of a feather without further evidence, and a lot of +it. Besides, we haven't time to go to the government. It is too far +away and too slow. And as for the police—I know of three in this +territory, and there are fifteen thousand square miles of mountains and +plains and forest in their 'beat.' It's up to you and me to find this +Lord Fitzhugh. If we can do that we will be in a position to put a +kibosh on this plot in a hurry. If we fail to run him down—" +</P> + +<P> +"What then?" +</P> + +<P> +"We'll have to watch our chances. I've told you all that I know, and +you're on an even working basis with me. At first I thought that I +understood the object of those who are planning to ruin us in this +cowardly manner. But I don't now. If they ruin us they also destroy the +chances of any other company that may be scheming to usurp our place. +For that reason I—" +</P> + +<P> +"There must still be other factors in the game," said Gregson, as +Philip hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"There are. I want you to work out your own suspicions, Greggy, and +then we'll compare notes. Lord Fitzhugh is the key to the whole +situation. No matter who is at the bottom of this plot, Lord Fitzhugh +is the man at the working end of it. We don't care so much about the +writer of this letter as the one to whom it was written. It is evident +that he had planned to be at Churchill, for the letter is addressed to +him here. But he hasn't shown up. He has never been here, so far as I +can discover." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd give a year's growth for a copy of the BRITISH PEERAGE or a WHO'S +WHO," mused Gregson, flecking the ashes from his cigarette. "Who the +deuce can this Lord Fitzhugh be? What sort of an Englishman would mix +up in a dirty job of this kind? You might imagine him to be one of the +men behind the guns, like Brokaw. But, by George, he's working the +dirty end of it himself, according to that letter!" +</P> + +<P> +"You're beginning to use your head already, Greggy," said Philip, a +little more cheerfully. "I've asked myself that question a hundred +times during the last three days, and I'm more at sea than ever. If it +had been plain Tom Brown or Bill Jones, the name would not have +suggested anything beyond what you have read in the letter. That's the +question: Why should a Lord Fitzhugh Lee be mixed up in this affair?" +</P> + +<P> +The two men looked at each other keenly for a few moments in silence. +</P> + +<P> +"It suggests—" began Gregson. +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"That there may be a bigger scheme behind this affair than we imagine. +In fact, it suggests to me that the northerners are being stirred up +against you and your men for some other and more powerful reason than +to make you get out of the country and compel the government to +withdraw your license. So help me God, I believe there's more behind +it!" +</P> + +<P> +"So do I," said Philip, quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you any suspicions of what might be the more powerful motive?" +</P> + +<P> +"None. I know that British capital is heavily interested in mineral +lands east of the surveyed line. But there is none at Churchill. All +operations have been carried on from Montreal and Toronto." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you written to Brokaw about this letter?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are the first to whom I have revealed its contents," said Philip. +"I have neglected to tell you that Brokaw is so worked up over the +affair that he is joining me in the north. The Hudson's Bay Company's +ship, which comes over twice a year, touches at Halifax, and if Brokaw +followed out his intentions he took passage there. The ship should be +in within a week or ten days. And, by the way"—Philip stood up and +thrust his hands deep in his pockets as he spoke, half smiling at +Gregson—"it gives me pleasure to hand you a bit of cheerful +information along with that," he added. "Miss Brokaw is coming with +him. She is very beautiful." +</P> + +<P> +Gregson held a lighted match until it burnt his finger-tips. +</P> + +<P> +"The deuce you say! I've heard—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you have heard of her beauty, no doubt. I am not a special +enthusiast in your line, Greggy, but I will confirm your opinion of +Miss Brokaw. You will say that she is the most beautiful girl you have +ever seen, and you will want to make heads of her for BURKE'S. I +suppose you wonder why she is coming up here? So do I." +</P> + +<P> +There was a look of perplexity in Philip's eyes which Gregson might +have noticed if he had not gone to the door to look out into the night. +</P> + +<P> +"What makes the stars so big and bright up in this country, Phil?" he +asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Because of the clearness of the atmosphere through which you are +looking," replied Philip, wondering what was passing through the +other's mind. "This air—compared with ours—is just like a piece of +glass that has been cleaned of a year's accumulation of dirt." +</P> + +<P> +Gregson whistled softly for a few moments. Then he said, without +turning: +</P> + +<P> +"She's got to go some if she beats the girl I saw this evening, Phil." +He turned at Philip's silence, and laughed. "I beg your pardon, old +man, I didn't mean to speak of her as if she were a horse. I mean Miss +Brokaw." +</P> + +<P> +"And I don't particularly like the idea of betting on the merits of a +pretty girl," replied Philip, "but I'll break the rule for once, and +wager you the best hat in New York that she does beat her." +</P> + +<P> +"Done!" said Gregson. "A little gentle excitement of this sort will +relieve the tension of the other thing, Phil. I've heard enough of +business for to-night. I'm going to finish a sketch that I have begun +of her before I forget the fine points. Any objection?" +</P> + +<P> +"None at all," said Philip. "Meanwhile I'll go out to breathe a spell." +</P> + +<P> +He put on his coat and took down his cap from a peg in the wall. +Gregson had seated himself under the lamp and was sharpening a pencil. +As Philip went to go out Gregson drew an envelope from his pocket and +tossed it on the table. +</P> + +<P> +"If you should happen to see any one that looks like—her," he said, +nodding toward the envelope, "kindly put in a word for me, will you? I +did that in a hurry. It's not half flattering." +</P> + +<P> +Philip laughed as he picked up the envelope. +</P> + +<P> +"The most beau—" he began. +</P> + +<P> +He caught himself with a jerk. Gregson, looking up from his +pencil-sharpening, saw the smile leave his lips and a quick flush leap +into his bronzed cheeks. He stared at the face on the envelope for a +half a minute, then gazed speechlessly at Gregson. +</P> + +<P> +It was Gregson who laughed, softly and without suspicion. +</P> + +<P> +"How does your wager look now?" he taunted. +</P> + +<P> +"She—is—beautiful," murmured Philip, dropping the envelope and +turning to the door, "Don't wait for me, Greggy. Go to bed." +</P> + +<P> +He heard Gregson laugh behind him, and he wondered, as he went out, +what Gregson would say if he told him that he had drawn on the back of +the old envelope the beautiful face of Eileen Brokaw! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +V +</H3> + +<P> +A dozen steps beyond the door Philip paused in the shadow of a dense +spruce, half persuaded to return. From where he stood he could see +Gregson bending over the table, already at work on the picture. He +confessed that the sketch had startled him. He knew that it had sent +the hot blood rushing to his face, and that only through a fortunate +circumstance had Gregson ascribed its effect upon him to something that +was wide of the truth. Miss Brokaw was a thousand or more miles away. +At this moment she was somewhere in the North Atlantic, if their ship +had left Halifax. She had never been in the north. More than that, he +knew that Gregson had never seen Miss Brokaw, and had heard of her only +through himself and the society columns of the newspapers. How could he +explain his possession of the sketch? +</P> + +<P> +He drew a step or two nearer to the open door, and stopped again. If he +returned to question Gregson it would draw him perilously near to +explanations which he did not care to make, to the one secret which he +wished to guard from his friend's knowledge. After all, the picture was +only a resemblance. It could be nothing but a resemblance, even though +it was so striking and unusual that it had thrown him off his guard at +first. When he returned later and looked at it again he would no doubt +be able to see his error. +</P> + +<P> +He walked on through the spruce shadows and up a narrow trail that led +to the bald knob of the ridge, feeling his way with his right hand +before him when the denseness of the forest shut out the light of the +stars and the moon, until at last he stood out strong and clear under +the glow of the skies, with the world sweeping out in black and gray +mystery around him. To the north was the Bay, reaching away like a vast +black plain. Half a mile distant two or three lights were burning over +Fort Churchill, red eyes peering up out of the deep pool of darkness; +to the south and west there swept the gray, starlit distances which lay +between him and civilization. +</P> + +<P> +He leaned against a great rock, resting his elbows in a carpet of moss, +and his eyes turned into the mystery of those distances. The sea of +spruce-tops that rose out of the ragged valley at his feet whispered +softly in the night wind; from out of their depths trembled the low +hoot of an owl; over the vaster desolation beyond hovered a weird and +unbroken silence. More than once the spirit of this world had come to +him in the night and had roused him from his slumber to sit alone out +under the stars, imagining all that it might tell him if he could read +the voice of it in the whispering of the trees, if he could but +understand it as he longed to understand it, and could find in it the +peace which he knew that it all but held for him. The spirit of it had +never been nearer to him than to-night. He felt it close to him, so +near that it seemed like the warm, vibrant touch of a presence at his +side, something which had come to him in a voiceless loneliness as +great as his own, watching and listening with him beside the rock. It +seemed nearer to him since he had seen and talked with Gregson. It was +much nearer to him since a few minutes ago, when he had looked upon +what he had first thought to be the face of Eileen Brokaw. +</P> + +<P> +And this was the world—the spirit—that had changed him. He wondered +if Gregson had seen the change which he tried so hard to conceal. He +wondered if Miss Brokaw would see it when she came, and if her soft, +gray eyes would read to the bottom of him as they had fathomed him once +before upon a time which seemed years and years ago. Thoughts like +these troubled him. Twice that day he had found stealing over him a +feeling that was almost physical pain, and yet he knew that this pain +was but the gnawing of a great loneliness in his heart. In these +moments he had been sorry that he had brought Gregson back into his +life. And with Gregson he was bringing back Eileen Brokaw. He was more +than sorry for that. The thought of it made him grow warm and +uncomfortable, though the night air from off the Bay was filled with +the chill tang of the northern icebergs. Again his thoughts brought him +face to face with the old pictures, the old life. With them came +haunting memories of a Philip Whittemore who had once lived, and who +had died; and with these ghosts of the past there surged upon him the +loneliness which seemed to crush and stifle him. Like one in a dream he +was swept back. Over the black spruce at his feet, far into the gray, +misty distances beyond, over forests and mountains and the vast, grim +silences his vision reached out until he saw life as it had begun for +him, and as he had lived it for a time. It had opened fair. It had +given promise. It had filled him with hope and ambition. And then it +had changed. +</P> + +<P> +Unconsciously he clenched his hands as he thought of what had followed, +of the black days of ruin, of death, of the dissolution of all that he +had hoped and dreamed for. He had fought, because he was born a +fighter. He had risen again and again, only to find misfortune still at +his face. At first he had laughed, and had called it bad luck. But the +bad luck had followed him, dogging him with a persistence which +developed in him a new perspective of things. He dropped away from his +clubs. He began to measure men and women as he had not measured them +before, and there grew in him slowly a revulsion for what those +measurements revealed. The spirit that was growing in him called out +for bigger things, for the wild freedom which he had tasted for a time +with Gregson—for a life which was not warped by the gilded amenities +of the crowded ballroom to-night, by the frenzied dollar-fight +to-morrow. No one could understand that change in him. He could find no +spirit in sympathy with him, no chord in another breast that he could +reach out and touch and thrill with understanding. Once he had +hoped—and tried— +</P> + +<P> +A deep breath, almost a sigh, fell from his lips as he thought of that +last night, at the Brokaw ball. He heard again the laughter and chatter +of men and women, the soft rustle of skirts—and then the break, the +silence, as the low, sweet music of his favorite waltz began, while he +stood screened behind a bank of palms looking down into the clear gray +eyes of Eileen Brokaw. He saw himself as he had stood then, leaning +over her slim white shoulders, intoxicated by her beauty, his face pale +with the fear of what he was about to say; and he saw the girl, with +her beautiful head thrown a little back, so that her golden hair almost +touched his lips, waiting for him to speak. For months he had fought +against the fascination of her beauty. Again and again he had almost +surrendered to it, only to pull himself back in time. He had seen this +girl, as pure-looking as an angel, strike deeply at the hearts of other +men; he had heard her laugh and talk lightly of the wounds she had +made. Behind the eyes which gazed up at him, dear and sweet as pools of +sunlit water, he knew there lay the consuming passion for power, for +admiration, for the froth-like pleasures of the life that was swirling +about them. Sincerity was but their mask. He knew that the beautiful +gray eyes lied to him when he saw in them all that he held glorious in +womanhood. +</P> + +<P> +He laughed softly to himself as the picture grew in his mind, and he +saw Ransom come blundering in through the palms, mopping his red face +and chattering inane things to little Miss Meesen. Ransom was always +blundering. This time his blunder saved Philip. The passionate words +died on his lips; and when Ransom and Miss Meesen turned about in a +giggling flutter, he spoke no words of love, but opened up his heart to +this girl whom he would have loved if she had been like her eyes. It +was his last hope—that she would understand him, see with him the +emptiness of his life, sympathize with him. +</P> + +<P> +And she had laughed at him! +</P> + +<P> +She had risen to her feet; there had come for an instant a flash like +that of fire in her eyes; her voice trembled a little when she spoke. +There was resentment in the poise of her white shoulders as Ransom's +voice came to them in a loud laugh from behind the palms; her red lips +showed disdain and anger. She hated Ransom for breaking in; she +despised Philip for allowing the interruption to tear away her triumph. +Her own betrayal of herself was like tonic to Philip. He laughed +joyously when he was alone out in the cool night air. Ransom never knew +why Philip hunted him out and shook his fat hand so warmly at parting. +</P> + +<P> +Philip again felt himself in the fever of that night as he turned from +the rock and began picking his way down the side of the ridge toward +the Bay. He found himself wondering what had become of good-natured, +dense-headed Ransom, who had all he could do to spend his father's +allowance. From Ransom his thoughts turned to little Harry Dell, +Roscoe, big Dan Philips, and three or four others who had sacrificed +their hearts at Miss Brokaw's feet. He grimaced as he thought of young +Dell, who had worshiped the ground she walked on, and who had gone +straight to the devil when she threw him over. He wondered, too, where +Roscoe was. He knew that Roscoe would have won out if it had not been +for the financial crash which took his brokerage firm off its feet and +left him a pauper. He had heard that Roscoe had gone up into British +Columbia to recuperate his fortune in Douglas fir. As for big Dan— +</P> + +<P> +Philip stumbled over a rock, and rose with a bruised knee. The shock +brought him back to realities, and a few moments later he stood upon +the narrow boulder-strewn beach, rubbing his knee and calling himself a +fool for allowing the old thoughts to stir him up. Out there, +somewhere, Brokaw and his daughter were coming. That Miss Brokaw was +with her father was a circumstance which was of no importance to him. +At least he told himself so, and set his face toward Churchill. +</P> + +<P> +To-night the stars and the moon seemed to be more than usually +brilliant. About him the great masses of rock, the tumbling surf, the +edge of the forest, and the Bay itself were illumined as if by the +light of a softly radiant day. He looked at his watch and found that it +was past midnight. He had been up since dawn, and yet he felt no touch +of fatigue, no need of sleep. He took off his cap and walked bareheaded +in the mellow light, his moccasined feet falling lightly, his eyes +alert to all that this wonderful night world might hold for him. Ahead +of him rose a giant mass of rock, worn smooth and slippery by the water +dashed against it in the crashing storms of countless centuries, and +this he climbed, panting when he reached the top. His eyes turned to +where he saw Fort Churchill sleeping along the edge of the Bay. +</P> + +<P> +In that same spot, a great pool of night-glow between two +forest-crowned ridges, it had lain for hundreds of years. He passed the +ancient landing-place of rocks, built a hundred and fifty years ago for +the first ships that came over the strange sea; he stood upon the +tumbled foundations of the Fort, that was still older, and saw the +starlight glinting on one of the brass cannon that lay where it had +fallen amid the debris, untouched and unmoved since the days, +ages-gone, when it had last thundered its welcome or its defiance +through the solitudes; he walked slowly along the shore where the sea +had lashed wearily for many a year, to reach the wilderness dead, and +where now, triumphant, the frothing surf bared gun-case coffins and +tumbled the bones of men down into its sullen depths. And such men! Men +who had lived and died when the world was unborn in a half of its +knowledge and science, when red blood was the great capital, strong +hearts the winners of life. And there were women, too, women who had +come with these men, and died with them, in the opening-up of a new +world. It was such men as these, and such women as these, that Philip +loved, and he walked with bared head and swiftly beating heart over the +unmarked jungle of the dead. +</P> + +<P> +And then he came to other things, the first low log buildings of +Churchill, to the silence of sleeping life. New buildings loomed +up—working quarters of men who were grubbing for dollars, the new +wharves, the skeletons of elevators, sullen, windowless warehouses, the +office-buildings of men who were already fighting and quarreling and +gripping at one another's throats in the struggle for supremacy, for +the biggest and ripest plums in this new land of opportunity. The +dollar-fight had begun, and the things that already marked its presence +loomed monstrous and grotesque to Philip, as if jeering at the +forgotten efforts of those whom the sea was washing away. And suddenly +it struck Philip that the sea, working ceaselessly, digging away at its +dead, was not the enemy of the nameless creatures in the gun-case +coffins, but that it was a friend, stanch through centuries, rescuing +them now from the desecration that was to come; and for a moment he was +resistless to the spirit that moved him about and made him face that +sea with something that was almost a prayer in his heart. +</P> + +<P> +As he turned he saw that a light had appeared in one of the low log +buildings which contained the two offices of the Keewatin Mines and +Lands Company. The light, and the bulky shadow of old Pearce, which +appeared for a moment on one of the drawn curtains, aroused Philip to +other thoughts. Since his arrival at Churchill he had made the +acquaintance of Pearce, and it struck him now that just such a man as +this might be Lord Fitzhugh Lee. The Keewatin Mines and Lands Company +had no mines and few lands, and yet Pearce had told him that they were +doing a hustling business down south, selling stock on mineral claims +that couldn't be worked for years. After all, was he any better than +Pearce? +</P> + +<P> +The old bitterness rose in him. He was no better than Pearce, no better +than this Lord Fitzhugh himself, and it was fate—fate and people, that +had made him so. He walked swiftly now, following close along the shore +in the hard stretch kept bare by the tides, until he came to the red +coals of half a dozen Indian fires on the edge of the forest beyond the +company's buildings. A dog scented him and howled. He heard a guttural +voice break in a word of command from one of the tepees, and there was +silence again. +</P> + +<P> +He turned to the right, burying himself deeper and deeper into the +great silence of the north, his quick steps keeping pace with the +thoughts that were passing through his brain. Fate, bad luck, +circumstance—they had been against him. He had told himself this a +hundred times, had laughed at them with the confidence of one who knew +that some day he would rise above these things in triumph. And yet what +were these elements of fortune, as he had called them, but people? A +feeling of personal resentment began to oppress him. People had downed +him, and not circumstance and bad luck. Men and women had made a +failure of him, and not fate. For the first time it occurred to him +that the very men and women whom Brokaw and his associates had duped, +whom Pearce was duping, would play the game in the same way if they had +the opportunity. What if he had played on the winning side, if he had +enlisted his fighting energies with men like Brokaw and Pearce, fought +for money and power in place of this other thing, which seemed to count +so little? Other men would have given much to have been in his favor +with Eileen Brokaw. He might have been in the front of this other +fight, the winning fight, the possessor of fortune, a beautiful woman— +</P> + +<P> +He stopped suddenly. It seemed to him that he had heard a voice. He had +climbed from out of the shadow of the forest until he stood now on a +gray cliff of rock that reached out into the Bay, like the point of a +great knife guarding Churchill. A block of sandstone rose in his path, +and he passed quietly around it. In another instant he had flattened +himself against it. +</P> + +<P> +A dozen feet away, full in the moonlight, three figures sat on the edge +of the cliff, as motionless as though hewn out of rock. Instinctively +Philip's hand slipped to his revolver holster, but he drew it back when +he saw that one of the three figures was that of a woman. Beside her +crouched a huge wolf-dog; on the other side of the dog sat a man. The +man was resting in the attitude of an Indian, with his elbows on his +knees, his chin in the palms of his hands, gazing steadily and silently +out over the Bay toward Churchill. +</P> + +<P> +It was his companion that held Philip motionless against the face of +the rock. She, too, was leaning forward, gazing in that same steady, +silent way toward Churchill. She was bareheaded. Her hair fell loose +over her shoulders and streamed down her back until it piled itself +upon the rock, shining dark and lustrous in the light of the moon. +Philip knew that she was not an Indian. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the girl sat erect, and then sprang to her feet, partly facing +him, the breeze rippling her hair about her face and shoulders, her +eyes turned to the vast gray depths of the world beyond the forests. +For an instant she turned so that the light of the moon fell full upon +her, and in that moment Philip thought that her eyes had searched him +out in the shadow of the rock and were looking straight into his own. +Never had he seen such a beautiful face among the forest people. He had +dreamed of such faces beside camp-fires, in the deep loneliness of long +nights in the forests, when he had awakened to bring before him visions +of what Eileen Brokaw might have been to him if he had found her one of +these people. He drew himself closer to the rock. The girl turned again +to the edge of the cliff, her slender form silhouetted against the +starlit sky. She leaned over the dog, and he heard her voice, soft and +caressing, but he could not understand her words. The man lifted his +head, and he recognized the swarthy, clear-cut features of a French +half-breed. He moved away as quietly as he had come. +</P> + +<P> +The girl's voice stopped him. +</P> + +<P> +"And that is Churchill, Pierre—the Churchill you have told me of, +where the ships come in?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that is Churchill, Jeanne." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment there was silence. Then, clear and low, with a wild, +sobbing note in her voice that thrilled Philip, the girl cried: +</P> + +<P> +"And I hate it, Pierre. I hate it—hate it—hate it!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip stepped out boldly from the rock. +</P> + +<P> +"And I hate it, too," he said. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VI +</H3> + +<P> +Scarce had he spoken when he would have given much to have recalled his +words, wrung from his lips by that sobbing note of loneliness, of +defiance, of half pain in the girl's voice. It was the same note, the +same spirit crying out against his world that he had listened to in the +moaning of the surf as it labored to carry away the dead, and in the +wind that sighed in the spruce-tops below the mountain, only now it was +the spirit speaking through a human voice. Every fiber in his body +vibrated in response to it, and he stood with bared head, filled with a +wild desire to make these people understand, and yet startled at the +effect which his appearance had produced. +</P> + +<P> +The girl faced him, her eyes shining with sudden fear. Quicker than her +own was the movement of the half-breed. In a flash he was upon his +feet, his dark face tense with action, his right hand gripping at +something in his belt as he bent toward the figure in the center of the +rock. His posture was that of an animal ready to spring. Close beside +him gleamed the white fangs of the wolf-dog. The girl leaned over and +twisted her fingers in the tawny hair that bristled on the dog's neck. +Philip heard her speak, but she did not move her eyes from his face. It +was the tableau of a moment, tense, breathless. The only thing that +moved was the shimmer of steel. Philip caught the gleam of it under the +half-breed's hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't do that, M'sieur," he said, pointing at the other's belt. "I am +sorry that I disturbed you. Sometimes I come up here—alone—to smoke +my pipe and listen to the sea down there. I heard you say that you hate +Churchill, and I hate it. That is why I spoke." +</P> + +<P> +He turned to the girl. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry. I beg your pardon." +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her with new wonderment. She had tossed back her loose +hair, and stood tall and straight in the moonlight, her dark eyes +gazing at him now calmly and without affright. She was dressed in rich +yellow buckskin, as soft as chamois. Her throat was bare. A deep collar +of lace fell over her shoulders. One hand, raised to her breast, +revealed a wide gauntlet cuff of red or purple plush, of a fashion two +centuries old. Her lips were parted, and he saw the faintest gleam of +her white teeth, the quick rising and falling of her bosom. He had +spoken directly to her, yet she gave no sign of having heard him. +</P> + +<P> +"You startled us, that is all, M'sieur," said Pierre, quietly. His +English was excellent, and as he spoke he bowed low to Philip. "It is I +whom you must pardon, M'sieur—for betraying so much caution." +</P> + +<P> +Philip held out his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"My name is Whittemore—Philip Whittemore," he said. "I'm staying at +Churchill until the ship comes in and—and I hope you'll let me sit +here on the rock." +</P> + +<P> +For an instant Pierre's fingers gripped his hand, and he bowed low +again like a courtier. Philip saw that he, too, wore the same big, +old-fashioned cuffs, and that it was not a knife that hung at his belt, +but a short rapier. +</P> + +<P> +"And I am Pierre—Pierre Couchee," he said. "And this—is my +sister—Jeanne. We do not belong to Fort Churchill, but come from Fort +o' God. Good night, M'sieur!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl had taken a step back, and now she swept him a courtesy so low +that her fallen hair streamed over her shoulders. She spoke no word, +but passed quickly with Pierre up the rock, and while Philip stood +stunned and speechless they disappeared swiftly into the white gloom of +the night. +</P> + +<P> +Mutely he gazed after them. For a long time he stood staring beyond the +rocks, marveling at the strangeness of this thing that had happened. An +hour before he had stood with bared head over the ancient dead at +Churchill, and now, on the rock, he had seen the resurrection of what +he had dreamed those dead to be in life. He had never seen people like +Pierre and Jeanne. Their strange dress, the rapier at Pierre's side, +his courtly bow, the low, graceful courtesy that the girl had made him, +all carried him back to the days of the old pictures that hung in the +factor's room at Churchill, when high-blooded gallants came into the +wilderness with their swords at their sides, wearing the favors of +court ladies next their hearts. Pierre, standing there on the rock, +with his hand on his rapier, might have been Grosellier himself, the +prince's favorite, and Jeanne— +</P> + +<P> +Something white on the rock near where the girl had been sitting caught +Philip's eyes. In a moment he held in his fingers a small handkerchief +and a broad ribbon of finely knit lace. In her haste to get away she +had forgotten these things. He was about to run to the crest of the +cliff and call loudly for Pierre Couchee when he held the handkerchief +and the lace close to his face and the delicate perfume of heliotrope +stopped him. There was something familiar about it, something that held +him wondering and mystified, until he knew that he had lost the +opportunity to recall Pierre and his companion. He looked at the +handkerchief more, closely. It was a dainty fabric, so soft that it +gave barely the sensation of touch when he crushed it in the palm of +his hand. For a few moments he was puzzled to account for the filmy +strip of lace. Then the truth came to him. Jeanne had used it to bind +her hair! +</P> + +<P> +He laughed softly, joyously, as he wound the bit of fabric about his +fingers and retraced his steps toward Churchill. Again and again he +pressed the tiny handkerchief to his face, breathing of its sweetness; +and the action suddenly stirred his memory to the solution of its +mystery. It was this same sweetness that had come to him on the night +that he had looked down into the beautiful face of Eileen Brokaw at the +Brokaw ball. He remembered now that Eileen Brokaw loved heliotrope, and +that she always wore a purple heliotrope at her white throat or in the +gold of her hair. For a moment it struck him as singular that so many +things had happened this day to remind him of Brokaw's daughter. The +thought hastened his steps. He was anxious to look at the picture +again, to convince himself that he had been mistaken. Gregson was +asleep when he re-entered the cabin. The light was burning low, and +Philip turned up the wick. On the table was the picture as Gregson had +left it. This time there was no doubt. He had drawn the face of Eileen +Brokaw. In a spirit of jest he had written under it, "The Wife of Lord +Fitzhugh." +</P> + +<P> +In spite of their absurdity the words affected Philip curiously. Was it +possible that Miss Brokaw had reached Fort Churchill in some other way +than by ship? And, if not, was it possible that in this remote corner +of the earth there was another woman who resembled her so closely? +Philip took a step toward Gregson, half determined to awaken him. And +yet, on second thought, he knew that Gregson could not explain. Even if +the artist had learned of his affair with Miss Brokaw and had secured a +picture of her in some way, he would not presume to go this far. He was +convinced that Gregson had drawn the picture of a face that he had seen +that day. Again he read the words at the bottom of the sketch, and once +more he experienced their curious effect upon him—an effect which it +was impossible for him to analyze even in his own mind. +</P> + +<P> +He replaced the picture upon the table and drew the handkerchief and +bit of lace from his pocket. In the light of the lamp he saw that both +were as unusual as had been the picturesque dress of the girl and her +companion. Even to his inexperienced eyes and touch they gave evidence +of a richness that puzzled him, of a fashion that he had never seen. +They were of exquisite workmanship. The lace was of a delicate ivory +color, faintly tinted with yellow. The handkerchief was in the shape of +a heart, and in one corner of it, so finely wrought that he could +barely make out the silken letters, was the word "Camille." +</P> + +<P> +The scent of heliotrope rose more strongly in the closed room, and from +the handkerchief Philip's eyes turned to the face of Eileen Brokaw +looking at him from out of Gregson's sketch. It was a curious +coincidence. He reached over and placed the picture face down. Then he +loaded his pipe, and sat smoking, his vision traveling beyond the +table, beyond the closed door to the lonely black rock where he had +come upon Jeanne and Pierre. Clouds of smoke rose about him, and he +half closed his eyes. He saw the girl again, as she stood there; he saw +the moonlight shining in her hair, the dark, startled beauty of her +eyes as she turned upon him; he heard again the low sobbing note in her +voice as she cried out her hatred against Churchill. He forgot Eileen +Brokaw now, forgot in these moments all that he and Gregson had talked +of that day. His schemes, his fears, his feverish eagerness to begin +the fight against his enemies died away in thoughts of the beautiful +girl who had come into his life this night. It seemed to him now that +he had known her for a long time, that she had been a part of him +always, and that it was her spirit that he had been groping and +searching for, and could never find. For the space of those few moments +on the cliff she had driven out the emptiness and the loneliness from +his heart, and there filled him a wild desire to make her understand, +to talk with her, to stand shoulder to shoulder with Pierre out there +in the night, a comrade. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly his fingers closed tightly over the handkerchief. He turned +and looked steadily at Gregson. His friend was sleeping, with his face +to the wall. +</P> + +<P> +Would not Pierre return to the rock in search of these articles which +his sister had left behind? The thought set his blood tingling. He +would go back—and wait for Pierre. But if Pierre did not return—until +to-morrow? +</P> + +<P> +He laughed softly to himself as he drew paper toward him and picked up +the pencil which Gregson had used. For many minutes he wrote steadily. +When he had done, he folded what he had written and tied it in the +handkerchief. The strip of lace with which Jeanne had bound her hair he +folded gently and placed in his breast pocket. There was a guilty flush +in his face as he stole silently to the door. What would Gregson say if +he knew that he—Phil Whittemore, the man whom he had once idealized as +"The Fighter," and whom he believed to be proof against all love of +woman—was doing this thing? He opened and closed the door softly. +</P> + +<P> +At least he would send his message to these strange people of the +wilderness. They would know that he was not a part of that Churchill +which they hated, that in his heart he had ceased to be a thing of its +breed. He apologized again for his sudden appearance on the rock, but +the apology was only an excuse for other things which he wrote, in +which for a few brief moments he bared himself to those whom he knew +would understand, and asked that their acquaintance might be continued. +He felt that there was something almost boyish in what he was doing; +and yet, as he hurried over the ridge and down into Churchill again, he +was thrilled as no other adventure had ever thrilled him before. As he +approached the cliff he began to fear that the half-breed would not +return for the things which Jeanne had left, or that he had already +re-visited the rock. The latter thought urged him on until he was half +running. The crest of the cliff was bare when he reached it. He looked +at his watch. He had been gone an hour. +</P> + +<P> +Where the moonlight seemed to fall brightest he dropped the +handkerchief, and then slipped back into the rocky trail that led to +the edge of the Bay. He had scarcely reached the strip of level beach +that lay between him and Churchill when from far behind him there came +the long howl of a dog. It was the wolf-dog. He knew it by the slow, +dismal rising of the cry and the infinite sadness with which it as +slowly died away until lost in the whisperings of the forest and the +gentle wash of the sea. Pierre was returning. He was coming back +through the forest. Perhaps Jeanne would be with him. +</P> + +<P> +For the third time Philip climbed back to the great moonlit rock at the +top of the cliff. Eagerly he faced the north, whence the wailing cry of +the wolf-dog had come. Then he turned to the spot where he had dropped +the handkerchief, and his heart gave a sudden jump. +</P> + +<P> +There was nothing on the rock. The handkerchief was gone! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VII +</H3> + +<P> +Philip stood undecided, his ears strained to catch the slightest sound. +Ten minutes had not elapsed since he had dropped the handkerchief. +Pierre could not have gone far among the rocks. It was possible that he +was concealed somewhere near him now. Softly he called his name. +</P> + +<P> +"Pierre—ho, Pierre Couchee!" +</P> + +<P> +There was no answer, and in the next breath he was sorry that he had +called. He went silently down the trail. He had come to the edge of +Churchill when once more he heard the howl of the dog far back in the +forest. He stopped to locate as nearly as he could the point whence the +sound came, for he was certain now that the dog had not returned with +Pierre, but had remained with Jeanne, and was howling from their camp. +</P> + +<P> +Gregson was awake and sitting on the edge of his bunk when Philip +entered the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +"Where the deuce have you been?" he demanded. "I was just trying to +make up my mind to go out and hunt for you. Stolen—lost—or something +like that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've been thinking," said Philip, truthfully. +</P> + +<P> +"So have I," said Gregson. "Ever since you came back, wrote that +letter, and went out again—" +</P> + +<P> +"You were asleep," corrected Philip. "I looked at you." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I was—when you looked. But I have a hazy recollection of you +sitting there at the table, writing like a fiend. Anyway, I've been +thinking ever since you went out of the door, and—I'd like to read +that Lord Fitzhugh letter again." +</P> + +<P> +Philip handed him the letter. He was quite sure from his friend's +manner of speaking that he had seen nothing of the handkerchief and the +lace. +</P> + +<P> +Gregson seized the paper lazily, yawned, and slipped it under the +blanket which he had doubled up for a pillow. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mind if I keep it for a few days. Phil?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Not in the least, if you'll tell me why you want it," said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"I will—when I discover a reason myself," replied his friend, coolly, +stretching himself out again in the bunk. "Remember when I dreamed that +Carabobo planter was sticking a knife into you, Phil?—and the next day +he tried it? Well, I've had a funny dream, I want to sleep on this +letter. I may want to sleep on it for a week. Better turn in if you +expect to get a wink between now and morning." +</P> + +<P> +For half an hour after he had undressed and extinguished the light +Philip lay awake reviewing the incidents of his night's adventure. He +was certain that his letter was in the hands of Pierre and Jeanne, but +he was not so sure that they would respond to it. He half expected that +they would not, and yet he felt a deep sense of satisfaction in what he +had done. If he met them again he would not be quite a stranger. And +that he would meet them he was not only confident, but determined. If +they did not appear in Fort Churchill he would hunt out their camp. +</P> + +<P> +He found himself asking a dozen questions, none of which he could +answer. Who was this girl who had come like a queen from out of the +wilderness, and this man who bore with him the manner of a courtier? +Was it possible, after all, that they were of the forests? And where +was Fort o' God? He had never heard of it before, and as he thought of +Jeanne's strange, rich dress, of the heliotrope-scented handkerchief, +of the old-fashioned rapier at Pierre's side, and of the exquisite +grace with which the girl had left him he wondered if such a place as +this Fort o' God must be could exist in the heart of the desolate +northland. Pierre had said that they had come from Fort o' God. But +were they a part of it? +</P> + +<P> +He fell asleep, the resolution formed in his mind to investigate as +soon as he found the opportunity. There would surely be those at +Churchill who would know these people; if not, they would know of Fort +o' God. +</P> + +<P> +Philip found Gregson awake and dressed when he rolled out of his bunk a +few hours later. Gregson had breakfast ready. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a good one to have company," growled the artist. "When you go +out mooning again please take me along, will you? Chuck your head in +that pail of water and let's eat. I'm starved." +</P> + +<P> +Philip noticed that his companion had tacked the sketch against one of +the logs above the table. +</P> + +<P> +"Pretty good for imagination, Greggy," he said, nodding. "Burke will +jump at that if you do it in colors." +</P> + +<P> +"Burke won't get it," replied Gregson, soberly, seating himself at the +table. "It won't be for sale." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +Gregson waited until Philip had seated himself before he answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, old man—get ready to laugh. Split your sides, if you want +to. But it's God's truth that the girl I saw yesterday is the only girl +I've ever seen that I'd be willing to die for!" +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure," agreed Philip. "I understand." +</P> + +<P> +Gregson stared at him in surprise. "Why don't you laugh?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"It is not a laughing matter," said Philip. "I say that I understand. +And I do." +</P> + +<P> +Gregson looked from Philip's face to the picture. +</P> + +<P> +"Does it—does it hit you that way, Phil?" +</P> + +<P> +"She is very beautiful." +</P> + +<P> +"She is more than that," declared Gregson, warmly. "If I ever looked +into an angel's face it was yesterday, Phil. For just a moment I met +her eyes—" +</P> + +<P> +"And they were—" +</P> + +<P> +"Wonderful!" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean—the color," said Philip, engaging himself with the food. +</P> + +<P> +"They were blue or gray. It is the first time I ever looked into a +woman's eyes without being sure of the color of them. It was her hair, +Phil—not this tinsel sort of gold that makes you wonder if it's real, +but the kind you dream about. You may think me a loon, but I'm going to +find out who she is and where she is as soon as I have done with this +breakfast." +</P> + +<P> +"And Lord Fitzhugh?" +</P> + +<P> +A shadow passed over Gregson's face. For a few moments he ate in +silence. Then he said: +</P> + +<P> +"That's what kept me awake after you had gone—thinking of Lord +Fitzhugh and this girl. See here, Phil. She isn't one of the kind up +here. There was breeding and blood in every inch of her, and what I am +wondering is if these two could be associated in any way. I don't want +it to be so. But—it's possible. Beautiful young women like her don't +come, traveling up to this knob-end of the earth alone, do they?" +</P> + +<P> +Philip did not pursue the subject. A quarter of an hour later the two +young men left the cabin, crossed the ridge, and walked together down +into Churchill. Gregson went to the Company's store, while Philip +entered the building occupied by Pearce. Pearce was at his desk. He +looked up with tired, puffy eyes, and his fat hands lay limply before +him. Philip knew that he had not been to bed. His oily face strove to +put on an appearance of animation and business as Philip entered. +</P> + +<P> +Philip produced a couple of cigars and took a chair opposite him. +</P> + +<P> +"You look bushed, Pearce," he began. "Business must be rushing. I saw a +light in your window after midnight, and I came within an ace of +calling. Thought you wouldn't like to be interrupted, so I put off my +business until this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Insomnia," said Pearce, huskily. "I can't sleep. Suppose you saw me at +work through the window?" There was almost an eager haste in his +question. +</P> + +<P> +"Saw nothing but the light," replied Philip, carelessly. "You know this +country pretty well, don't you, Pearce?" +</P> + +<P> +"Been 'squatting' on prospects for eight years, waiting for this damned +railroad," said Pearce, interlacing his thick fingers. "I guess I know +it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Then you can undoubtedly tell me the location of Fort o' God?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fort o' What?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fort o' God." +</P> + +<P> +Pearce looked blank. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a new one on me," he said, finally. "Never heard of it." He rose +from his chair and went over to a big map hanging against the wall. +Studiously he went over it with the point of his stubby forefinger. +"This is the latest from the government," he continued, with his back +to Philip, "but it ain't here. There's a God's Lake down south of +Nelson House, but that's the only thing with a God about it north of +fifty-three." +</P> + +<P> +"It's not so far south as that," said Philip, rising. +</P> + +<P> +Pearce's little eyes were fixed on him shrewdly. +</P> + +<P> +"Never heard of it," he repeated. "What sort of a place is it, a post—" +</P> + +<P> +"I have no idea," replied Philip. "I came for information more out of +curiosity than anything else. Perhaps I misunderstood the name. I'm +much obliged." +</P> + +<P> +He left Pearce in his chair and went directly to the factor's quarters. +Bludsoe, chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Company in the far north, +could give him no more information than had Pearce. He had never heard +of Fort o' God. He could not remember the name of Couchee. During the +next two hours Philip talked with French, Indian, and half-breed +trappers, and questioned the mail runner, who had come in that morning +from the south. No one could tell him of Fort o' God. +</P> + +<P> +Had Pierre lied to him? His face flushed with anger as this thought +came to him. In the next breath he assured himself that Pierre was not +a man who would lie. He had measured him as a man who would fight, and +not one who would lie. Besides, he had voluntarily given the +information that he and Jeanne were from Fort o' God. There had been no +excuse for falsehood. +</P> + +<P> +He purposely directed his movements so that he would not come into +contact with Gregson, little dreaming that his artist friend was +working under the same formula. He lunched with the factor, and a +little later went boldly back to the cliff where he had met Jeanne and +Pierre the preceding night. Although he had now come to expect no +response to what he had written, he carefully examined the rocks about +him. Then he set out through the forest in the direction from which had +come the howling of the wolf-dog. +</P> + +<P> +He searched until late in the afternoon, but found no signs of a recent +camp. For several miles he followed the main trail that led northward +from Fort Churchill. He crossed three times through the country between +this trail and the edge of the Bay, searching for smoke from the top of +every ridge that he climbed, listening for any sound that might give +him a clue. He visited the shack of an old half-breed deep in the +forest beyond the cliff, but its aged tenant could give him no +information. He had not seen Pierre and Jeanne, nor had he heard the +howling of their dog. +</P> + +<P> +Tired and disappointed, Philip returned to Churchill. He went directly +to his cabin and found Gregson waiting for him. There was a curious +look in the artist's face as he gazed questioningly at his friend. His +immaculate appearance was gone. He looked like one who had passed +through an uncomfortable hour or two. Perspiration had dried in dirty +streaks on his face, and his hands were buried dejectedly in his +trousers pockets. He rose to his feet and stood before his companion. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at me, Phil—take a good long look," he urged. +</P> + +<P> +Philip stared. +</P> + +<P> +"Am I awake?" demanded the artist. "Do I look like a man in his right +senses? Eh, tell me!" +</P> + +<P> +He turned and pointed to the sketch hanging against the wall. +</P> + +<P> +"Did I see that girl, or didn't I?" he went on, not waiting for Philip +to answer. "Did I dream of seeing her? Eh? By thunder, Phil—" He +whirled upon his companion, a glow of excitement taking the place of +the fatigue in his eyes. "I couldn't find her to-day. I've hunted in +every shack and brush heap in and around Churchill. I've hunted until +I'm so tired I can hardly stand up. And the devil of it is, I can find +no one else who got more than a glimpse of her, and then they did not +see her as I did. She had nothing on her head when I saw her, but I +remember now that something like a heavy veil fell about her shoulders, +and that she was lifting it when she passed. Anyway, no one saw her +like—that." He pointed to the sketch. "And she's gone—gone as +completely as though she came in a flying-machine and went away in one. +She's gone—unless—" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"Unless she is in concealment right here in Churchill. She's gone—or +hiding." +</P> + +<P> +"You have reason to suspect that she would be hiding," said Philip, +concealing the effect of the other's words upon him. +</P> + +<P> +Gregson was uneasy. He lighted a cigarette, puffed at it once or twice, +and tossed it through the open door. Suddenly he reached in his coat +pocket and pulled out an envelope. +</P> + +<P> +"Deuce take it, if I know whether I have or not!" he cried. "But—look +here, Phil. I saw the mail come in to-day, and I walked up as bold as +you please and asked if there was anything for Lord Fitzhugh. I showed +the other letter, and said I was Fitzhugh's agent. It went. And I +got—this!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip snatched at the letter which Gregson held out to him. His +fingers trembled as he unfolded the single sheet of paper which he drew +forth. Across it was written a single line: +</P> + +<P> +Don't lose an hour. Strike now. +</P> + +<P> +There was nothing more, except a large ink blot under the words. The +envelope was addressed in the same hand as the one he had previously +received. The men stared into each other's face. +</P> + +<P> +"It's singular, that's all," pursued Gregson. "Those words are +important. The writer expects that they will reach Lord Fitzhugh +immediately, and as soon as he gets them you can look for war. Isn't +that their significance? I repeat that it is singular this girl should +come here so mysteriously, and disappear still more so, just at this +psychological moment; and it is still more puzzling when you take into +consideration the fact that two hours before the runner came in from +the south another person inquired for Lord Fitzhugh's mail!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip started. +</P> + +<P> +"And they told you this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. It was a man who asked—a stranger. He gave no name and left no +word. Now, if it should happen to be the man who was with the girl when +I saw her—and we can find him—we've as good as got this Lord +Fitzhugh. If we don't find him—and mighty soon—it's up to us to start +for your camps and put them into fighting shape. See the point?" +</P> + +<P> +"But we've got the letter," said Philip. "Fitzhugh won't receive the +final word, and that will delay whatever plot he has ready to spring." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Phil," said Gregson, softly. "I always said that you were the +fighter and I the diplomat, yours the brawn and mine the brain. Don't +you see what this means? I'll gamble my right hand that these very +words have been sent to Lord Fitzhugh at two or three different points, +so that they would be sure of reaching him. I'm just as positive that +he has already received a copy of the letter which we have. Mark my +words, it's catch Lord Fitzhugh within the next few days—or fight!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip sat down, breathing heavily. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll send word to MacDougall," he said. "But I—I must wait for the +ship!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not leave word for Brokaw and join MacDougall?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because when the ship comes in I believe that a large part of this +mystery will be cleared up," replied Philip. "It is necessary that I +remain here. That will give us a few days in which to make a further +search for these people." +</P> + +<P> +Gregson did not urge the point, but replaced the second letter in his +pocket with the first. During the evening he remained at the cabin. +Philip returned to Churchill. For an hour he sat among the ruins of the +old fort, striving to bring some sort of order out of the chaos of +events that had occurred during the past few days. He was almost +convinced that he ought to reveal all that he knew to Gregson, and yet +several reasons kept him from doing so. If Miss Brokaw was on the +London ship when it arrived at Churchill, there would be no necessity +of disclosing that part of his own history which he was keeping secret +within himself. If Eileen was not on the ship her absence would be +sufficient proof to him that she was in or near Churchill, and in this +event he knew that it would be impossible for him to keep from +associating with her movements not only those of Lord Fitzhugh, but +also those of Jeanne and Pierre and of Brokaw himself. He could see but +two things to do at present, wait and watch. If Miss Brokaw was not +with her father, he would take Gregson fully into his confidence. +</P> + +<P> +The next morning he despatched a messenger with a letter for +MacDougall, at Blind Indian Lake, warning him to be on his guard and to +prepare the long line of sub-stations for possible attack. All this day +Gregson remained in the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +"It won't do for me to make myself too evident," he explained. "I've +called for Lord Fitzhugh's mail, and I'd better lie as low as possible +until the corn begins to pop." +</P> + +<P> +Philip again searched the forests to the north and west with the hope +of finding some trace of Pierre and Jeanne. The forest people were +beginning to come into Churchill from all directions to be present at +the big event of the year—the arrival of the London ship—and Philip +made inquiries on every trail. No one had seen those whom he described. +The fourth and fifth days passed without any developments. So far as he +could discover there was no Fort o' God, no Jeanne and Pierre Couchee. +He was completely baffled. The sixth day he spent in the cabin with +Gregson. On the morning of the seventh there came from far out over the +Bay the hollow booming of a cannon. +</P> + +<P> +It was the signal which for two hundred years the ships from over the +sea had given to the people of Churchill. +</P> + +<P> +By the time the two young men had finished their breakfasts and climbed +to the top of the ridge overlooking the Bay, the vessel had dropped +anchor half a mile off shore, where she rode safe from the rocks at low +tide. Along the shore below them, where Churchill lay, the forest +people were gathered in silent, waiting groups. Philip pointed to the +factor's big York boat, already two-thirds of the way to the ship. +</P> + +<P> +"We should have gone with Bludsoe," he said. "Brokaw will think this a +shabby reception on our part, and Miss Brokaw won't be half flattered. +We'll go down and get a good position on the pier." +</P> + +<P> +Fifteen minutes later they were thrusting themselves through the crowd +of men, women, children, and dogs congregated at the foot of the long +stone pier alongside which the ship would lie for two or three hours at +each high tide. Philip stopped among a number of Crees and half-breeds, +and laid a detaining hand upon Gregson's arm. +</P> + +<P> +"This is near enough, if you don't want to make yourself conspicuous," +he said. +</P> + +<P> +The York boat was returning. Philip pulled a cigar from his pocket and +lighted it. He felt his heart throbbing excitedly as the boat drew +nearer. He looked at Gregson. The artist was taking short, quick puffs +on his cigarette, and Philip wondered at the evident eagerness with +which he was watching the approaching craft. +</P> + +<P> +Until the boat ran close up under the pier its sail hid the occupants. +While the canvas still fluttered in the light wind Bludsoe sprang from +the bow out upon the rocks with a rope. Three or four of his men +followed. With a rattle of blocks and rings the sheet dropped like a +huge white curtain, and Philip took a step forward, scarce restraining +the exclamation that forced itself to his lips at the picture which it +revealed. Standing on the broad rail, her slender form poised for the +quick upward step, one hand extended to Bludsoe, was Eileen Brokaw! In +another instant she was upon the pier, facing the strange people before +her, while her father clambered out of the boat behind. There was a +smile of expectancy on her lips as she scanned the dark, silent faces +of the forest people. Philip knew that she was looking for him. His +pulse quickened. He turned for a moment to see the effect of the girl's +appearance upon Gregson. +</P> + +<P> +The artist's two hands had gripped his arm. They closed now until his +fingers were like cords of steel. His face was white, his lips set into +thin lines. For a breath he stood thus, while Miss Brokaw's scrutiny +traveled nearer to them. Then, suddenly, he released his hold and +darted back among the half-breeds and Indians, his face turning to +Philip's in one quick, warning appeal. +</P> + +<P> +He was not a moment too soon, for scarce had he gone when Miss Brokaw +caught sight of Philip's tall form at the foot of the pier. Philip did +not see the signal which she gave him. He was staring at the line of +faces ahead of him. Two people had worked their way through that line, +and suddenly every muscle in his body became tense with excitement and +joy. They were Pierre and Jeanne! +</P> + +<P> +He caught his breath at what happened then. He saw Jeanne falter for a +moment. He noticed that she was now dressed like the others about her, +and that Pierre, who stood at her shoulder, was no longer the fine +gentleman of the rock. The half-breed bent over her, as if whispering +to her, and then Jeanne ran out from those about her to Eileen, her +beautiful face flushed with joy and welcome as she reached out her arms +to the other woman. Philip saw a sudden startled look leap into Miss +Brokaw's face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She stared at +the forest girl, drew herself haughtily erect, and, with a word which +he could not hear, turned to Bludsoe and her father. For an instant +Jeanne stood as if some one had struck her a blow. Then, slowly, she +turned. The flush was gone from her face. Her beautiful mouth was +quivering, and Philip fancied that he could hear the low sobbing of her +breath. With a cry in which he uttered no name, but which was meant for +her, he sprang forward into the clear space of the pier. She saw him, +and darted back among her people. He would have followed, but Miss +Brokaw was coming to him now, her hand held out to him, and a step +behind were Brokaw and the factor. +</P> + +<P> +"Philip!" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +He spoke no word as he crushed her hand. The hot grip of his fingers, +the deep flush in his face, was interpreted by her as a welcome which +it did not require speech to strengthen. He shook hands with Brokaw, +and as the three followed after the factor his eyes sought vainly for +Pierre and Jeanne. +</P> + +<P> +They were gone, and he felt suddenly a thrill of repugnance at the +gentle pressure of Eileen Brokaw's hand upon his arm. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VIII +</H3> + +<P> +Philip did not see the hundred staring eyes that followed in wonderment +the tall, beautiful girl who walked at his side. He knew that Miss +Brokaw was talking and laughing, and that he was nodding his head and +answering her, while his brain raged for an idea that would give him an +excuse for leaving her to follow Jeanne and Pierre. The facts that +Gregson had left him so strangely, that Eileen had come with her +father, and that, instead of clearing up the mystery in which they were +so deeply involved, the arrival of the London ship had even more +hopelessly entangled them, were forgotten for the moment in the desire +to intercept Jeanne and Pierre before they could leave Churchill. Miss +Brokaw herself unconsciously gave him the opportunity for which he was +seeking. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't look very happy, Philip," she exclaimed, in a chiding voice, +meant only for his ears. "I thought—perhaps—my coming would make you +glad." +</P> + +<P> +Philip caught eagerly at the half question in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I feared you would notice it," he said, quickly. "I was afraid you +would think me indifferent because I did not go out to meet you in the +boat, and because I stood hidden at the end of the pier when you +landed. But I was looking for a man. I have been hunting for him for a +long time. And I saw his face just as we came through the crowd. That +is why I am—am rattled," he laughed. "Will you excuse me if I go back? +Can you find some excuse for the others? I will return in a few +minutes, and then you will not say that I am unhappy." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Brokaw drew her hand from his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely I will excuse you," she cried. "Hurry, or you may lose him. I +would like to go with you if it is going to be exciting." +</P> + +<P> +Philip turned to Brokaw and the factor, who were close behind them. +</P> + +<P> +"I am compelled to leave you here," he explained. "I have excused +myself to Miss Brokaw, and will rejoin you almost immediately." +</P> + +<P> +He lost no time in hurrying back to the shore of the Bay. As he had +expected, Jeanne and her companion were no longer in sight. There was +only one direction in which they could have disappeared so quickly, and +this was toward the cliff. Once hidden by the fringe of forest, he +hastened his steps until he was almost running. He had reached the base +of the huge mass of rock that rose up from the sea, when down the +narrow trail that led to the cliff there came a figure to meet him. It +was an Indian boy, and he advanced to question him. If Jeanne and +Pierre had passed that way the boy must surely have seen them. +</P> + +<P> +Before he had spoken the lad ran toward him, holding out something in +his hand. The question on Philip's lips changed to an exclamation of +joy when he recognized the handkerchief which he had dropped upon the +rock a few nights before, or one so near like it that he could not have +told them apart. It was tied into a knot, and he felt the crumpling of +paper under the pressure of his fingers. He almost tore the bit of lace +and linen in his eagerness to rescue the paper, which a moment later he +held in his fingers. Three short lines, written in a fine, +old-fashioned hand, were all that it held for him. But they were +sufficient to set his heart, beating wildly. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Will Monsieur come to the top of the rock to-night, some time between +the hours of nine and ten. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +There was no signature to the note, but Philip knew that only Jeanne +could have written it, for the letters were almost of microscopic +smallness, as delicate as the bit of lace in which they had been +delivered, and of a quaintness of style which added still more to the +bewildering mystery which already surrounded these people. He read the +lines half a dozen times, and then turned to find that the Indian boy +was slipping sway through the rocks. +</P> + +<P> +"Here—you," he commanded, in English. "Come back!" +</P> + +<P> +The boy's white teeth gleamed in a laugh as he waved his hand and +leaped farther away. From Philip his eyes shifted in a quick, searching +glance to the top of the cliff. In a flash Philip followed its +direction. He understood the meaning of the look. From the cliff Jeanne +and Pierre had seen his approach, and their meeting with the Indian boy +had made it possible for them to intercept him in this manner. They +were probably looking down upon him now, and in the gladness of the +moment Philip laughed up at the bare rocks and waved his cap above his +head as a signal of his acceptance of the strange invitation he had +received. +</P> + +<P> +Vaguely he wondered why they had set the meeting for that night, when +in three or four minutes he could have joined them up there in broad +day. But the central tangle of the mystery that had grown up about him +during the past few days was too perplexing to embroider with such a +minor detail as this, and he turned back toward Churchill with the +feeling that everything was working in his favor. During the next few +hours he would clear up the tangle, and in addition to that he would +meet Jeanne and Pierre. It was the thought of Jeanne, and not of the +surprises which he was about to explain, that stirred his blood as he +hurried back to the Fort. +</P> + +<P> +It was his intention to return to Eileen and her father. But he changed +this. He would first hunt up Gregson and begin his work there. He knew +that the artist would be expecting him, and he went directly to the +cabin, escaping notice by following along the fringe of the forest. +</P> + +<P> +Gregson was pacing back and forth across the cabin floor when Philip +arrived. His steps were quick and excited. His hands were thrust deep +in his trousers pockets. The butts of innumerable half-smoked +cigarettes lay scattered under his feet. He ceased his restless +movement upon his companion's interruption, and for a moment or two +gazed at Philip in blank silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he said, at last, "have you got anything to say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing," said Philip. "It's beyond me, Greggy. For Heaven's sake give +me an explanation!" +</P> + +<P> +There was nothing womanish in the hard lines of Gregson's face now. He +spoke with the suggestion of a sneer. +</P> + +<P> +"You knew—all the time," he said, coldly. "You knew that Miss Brokaw +and the girl whom I drew were one and the same person. What was the +object of your little sensation?" +</P> + +<P> +Philip ignored his question. He stepped quickly up to Gregson and +seized him by the arm. +</P> + +<P> +"It is impossible!" he cried, in a low voice. "They cannot be the same +person. That ship out there has not touched land since she left +Halifax. Until she hove in sight off Churchill she hasn't been within +two hundred miles of a coast this side of Hudson's Strait. Miss Brokaw +is as new to this country as you. It is beyond all reason to suppose +anything else." +</P> + +<P> +"Nevertheless," said Gregson, quietly, "it was Miss Brokaw whom I saw +the other day, and that is Miss Brokaw's picture." +</P> + +<P> +He pointed to the sketch, and freed his arm to light another cigarette. +There was a peculiar tone of finality in his voice which warned Philip +that no amount of logic or arguing on his part would change his +friend's belief. Gregson looked at him over his lighted match. +</P> + +<P> +"It was Miss Brokaw," he said again. "Perhaps it is within reason to +suppose that she came to Churchill in a balloon, dropped into town for +luncheon, and departed in a balloon, descending by some miraculous +chance aboard the ship that was bringing her father. However it may +have happened, she was in Churchill a few days ago. On that hypothesis +I am going to work, and as a consequence I am going to ask you for the +indefinite loan of the Lord Fitzhugh letter. Will you give me your word +to say nothing of that letter—for a few days?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is almost necessary to show it to Brokaw," hesitated Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"Almost—but not quite," Gregson caught him up. "Brokaw knows the +seriousness of the situation without that letter. See here, Phil—you +go out and fight, and let me handle this end of the business. Don't +reveal me to the Brokaws. I don't want to meet—her—yet, though God +knows if it wasn't for my confounded friendship for you I'd go over +there with you this minute. She was even more beautiful than when I saw +her—before." +</P> + +<P> +"Then there is a difference," laughed Philip, meaningly. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a difference, but a little better view," corrected the artist. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, if we could only find the other girl, what a mess you'd be in, +Greggy! By George, but this is beginning to have its humorous as well +as its tragic side. I'd give a thousand dollars to have this other +golden-haired beauty appear upon the scene!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll give a thousand if you produce her," retorted Gregson. +</P> + +<P> +"Good!" laughed Philip, holding out a hand. "I'll report again this +afternoon or to-night." +</P> + +<P> +Inwardly he felt himself in no humorous mood as he retraced his steps +to Churchill. He had thought to begin his work of clearing up the +puzzling situation with Gregson, and Gregson had failed him completely +by his persistence in the belief that Miss Brokaw was the girl whose +face he had seen more than a week before. Was it possible, after all, +that the ship had touched at some point up the coast? The supposition +was preposterous. Yet before rejoining the Brokaws he sought out the +captain and found that the company's vessel had come directly from +Halifax without a change or stop in her regular course. The word of the +company's captain cleared up his doubts in one direction; it mystified +him more than ever in another. He was convinced that Gregson had not +seen Miss Brokaw until that morning. But who was Eileen's double? Where +was she at this moment? What peculiar combination of circumstance had +drawn them both to Churchill at this particularly significant time? It +was impossible for him not to associate the girl whom Gregson had +encountered, and who so closely resembled Eileen, with Lord Fitzhugh +and the plot against his company. And it struck him with a certain +feeling of dread that, if his suspicions were true, Jeanne and Pierre +must also be mixed up in the affair. For had not Jeanne, in her error, +greeted Eileen as though she were a dear friend? +</P> + +<P> +He went directly to the factor's house, and knocked at the door opening +into the rooms occupied by Brokaw and his daughter. Brokaw admitted +him, and at Philip's searching glance about the room he nodded toward a +closed inner door and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Eileen is resting. It's been a hard trip on her, Phil, and she hasn't +slept for two consecutive nights since we left Halifax." +</P> + +<P> +Philip's keen glance told him that Brokaw himself had not slept much. +The promoter's eyes were heavy, with little puffy bags under them. But +otherwise he betrayed no signs of unrest or lack of rest. He motioned +Philip to a chair close to a huge fireplace in which a pile of birch +was leaping into flame, offered him a cigar, and plunged immediately +into business. +</P> + +<P> +"It's hell, Philip," he said, in a hard, quiet voice, as though he were +restraining an outburst of passion with effort. "In another three +months we'd have been on a working basis, earning dividends. I've even +gone to the point of making contracts that show us five hundred per +cent, profit. And now—this!" +</P> + +<P> +He dashed his half-burned cigar into the fire, and viciously bit the +end from another. +</P> + +<P> +Philip was lighting his own, and there was a moment's silence, broken +sharply by the financier. +</P> + +<P> +"Are your men prepared to fight?" +</P> + +<P> +"If it's necessary," replied Philip. "We can at least depend upon a +part of them, especially the men at Blind Indian Lake. But—this +fighting—Why do you think it will come to that? If there is fighting +we are ruined." +</P> + +<P> +"If the people rise against us in a body—yes, we are ruined. That is +what we must not permit. It is our one chance. I have done everything +in my power to beat this movement against us down south, and have +failed. Our enemies are completely masked. They have won popular +sentiment through the newspapers. Their next move is to strike directly +at us. Whatever is to happen will happen soon. The plan is to attack +us, to destroy our property, and the movement is to be advertised as a +retaliation for heinous outrages perpetrated by our men. It is possible +that the attack will not be by northerners alone, but by men brought in +for the purpose. The result will be the same—if it succeeds. The +attack is planned to be a surprise. Our one chance is to meet it, to +completely frustrate it—to strike an overwhelming blow, and to capture +enough of our assailants to give us the evidence we must have." +</P> + +<P> +Brokaw was excited. He emphasized his words with angry sweeps of his +arms. He clenched his fists, and his face grew red. He was not like the +old, shrewd, indomitable Brokaw, completely master of himself, never +revealing himself beyond the unruffled veil of his self-possession, and +Philip was surprised. He had expected that Brokaw's wily brain would +bring with it half a dozen schemes for the quiet undoing of their +enemies. And now here was Brokaw, the man who always hedged himself in +with legal breast-works—who never revealed himself to the shot of his +enemies—enlisting himself for a fight in the open! Philip had told +Gregson that there would be a fight. He was firmly convinced that there +would be a fight. But he had never believed that Brokaw would come to +join in it. He leaned toward the financier, his face flushed a little +by the warmth of the fire and by the knowledge that Brokaw was +relinquishing the situation entirely into his hands. If it came to +fighting, he would win. He was confident of himself there. But— +</P> + +<P> +"What will be the result if we win?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"If we secure those who will give the evidence we need—evidence that +the movement against us is a plot to destroy our company, the +government will stand by us," replied Brokaw. "I have sounded the +situation there. I have filed a formal declaration to the effect that +such a movement is on foot, and have received a promise that the +commissioner of police will investigate the matter. But before that +happens our enemies will strike. There is no time for red tape or +investigations. We must achieve our own salvation. And to achieve that +we must fight." +</P> + +<P> +"And if we lose?" +</P> + +<P> +Brokaw lifted his hands and shoulders with a significant gesture. +</P> + +<P> +"The moral effect will be tremendous," he said. "It will be shown that +the entire north is inimical to our company, and the government will +withdraw our option. We will be ruined. Our stockholders will lose +every cent invested." +</P> + +<P> +In moments of mental energy Philip was restless. He rose from his chair +now and moved softly back and forth across the carpeted floor of the +big room, shrouded in tobacco smoke. Should he break his word to +Gregson and tell Brokaw of Lord Fitzhugh? But, on second thought, what +good would come of it? Brokaw was already aware of the seriousness of +the situation. In some one of his unaccountable ways he had learned +that their enemies were to strike almost immediately, and his own +revelation of the Fitzhugh letters would but strengthen this evidence. +He would keep his faith with Gregson for the promised day or two. For +an hour the two men were alone in the room. At the end of that time +their plans were settled. The next morning Philip would leave for Blind +Indian Lake and prepare for war. Brokaw would follow two or three days +later. +</P> + +<P> +A heavy weight seemed lifted from Philip's shoulders when he left +Brokaw. After months of worry and weeks of physical inaction he saw his +way clear for the first time. And for the first time, too, something +seemed to have come into his life that filled him with a strange +exhilaration, and made him forgetful of the gloom that had settled over +him during these last months. That night he would see Jeanne. His body +thrilled at the thought, until for a time he forgot that he would also +see and talk with Eileen. A few days before he had told Gregson that it +would be suicidal to fight the northerners; now he was eager for +action, eager to begin and end the affair—to win or lose. If he had +stopped to analyze the change in himself he would have found that the +beautiful girl whom he had first seen on the moonlit rock was at the +bottom of it. And yet Jeanne was a northerner, one of those against +whom his actions must be directed. But he had confidence in himself, +confidence in what that night would bring forth. He was like one freed +from a bondage that had oppressed him for a long time, and the fact +that he might be compelled to fight Jeanne's own people did not destroy +his hopefulness, the new joy and excitement that he had found in life. +As he hurried back to his cabin he told himself that both Jeanne and +Pierre had read what he had sent to them in the handkerchief; their +response was a proof that they understood him, and deep down a voice +kept telling him that if it came to fighting they three, Pierre, +Jeanne, and himself, would rise or fall together. A few hours had +transformed him into Gregson's old appreciation of the fighting man. +Long and tedious months of diplomacy, of political intrigue, of bribery +and dishonest financiering, in which he had played but the part of a +helpless machine, were gone. Now he held the whip-hand; Brokaw had +acknowledged his own surrender. He was to fight—a clean, fair fight on +his part, and his blood leaped in every vein like marshaling armies. +That nights on the rock, he would reveal himself frankly to Pierre and +Jeanne. He would tell them of the plot to disrupt the company, and of +the work ahead of him. And after that— +</P> + +<P> +He thrust open the door of his cabin, eager to enlist Gregson in his +enthusiasm. The artist was not in. Philip noticed that the +cartridge-belt and the revolver which usually hung over Gregson's bunk +were gone. He never entered the cabin without looking at the sketch of +Eileen Brokaw. Something about it seemed to fascinate him, to challenge +his presence. Now it was missing from the wall. +</P> + +<P> +He threw off his coat and hat, filled his pipe, and began gathering up +his few possessions, ready for packing. It was noon before he was +through, and Gregson had not returned. He boiled himself some coffee +and sat down to wait. At five o'clock he was to eat supper with the +Brokaws and the factor; Eileen, through her father, had asked him to +join her an hour or two earlier in the big room. He waited until four, +and then left a brief note for Gregson upon the table. +</P> + +<P> +It was growing dusk in the forest. From the top of the ridge Philip +caught the last red glow of the sun, sinking far to the south and west. +A faint radiance of it still swept over his head and mingled with the +thickening gray gloom of the northern sea. Across the dip in the Bay +the huge, white-capped cliff seemed to loom nearer and more gigantic in +the whimsical light. For a few moments a red bar shot across it, and as +the golden fire faded and died away Philip could not but think it was +like a torch beckoning to him. A few hours more, and where that light +had been he would see Jeanne. And now, down there, Eileen was waiting +for him. +</P> + +<P> +His pulse quickened as he passed beyond the ancient fort, over the +burial-place of the dead, and into Churchill. He met no one at the +factor's, and the door leading into Miss Brokaw's room was partly ajar. +A great fire was burning in the fireplace, and he saw Eileen seated in +the rich glow of it, smiling at him as he entered. He closed the door, +and when he turned she had risen and was holding out her hands to him. +She had dressed for him, almost as on that night of the Brokaw ball. In +the flashing play of the fire her exquisite arms and shoulders shone +with dazzling beauty; her eyes laughed at him; her hair rippled in a +golden flood. Faintly there came to him, filling the room slowly, +tingling his nerves, the sweet scent of heliotrope—the perfume that +had filled his nostrils on that other night, a long time ago, the sweet +scent that had come to him in the handkerchief dropped on the rock, the +breath of the bit of lace that had bound Jeanne's hair! +</P> + +<P> +Eileen moved toward him. "Philip," she said, "now are you glad to see +me?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IX +</H3> + +<P> +Her voice broke the spell that had held him for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad to see you," he cried, quickly, seizing both her hands. +"Only I haven't quite yet awakened from my dream. It seems too +wonderful, almost unreal. Are you the old Eileen who used to shudder +when I told you of a bit of jungle and wild beasts, and who laughed at +me because I loved to sleep out-of-doors and tramp mountains, instead +of decently behaving myself at home? I demand an explanation. It must +be a wonderful change—" +</P> + +<P> +"There has been a change," she interrupted him. "Sit down, +Philip—there!" She nestled herself on a stool, close to his feet, and +looked up at him, her hands clasped under her chin, radiantly lovely. +"You told me once that girls like me simply fluttered over the top of +life like butterflies; that we couldn't understand life, or live it, +until somewhere—at some time—we came into touch with nature. Do you +remember? I was consumed with rage then—at your frankness, at what I +considered your impertinence. I couldn't get what you said out of my +mind. And I'm trying it." +</P> + +<P> +"And you like it?" He put the question almost eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." She was looking at him steadily, her beautiful gray eyes meeting +his own in a silence that stirred him deeply. He had never seen her +more beautiful. Was it the firelight on her face, the crimson leapings +of the flames, that gave her skin a richer hue? Was it the mingling of +fire and shadow that darkened her cheeks? An impulse made him utter the +words which passed through his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"You have already tried it," he said. "I can see the effects of it in +your face. It would take weeks in the forests to do that." +</P> + +<P> +The gray eyes faltered; the flush deepened. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I have tried it. I spent a half of the summer at our cottage on +the lake." +</P> + +<P> +"But it is not tan," he persisted, thrilled for a moment by the +discoveries he was making. "It is the wind; it is the open; it is the +smoke of camp-fires; it is the elixir of balsam and cedar and pine. +That is what I see in your face—unless it is the fire." +</P> + +<P> +"It is the fire, partly," she said. "And the rest is the wind and the +open of the seas we have come across, and the sting of icebergs. Ugh: +my face feels like nettles!" +</P> + +<P> +She rubbed her cheeks with her two hands, and then held up one hand to +Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"Look," she said. "It's as rough as sand-paper. Isn't that a change? I +didn't even wear gloves on the ship. I'm an enthusiast. I'm going down +there with you, and I'm going to fight. Now have you got anything to +say against me, Mr. Philip?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a lightness in her words, and yet not in her voice. In her +manner was an uneasiness, mingled with an almost childish eagerness for +him to answer, which Philip could not understand. He fancied that once +or twice he had caught the faintest sign of a break in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"You really mean to hazard this adventure?" he cried, softly, in his +astonishment. "You, whom wild horses couldn't drag into the wilderness, +as you once told me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she affirmed, drawing her stool back out of the increasing heat +of the fire. Her face was almost entirely in shadow now, and she did +not look at Philip. "I am beginning to—to love adventure," she went +on, in an even voice. "It was an adventure coming up. And when we +landed down there something curious happened. Did you see a girl who +thought that she knew me—" +</P> + +<P> +She stopped, and a sudden flash of the fire lit up her eyes, fixed on +him intently from between her shielding hands. +</P> + +<P> +"I saw her run out and speak to you," said Philip, his heart beating at +double-quick. He leaned over so that he was looking squarely into Miss +Brokaw's face. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you know her?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen her only twice—once before she spoke to you." +</P> + +<P> +"If I meet her again I shall apologize," said Eileen. "It was her +mistake, and she startled me. When she ran out to me like that, and +held out her hands I—I thought of beggars." +</P> + +<P> +"Beggars!" almost shouted Philip. "A beggar!" He caught himself with a +laugh, and to cover his sudden emotion turned to lay a fresh piece of +birch on the fire. "We don't have beggars up here." +</P> + +<P> +The door opened behind them and Brokaw entered. Philip's face was red +when he greeted him. For half an hour after that he cursed himself for +not being as clever as Gregson. He knew that there was a change in +Eileen Brokaw, a change which nature had not worked alone, as she +wished him to believe. Then, and at supper, he tried to fathom her. At +times he detected the metallic ring of what was unreal and make-believe +in what she said; at other times she seemed stirred by emotions which +added immeasurably to the sweetness and truthfulness of her voice. She +was nervous. He found her eyes frequently seeking her father's face, +and more than once they were filled with a mysterious questioning, as +if within Brokaw's brain there lurked hidden things which were new to +her, and which she was struggling to understand. She no longer held the +old fascination for Philip, and yet he conceded that she was more +beautiful than ever. Until to-night he had never seen the shadow of +sadness in her eyes; he had never seen them darken as they darkened +now, when she listened with almost feverish interest to the words which +passed between himself and Brokaw. He was certain that it was not a +whim that had brought her into the north. It was impossible for him to +believe that he had piqued at her vanity until she had leaped into +action, as she had suggested to him while they were sitting before the +fire. Could it be that she had accompanied her father because +he—Philip Whittemore—was in the north? +</P> + +<P> +The thought drew a slow flush into his face, and his uneasiness +increased when he knew that she was looking at him. He was glad when it +came time for cigars, and Eileen excused herself. He opened the door +for her, and told her that he probably would not see her again until +morning, as he had an important engagement for the evening. She gave +him her hand, and for a moment he felt the clinging of her fingers +about his own. +</P> + +<P> +"Good night," she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Good night." +</P> + +<P> +She drew her hand half away, and then, suddenly, raised her eyes +straight to his own. They were calm, quiet, beautiful, and yet there +came a quick little catch in her throat as she leaned so close to him +that she touched his breast, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"It will be best—best for everything—everybody—if you can influence +father to stay at Fort Churchill." +</P> + +<P> +She did not wait for him to reply, but hurried toward her room. For a +moment Philip stared after her in amazement. Then he took a step as if +to follow her, to call her back. The impulse left him as quickly as it +came, and he rejoined Brokaw and the factor. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. At half-past seven he +shook hands with the two men, lighted a fresh cigar, and passed out +into the night. It was early for his meeting with Pierre and Jeanne, +but he went down to the shore and walked slowly in the direction of the +cliff. He was still an hour early when he arrived at the great rock, +and sat down, with his face turned to the sea. +</P> + +<P> +It was a white, radiant night, such as he had seen in the tropics. Only +here, in the north, his vision reached to greater distances. Churchill +lay lifeless in its pool of light; the ship hung like a black +silhouette in the distance, with a cloud of jet-black smoke rising +straight up from its funnels, and spreading out high up against the +sky, a huge, ebon monster that cast its shadow for half a mile over the +Bay. The shadow held Philip's eyes. Now it was like a gigantic face, +now like a monster beast—now it reached out in the form of a great +threatening hand, as though somewhere in the mystery of the north it +sought a spirit-victim as potent as itself. +</P> + +<P> +Then the spell of it was broken. From the end of the shadow, which +reached almost to the base of the cliff on which Philip sat, there came +a sound. It was a clear, metallic sound that left the vibration of +steel in the air, and Philip leaned over the edge of the rock. Below +him the shadow was broken into a pool of rippling starlight. He heard +the faint dip of paddles, and suddenly a canoe shot from the shadow out +into the clear light of the moon and stars. +</P> + +<P> +It was a large canoe. In it he could make out four figures. Three of +them were paddling; the fourth sat motionless in the bow. They passed +under him swiftly, guiding their canoe so that it was soon hidden in +the shelter of the cliff. By the faint reflections cast by the +disturbed water, Philip saw that the occupants of the canoe had made an +effort to conceal themselves by following the course of the dense +shadow. Only the chance sound had led him to observe them. +</P> + +<P> +Under ordinary circumstances the passing of a strange canoe at night +would have had no significance for him. But at the present time it +troubled him. The manner of its approach through the shadow, the +strange quiet of its occupants, the stealth with which they had shot +the canoe under the cliff, were all unusual. Could the incident have +anything to do with Jeanne and Pierre? +</P> + +<P> +He waited until he heard the tiny bell in his watch tinkle the +half-hour, and then he set out slowly over the moonlit rocks to the +north. Jeanne and Pierre would surely come from that direction. It was +impossible to miss them. He walked without sound in his moccasins, +keeping close to the edge of the cliff so that he could look out over +the Bay. Two or three hundred yards beyond the big rock the sea-wall +swung in sharply, disclosing the open water, like a still, silvery +sheet, for a mile or more. Philip scanned it for the canoe, but as far +as he could see there was not a shadow. +</P> + +<P> +For a quarter of a mile he walked over the rocks, then returned. It was +nine o'clock. The moment had arrived for the appearance of Jeanne and +Pierre. He resumed his patrol of the cliff, and with each moment his +nervousness increased. What if Jeanne failed him? What if she did not +come to the rock? The mere thought made his heart sink with a sudden +painful throb. Until now the fear that Jeanne might disappoint him, +that she might not keep the tryst, had not entered his head. His faith +in this girl, whom he had seen but twice, was supreme. +</P> + +<P> +A second and a third time he patrolled the quarter mile of cliff. Again +his watch tinkled the half-hour, and he knew that the last minutes of +the appointed time had come. +</P> + +<P> +The third and last time he went beyond the quarter-mile limit, +searching in the white distances beyond. A low wind was rising from the +Bay; it rustled in the spruce and balsam tops of the forest that +reached up to the barren whiteness of the rock plateau on which he +stood; under him he heard, growing more and more distinct, the moaning +wash of the swelling tide. A moment of despair possessed him, and he +felt that he had lost. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the wind brought to him a different sound—a shout far down +the cliff, a second cry, and then the scream of a woman, deadened by +the wash of the sea and the increasing sweep of the wind among the +trees. +</P> + +<P> +He stood for a moment powerless, listening. The wind lulled, and the +woman's cry now came to him again—a voice that was filled with terror +rising in a wild appeal for help. With an answering shout he ran like a +swift-footed animal along the cliff. It was Jeanne who was calling! Who +else but Jeanne would be out there in the gray night—Jeanne and +Pierre? He listened as he ran, but there came no other sound. At last +he stopped, and drew in a great breath, to send out a shout that would +reach their ears. +</P> + +<P> +Above the fierce beating of his heart, the throbbing intake of his +breath, he heard sounds which were not of the wind or the sea. He ran +on, and suddenly the cliff dropped from under his feet, and he found +himself on the edge of a great rift in the wall of rock, looking across +upon a strange scene. In the brilliant moonlight, with his back against +a rock, stood Pierre, his glistening rapier in his hand, his thin, +lithe body bent for the attack of three men who faced him. It was but a +moment's tableau. The men rushed in. Muffled cries, blows, a single +clash of steel, and Pierre's voice rose above the sound of conflict. +"For the love of God, give me help, M'sieur!" He had seen Philip rush +up to the edge of the break in the cliff, and as he fought he cried out +again. +</P> + +<P> +"Shoot, M'sieur! In a moment it will be too late!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip had drawn his heavy revolver. He watched for an opportunity. The +men were fighting now so that Pierre had been forced between his +assailants and the breach in the wall. There was no chance to fire +without hitting him. +</P> + +<P> +"Run, Pierre!" shouted Philip. "Run—" +</P> + +<P> +He fired once, over the heads of the fighters, and as Pierre suddenly +darted to one side in obedience to his command there came for the first +time a shot from the other side. The bullet whistled close to his ears. +A second shot, and Pierre fell down like one dead among the rocks. +Again Philip fired—a third and a fourth time, and one of the three who +were disappearing in the white gloom stumbled over a rock, and fell as +Pierre had fallen. His companions stopped, picked him up, and staggered +on with him. Philip's last shot missed, and before he could reload they +were lost among the upheaved masses of the cliff. +</P> + +<P> +"Pierre!" he called. "Ho! Pierre Couchee!" +</P> + +<P> +There was no answer from the other side. +</P> + +<P> +He ran along the edge of the break, and in the direction of the forest +he found a place where he could descend. In his haste he fell; his +hands were scratched, blood flowed from a cut in his forehead when he +dragged himself up to the face of the cliff again. He tried to shout +when he saw a figure drag itself up from among the rocks, but his +almost superhuman exertions had left him voiceless. His wind whistled +from between his parted lips when he came to Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +Pierre was supporting himself against a rock. His face was streaming +with blood. In his hand he held what remained of the rapier, which had +broken off close to the hilt. His eyes were blazing like a madman's, +and his face was twisted with an agony that sent a thrill of horror +through Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"My hurt is nothing—nothing-M'sieur!" he gasped, understanding the +look in Philip's face. "It is Jeanne! They have gone—gone with +Jeanne!" The rapier slipped from his hand and he slid weakly down +against the rock. Philip dropped upon his knees, and with his +handkerchief began wiping the blood from the half-breed's face. For a +few moments Pierre's head hung limp against his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, Pierre?" he urged. "Tell me—quick! They have gone with +Jeanne!" +</P> + +<P> +Pierre's body grew rigid. With one great effort he seemed to marshal +all of his strength, and straightened himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Listen, M'sieur," he said, speaking calmly. "They set upon us as we +were going to meet you at the rock. There were four. One of them is +dead—back there. The others—with Jeanne—have gone in the canoe. It +is death—worse than death—for her—" +</P> + +<P> +His body writhed. In a passion he strove to rise to his feet. Then with +a groan he sank back, and for a moment Philip thought he was dying. +</P> + +<P> +"I will go, Pierre," he cried. "I will bring her back. I swear it." +</P> + +<P> +Pierre's hand detained him as he went to rise. +</P> + +<P> +"You swear—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"At the next break—there is a canoe. They have gone for the +Churchill—" +</P> + +<P> +Pierre's voice was growing weaker. In a spasm of sudden fear at the +dizziness which was turning the night black for him he clutched at +Philip's arm. +</P> + +<P> +"If you save her, M'sieur, do not bring her back," he whispered, +hoarsely. "Take her to Fort o' God. Lose not an hour—not a minute. +Trust no one. Hide yourselves. Fight—kill—but take her to Fort o' +God! You will do this—M'sieur—you promise—" +</P> + +<P> +He fell back limp. Philip lowered him gently, holding his head so that +he could look into the staring eyes that were still open and +understanding. +</P> + +<P> +"I will go, Pierre," he said. "I will take her to Fort o' God. And +you—" +</P> + +<P> +A shadow was creeping over Pierre's eyes. He was still fighting to +understand, fighting to hold for another breath or two the +consciousness that was fast slipping from him. +</P> + +<P> +"Listen," cried Philip, striving to rouse him. "You will not die. The +bullet grazed your head, and the wound has already stopped bleeding. +To-morrow you must go to Churchill and hunt up a man named Gregson—the +man I was with when you and Jeanne came to see the ship. Tell him that +an important thing has happened, and that he must tell the others I +have gone to the camps. He will understand. Tell him—tell him—" +</P> + +<P> +He struggled to find some final word for Gregson. Pierre still looked +at him, his eyes half closed now. +</P> + +<P> +Philip bent close down. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him," he said, "that I am on the trail of Lord Fitzhugh!" +</P> + +<P> +Scarcely had he uttered the name when Pierre's closing eyes shot open. +A groaning cry burst from his lips, and, as if that name had aroused +the last spark of life and strength within him into action, he wrenched +himself from Philip's arms, striving to speak. A trickle of fresh blood +ran over his face. Incoherent sounds rattled in his throat, and then, +overcome by his effort, he dropped back unconscious. Philip wound his +handkerchief about the wounded man's head and straightened out his +limbs. Then he rose to his feet and reloaded his revolver. His hands +were steady now. His brain was clear; the enervating thrill of +excitement had gone from his body. Only his heart beat like a racing +engine. +</P> + +<P> +He turned and ran in the direction which Pierre's assailants had taken, +his head lowered, his revolver held in front of him, on a level with +his breast. He had not gone a hundred yards when something stopped him. +In his path, with its face turned straight up to the moonlit sky, lay +the body of a man. For an instant Philip bent over it. The broken blade +of Pierre's rapier glistened under the man's throat. One lifeless hand +clutched at it, as though in the last moment of life he had tried to +draw it forth. The face was distorted, the eyes were still open, the +lips parted. Death had come with terrible suddenness. +</P> + +<P> +Philip bent lower, and stared into the face of the dead man. Where had +he seen that face before? +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he remembered. He drew back, and a cold sweat seemed to break +out all at once over his face and body. This man who lay with the +broken blade of Pierre Couchee's rapier in his breast had come ashore +from the London ship that day in company with Eileen and her father! +</P> + +<P> +For a space he was overwhelmed by the discovery. Everything that had +happened—the scene upon the rock when he first met Jeanne, the arrival +of the ship, the moment's tableau on the pier when Jeanne and Eileen +stood face to face—rushed upon him now as he gazed down into the +staring eyes at his feet. What did it all mean? Why had Lord Fitzhugh's +name been sufficient to drag the half-breed back from the brink of +unconsciousness? What significance was there in this strange +combination of circumstances that persisted in drawing Pierre and +Jeanne into the plot that threatened himself? Had there been truth, +after all, in those last words that he impressed upon the fainting +senses of Pierre Couchee's message to Gregson? +</P> + +<P> +He waited to answer none of the questions that leaped through his +brain. To-morrow some one would find Pierre, or Pierre would crawl down +into Churchill. And then there would be the dead man to account for. He +shuddered as he returned his revolver into his holster and braced his +limbs. It was an unpleasant task, but he knew that it must be done—to +save Pierre. He lifted the body clear of the rocks, and bending under +its weight carried it to the edge of the cliff. Far below sounded the +wash of the sea. He shoved his burden over the edge, and listened. +After a moment there came a dull splash. +</P> + +<P> +Then he hastened on, as Pierre had guided him. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +X +</H3> + +<P> +Soon Philip slackened his pace, and looked anxiously ahead of him. From +where he stood the cliff sloped down to a white strip of beach that +reached out into the night as far as he could see, hemmed close in by +the black gloom of the forest. Half-way down the slope the moonlight +was cut by a dark streak, and he found this to be the second break. He +had no difficulty in descending. Its sides were smooth, as though worn +by water. At the bottom white, dry sand slipped under his feet. He made +his way between the walls, and darkness shut him in. The trail grew +rougher. Near the shore he stumbled blindly among huge rocks and piles +of crumbling slate, wondering why Jeanne and Pierre had come this way +when they might have taken a smoother road. Close to the stony beach, +where the light was a little better, he made out the canoe which Pierre +had drawn into the shadows. +</P> + +<P> +Not until he had dragged it into the moonlight at the edge of the water +did he see that it was equipped as if for a long journey. Close to the +stern was a bulging pack, with a rifle strapped across it. Two or three +smaller caribou-skin bags lay in the center of the canoe. In the bow +was a thick nest of bearskin, and he knew that this was for Jeanne. +</P> + +<P> +Cautiously Philip launched himself, and with silent sweeps of the +paddle that made scarcely the sound of a ripple in the water set out in +the direction of Churchill. Jeanne's captors had a considerable start +of him, but he felt confident of his ability to overtake them shortly +if Pierre had spoken with truth when he said that they would head for +the Churchill River. He had observed the caution with which Pierre's +assailants had approached the cliff, and he was sure that they would +double that caution in their return, especially as their attack had +been interrupted at the last moment. For this reason he paddled without +great haste, keeping well within the concealment of the precipitous +shore, with his ears and eyes keenly alive to discover a sign of those +who were ahead of him. +</P> + +<P> +Opposite the rock where Pierre and Jeanne were to have met him he +stopped and stood up in the canoe. The wind had dispelled the smoke +shadow. Between him and the distant ship lay an unclouded sea. +Two-thirds of the distance to the vessel he made out the larger canoe, +rising and falling with the smooth undulations of the tide. He sank +upon his knees again and unstrapped Pierre's rifle. There was a +cartridge in the chamber. He made sure that the magazine was loaded, +and resumed his paddling. +</P> + +<P> +His mind worked rapidly. Within half an hour, if he desired, he could +overtake the other canoe. And what then? There were three to one, if it +came to a fight—and how could he rescue Jeanne without a fight? His +blood was pounding eagerly, almost with pleasure at the promise of what +was ahead of him, and he laughed softly to himself as he thought of the +odds. +</P> + +<P> +The ship loomed nearer; the canoe vanished behind it. A brief stop, a +dozen words of explanation, and Philip knew that he could secure +assistance from the vessel. After all, would that not be the wisest +course for him to pursue? For a moment he hesitated, and paddled more +slowly. If others joined with him in the rescue of Jeanne what excuse +could he offer for not bringing her back to Churchill? What would +happen if he returned with her? Why had Pierre roused himself from +something that was almost death to entreat him to take Jeanne to Fort +o' God? +</P> + +<P> +At the thought of Fort o' God a new strength leaped into his arms and +body, urging him on to cope with the situation single-handed. If he +rescued Jeanne alone, and went on with her as he had promised Pierre, +many things that were puzzling him would be explained. It occurred to +him again that Jeanne and Pierre might be the key to the mysterious +plot that promised to crash out the life of the enterprise he had +founded in the north. He found reasons for this belief. Why had Lord +Fitzhugh's name had such a startling effect upon Pierre? Why was one of +his assailants a man fresh from the London ship that had borne Eileen +Brokaw and her father as passengers? He felt that Jeanne could explain +these things, as well as her brother. She could explain the strange +scene on the pier, when for a moment she had stood crushed and startled +before Eileen. She could clear up the mystery of Gregson's sketch, for +if there were two Eileen Brokaws, Jeanne would know. With these +arguments he convinced himself that he should go on alone. Yet, behind +them there was another and more powerful motive. He confessed to +himself that he would willingly accept double the chances against him +to achieve Jeanne's rescue without assistance and to accompany her to +Fort o' God. The thought of their being together, of the girl's +companionship—perhaps for days—thrilled him with exquisite +anticipation. An hour or so ago he had been satisfied in the assurance +that he would see her for a few minutes on the cliff. Since then fate +had played his way. Jeanne was his own, to save, to defend, to carry on +to Fort o' God. +</P> + +<P> +Not for a moment did he hesitate at the danger ahead of him, and yet +his pursuit was filled with caution. Gregson, the diplomat, would have +seen the necessity of halting at the ship for help; Philip was +confident in himself. He knew that he would have at least three against +him, for he was satisfied that the man whom he had wounded on the cliff +was still in fighting trim. There might be others whom he had not taken +into account. +</P> + +<P> +He passed so close under the stern of the ship that his canoe scraped +against her side. For a few minutes the vessel had obstructed his view, +but now he saw again, a quarter of a mile distant, the craft which he +was pursuing. Jeanne's captors were heading straight for the river, and +as the canoe was now partly broadside to him he could easily make out +the figures in her, but not distinctly enough to make sure of their +number. He shoved out boldly into the moonlight, and, instead of +following in his former course, he turned at a sharp angle in the +direction of the shore. If the others saw him, which was probable, they +would think that he was making a landing from the ship. Once he was in +the deep fringe of shadow along the shore he could redouble his +exertions and draw nearer to them without being observed. +</P> + +<P> +No sooner had he readied the sheltering gloom than he bent to his +paddle and the light birch-bark fairly hissed through the water. Not +until he found himself abreast of the pursued did it occur to him that +he could beat them out to the mouth of the Churchill and lie in wait +for them. Every stroke of his paddle widened the distant between him +and the larger canoe. Fifteen minutes later he reached the edge of the +huge delta of wild rice and reeds through which the sluggish volume of +the river emptied into the Bay. The chances were that the approaching +canoe would take the nearest channel into the main stream, and Philip +concealed himself so that it would have to pass within twenty yards of +him. +</P> + +<P> +From his ambuscade he looked out upon the approaching canoe. He was +puzzled by the slowness of its progress. At times it seemed to stand +still, and he could distinguish no movement at all among its occupants. +At first he thought they were undecided as to which course to pursue, +but a few minutes more sufficed to show that this was not the reason +for their desultory advance. The canoe was headed for the first +channel. The solution came when a low but clear whistle signaled over +the water. Almost instantly there came a responsive whistle from up the +channel. +</P> + +<P> +Philip drew a quick breath, and a new sensation brought his teeth +together in sudden perplexity. It looked as though he had a bigger +fight before him than he had anticipated. +</P> + +<P> +At the signal from up-stream he heard the quick dip of paddles, and the +canoe cut swiftly toward him. He drew back the hammer of Pierre's rule, +and cleared a little space through the reeds and grass so that his view +into the channel was unobstructed. Three or four well-directed shots, a +quick dash out into the stream, and he would possess Jeanne. This was +his first thought. It was followed by others, rapid as lightning, that +restrained his eagerness. The night-glow was treacherous to shoot by. +What if he should miss, or hit Jeanne—or in the sudden commotion and +destruction of his shots the canoe should be overturned? A single +error, the slightest mishap to himself, would mean the annihilation of +his hopes. Even if he succeeded in directing his shots with accuracy, +both himself and Jeanne would almost immediately be under fire from +those above. +</P> + +<P> +He dropped back again behind the screen of reeds. The canoe drew +nearer. A moment more and it was almost abreast of him, and his heart +pounded like a swiftly beating hammer when he saw Jeanne in the stern. +She was leaning back as though unconscious. He could see nothing of her +face, but as the canoe passed within ten yards of his hiding-place he +saw the dark glow of her disheveled hair, which fell thickly over the +object against which she was resting. It was but a moment's view, and +they were gone. He had not looked at the three men in the canoe. His +whole being was centered upon Jeanne. He had seen no sign of life—no +movement in her body, not the flutter of a hand, and all his fears +leaped like brands of burning fire into his brain. He thought of the +inhuman plot which Lord Fitzhugh's letter had revealed; in the same +breath Pierre Couchee's words rang in his ears—"It is death—worse +than death—for her—" +</P> + +<P> +Was Jeanne the first victim of that diabolical scheme to awaken the +wrath of the northland? In the madness which possessed him now Philip +shoved out his canoe while there was still danger of discovery. +Fortunately none of the pursued glanced back, and a turn in the channel +soon hid them from view. Philip had recovered his self-possession by +the time he reached the turn. He assured himself that Jeanne was +unharmed as yet, and that when he saw her she had probably fainted from +excitement and terror. Her fate still lay before her, somewhere in the +deep and undisturbed forests up the Churchill. His one hope was to +remain undiscovered and to rescue her at the last moment when she was +taken ashore by her captors. +</P> + +<P> +He followed, close up against the reeds, never trusting himself out of +the shadows. After a little he heard voices, and a second canoe +appeared. There was a short pause, and the two canoes continued side by +side up the channel. A quarter of an hour brought both the pursuers and +the pursued into the main stream, which lay in black gloom between +forest walls that cut out all light but the shimmer of the stars. +</P> + +<P> +No longer could Philip see those ahead of him, but he guided himself by +occasional voices and the dip of paddles. At times, when the stream +narrowed and the forest walls gave him deeper shelter, he drew +perilously near with the hope of overhearing what was said, but he +caught only an occasional word or two. He listened in vain for Jeanne's +voice. Once he heard her name spoken, and it was followed by a low +laugh from some one in the canoe that had waited at the mouth of the +Churchill. A dozen times during the first half-hour after they entered +the main stream Philip heard this same laughing voice. +</P> + +<P> +After a time there fell a silence upon those ahead. No sound rose above +the steady dip of paddles, and the speed of the two canoes increased. +Suddenly, from far up the river, there came a voice, faintly at first, +but growing steadily louder, singing one of the wild half-breed songs +of the forest. The voice broke the silence of those in the canoes. They +ceased paddling, and Philip stopped. He heard low words, and after a +few moments the paddling was resumed, and the canoes turned in toward +the shore. Philip followed their movement, dropping fifty yards farther +down the stream, and thrust big birch-bark alongside a thick balsam +that had fallen into the river. +</P> + +<P> +The singing voice approached rapidly. Five minutes later a long company +canoe floated down out of the gloom. It passed so near that Philip +could see the picturesque figure in the stern paddling and singing. In +the bow kneeled an Indian working in stoic silence. Between them, in +the body of the canoe, sat two men whom he knew at a glance were white +men. The strangers and their craft slipped by with the quickness of a +shadow. +</P> + +<P> +Again Philip heard movements above him, and once more he took up the +pursuit. He wondered why Jeanne had not called for help when the +company canoe passed. If she was not hurt or unconscious, her captors +had been forced to hold a handkerchief or a brutal hand over her mouth, +perhaps at her throat! His blood grew hot with rage at the thought. +</P> + +<P> +For three-quarters of an hour longer the swift paddling up-stream +continued without interruption. Then the river widened into a small +lake, and Philip was compelled to hold back until the two canoes, which +he could see clearly now, had passed over the exposed area. +</P> + +<P> +By the time he dared to follow, Jeanne's captors were a quarter of a +mile ahead of him. He no longer heard their paddles when he entered the +stream at the upper end of the lake, and he bent to his work with +greater energy and less caution. Five minutes—ten minutes passed, and +he saw nothing, heard nothing. His strokes grew more powerful and the +canoe shot through the water with the swift cleavage of a knife. A +perspiration began to gather on his face, and a sudden chilling fear +entered him. Another five minutes and he stopped. The river swept out +ahead of him, broad and clear, for a quarter of a mile. There was no +sign of the canoes! +</P> + +<P> +For a few moments he remained motionless, drifting back with the slow +current of the stream, stunned by the thought that he had allowed +Jeanne's captors to escape him. Had they heard him and dropped in to +shore to let him pass? He swung his canoe about and headed down-stream. +In that case he could not miss them, if he used caution. But if they +had turned into some creek hidden in the gloom—were even now picking +their way through a secret channel that led back from the river— +</P> + +<P> +A groan burst from his lips as he thought of Jeanne. In that half mile +of river he could surely find where the canoes had gone, but it might +be too late. He went down in mid-stream, searching the shadows of both +shores. His heart sank like lead when he came to the lake. There was +but one thing to do now, and he ran his canoe close along the +right-hand shore, looking for an opening. His progress was slow. A +dozen times he entangled himself in masses of reeds and rice, or thrust +himself under over-hanging tree-tops and vines to investigate the +deeper gloom beyond. He had returned two-thirds of the distance to the +straight-water where he had given up the pursuit when the bow of his +canoe ran upon a smooth, sandy bar that shelved out thirty or forty +feet from the shore. Scarcely had he felt the grate of sand when with a +powerful shove he sent his canoe back, and almost in the same instant +Pierre's rifle leveled menacingly shoreward. Drawn up high and dry on +the sand-bar were the two canoes. +</P> + +<P> +For a space Philip expected that his appearance would be the signal for +some movement ashore; but as he drifted slowly away, his rifle still +leveled, he was filled more and more with the belief that he had not +been discovered. He allowed himself to drift until he knew that he was +hidden in the shadows, and then quietly worked himself in to shore. +Making no sound, he pulled himself up the bank and crept among the +trees toward the bar. There was no one guarding the canoes. He heard no +sound of voice, no crackling of brush or movement of reeds. For a full +minute he crouched and listened. Then he crept nearer and found where +both reeds and brush were trampled down into a path that led away from +the river. +</P> + +<P> +His heart gave a bound of joy, and he darted along the path, holding +his rifle ready for instant use. The trail wound through the tall grass +of a dry swamp meadow and, two hundred yards beyond the river, plunged +into a forest. He had barely entered this when he saw the glow of a +fire. It was only a short distance ahead, hidden in a deep hollow that +completely concealed its existence from the keenest eyes that might +pass along the river. Stealing cautiously to the crest of the little +knoll between him and the light, Philip found himself within fifty feet +of a camp. +</P> + +<P> +A big canvas tent was the first thing to come within his vision. The +fire was built against this face of a rock in front of this, and over +the fire hovered a man dragging out beds of coals with a forked stick. +Almost at the same moment a second man appeared from the tent, bearing +two huge skillets in one hand and a big pot in the other. At a glance +Philip knew that they were preparing to cook a meal, and that it was +for many instead of two. Wildly he searched the firelit spaces and the +shadows for a sign of Jeanne. He saw nothing. She was not in the camp. +The five or six men who had fled up the river with her were not there. +His fingers dug deep in the earth under him at the discovery, and once +more appalling fears overwhelmed him. Perhaps she had already met her +fate a little deeper in the forest. +</P> + +<P> +He crept over the edge of the knoll and worked himself down through the +low bush on the opposite side, which would bring him within a dozen +feet of the man over the fire. There he would have them at his mercy, +and at the point of his revolver would compel them to tell him where +Jeanne had been taken. The advantage was all in his favor. It would not +be difficult to make them prisoners and leave them secured while he +followed after their companions. +</P> + +<P> +He was intent only upon his plan, and did not take his eyes from the +men over the fire. He came to the end of the bush, and crouched with +head and shoulders exposed, his revolver in his hand. Suddenly a sound +close to the tent startled him. It was a low cough. The men over the +fire made no movement to look behind them, but Philip turned. +</P> + +<P> +In the shadow of a tree, which had concealed her until now, sat Jeanne. +She was tense and straight. Her white face was turned to him. Her +beautiful eyes glowed like stars. Her lips were parted; he could see +her quick, excited breathing. She saw him! She knew him! He could see +the joy of hope in her face and that she was crushing back an impulse +to cry out to him, even as he was restraining his own mad desire to +shout out his defiance and joy. And there in the firelight, his face +illumined, and oblivious for the moment of the presence of the two men, +Philip straightened himself and held out his arms with a glad smile to +Jeanne. +</P> + +<P> +Hardly had he turned to the men, ready to spring out upon them, when +there came a terrific interruption. There was a sudden crash in the +brush behind him, a menacing snarl, and a huge wolfish brute launched +itself at his throat. The swift instinct of self-preservation turned +the weapon intended for the men over the fire upon this unexpected +assailant. The snarling fangs of the husky were gleaming in his face +and the animal's body was against the muzzle of his revolver when +Philip fired. Though he escaped the fangs, he could not ward off the +impact of the dog's body, and in another moment he was sprawling upon +his back in the light of the camp. Before Philip could recover himself +Jeanne's startled guards were upon him. Flung back, he still possessed +his pistol, and pulled the trigger blindly. The report was muffled and +sickening. At the same moment a heavy blow fell upon his head, and a +furious weight crushed him back to the ground. He dropped his revolver. +His brain reeled; his muscles relaxed. He felt his assailant's fingers +at his throat, and their menace brought back every ounce of fighting +strength in his body. For a moment he lay still, his eyes closed, the +warm blood flowing over his face. He had worked this game once before, +years ago. He even thought of that time now, as he lay upon his back. +It had worked then, and it worked now. The choking fingers at his +throat loosened; the weight lifted itself a little from his chest. The +lone guard thought that he was unconscious, and Jeanne, who had +staggered to her feet, thought that he was dead. +</P> + +<P> +It was her cry, terrible, filled with agony and despair, that urged him +into action an instant too soon. His foe was still partly on his guard, +rising with a caution born of more than one wilderness episode, when +with a quick movement Philip closed with him. Locked in a deadly grip, +they rolled upon the ground; and, with a feeling of despair which had +never entered into his soul before, the terrible truth came to Philip +that the old strength was gone from his arms and that with each added +exertion he was growing weaker. For a moment he saw Jeanne. She stood +almost above them, her hands clutched at her breast. And as he looked, +she suddenly turned and ran to the fire. An instant more and she was +back, a red-hot brand in her hand. Philip saw it flash close to his +eyes, felt the heat of it; and then a scream, animal-like in its +ferocity and pain, burst from the lips of his antagonist. The man +reeled backward, clutching at his thick neck, where Jeanne had thrust +the burning stick. Philip rose to his knees. His fist shot out like +lightning against the other's jaw, and the second guard fell back in a +limp heap. +</P> + +<P> +Even as the blow fell, a loud shout came from close back in the forest, +followed by the crashing of many feet tearing through the underbrush. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XI +</H3> + +<P> +Philip and Jeanne stood face to face in the firelight. +</P> + +<P> +"Quick!" he cried. "We must hurry!" +</P> + +<P> +He bent over to pick up his revolver from the ground. His movement was +followed by a low sob of pain. Jeanne was swaying as though about to +faint. She fell in a crumpled heap before he could reach her side. +</P> + +<P> +"You are hurt!" he exclaimed. "Jeanne! Jeanne!" +</P> + +<P> +He was upon his knees beside her, crying out her name, half holding her +in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! I am not hurt—much," she replied, trying to recover herself. +"It is my ankle. I sprained it—on the cliff. Now—" +</P> + +<P> +She became heavier against his arm. Her eyes were limpid with pain. +</P> + +<P> +Rising, Philip caught her in his arms. The crashing of brush was within +pistol-shot distance of them, but in that moment he felt no fear. Life +leaped back into his veins. He wanted to shout back his defiance as he +ran with Jeanne along the path to the river. He could feel her pulsing +against him. His lips were in her hair. Her heart was beating wildly +against his own. One of her arms was about his shoulder, her hand +against his neck. Life, love, the joy of possession swept through him +in burning floods, and it seemed in these first moments of his contact +with Jeanne, in the first sound of her voice speaking to him, that the +passionate language of his soul must escape through his lips. For this +moment he had risked his life, had taken a hundred chances; he had +anticipated, and yet he had not dreamed beyond a hundredth part of what +it would mean for him. He looked down into the white face of the girl +as he ran. Her beautiful eyes were open to him. Her lips were parted; +her cheek lay against his breast. He did not realize how close he was +holding her until, at last, he stopped where he had hidden the canoe. +Then he felt her beating and throbbing against him, as he had felt the +quivering life of a frightened bird imprisoned in his hands. She drew a +deep breath when he opened his arms, and lifted her head. Her loose +hair swept over his breast and hands. +</P> + +<P> +He spoke no word as he placed her in the canoe. Not a whisper passed +between them as the canoe sped swiftly from the shore. A hundred yards +down the stream Philip headed straight across the river and plunged +into the shadows along the opposite bank. +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne was close to him. He could hear her breathing. Suddenly he felt +the touch of her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur, I must ask—about Pierre!" +</P> + +<P> +There was the thrill of fear in the low words. She leaned back, her +face a pale shadow in the deep gloom; and Philip bent over until he +felt her breath, and the sweetness of her hair filled his nostrils. +Quickly he whispered what had happened. He told her that Pierre was +hurt, but not badly, and that he had promised to take her on to Fort o' +God. +</P> + +<P> +"It is up the Churchill?" he questioned. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +They heard voices now, and almost opposite them they saw shadowy +figures running out to the canoes upon the sand-bar. +</P> + +<P> +"They will think that we are escaping toward Churchill," said Philip, +gloatingly. "It is the nearest refuge. See—" +</P> + +<P> +One of the canoes was launched, and shot swiftly down the river. A +moment later the second followed. The dip of paddles died away, and +Philip laughed softly and joyously. +</P> + +<P> +"They will hunt for us from now until morning between here and the Bay. +And then they will look for you again in Churchill." +</P> + +<P> +Philip was conscious, almost without seeing, that Jeanne had bowed her +head in her arms and that she was giving way now to the terrific strain +which she had been under. Not until he heard a low sob, which she +strove hard to choke back in her throat, did he dare to lean over again +and touch her. Whatever was throbbing in his heart, he knew that he +must hide it now. +</P> + +<P> +"You read the letter?" he asked, softly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, M'sieur." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you know—that you are safe with me!" +</P> + +<P> +There was pride and strength, the ring of triumph in his voice. It was +the voice of a man thrilled by his own strength, by the warmth of a +great love, by the knowledge that he was the protector of a creature +dearer to him than all else on earth. The truth of it set Jeanne +quivering. She reached out until in the darkness her two hands found +one of Philip's, and for a moment she held his paddle motionless in +midair. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, M'sieur," she whispered. "I trust you, as I would trust +Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +All the words that women had ever spoken to him were as nothing to +those few that fell softly from Jeanne's lips; in the clinging pressure +of her fingers as she uttered them were the concentrated joys of all +that he had dreamed of in the touch of women. He knelt silent, +motionless, until her hands left his own. +</P> + +<P> +"I am to take you to Fort o' God," he said, fighting to keep the +tremble of joy out of his voice. "And you—you must guide me." +</P> + +<P> +"It is far up the Churchill," she replied, understanding the question +he intended. "It is two hundred miles from the Bay." +</P> + +<P> +He put his strength into his paddle for ten minutes, and then ran the +canoe into shore fully half a mile above the sand-bar. He stepped out +into water up to his knees. +</P> + +<P> +"We must risk a little time here to attend to your injured ankle," he +explained. "Then you can arrange yourself comfortably among these robes +in the bow. Shall I carry you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You can—help," said Jeanne. She gave him her hand and made an effort +to rise. Instantly she sank back with a sob of pain. +</P> + +<P> +It was strange that her pain should fill him with a wonderful joy. He +knew that she was suffering, that she could not walk or stand alone. +And yet, back at the camp, she had risen in her torture and had come to +his rescue. She could not bear her own weight now, but then she had run +to him and had fought for him. The knowledge that she had done this, +and for him, filled him with an exquisite sensation. +</P> + +<P> +"I must carry you," he said, speaking to her with the calm decision +that he might have voiced to a little child. His tone reassured her, +and she made no remonstrance when he lifted her in his arms. For a +brief moment she lay against him again, and when he lowered her upon +the bank his hand accidentally touched the soft warmth of her face. +</P> + +<P> +"My specialty is sprains," he said, speaking a little lightly to raise +her spirits for the instant's ordeal through which she must pass. "I +have doctored half a dozen during the last three months. You must take +off your moccasin and your stocking, and I will make a bandage." +</P> + +<P> +He drew a big handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it in the water. +Then he searched along the shore for a dozen paces, until he found an +Indian willow. With his knife he scraped off a handful of bark, soaked +it in water, crushed it between his hands, and returned to her. +Jeanne's little foot lay naked in the starlight. +</P> + +<P> +"It will hurt just a moment," he said, gently. "But it is the only +cure. To-morrow it will be strong enough for you to stand upon. Can you +bear a little hurt?" +</P> + +<P> +He knelt before her and looked up, scarce daring to touch her foot +before she spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"I may cry," she said. +</P> + +<P> +Her voice fluttered, but it gave him permission. He folded the wet +handkerchief in the form of a bandage, with the willow bark spread over +it. Then, very gently, he seized her foot in one hand and her ankle in +the other. +</P> + +<P> +"It will hurt just a little," he soothed. "Only a moment." +</P> + +<P> +His fingers tightened. He put into them the whole strength of his grip, +pulling downward on the foot and upward on the ankle until, with a low +cry, Jeanne flung her hands over his. +</P> + +<P> +"There, it is done," he laughed, nervously. He wrapped the bandage +around so tightly that Jeanne could not move her foot, and tied it with +strips of cloth. Then he turned to the canoe while she drew on her +stocking and moccasin. +</P> + +<P> +He was trembling. A maddening joy pounded in his brain. Jeanne's voice +came to him sweetly, with a shyness in it that made him feel like a +boy. He was glad that the night concealed his face. He would have given +worlds to have seen Jeanne's. +</P> + +<P> +"I am ready," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He carried her to the bow of the canoe and fixed her among the robes, +arranging a place for her head so that she might sleep if she wished. +For the first time the light was so that he could see her plainly as +she nestled back in the place made for her. Their eyes met for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"You must sleep," he urged. "I shall paddle all night." +</P> + +<P> +"You are sure that Pierre is not badly hurt?" she asked, tremulously. +"You—you would not—keep the truth from me?" +</P> + +<P> +"He was not more than stunned," assured Philip. "It is impossible that +his wound should prove serious. Only there was no time to lose, and I +came without him. He will follow us soon." +</P> + +<P> +He took his position in the stern, and Jeanne lay back among the +bearskins. For a long time after that Philip paddled in silence. He had +hoped that Jeanne would give him an opportunity to continue their +conversation, in spite of his advice to her to secure what rest she +could. But there came no promise from the bow of the canoe. After half +an hour he guessed that Jeanne had taken him at his word, and was +asleep. +</P> + +<P> +It was disappointing, and yet there came a pleasurable throb with his +disappointment. Jeanne trusted him. She was sleeping under his +protection as sweetly as a child. Fear of her enemies no longer kept +her awake or filled her with terror. This night, under these stars, +with the wilderness all about them, she had given herself into his +keeping. His cheeks burned. He dipped his paddle noiselessly, so that +he might not interrupt her slumber. Each moment added to the fullness +of his joy, and he wished that he might only see her face, hidden in +the darkness of her hair and the bear-robes. +</P> + +<P> +The silence no longer seemed a silence to him. It was filled with the +beating of his heart, the singing of his love, a gentle sigh now and +then that came like a deeper breath between Jeanne's sweet lips. It was +a silence that pulsated with a voiceless and intoxicating life for him, +and he was happy. In these moments, when even their voices were +stilled, Jeanne belonged to him, and to him alone. He could feel the +warmth of her presence. He felt still the thrill of her breast against +his own, the touch of her hair upon his lips, the gentle clinging of +her arms. The spirit of her moved, and sat awake, and talked with him, +just as the old spirit of his dreams had communed with him a thousand +times in his loneliness. Dreams were at an end. Now had come reality. +</P> + +<P> +He looked up into the sky. The moon had dropped below the southwestern +forests, and there were only the stars above him, filling a gray-blue +vault in which there was not even the lingering mist of a cloud. It was +a beautifully clear night, and he wondered how the light fell so that +it did not reveal Jeanne in her nest. The thought that came to him then +set his heart tingling and made his face radiant. Even the stars were +guarding Jeanne, and refused to disclose the mystery of her slumber. He +laughed within himself. His being throbbed, and suddenly a voice seemed +to cry softly, trembling in its joy: +</P> + +<P> +"Jeanne! Jeanne! My beloved Jeanne!" +</P> + +<P> +With horror Philip caught himself too late. He had spoken the words +aloud. For an instant reality had transformed itself into the old +dream, and his dream-spirit had called to its mate for the first time +in words. Appalled at what he had said, Philip bent over and listened. +He heard Jeanne's breathing. It was deeper than before. She was surely +asleep! +</P> + +<P> +He straightened himself and resumed his paddling. He was glad now that +he had spoken. Jeanne seemed nearer to him after those words. +</P> + +<P> +Before this night he never realized how beautiful the wilderness was, +how complete it could be. It had offered him visions of new life, but +these visions had never quite shut out the memories of old pain. He +watched and listened. The water rippled behind his canoe; it trickled +in a soothing cadence after each dip of his paddle; he heard the gentle +murmur of it among the reeds and grasses, and now and then the gurgling +laughter of it, like the faintest tinkling of dainty bells. He had +never understood it before; he had never joined in its happiness. The +night sounds came to him with a different meaning, filled him with +different sensations. As he slipped quietly around a bend in the river +he heard a splashing ahead of him, and knew that a moose was feeding, +belly-deep, in the water. At other times the sound would have set his +fingers itching for a rifle, but now it was a part of the music of the +night. Later he heard the crashing of a heavy body along the shore and +in the distance the lonely howl of a wolf. He listened to the sounds +with a quiet pleasure instead of creeping thrills which they once sent +through him. Every sound spoke of Jeanne—of Jeanne and her world, into +which each stroke of his paddle carried them a little deeper. +</P> + +<P> +And yet the truth could not but come to him that Jeanne was but a +stranger. She was a creature of mystery, as she lay there asleep in the +bow of the canoe; he loved her, and yet he did not know her. He +confessed to himself, as the night lengthened, that he would be glad +when morning came. Jeanne would clear up a half of his perplexities +then, perhaps all of them. He would at least learn more about herself +and the reason for the attack at Fort Churchill. +</P> + +<P> +He paddled for another hour, and then looked at his watch by the light +of a match. It was three o'clock. +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne had not moved, but as the match burned out between his fingers +she startled him by speaking. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it nearly morning, M'sieur?" +</P> + +<P> +"An hour until dawn," said Philip. "You have been sleeping a long +time—" Her name was on his lips, but he found it a little more +difficult to speak now. And yet there was a gentleness in Jeanne's +"M'SIEUR" which encouraged him. "Are you getting hungry?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Pierre and my father always ask me that when THEY are starving," +replied Jeanne, sitting erect in her nest so that Philip saw her face +and the shimmer of her hair. "There is everything to eat in the pack, +M'sieur Philip, even to a bottle of olives." +</P> + +<P> +"Good!" cried Philip, delighted, "But won't you please cut out that +'m'sieur?' My greatest weakness is a desire to be called by my first +name. Will you?" +</P> + +<P> +"If it pleases you," said Jeanne. "There is everything there to eat, +and I will make you a cup of coffee, M'sieur—" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"Philip." +</P> + +<P> +There was a ripple of laughter in the girl's voice. Philip fairly +trembled. +</P> + +<P> +"You were prepared for this journey," he said. "You were going to leave +after you saw me on the rock. I have been wondering why—why you took +enough interest in me—" +</P> + +<P> +He knew that he was blundering, and in the darkness his face turned +red. Jeanne's tact was delightful. +</P> + +<P> +"We were curious about you," she said, with bewitching candor. "Pierre +is the most inquisitive creature in the world, and I wanted to thank +you for returning my handkerchief. I'm sorry you didn't find a bit of +lace which I lost at the same time!" +</P> + +<P> +"I did!" exclaimed Philip. +</P> + +<P> +He bit his tongue, and cursed himself at this fresh break. Jeanne was +silent. After a moment she said: +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I make you some coffee?" +</P> + +<P> +"Will you be able to do it? Your foot—" +</P> + +<P> +"I had forgotten that," she said. "It doesn't hurt any more. But I can +show you how." +</P> + +<P> +Her unaffected ingenuousness, the sweetness of her voice, the +simplicity and ease of her manner delighted Philip, and at the same +time filled him with amazement. He had never met a forest girl like +Jeanne. Her beauty, her queen-like bearing, when she had stood with +Pierre on the rock, had puzzled him and filled him with admiration. But +now her voice, the music of her words, her quickness of perception +added tenfold to those impressions. It might have been Miss Brokaw who +was sitting there in the bow talking to him, only Jeanne's voice was +sweeter than Miss Brokaw's; and even in the lightest of the words she +had spoken there was a tone of sincerity and truth. It flashed upon +Philip that Jeanne might have stepped from a convent school, where +gentle voices had taught her and language was formed in the ripe +fullness of music. In a moment he believed that something like this had +happened. +</P> + +<P> +"We will go ashore," he said, searching for an open space. "This must +be tedious to you, if you are not accustomed to it." +</P> + +<P> +"Accustomed to it, M'sieur—Philip!" exclaimed Jeanne, catching +herself. "I was born here!" +</P> + +<P> +"In the wilderness?" +</P> + +<P> +"At Fort o' God." +</P> + +<P> +"You have not always lived there?" +</P> + +<P> +For a brief space Jeanne was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, always, M'sieur. I am eighteen years old, and this is the first +time that I have ever seen what you people call civilization. It is my +first visit to Fort Churchill. It is the first time I have ever been +away from Fort o' God." +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne's voice was low and subdued. It rang with truth. In it there was +something that was almost tragedy. For a breath or two Philip's heart +seemed to stop its beating, and he leaned far over, looking straight +and questioningly into the beautiful face that met his own. In that +moment the world had opened and engulfed him in a wonder which at first +his mind could not comprehend. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XII +</H3> + +<P> +The canoe ran among the reeds, with its bow to the shore. Philip's +astonishment still held him motionless. +</P> + +<P> +"A little while ago you asked me if I would tell you anything +but—but—the truth," he stammered, trying to find words to express +himself, "and this—" +</P> + +<P> +"Is the truth," interrupted Jeanne, a little coolly. "Why should I tell +you an untruth, M'sieur?" +</P> + +<P> +Philip had asked himself that same question shortly after their first +meeting on the cliff. And now in the girl's question there was sounded +a warning for him to be more discreet. +</P> + +<P> +"I did not mean that," he cried, quickly. "Please forgive me. Only—it +is so wonderful, so almost IMPOSSIBLE to believe. Do you know what I +thought of for three-quarters of the night after I left you and Pierre +on the rock? It was of years—centuries ago. I put you and Pierre back +there. It seemed as though you had come to me from out of another +world, that you had strayed from the chivalry and beauty of some royal +court, that a queen's painter might have known and made a picture of +you, as I saw you there, but that to me you were only the vision of a +dream. And now you say that you have always lived here!" +</P> + +<P> +He saw Jeanne's eyes glowing. She had lifted herself from among the +bearskins and was leaning toward him. Her face was quivering with +emotion; her whole being seemed concentrated on his words. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur—Philip—did we seem—like that?" she asked, tremulously. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, or I would not have written the letter," replied Philip. He +leaned forward over the pack, and his face was close to Jeanne's. "I +had just passed over the place where men and women of a century or two +ago were buried, and when I saw you and Pierre I thought of them; of +Mademoiselle D'Arcon, who left a prince to follow her lover to a grave +back there at Churchill, and I wondered if Grosellier—" +</P> + +<P> +"Grosellier!" cried the girl. +</P> + +<P> +She was breathing quickly, excitedly. Suddenly she drew back with a +little, nervous laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad you thought of us like THAT," she added. "It was Grosellier, +le grand chevalier, who first lived at Fort o' God!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip could no longer restrain himself. He forgot that the canoe was +lying motionless among the reeds and that they were to go ashore. In a +voice that trembled with his eagerness to be understood, to win her +confidence, he told her fully of what had happened that night on the +cliff. He repeated Pierre's instructions to him, described his terrible +fear for her, and in it all withheld but one thing—the name of Lord +Fitzhugh Lee. Jeanne listened to him without a word. She sat as erect +as one of the slender reeds among which the canoe was hidden. Her dark +eyes never left his face. They seemed to have grown darker when he +finished. +</P> + +<P> +"May the great God reward you for what you have done," she said, in a +low voice, quivering with a suppressed passion. "You are brave, M'sieur +Philip—as brave as I have dreamed of men being." +</P> + +<P> +Philip's heart throbbed with delight, and yet he said quickly: +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't THAT. I have done nothing—nothing more than Pierre would +have done for me. But don't you understand? If there is to be a reward +for the little I have given—I could ask for nothing greater than your +confidence and Pierre's. There are reasons, and perhaps if I told you +those you would understand." +</P> + +<P> +"I do understand, without further explanation," answered Jeanne, in the +same low, strained voice. "You fought for Pierre on the cliff, and you +have saved—me. We owe you everything, even our lives. I understand, +M'sieur Philip," she said, more softly, leaning still nearer to him; +"but I can tell you nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"You prefer to leave that to Pierre," he said a little hurt. "I beg +your pardon." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! I don't mean that!" she cried, quickly. "You misunderstand me. +I mean that you know as much of this whole affair as I do, that you +know what I know, and perhaps more." +</P> + +<P> +The emotion which she had suppressed burst forth now in a choking sob. +She recovered herself in an instant, her eyes still upon Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"It was only a whim of mine that took us to Churchill," she went on, +before he could find words to say. "It is Pierre's secret why we lived +in our own camp and went down into Churchill but once—when the ship +came in. I do not know the reason for the attack. I can only guess—" +</P> + +<P> +"And your guess—" +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne drew back. For a moment she did not speak. Then she said, +without a note of harshness in her voice, but with the finality of a +queen: +</P> + +<P> +"Father may tell you that when we reach Fort o' God!" +</P> + +<P> +And then she suddenly leaned toward him again and held out both her +hands. +</P> + +<P> +"If you only could know how I thank you!" she exclaimed, impulsively. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Philip held her hands. He felt them trembling. In Jeanne's +eyes he saw the glisten of tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Circumstances have come about so strangely," he said, his heart +palpitating at the warm pressure of her fingers, "that I half believed +you and Pierre could help me in—in an affair of my own. I would give a +great deal to find a certain person, and after the attack on the cliff, +and what Pierre said, I thought—" +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated, and Jeanne gently drew her hands from him. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought that you might know him," he finished. "His name is Lord +Fitzhugh Lee." +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne gave no sign that she had heard the name before. The question in +her eyes remained unchanged. +</P> + +<P> +"We have never heard of him at Fort o' God," she said. +</P> + +<P> +Philip shoved the canoe more firmly upon the shore and stepped over the +side. +</P> + +<P> +"This Fort o' God must be a wonderful place," he said, as he bent over +to help her. "You have aroused something in me I never thought I +possessed before—a tremendous curiosity." +</P> + +<P> +"It is a wonderful place, M'sieur Philip," replied the girl, holding up +her hands to him. "But why should you guess it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because of you," laughed Philip. "I am half convinced that you take a +wicked delight in bewildering me." +</P> + +<P> +He found Jeanne a comfortable spot on the bank, brought her one of the +bearskins, and began collecting a pile of dry reeds and wood. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure of it," he went on. He struck a match, and the reeds flared +into flame, lighting up his face. +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne gave a startled cry. +</P> + +<P> +"You are hurt!" she exclaimed. "Your face is red with blood." +</P> + +<P> +Philip jumped back. +</P> + +<P> +"I had forgotten that. I'll wash my face." +</P> + +<P> +He waded into the edge of the water and began scrubbing himself. When +he returned, Jeanne looked at him closely. The fire illumined her pale +face. She had gathered her beautiful hair in a thick braid, which fell +over her shoulder. She appeared lovelier to him now than when he had +first seen her in the night-glow on the cliff. She was dressed the +same. He observed that the filmy bit of lace about her slender throat +was torn, and that one side of her short buckskin skirt was covered +with half-dried splashes of mud. His blood rose at these signs of the +rough treatment of those who had attacked her. It reached fever-heat +when, coming nearer, he saw a livid bruise on her forehead close up +under her hair. +</P> + +<P> +"They struck you?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +He stood with his hands clenched. She smiled up at him. +</P> + +<P> +"It was my fault," she explained. "I'm afraid I gave them a good deal +of trouble on the cliff." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed outright at the fierceness in Philip's face, and so sweet +was the sound of it to him that his hands relaxed and he laughed with +her. +</P> + +<P> +"So help me, you're a brick!" he cried. +</P> + +<P> +"There are pots and kettles and coffee and things to eat in the pack, +M'sieur Philip," reminded Jeanne, softly, as he still remained staring +down upon her. +</P> + +<P> +Philip turned to the canoe, with a laugh that was like a boy's. He +threw the pack at Jeanne's feet and unstrapped it. Together they sorted +out the things they wanted, and Philip cut crotched sticks on which he +suspended two pots of water over the fire. He found himself whistling +as he gathered an armful of wood along the shore. When he came back +Jeanne had opened a bottle of olives and was nibbling at one, while she +held out another to him on the end of a fork. +</P> + +<P> +"I love olives," she said. "Won't you have one?" +</P> + +<P> +He accepted the thing, and ate it joyously, though he hated olives. +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you acquire the taste?" he asked. "I thought it took a +course at college to make one like 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"I've been to college," answered Jeanne, quietly. There was a glow in +her cheeks now, a swift flash of tantalizing fun in her eyes, as she +fished after another olive. "I have been a student—a TENERIS ANNIS," +she added, and he stood stupefied. +</P> + +<P> +"That's Latin!" he gasped. +</P> + +<P> +"Oui, M'sieur. Wollen Sie noch eine Olive haben?" +</P> + +<P> +Laughter rippled in her throat. She held out another olive to him, her +face aglow. Firelight danced in her hair, flooding its darker shadows +with lights of red and gold. +</P> + +<P> +"I was sure of it," he exclaimed, convinced. "That's post-graduate +Latin and senior German, or I'm as mad as a March hare! Where—where +did you go to school?" +</P> + +<P> +"At Fort o' God. Quick, M'sieur Philip, the water is boiling over!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip sprang to the fire. Jeanne handed him coffee, and set out cold +meat and bread. For the first time that night he pulled out his pipe +and filled it with tobacco. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mind if I smoke, do you, Miss Jeanne?" he groaned. "Under +some circumstances tobacco is the only thing that will hold me up. Do +you know that you are shaking my confidence in you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have told you nothing but the truth," retorted Jeanne, innocently. +She was still busying herself over the pack, but Philip caught the +slightest gleam of her laughing teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"You are making fun of me," he remonstrated. "Tell me—where is this +Fort o' God, and what is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is far up the Churchill, M'sieur Philip. It is a log chateau, built +hundreds and hundreds of years ago, I guess. My father, Pierre, and I, +with one other, live there alone among the savages. I have never been +so far away from home before." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose," said Philip, "that the savages up your way converse in +Latin, Greek, and German—" +</P> + +<P> +"Latin, FRENCH, and German," corrected Jeanne. "We haven't added a +Greek course yet." +</P> + +<P> +"I know of a girl," mused Philip, as though speaking to himself, "who +spent five years in a girls' college, and she can talk nothing but +light English. Her name is Eileen Brokaw." +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne looked up, but only to point to the coffee. +</P> + +<P> +"It is done," she advised, "unless you like it bitter." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIII +</H3> + +<P> +Philip knew that Jeanne was watching him as he lifted the coffee from +the fire and placed the pot on the ground to cool. His mind was in a +hopeless tangle—a riot of things he would like to say, throbbing with +a hundred questions he would like to ask, one after another. And yet +Jeanne seemed bewitchingly unconscious of his uneasiness. Not one of +his references to names and events so vital to himself had in any way +produced a change in her. Was she, after all, innocent of all knowledge +in the things he wished to know? Was it possible that she was entirely +ignorant as to the identity of the men who had attacked Pierre and +herself on the cliff? Was it true that she did not know Eileen Brokaw, +that she had never heard of Lord Fitzhugh Lee, and that she had always +lived among the wild people of the north? By what miracle performed +here in the heart of a savage world could this girl talk to him in +German and Latin? Was she making fun of him? He turned to look at her +and found her dark, clear eyes upon him. She smiled at him in a tired +little way, and he saw nothing but sweetness and truth in her face. In +an instant every suspicion was swept away. He felt like a criminal for +having doubted her; and for a moment he was on the point of confessing +to her what had been in his thoughts. He restrained himself, and went +to the river to wash the pot-black from his hands. Jeanne was a mystery +to him, a mystery that delighted him and filled him each moment with a +deeper love. He saw the life and freedom of the forests in her every +movement—in the gesture of her hands, the bird-like poise of her +pretty head, the lithe grace of her slender body. She breathed the +forests. It glowed in her eyes, in the rich red of her lips, and +revealed its beauty and strength in the unconfined wealth of her +gold-brown hair. In a dozen ways he could see her primitiveness, her +kinship to the wilderness. She had told him the truth. Her eyes smiled +truth at him as he came up the bank. No other woman's eyes had ever +looked at him like hers; none had he seen so beautiful. And yet in them +he saw nothing that she would not have expressed in +words—companionship, trust, thankfulness that he was there to care for +her. Such eyes as those belonged only to the wilderness, brimming with +the flawless beauty of an undefiled nature. He had seen them, but not +so beautiful, in Cree women. He thought of Eileen Brokaw's eyes as he +looked at Jeanne's. They were very beautiful, but they were DIFFERENT. +Jeanne's could not lie. +</P> + +<P> +On a white napkin Jeanne had spread out cold meat, bread, pickles, and +cheese, and Philip brought her the coffee. He noticed that she was +resting a little of her weight upon her injured ankle. +</P> + +<P> +"Better?" he asked, indicating the bandaged ankle with a nod of his +head. +</P> + +<P> +"Much," replied Jeanne, as tersely. "I'm going to try standing upon it +in a few minutes. But not now. I'm starved." +</P> + +<P> +She gave him his coffee and began eating with a relish that made him +want to sit back and watch her. Instead, he joined her; and they ate +like two hungry children. It was when she turned him out a second cup +of coffee that Philip noticed her hand tremble a little. +</P> + +<P> +"If Pierre was here we would be quite happy, M'sieur Philip," she said, +uneasily. "I can't understand why he asked you to run away with me to +Fort o' God. If he is not badly hurt, as you have told me, why do we +not hide and wait for him? He would overtake us to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"There—there was no time to talk over plans," answered Philip, +inwardly embarrassed for a moment by the unexpectedness of Jeanne's +question. A vision of Pierre, bleeding and unconscious on the cliff, +leaped into his mind, and the thought that he had lied to Jeanne and +must still make her believe what was half false sickened him. There +was, after all, a chance that Pierre would never again come up the +Churchill. "Perhaps Pierre thought we would be hotly pursued," he went +on, seeing no escape from the demand in the girl's eyes. "In that event +it would be best for me to get you to Fort o' God as quickly as +possible. You must remember that Pierre was thinking of you. He can +care for himself. It may take him two or three days to get back the +strength of—of his arm," he finished, blindly. +</P> + +<P> +"He was wounded in the arm?" +</P> + +<P> +"And on the head," said Philip. "It was only a scalp wound, +however—nothing at all, except that it dazed him a little at the time." +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne pointed to the reflection of the fire on the river. +</P> + +<P> +"If we should be pursued?" she suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no danger," assured Philip, though he had left the flap of +his revolver holster unbuttoned. "They will search for us between their +camp and Churchill." +</P> + +<P> +"Citius venit periculum cum contemnitur," remonstrated Jeanne, half +smiling. +</P> + +<P> +She was pale, but Philip saw that she was making a tremendous effort to +appear brave and cheerful. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you are right," laughed Philip, "but I swear that I don't know +what you mean. I suppose you picked that lingo up among the Indians." +</P> + +<P> +He caught the faintest gleam of Jeanne's white teeth again as she bent +her head. +</P> + +<P> +"I have a tutor at home," she explained, softly. "You shall meet him +when we reach Fort o' God. He is the most wonderful man in the world." +</P> + +<P> +Her words sent a strange chill through Philip. They were filled with an +exquisite tenderness, a pride that sent her eyes back to his, glowing. +The questions that he had meant to ask died and faded away. He thought +of her words of a few minutes before, when he had asked about Fort o' +God. She had said, "My father, Pierre, and I, WITH ONE OTHER, live +there alone." The OTHER was the tutor, the man who had come from +civilization to teach this beautiful girl those things which had amazed +him, and this man was THE MOST WONDERFUL MAN IN THE WORLD. He had no +excuse for the feelings which were aroused in him. Only he knew, as he +rose to his feet, that a part of his old burden seemed suddenly to have +returned to his shoulders, and the old loneliness was beating at the +door of his heart. He rearranged the pack in silence, and the strength +and joy of life were gone from his arms when he helped Jeanne back to +her place among the bear-skins. He did not notice that her eyes were +watching him curiously, or that her lips trembled once or twice, as if +about to speak words which never came. Jeanne, as well as he, seemed to +have discovered something which neither dared to reveal in that last +five minutes on the shore. +</P> + +<P> +"There is one thing that I must know," said Philip, when they were +about to start, "and that is where to find Fort o' God? Is it on the +Churchill?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is on the Little Churchill, M'sieur, near Waskiaowaka Lake." +</P> + +<P> +Darkness concealed the effect of her words upon Philip. For a moment he +stared like one struck dumb. He stifled the exclamation that rose to +his lips. He felt himself trembling. He knew that if he spoke his voice +would betray him. +</P> + +<P> +NEAR WASKIAOWAKA LAKE! And Waskiaowaka was within thirty miles of his +own camp on the Blind Indian! If a bomb had burst under his feet he +could not have been more amazed than at this information, given to him +in Jeanne's quiet voice. Fort o' God—within thirty miles of the scene +where very soon he was to fight the great battle of his life! He dug +his paddle into the water and sent the canoe hissing up the river. His +blood pounded like that of a racehorse on the home-stretch. Of all the +things that had happened, of all he had learned, this was the most +significant. Every thought ran like a separate powder-flash to a single +idea, to one great, overpowering question. Were Fort o' God and its +people the key to the plot against himself and his company? Was it the +rendezvous of those who were striving to work his ruin? Doubt, +suspicion, almost belief came to him in those few moments, in spite of +himself. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at Jeanne. The gray dawn was breaking, and now light followed +swiftly and dissolved the last mist. In the chill of early morning, +when with the approach of the sun a cold, uncomfortable sweat rises +heavily from the earth and water, Jeanne had drawn one of the bearskins +closely about her. Her head was bare. Her hair, glistening with damp, +clung in heavy masses about her face. There was a bewitching +childishness about her, a pathetic appeal to him in the forlorn little +picture she made—so helpless, and yet so confident in him. Every +energy in him leaped up in defiance of the revolution which for a few +moments had stirred within him. And Jeanne, as though she had read the +working of his mind, looked straight at him and smiled, with a little +purring note in her throat that took the place of a thousand words. It +was such a smile, and yet not one of love, which puts the strength of +ten men in one man's arms; and Philip laughed back at her, every chord +in his body responding in joyous vibration to the delicate note that +had come with it. No matter what events might find their birth at Fort +o' God, Jeanne was innocent of all knowledge of plot or wrong-doing. +Once for all Philip convinced himself of this. +</P> + +<P> +The thought that came to him, as he looked at Jeanne, found voice +through his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know," he said, "if I never saw you again I would always have +three pictures of you in my memory. I would never forget how you looked +when I first saw you on the cliff—or as I see you now, wrapped in your +bearskins. Only—I would think of you—as you smiled." +</P> + +<P> +"And the third picture?" questioned Jeanne, little guessing what was in +his mind. "Would that be at the fire, when I burned the bad man's +neck—or—or when—" +</P> + +<P> +She stopped herself, and pouted her mouth in sudden vexation, while a +flush which Philip could easily see rose in her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"When I doctored your foot?" he finished, rather unchivalrously, +chuckling in his delight at her pretty discomfiture. "No, that wouldn't +be the third, Miss Jeanne. The other scene which I shall never forget +was that on the stone pier at Churchill, when you met a beautiful girl +who was coming off the ship." +</P> + +<P> +The blood leaped to Jeanne's face. Her soft lips tightened. A sudden +movement, and the bearskin slipped from her shoulders, leaving her +leaning a little forward, her eyes blazing. A dozen words had +transformed her from the child he had fancied her to a woman quivering +with some powerful emotion, her beautiful head proud and erect, her +nostrils dilating with the quickness of her breath. +</P> + +<P> +"That was a mistake," she said. There was no sign of passion in her +voice. It trembled a little, but that was all. "It was a mistake, +M'sieur Philip. I thought that I knew her, and—and I was wrong. +You—you must not remember THAT!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am no better than a wild beast," groaned Philip, hating himself. +"I'm the biggest idiot in the world when it comes to saying the wrong +thing, I never miss a chance. I didn't mean to say anything—that would +hurt—" +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't," interrupted the girl, quickly, seeing the distress in +his face. "You haven't said a thing that's wrong. Only I don't want you +to remember THAT picture. I want you to think of me as—as—I burned +the bad man's neck." +</P> + +<P> +She was laughing now, though her breast was rising and falling a little +excitedly and the deep color was still in her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you?" she entreated. +</P> + +<P> +"Until I die," he exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +She was fumbling under the luggage, and dragged forth a second paddle. +</P> + +<P> +"I've had an easy time with you, M'sieur Philip," she said, turning so +that she was kneeling with her back to him. "Pierre makes me work. +Always I kneel here, in the bow, and paddle. I am ashamed of myself. +You have worked all night." +</P> + +<P> +"And I feel as fresh as though I had slept for a week," declared +Philip, his eyes devouring the slim figure a paddle's length in front +of him. +</P> + +<P> +For an hour they continued up the river, with scarcely a word between +them to break the silence. Their paddles rose and fell with a rhythmic +motion; the water rippled like low music under their canoe; the spell +of the silent shores, of voiceless beauty, of the wilderness awakening +into day appealed to them both and held them quiet. The sun broke +faintly through the drawn mists behind. Its first rays lighted up +Jeanne's rumpled hair, so that her heavy braid, partly undone and +falling upon the luggage behind her, shone in rich and changing colors +that fascinated Philip. He had thought that Jeanne's hair was very +dark, but he saw now that it was filled with the rare life of a Titian +head, running from red to gold and dark brown, with changing shadows +and flashes of light. It was beautiful. And Jeanne, as he looked at +her, he thought to be the most beautiful thing on earth. The movement +of her arms, the graceful, sinuous twists of her slender body as she +put her strength upon the paddle, the poise of her head, the piquant +tilt to her chin whenever she turned so that he caught a half profile +of her flushed, eager face all filled his cup of admiration to +overflowing. And he found himself wondering, suddenly, how this girl +could be a sister to Pierre Couchee. He saw in her no sign of French or +half-breed blood. Her hair was fine and soft, and waved about her ears +and where it fell loose upon the back. The color in her cheeks was as +delicate as the tints of the bakneesh flower. She had rolled up her +broad cuffs to give her greater freedom in paddling, and her arms shone +white and firm, glistening with the wet drip of the paddle. He was +marveling at her relationship to Pierre when she looked back at him, +her face aglow with exercise and the spice of the morning, and he saw +the sunlight as blue as the sky above him in her eyes. If he had not +known, he would have sworn that there was not a drop of Pierre's blood +in her veins. +</P> + +<P> +"We are coming to the first rapids, M'sieur Philip," she announced. "It +is just beyond that ugly mountain of rock ahead of us, and we will have +a quarter-mile portage. It is filled with great stones and so swift +that Pierre and I nearly wrecked ourselves coming down." +</P> + +<P> +It was the most that had been said since the beginning of that +wonderful hour that had come before the first gleam of sunrise, and +Philip, laying his paddle athwart the canoe, stretched himself and +yawned, as though he had just awakened. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor boy," said Jeanne; and it struck him that her words were +strangely like those which Eileen might have spoken had she been there, +only an artless comradeship replaced what would have been Miss Brokaw's +tone of intimacy. She added, with genuine sympathy in her face and +voice: "You must be exhausted, M'sieur Philip. If you were Pierre I +should insist upon going ashore for a number of hours. Pierre obeys me +when we are together. He calls me his captain. Won't you let me command +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you will let me call you—my captain," replied Philip. "Only there +is one thing—one reservation. We must go on. Command me in everything +else, but we must go on—for a time. To-night I will sleep. I will +sleep like the dead. So, My Captain," he laughed, "may I have your +permission to work to-day?" +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne was turning the bow shoreward. Her back was turned to him again. +</P> + +<P> +"You have no pity on me," she pouted. "Pierre would be good to me, and +we would fish all day in that pretty pool over there. I'll bet it's +full of trout." +</P> + +<P> +Her words, her manner of speaking them, was a new revelation to Philip. +She was delightful. He laughed, and his voice rang out in the clear +morning like a school-boy's. Jeanne pretended that she saw nothing to +laugh at, and no sooner had the canoe touched shore than she sprang +lightly out, not waiting for his assistance. With a laughing cry, she +stumbled and fell. Philip was at her side in an instant. +</P> + +<P> +"You shouldn't have done that," he objected. "I am your doctor, and I +insist that your foot is not well." +</P> + +<P> +"But it is!" cried Jeanne, and he saw that there was laughter instead +of pain in her eyes. "It's the bandage. My right foot feels like that +of a Chinese debutante. Ugh! I'm going to undo it." +</P> + +<P> +"You've been to China, too," mused Philip, half to himself. +</P> + +<P> +"I know that it's filled with yellow girls, and that they squeeze their +feet like this," said Jeanne, unlacing her moccasin. "My tutor and I +have just finished a delightful trip along the Great Wall. We'd go to +Peking, in an automobile, if I wasn't afraid." +</P> + +<P> +Philip's groan was audible. He went to the canoe, and Jeanne's red lips +curled in a merriment which it was hard for her too suppress. Philip +did not see. When he had unloaded the canoe and turned, Jeanne was +walking slowly back and forth, limping a little. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right," she said, answering the question on his lips. "I +don't feel any pain at all, but my foot's asleep. Won't you please +unstrap the small pack? I'm going to make my toilet while you are gone +with the canoe." +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour later Philip unshouldered the canoe at the upper end of +the rapids. His own toilet articles were back in the cabin with +Gregson, but he took a wash in the river and combed his hair with his +fingers. When he returned, there was a transformation in Jeanne. Her +beautiful hair was done up in shining coils. She had changed her +bedraggled skirt for another of soft, yellow buckskin. At her throat +she wore a fluffy mass of crimson stuff which seemed to reflect a +richer rose-flush in her cheeks. A curious thought came to Philip as he +looked at her. Like a flash the memory of a certain night came to +him—when it had taken Miss Brokaw and her maid two hours to make a +toilet for a ball. And Jeanne, in the heart of a wilderness, had made +herself more beautiful than Eileen. He imagined, as she stood before +him, a little embarrassed by the admiration in his eyes, the sensation +Jeanne would create in a ballroom at home. And then he laughed—laughed +joyously at thoughts which he could not reveal to Jeanne, and which +she, by some quick intuition, knew that she should not ask him to +express. +</P> + +<P> +Twice again Philip made the portage, accompanied the second time by +Jeanne, who insisted on carrying a small pack and two paddles. In spite +of his determination and splendid physique, Philip began to feel the +effects of the tremendous strain which he had been under for so long. +He counted back and found that he had slept but six hours in the last +forty-eight. There was a warning ache in his shoulders and a gnawing +pain in the bones of his forearms. But he knew that he had not yet made +sufficient headway up the Churchill. It would not be difficult for him +to make a camp far enough back in the bush to avoid discovery; but, at +the same time, if he and Jeanne were pursued, the stop would give their +enemies a chance to get ahead of them. This danger he wished to escape. +</P> + +<P> +He flattered himself that Jeanne saw no signs of his weakening. He did +not know that Jeanne put more and more effort into her paddle, until +her arms and body ached, because she saw the truth. +</P> + +<P> +The Churchill narrowed and its current became swifter as they +progressed. Five portages were made between sunrise and eleven o'clock. +They ate dinner at the fifth, and rested for two hours. Then the +journey was resumed. It was three o'clock when Jeanne dropped her +paddle and turned to Philip. There were deep lines in his face. He +smiled, but there was more of haggard misery than cheer in the smile. +There was an unnatural flush in his cheeks, and he began to feel a +burning pain where the blow had fallen upon his head before. For a full +half-minute Jeanne looked at him without speaking. "Philip," she +said—and it was the first time she had spoken his name in this way, "I +insist upon going ashore immediately. If you do not land—now—in that +opening ahead, I shall jump out, and you can go on alone." +</P> + +<P> +"As you say—my Captain Jeanne," surrendered Philip, a little dizzily. +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne guided the canoe to the shore, and was the first to spring out, +while Philip steadied the light craft with his paddle. She pointed to +the luggage. +</P> + +<P> +"We will want the tent—everything," she said, "because we are going to +camp here until to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +Once on shore, Philip's dizziness left him. He pulled the canoe high up +on the bank, and then Jeanne and he set off, side by side, to explore +the high, wooded ground back from the river. They followed a well-worn +moose trail, and two or three hundred yards from the stream came upon a +small opening cluttered by great rocks and surrounded by clumps of +birch, spruce, and banskian pine. The moose trail crossed this rough +open space; and, following it to the opposite side, Philip and Jeanne +came upon a clear, rippling little stream, scarcely two yards in width, +hidden in places under thick caribou moss and jungles of seedling +pines. It was an ideal camping spot, and Jeanne gave a little cry of +delight when they found the cold water of the creek. +</P> + +<P> +Philip then returned to the river, concealed the canoe, covered up all +traces of their landing, and began to carry the camping outfit back to +the open. The small silk tent for Jeanne's use he set up in a little +grassy corner of the clearing, and built their fire a dozen paces from +it. With a sort of thrilling pleasure he began cutting balsam boughs +for Jeanne's bed. He cut armful after armful, and it was growing dusk +in the forest by the time he was done. In the glow and the heat of the +fire Jeanne's cheeks were as pink as an apple. She had turned a big +flat rock into a table, and as she busied herself about this she burst +suddenly into a soft ripple of song; then, remembering that it was not +Pierre who was near her, she stopped. Philip, with his last armful of +bedding, was directly behind her, and he laughed happily at her over +the green mass of balsam when she turned and saw him looking at her. +</P> + +<P> +"You like this?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"It is glorious!" cried Jeanne, her eyes flashing. She seemed to grow +taller before him, and stood with her head thrown back, lips parted, +gazing upon the wilderness about her. "It is glorious!" she repeated, +breathing deeply. "There is nothing in the whole world that could make +me give this up, M'sieur Philip. I was born in it. I want to die in it. +Only—" +</P> + +<P> +Her face clouded for a moment as her eyes rested upon his. +</P> + +<P> +"Your civilization is coming north to spoil it all," she added, and +turned to the rock table. +</P> + +<P> +Philip dropped his load. +</P> + +<P> +"Supper is ready," she said, and the cloud had passed. +</P> + +<P> +It was Jeanne's first reference to his own people, to the invasion of +civilization into the north, and there recurred to Philip the words in +which she had cried out her hatred against Churchill. But Jeanne did +not betray herself again. She was quiet while they were eating, and +Philip saw that she was very tired. When they had finished, they sat +for a few minutes watching the lowering flames of the fire. Darkness +had gathered about them. Their faces and the rock were illumined more +and more faintly as the embers died down. A silence fell upon them. In +the banskians close behind them an owl hooted softly, a cautious, +drumming note, as though the night-bird possessed still a fear of the +newly dead day. The brush gave out sound—voices infinitesimally small, +strange quiverings, rustlings that might have been made by wind, by +breath, by shadows, almost. Overhead the tips of the spruce and tall +pines whispered among themselves, as they never commune by day. Spirits +seemed to move among them, sending down to Jeanne's and Philip's +listening ears a restful, sleepy murmur. Farther back there sounded a +deep sniff, where a moose, traveling the well-worn trail, stopped in +sudden fear and wonder at the strange man-scent which came to its +nostrils. And still farther, from some little lake nameless and +undiscovered in the black depths of the forest to the south, a great +northern loon sent out its cowardly cry of defiance to all night +things, and then plunged deep under water, as though frightened into +the depths by its own mad jargon. The fire died lower. Philip moved a +little nearer to the girl, whose breathing he could hear. +</P> + +<P> +"Jeanne," he said, softly, fighting to keep himself from touching her +hand, "I know what you mean—I understand. Two years ago I gave up +civilization for this. I am glad that I wrote to you as I did, for now +you will believe me and know that I understand. I love this world up +here as you love it. I am never going back again." +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"But there is one thing, at least one—which I cannot understand in +you," he went on, nerving himself for what might come a moment later. +"You are of this world—you hate civilization—and yet you have brought +a man into the north to teach you its ways. I mean this man who you say +is the most wonderful man in the world." +</P> + +<P> +He waited, trembling. It seemed an eternity before Jeanne answered. And +then she said: +</P> + +<P> +"He is my father, M'sieur Philip." +</P> + +<P> +Philip could not speak. Darkness hid him from Jeanne. She did not see +that which leaped into his face, and that for a moment he was on the +point of flinging himself at her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"You spoke of yourself, of Pierre, of your father, and of one other at +Fort o' God," said Philip. "I thought that he—the other—was your +tutor." +</P> + +<P> +"No, it is Pierre's sister," replied Jeanne. +</P> + +<P> +"Your sister! You have a sister?" +</P> + +<P> +He could hear Jeanne catch her breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Listen, M'sieur,'" she said, after a moment. "I must tell you a little +about Pierre, a story of something that happened a long, long time ago. +It was in the middle of a terrible winter, and Pierre was then a boy. +One day he was out hunting and he came upon a trail—the trail of a +woman who had dragged herself through the snow in her moccasined feet. +It was far out upon a barren, where there was no life, and he followed. +He found her, M'sieur, and she was dead. She had died from cold and +starvation. An hour sooner he might have saved her, for, wrapped up +close against her breast, he found a little child—a baby girl, and she +was alive. He brought her to Fort o' God, M'sieur—to a noble man who +lived there almost alone; and there, through all these years, she has +lived and grown up. And no one knows who her mother was, or who her +father was, and so it happens that Pierre, who found her, is her +brother, and the man who has loved her and cared for her is her father." +</P> + +<P> +"And she is the other at Fort o' God—Pierre's sister," said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne rose from the rock and moved toward the tent, glimmering +indistinctly in the night. Her voice came back chokingly. +</P> + +<P> +"No, M'sieur. Pierre's real sister is at Fort o' God. I am the one whom +he found out on the barren." +</P> + +<P> +To the night sounds there was added a heart-broken sob, and Jeanne +disappeared in the tent. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIV +</H3> + +<P> +Philip sat where Jeanne had left him. He was powerless to move or to +say a word that might have recalled her. Her own grief, quivering in +that one piteous sob, overwhelmed him. It held him mute and listening, +with the hope that each instant the tent-flap might open and Jeanne +reappear. And yet if she came he had no words to say. Unwittingly he +had probed deep into one of those wounds that never heal, and he +realized that to ask forgiveness would be but another blunder. He +almost groaned as he thought of what he had done. In his desire to +understand, to know more about Jeanne, he had driven her into a corner. +What he had forced from her he might have learned a little later from +Pierre or from the father at Fort o' God. He thought that Jeanne must +despise him now, for he had taken advantage of her helplessness and his +own position. He had saved her from her enemies; and in return she had +opened her heart, naked and bleeding, to his eyes. What she had told +him was not a voluntary confidence; it was a confession wrung from her +by the rack of his questionings—the confession that she was a +waif-child, that Pierre was not her brother, and that the man at Fort +o' God was not her father. He had gone to the very depths of that which +was sacred to herself and those whom she loved. +</P> + +<P> +He rose and stirred the fire, and stray ends of birch leaped into +flame, lighting his pale face. He wanted to go to the tent, kneel there +where Jeanne could hear him, and tell her that it was all a mistake. +Yet he knew that this could not be, neither the next day nor the next, +for to plead extenuation for himself would be to reveal his love. Two +or three times he had been on the point of revealing that love. Only +now, after what had happened, did it occur to him that to disclose his +heart to Jeanne would be the greatest crime he could commit. She was +alone with him in the heart of a wilderness, dependent upon him, upon +his honor. He shivered when he thought how narrow had been his escape, +how short a time he had known her, and how in that brief spell he had +given himself up to an almost insane hope. To him Jeanne was not a +stranger. She was the embodiment, in flesh and blood, of the spirit +which had been his companion for so long. He loved her more than ever +now, for Jeanne the lost child of the snows was more the earthly +revelation of his beloved spirit than Jeanne the sister of Pierre. +But—what was he to Jeanne? +</P> + +<P> +He left the fire and went to the pile of balsam which he had spread out +between two rocks for his bed. He lay down and pulled Pierre's blanket +over him, but his fatigue and his desire for sleep seemed to have left +him, and it was a long time before slumber finally drove from him the +thought of what he had done. After that he did not move. He heard none +of the sounds of the night. A little owl, the devil-witch, screamed +horribly overhead and awakened Jeanne, who sat up for a few moments in +her balsam bed, white-faced and shivering. But Philip slept. Long +afterward something warm awakened him, and he opened his eyes, thinking +that it was the glow of the fire in his face. It was the sun. He heard +a sound which brought him quickly into consciousness of day. It was +Jeanne singing softly over beyond the rocks. +</P> + +<P> +He had dreaded the coming of morning, when he would have to face +Jeanne. His guilt hung heavily upon him. But the sound of her voice, +low and sweet, filled with the carroling happiness of a bird, brought a +glad smile to his lips. After all, Jeanne had understood him. She had +forgiven him, if she had not forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time he noticed the height of the sun, and he sat bolt +upright. Jeanne saw his head and shoulders pop over the top of the +rocks, and she laughed at him from their stone table. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been keeping breakfast for over an hour, M'sieur Philip," she +cried. "Hurry down to the creek and wash yourself, or I shall eat all +alone!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip rose stupidly and looked at his watch. +</P> + +<P> +"Eight o'clock!" he gasped. "We should have been ten miles on the way +by this time!" +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne was still laughing at him. Like sunlight she dispelled his gloom +of the night before. A glance around the camp showed him that she must +have been awake for at least two hours. The packs were filled and +strapped. The silken tent was down and folded. She had gathered wood, +built the fire, and cooked breakfast while he slept. And now she stood +a dozen paces from him, blushing a little at his amazed stare, waiting +for him. +</P> + +<P> +"It's deuced good of you, Miss Jeanne!" he exclaimed. "I don't deserve +such kindness from you." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" said Jeanne, and that was all. She bent over the fire, and Philip +went to the creek. +</P> + +<P> +He was determined now to maintain a more certain hold upon himself. As +he doused his face in the cold water his resolutions formed themselves. +For the next few days he would forget everything but the one fact that +Jeanne was in his care; he would not hurt her again or compel her +confidence. +</P> + +<P> +It was after nine o'clock before they were upon the river. They paddled +without a rest until twelve. After lunch Philip confiscated Jeanne's +paddle and made her sit facing him in the canoe. +</P> + +<P> +The afternoon passed like a dream to Philip, He did not refer again to +Fort o' God or the people there; he did not speak again of Eileen +Brokaw, of Lord Fitzhugh, or of Pierre. He talked of himself and of +those things which had once been his life. He told of his mother and +his father, who had died, and of the little sister, whom he had +worshiped, but who had gone with the others. He bared his loneliness to +her as he would have told them to the sister, had she lived; and +Jeanne's soft blue eyes were filled with tenderness and sympathy. And +then he talked of Gregson's world. Within himself he called it no +longer his own. +</P> + +<P> +It was Jeanne who questioned now. She asked about cities and great +people, about books and WOMEN. Her knowledge amazed Philip. She might +have visited the Louvre. One would have guessed that she had walked in +the streets of Paris, Berlin, and London. She spoke of Johnson, of +Dickens, and of Balzac as though they had died but yesterday. She was +like one who had been everywhere and yet saw everything through a veil +that bewildered her. In her simplicity she unfolded herself to Philip, +leaf by leaf, petal by petal, like the morning apios that surrenders +its mysteries to the sun. She knew the world which he had come from, +its people, its cities, its greatness; and yet her knowledge was like +that of the blind. She knew, but she had never seen; and in her +wistfulness to see as HE could see there was a sweetness and a pathos +which made every fiber in his body sing with a quiet and thrilling joy. +He knew, now, that the man who was at Fort o' God must, indeed, be the +most wonderful man in the world. For out of a child of the snows, of +the forest, of a savage desolation, he had made Jeanne. And Jeanne was +glorious! +</P> + +<P> +The afternoon passed, and they made thirty miles before they camped for +the night. They traveled the next day, and the one that followed. On +the afternoon of the fourth they were approaching Big Thunder Rapids, +close to the influx of the Little Churchill, sixty miles from Fort o' +God. +</P> + +<P> +These days, too, passed for Philip with joyous swiftness; swiftly +because they were too short for him. His life, now, was Jeanne. Each +day she became a more vital part of him. She crept into his soul until +there was no longer left room for any other thought than of her. And +yet his happiness was tampered by a thing which, if not grief, +depressed and saddened him at times. Two days more and they would be at +Fort o' God, and there Jeanne would be no longer his own, as she was +now. Even the wilderness has its conventionality, and at Fort o' God +their comradeship would end. A day of rest, two at the most, and he +would leave for the camp on Blind Indian Lake. As the time drew nearer +when they would be but friends and no longer comrades, Philip could not +always hide the signs of gloom which weighed upon him. He revealed +nothing in words; but now and then Jeanne had caught him when the fears +at his heart betrayed themselves in his face. Jeanne became happier as +their journey approached its end. She was alive every moment, joyous, +expectant, looking ahead to Fort o' God; and this in itself was a +bitterness to Philip, though he knew that he was a fool for allowing it +to be so. He reasoned, with dull, masculine wit, that if Jeanne cared +for him at all she would not be so anxious for their comradeship to +end. But these moods, when they came, passed quickly. And on this +afternoon of the fourth day they passed away entirely, for in an +instant there came a solution to it all. They had known each other but +four days, yet that brief time had encompassed what might not have been +in as many years. Life, smooth, uneventful, develops friendship slowly; +an hour of the unusual may lay bare a soul. Philip thought of Eileen +Brokaw, whose heart was still a closed mystery to him; who was a +stranger, in spite of the years he had known her. In four days he had +known Jeanne a lifetime; in those four days Jeanne had learned more of +him than Eileen Brokaw could ever know. So he arrived at the resolution +which made him, too, look eagerly ahead to the end of the journey. At +Fort o' God he would tell Jeanne of his love. +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne was looking at him when the determination came. She saw the +gloom pass, a flush mount into his face; and when he saw her eyes upon +him he laughed, without knowing why. +</P> + +<P> +"If it is so funny," she said, "please tell me." +</P> + +<P> +It was a temptation, but he resisted it. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a secret," he said, "which I shall keep until we reach Fort o' +God." +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne turned her face up-stream to listen. A dozen times she had done +this during the last half-hour, and Philip had listened with her. At +first they had heard a distant murmur, rising as they advanced, like an +autumn wind that grows stronger each moment in the tree-tops. The +murmur was steady now, without the variations of a wind. It was the +distant roaring of the rocks and rushing floods of Big Thunder Rapids. +It grew steadily from a murmur to a moan, from a moan to rumbling +thunder. The current became so swift that Philip was compelled to use +all his strength to force the canoe ahead. A few moments later he +turned into shore. +</P> + +<P> +From where they landed, a worn trail led up to one of the precipitous +walls of rock and shut in the Big Thunder Rapids. Everything about them +was rock. The trail was over rock, worn smooth by the countless feet of +centuries—clawed feet, naked feet, moccasined feet, the feet of white +men. It was the Great Portage, for animal as well as man. Philip went +up with the pack, and Jeanne followed behind him. The thunder +increased. It roared in their ears until they could no longer hear +their own voices. Directly above the rapids the trail was narrow, +scarcely eight feet in width, shut in on the land side by a mountain +wall, on the other by the precipice. Philip looked behind, and saw +Jeanne hugging close to the wall. Her face was white, her eyes shone +with terror and awe. He spoke to her, but she saw only the movement of +his lips. Then he put down his pack and went close to the edge of the +precipice. +</P> + +<P> +Sixty feet below him was the Big Thunder, a chaos of lashing foam, of +slippery, black-capped rocks bobbing and grimacing amid the rushing +torrents like monsters playing at hide-and-seek. Now one rose high, as +though thrust up out of chaos by giant hands; then it sank back, and +milk-white foam swirled softly over the place where it had been. There +seemed to be life in the chaos—a grim, terrible life whose voice was a +thunder that never died. For a few moments Philip stood fascinated by +the scene below him. Then he felt a touch upon his arm. It was Jeanne. +She stood beside him quivering, dead-white, Almost daring to take the +final step. Philip caught her hands firmly in his own, and Jeanne +looked over. Then she darted back and hovered, shuddering, near the +wall. +</P> + +<P> +The portage was a short one, scarce two hundred yards in length, and at +the upper end was a small green meadow in which river voyagers camped. +It still lacked two hours of dusk when Philip carried over the last of +the luggage. +</P> + +<P> +"We will not camp here," he said to Jeanne pointing to the remains of +numerous fires and remembering Pierre's exhortation. "It is too public, +as you might say. Besides, that noise makes me deaf." +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne shuddered. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us hurry," she said. "I'm—I'm afraid of THAT!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip carried the canoe down to the river, and Jeanne followed with +the bearskins. The current was soft and sluggish, with tiny maelstroms +gurgling up here and there, like air-bubbles in boiling syrup. He only +half launched the canoe, and Jeanne remained while he went for another +load. The dip, kept green by the water of a spring, was a pistol-shot +from the river. Philip looked back from the crest and saw Jeanne +leaning over the canoe. Then he descended into the meadow, whistling. +He had reached the packs when to his ears there seemed to come a sound +that rose faintly above the roar of the water in the chasm. He +straightened himself and listened. +</P> + +<P> +"Philip! Philip!" +</P> + +<P> +The cry came twice—his own name, piercing, agonizing, rising above the +thunder of the floods. He heard no more, but raced up the slope of the +dip. From the crest he stared down to where Jeanne had been. She was +gone. The canoe was gone. A terrible fear swept upon him, and for an +instant he turned faint. Jeanne's cry came to him again. +</P> + +<P> +"Philip! Philip!" +</P> + +<P> +Like a madman he dashed up the rocky trail to the chasm, calling to +Jeanne, shrieking to her, telling her that he was coming. He reached +the edge of the precipice and looked down. Below him was the canoe and +Jeanne. She was fighting futilely against the resistless flood; he saw +her paddle wrenched suddenly from her hands, and as it went swirling +beyond her reach she cried out his name again. Philip shouted, and the +girl's white face was turned up to him. Fifty yards ahead of her were +the first of the rocks. In another minute, even less, Jeanne would be +dashed to pieces before his eyes. Thoughts, swifter than light, flashed +through his mind. He could do nothing for her, for it seemed impossible +that any living creature could exist amid the maelstroms and rocks +ahead. And yet she was calling to him. She was reaching up her arms to +him. She had faith in him, even in the face of death. +</P> + +<P> +"Philip! Philip!" +</P> + +<P> +There was no M'SIEUR to that cry now, only a moaning, sobbing prayer +filled with his name. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm coming, Jeanne!" he shouted. "I'm coming! Hold fast to the canoe!" +</P> + +<P> +He ran ahead, stripping off his coat. A little below the first rocks a +stunted banskian grew out of an earthy fissure in the cliff, with its +lower branches dipping within a dozen feet of the stream. He climbed +out on this with the quickness of a squirrel, and hung to a limb with +both hands, ready to drop alongside the canoe. There was one chance, +and only one, of saving Jeanne. It was a chance out of a thousand—ten +thousand. If he could drop at the right moment, seize the stern of the +canoe, and make a rudder of himself, he could keep the craft from +turning broadside and might possibly guide it between the rocks below. +This one hope was destroyed as quickly as it was born. The canoe +crashed against the first rock. A smother of foam rose about it and he +saw Jeanne suddenly engulfed and lost. Then she reappeared, almost +under him, and he launched himself downward, clutching at her dress +with his hands. By a supreme effort he caught her around the waist with +his left arm, so that his right was free. +</P> + +<P> +Ahead of them was a boiling sea of white, even more terrible than when +they had looked down upon it from above. The rocks were hidden by mist +and foam; their roar was deafening. Between Philip and the awful +maelstrom of death there was a quieter space of water, black, sullen, +and swift—the power itself, rushing on to whip itself into ribbons +among the taunting rocks that barred its way to the sea. In that space +Philip looked at Jeanne. Her face was against his breast. Her eyes met +his own, and In that last moment, face to face with death, love leaped +above all fear. They were about to die, and Jeanne would die in his +arms. She was his now—forever. His hold tightened. Her face came +nearer. He wanted to shout, to let her know what he had meant to say at +Fort o' God. But his voice would have been like a whisper in a +hurricane. Could Jeanne understand? The wall of foam was almost in +their faces. Suddenly he bent down, crushed his face to hers, and +kissed her again and again. Then, as the maelstrom engulfed them, he +swung his own body to take the brunt of the shock. +</P> + +<P> +He no longer reasoned beyond one thing. He must keep his body between +Jeanne and the rocks. He would be crushed, beaten to pieces, made +unrecognizable, but Jeanne would be only drowned. He fought to keep +himself half under her, with his head and shoulders in advance. When he +felt the floods sucking him under, he thrust her upward. He fought, and +did not know what happened. Only there was the crashing of a thousand +cannon in his ears, and he seemed to live through an eternity. They +thundered about him, against him, ahead of him, and then more and more +behind. He felt no pain, no shock. It was the SOUND that he seemed to +be fighting; in the buffeting of his body against the rocks there was +the painlessness of a knife-thrust delivered amid the roar of battle. +And the sound receded. It was thundering in retreat, and a curious +thought came to him. Providence had delivered him through the +maelstrom. He had not struck the rocks. He was saved. And in his arms +he held Jeanne. +</P> + +<P> +It was day when he began the fight, broad day. And now it was night. He +felt earth, under his feet, and he knew that he had brought Jeanne +ashore. He heard her voice speaking his name; and he was so glad that +he laughed and sobbed like a babbling idiot. It was dark, and he was +tired. He sank down, and he could feel Jeanne's arms striving to hold +him up, and he could still hear her voice. But nothing could keep him +from sleeping. And during that sleep he had visions. Now it was day, +and he saw Jeanne's face over him; again it was night, and he heard +only the roaring of the flood. Again he heard voices, Jeanne's voice +and a man's, and he wondered who the man could be. It was a strange +sleep filled with strange dreams. But at last the dreams seemed to go. +He lost himself. He awoke, and the night had turned into day. He was in +a tent, and the sun was gleaming on the outside. It had been a curious +dream, and he sat up astonished. +</P> + +<P> +There was a man sitting beside him. It was Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank God, M'sieur!" he heard. "We have been waiting for this. You are +saved!" +</P> + +<P> +"Pierre!" he gasped. +</P> + +<P> +Memory returned to him. He was awake. He felt weak, but he knew that +what he saw was not the vision of a dream. +</P> + +<P> +"I came the day after you went through the rapids," explained Pierre, +seeing his amazement. "You saved Jeanne. She was not hurt. But you were +badly bruised, M'sieur, and you have been in a fever." +</P> + +<P> +"Jeanne—was not—hurt?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. She cared for you until I came. She is sleeping now." +</P> + +<P> +"I have not been this way—very long, have I, Pierre?" +</P> + +<P> +"I came yesterday," said Pierre. He bent over Philip, and added: "You +must remain quiet for a little longer, M'sieur. I have brought you a +letter from M'sieur Gregson, and when you read that I will have some +broth made for you." +</P> + +<P> +Philip took the letter and opened it as Pierre went quietly out of the +tent. Gregson had written him but a few lines. He wrote: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +MY DEAR PHIL,—I hope you'll forgive me. But I'm tired of this mess. I +was never cut out for the woods, and so I'm going to dismiss myself, +leaving all best wishes behind for you. Go in and fight. You're a devil +for fighting, and will surely win. I'll only be in the way. So I'm +going back with the ship, which leaves in three or four days. Was going +to tell you this on the night you disappeared. Am sorry I couldn't +shake hands with you before I left. Write and let me know how things +come out. As ever, +<BR><BR> +TOM. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Stunned, Philip dropped the letter. He lifted his eyes, and a strange +cry burst from his lips. Nothing that Gregson had written could have +wrung that cry from him. It was Jeanne. She stood in the open door of +the tent. But it was not the Jeanne he had known. A terrible grief was +written in her face. Her lips were bloodless, her eyes lusterless; deep +suffering seemed to have put hollows in her cheeks. In a moment she had +fallen upon her knees beside him and clasped one of his hands in both +of her own. +</P> + +<P> +"I am so glad," she whispered, chokingly. +</P> + +<P> +For an instant she pressed his hands to her face. +</P> + +<P> +"I am so glad—" +</P> + +<P> +She rose to her feet, swaying slightly. She turned to the door, and +Philip could hear her sobbing as she left him. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XV +</H3> + +<P> +Not until the silken flap of the tent had fallen behind Jeanne did +power of movement and speech return to Philip. He called her name and +straggled to a sitting posture. Then he staggered to his feet. He could +scarcely stand. Shooting pains passed like flashes of electricity +through his body. His right arm was numb and stiff, and he found that +it was thickly bandaged. His head ached, his legs could hardly support +him. He went to raise his left hand to his head, but stopped it in +front of him, while a slow smile of understanding crept over his face. +It was swollen and covered with livid bruises. He wondered if his body +looked that way, and sank down exhausted upon his balsam bed. A minute +later Pierre returned with a cup of broth in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +Philip looked at him with less feverish eyes now. There was an +unaccountable change in the half-breed's appearance, as there had been +in Jeanne's. His face seemed thinner. There was a deep gloom in his +eyes, a dejected droop to his shoulders. Philip accepted the broth, and +drank it slowly, without speaking. He felt strengthened. Then he looked +steadily at Pierre. The old pride had fallen from Pierre like a mask. +His eyes dropped under Philip's gaze. +</P> + +<P> +Philip held up a hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Pierre!" +</P> + +<P> +The half-breed grasped it and waited. His lips tightened. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter?" demanded Philip. "What has happened to Jeanne? +You say she was not hurt—" +</P> + +<P> +"By the rocks, M'sieur," interrupted Pierre, quickly, kneeling beside +Philip. "Listen. It is best that I tell you. You are a man, you will +understand, without being told all. From Churchill I brought news which +it was necessary for me to tell Jeanne. It was terrible news, and she +is distressed under its weight. Your honor will not allow you to +inquire further, M'sieur. I can tell you no more than this—that it is +a grief which belongs to but one person on earth—herself. I ask you to +help me. Be blind to her unhappiness, M'sieur. Believe that it is the +distress of the peril through which she has passed. A little later I +will tell you all, and you will understand. But it is impossible now. I +confide this much in you—I ask you this—because—" +</P> + +<P> +Pierre's eyes were half closed, and he looked as though unseeing over +Philip's head. +</P> + +<P> +"I ask you this," he repeated, softly, "because I have guessed—that +you love her." +</P> + +<P> +A cry of joy burst from Philip's lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I do, Pierre—I do—I do—" +</P> + +<P> +"I have guessed it," said Pierre. "You will help me—to save her!" +</P> + +<P> +"Until death!" +</P> + +<P> +"Then you will go with us to Fort o' God, and from there you will go at +once to your camp on Blind Indian Lake." +</P> + +<P> +Philip felt the sweat breaking out over his face. He was still weak. +His voice was unnatural, and trembled. +</P> + +<P> +"You know—" he gasped. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know, M'sieur," replied Pierre. "I know that you are in charge +there, and Jeanne knows. We knew who you were before we appointed to +meet you on the cliff. You must return to your men." +</P> + +<P> +Philip was silent. For the moment every hope was crushed within him. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at Pierre. The half-breed's eyes were glowing, his haggard +cheeks were flushed. +</P> + +<P> +"And this is necessary?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is absolutely necessary, M'sieur." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I will go. But first, Pierre, I must know a little more. I cannot +go entirely blind. Do they fear my men—at Fort o' God?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, M'sieur." +</P> + +<P> +"One more question, Pierre. Who is Lord Fitzhugh Lee?" +</P> + +<P> +For an instant Pierre's eyes widened. They grew black, and burned with +a strange, threatening fire. He rose slowly to his feet, and placed +both hands upon Philip's shoulders. For a full minute the two men +stared into each other's face. Then Pierre spoke. His voice was soft +and low, scarcely above a murmur, but it was filled with something that +struck a chill to Philip's heart. +</P> + +<P> +"I would kill you before I would answer that question, M'sieur," he +said. "No other person has ever done for Jeanne and I what you have +done. We owe you more than we can ever repay. Yet if you insist upon an +answer to that question you make of me an enemy; if you breathe that +name to Jeanne, you turn her away from you forever." +</P> + +<P> +Without another word he left the tent. +</P> + +<P> +For many minutes Philip sat motionless where Pierre had left him. The +earth seemed suddenly to have dropped from under his feet, leaving him +in an illimitable chaos of mind. Gregson had deserted him, with almost +no word of explanation, and he would have staked his life upon +Gregson's loyalty. Under other circumstances his unaccountable action +would have been a serious blow. But now it was overshadowed by the +mysterious change that had come over Jeanne. A few hours before she had +been happy, laughing and singing as they drew nearer to Fort o' God; +each hour had added to the brightness of her eyes, the gladness in her +voice. The change had come with Pierre, and at the bottom of it all was +Lord Fitzhugh Lee. Pierre had warned him not to mention Lord Fitzhugh's +name to Jeanne, and yet only a short time before he had spoken the name +boldly before Jeanne, and she had betrayed no sign of recognition or of +fear. More than that, she had assured him that she had never heard the +name before, that it was not known at Fort o' God. +</P> + +<P> +Philip bowed his head in his hands, and his fingers clutched in his +hair. What did it all mean? He went back to the scene on the cliff, +when Pierre had roused himself at the sound of the name; he thought of +all that had happened since Gregson had come to Churchill, and the +result was a delirium of thought that made his temples throb. He was +sure—now—of but few things. He loved Jeanne—loved her more than he +had ever dreamed that he could love a woman, and he believed that it +would be impossible for her to tell him a falsehood. He was confident +that she had never heard of Lord Fitzhugh until Pierre overtook them in +their flight from Churchill. He could see but one thing to do, and that +was to follow Pierre's advice, accepting his promise that in the end +everything would come out right. He had faith in Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +He rose to his feet and went to the tent-flap. An embarrassing thought +came to him, and he stopped, a flush of feverish color suddenly +mounting into his pale cheeks. He had kissed Jeanne in the chasm, when +death thundered in their faces. He had kissed her again and again, and +in those kisses he had declared his love. He was glad, and yet sorry; +the knowledge that she must know of his love filled him with happiness, +and yet with it there was the feeling that it would place a distance +between him and Jeanne. +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne was the first to see him when he came out of the tent. She was +sitting beside a small balsam shelter, and Pierre was busy over a fire, +with his back turned to them. For a moment the two looked at each other +in silence, and then Jeanne came toward him, holding out one of her +hands. He saw that she was making a strong effort to appear natural, +but there was something in his own face that made her attempt a poor +one. The hand that she gave him trembled. Her lips quivered. For the +first time her eyes failed to meet his own in their limpid frankness. +</P> + +<P> +"Pierre has told you what happened," she said. "It was a miracle, and I +owe you my life. I have had my punishment for being so careless." She +tried to laugh at him now, and drew her hand away. "I wasn't beaten +against the rocks, like you, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"It was terrible," interrupted Philip, remembering Pierre's words, and +eager to put her at ease. "You have stood up under it beautifully. I am +afraid of after effects. You must not collapse under the strain now." +</P> + +<P> +Pierre heard his last words and a smile flashed over his dark face as +he encountered Philip's glance. +</P> + +<P> +"It is true, M'sieur," he said. "I know of no other woman who would +have stood up under such a thing as Jeanne has done. MON DIEU, when I +found a part of the canoe wreckage far below I thought that both of you +were dead!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip began to feel that he had foolishly overestimated his strength. +There was a weakness in his limbs that surprised him, and a sudden +chill replaced the fever in his blood. Jeanne placed her hand upon his +arm and thrust him gently toward the tent. +</P> + +<P> +"You must not exert yourself," she said, watching the pallor in his +face. "You must be quiet, until after dinner." +</P> + +<P> +He obeyed the pressure of her hand. Pierre followed into the tent, and +for a moment he was compelled to lean heavily upon the half-breed. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the reaction, M'sieur," said Pierre. "You are weak after the +fever. If you could sleep—" +</P> + +<P> +"I can," murmured Philip, dizzily, dropping upon his balsam. "But, +Pierre—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, M'sieur." +</P> + +<P> +"I have something—to say to you—no questions—" +</P> + +<P> +"Not now, M'sieur." +</P> + +<P> +Philip heard the rustling of the flap, and Pierre was gone. He felt +more comfortable lying down. Dizziness and nausea left him, and he +slept. It was the deep, refreshing sleep that always follows the +awakening from fever. When he awoke he felt like his old self, and went +outside. Pierre was alone; a blanket was drawn across the front of the +balsam shelter, and the half-breed nodded toward it in response to +Philip's inquiring glance. +</P> + +<P> +Philip ate lightly of the food which Pierre had ready for him. When he +had finished he leaned close to him, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"You have warned me to ask no questions, and I am going to ask none. +But you have not forbidden me to tell you things which I know. I am +going to talk to you about Lord Fitzhugh Lee." +</P> + +<P> +Pierre's dark eyes flashed. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur—" +</P> + +<P> +"Listen!" demanded Philip. "I seek your confidence no further. But I +shall tell you what I know of Lord Fitzhugh Lee, if it makes us fight. +Do you understand? I insist upon this because you have as good as told +me that this man is your enemy, and that he is at the bottom of +Jeanne's trouble. He is also my enemy. And after I have told you +why—you may change your determination to keep me a stranger to your +trouble. If not—well, you can hold your tongue then as well as now." +</P> + +<P> +Quickly, without moving his eyes from Pierre's face, Philip told his +own story of Lord Fitzhugh Lee. And as he continued a strange change +came over the half-breed. When he came to the letters revealing the +plot to turn the northerners against his company a low cry escaped +Pierre's lips. His eyes seemed starting from his head. Drops of sweat +burst out upon his face. His fingers worked convulsively, something +rose in his throat and choked him. When Philip had done he buried his +face in his hands. For a few moments he remained thus, and then +suddenly looked up. Livid spots burned in his cheeks, and he fairly +hissed at Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur, if this is not the truth—if this is a lie—" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped. Something in Philip's eyes told him to go no further. He +was fearless, and he saw more than fearlessness in Philip's face. Such +men believe, when they come together. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the truth," said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +With a low, strained laugh Pierre held out his hand as a pledge of his +faith. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe in you, M'sieur," he said, and it seemed an effort for him +to speak. "Do you know what I would have thought, if you had told this +to Jeanne before I came?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"I would have thought, M'sieur, that she threw herself purposely into +the death of the Big Thunder rocks." +</P> + +<P> +"My God, you mean—" +</P> + +<P> +"That is all, M'sieur. I can say no more. Ah, there is Jeanne!" he +cried, more loudly. "Now we will take down the tent, and go." +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne stood a dozen steps behind them when Philip turned. She greeted +him with a smile, and hastened to assist Pierre in gathering up the +things about the camp. Philip was not blind to her efforts to evade +him. He could see that it was a relief to her when they were at last in +Pierre's canoe, and headed up the river. They traveled till late in the +evening, and set up Jeanne's tent by starlight. The journey was +continued at dawn. Late the following afternoon the Little Churchill +swept through a low, woodless country, called the White Fox Barren. It +was a narrow barren and across it lay the forest and the ridge +mountains. Behind these mountains and the forest the sun was setting. +Above all else there rose out of the gathering gloom of evening a +single ridge, a towering mass of rock which caught the last glow of the +sun, and blazed like a signal-fire. +</P> + +<P> +The canoe stopped. Jeanne and Pierre both gazed toward the great rock. +</P> + +<P> +Then Jeanne, who was in the bow, turned her face to Philip, and the +glow of the rock itself suffused her cheeks as she pointed over the +barren. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur Philip," she said, "there is Fort o' God!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XVI +</H3> + +<P> +There was a low tremble in Jeanne's voice. The canoe swung broadside to +the slow current, and Philip looked in astonishment at the change in +Pierre. The tired half-breed had uncovered his head, and knelt with his +face turned to that last crimson glow in the sky, like one in prayer. +But his eyes were open, there was a smile on his lips, and he was +breathing quickly. Pride and joy came where there had been the lines of +grief and exhaustion. His shoulders were thrown back, his head erect, +and the fire of the distant rock reflected itself in his eyes. From him +Philip turned, so that he could look into Jeanne's face. The girl, too, +had changed. Again these two were the Pierre and Jeanne whom he had +seen that first night on the moonlit cliff. Pierre seemed no longer the +half-breed, but the prince of the rapier and broad cuffs; and Jeanne, +smiling proudly at Philip, made him an exquisite little courtesy from +her cramped seat in the bow, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur Philip, welcome to Fort o' God!" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," he said, and stared toward the sun-capped rock. +</P> + +<P> +He could see nothing but the rock, the black forests, and the desolate +barren stretching between. Fort o' God, unless it was the rock itself, +was still a mystery hidden in the gathering gloom. The canoe began +moving slowly onward, and Jeanne turned so that her eyes searched the +stream ahead. A thick wall of stunted forest shut out the barren from +their view; the stream grew narrower, and on the opposite side a barren +ridge, threatening them with torn and upheaved masses of rock, flung +the heavy shadows of evening down upon them. No one spoke. Philip could +hear Pierre breathing behind him: something in the intense quiet—in +the awesome effect which their approach to Fort o' God had upon these +two—sent strange little thrills shooting through his body. He +listened, and heard nothing, not even the howl of a dog. The stillness +was oppressive, and the darkness thickened about them. For half an hour +they continued, and then Pierre headed the canoe into a narrow creek, +thrusting it through a thick growth of wild rice and reeds. +</P> + +<P> +Balsam and cedar and swamp hazel shut them in. Overhead the tall cedars +interlaced, and hid the pale light of the sky. Philip could just make +out Jeanne ahead of him. +</P> + +<P> +And then, suddenly, there came a wonderful change. They shot out of the +darkness, as if from a tunnel, but so quietly that one a dozen feet +away could not have heard the ripple of Pierre's paddle. Almost in +their faces rose a huge black bulk, and in that blackness three or four +yellow lights gleamed like mellow stars. The canoe touched noiselessly +upon sand. Pierre sprang out, still without sound. Jeanne followed, +with a whispered word. Philip was last. +</P> + +<P> +Pierre pulled the canoe up, and Jeanne came to Philip. She held out her +two hands. Her face shone white in the gloom, and there was a look in +her beautiful eyes, as she stood for a moment almost touching him, that +set his heart jumping. She let her hands lie in his while she spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"We have not even alarmed the dogs, M'sieur Philip," she whispered. "Is +not that splendid? I am going to surprise father, and you will go with +Pierre. I will see you a little later, and—" +</P> + +<P> +She rose on tiptoe, and her face was dangerously close to his own. +</P> + +<P> +"And you are very, very welcome to Fort o' God, M'sieur." +</P> + +<P> +She slipped away into the darkness, and Pierre stood beside Philip. His +white teeth were gleaming strangely, and he said in a soft voice: +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur, that is the first time that I have ever heard those words +spoken at Fort o' God. We welcome no man here who has your blood and +your civilization in his veins. You are greater than a king!" +</P> + +<P> +With a sudden exclamation Philip turned upon Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +"And that is the reason for Jeanne's surprise?" he said. "She wishes to +pave a way for me. I begin to understand!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is true that you might not have received that welcome which you are +certain to receive now from the master of Fort o' God," replied Pierre, +frankly. "So we will go in quietly, and make no disturbance, while your +way is being paved, as you call it." +</P> + +<P> +He walked ahead, with Philip following so closely that he could have +touched him. He made out more distinctly now the lines of the huge +black edifice from which the lights shone. It was a massive structure +of logs, two stories high, a half of it almost completely hidden in the +impenetrable shadow of a great wall of rock. Philip's eyes traveled up +this wall, and he was convinced that he stood under the rock upon whose +towering crest he had seen the last reflection of the evening sun. +About him there were no signs of life or of other habitation. Pierre +moved swiftly. They passed under a small lighted window that was a foot +above Philip's head, and turned around the corner of the building. Here +all was blackness. +</P> + +<P> +Pierre went straight to a door, and uttered at low word of satisfaction +when he found that it was not barred. He opened it, and reached out a +guiding hand to Philip's arm. Philip entered, and the door closed +softly behind him. He felt the flow of warm air in his face, and his +moccasined feet trod upon something soft and velvety. Faintly, as +though coming from a great distance, he heard a voice singing. It was a +woman's voice, but he knew that it was not Jeanne's. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of himself his heart was beating excitedly. The mystery of +Fort o' God was about him, warm and subtle, like a strange spirit, +sending through him the thrill of anticipation, a hundred fancies, +little fears. Pierre advanced, still guiding him; then he stopped, and +chuckled softly in the darkness. The distant voice had stopped singing, +and there came in place of it the loud barking of a dog, an +unintelligible sound of a voice, and then quiet. Jeanne had sprung her +surprise. +</P> + +<P> +Pierre led the way to another room. +</P> + +<P> +"This is to be your room, M'sieur," he explained. "Make yourself +comfortable. I have no doubt that the master of Fort o' God will wish +to see you very soon." +</P> + +<P> +He struck a match as he spoke, and lighted a lamp. A moment more and he +was gone. +</P> + +<P> +Philip looked about him. He was in a room fully twenty feet square, +furnished in a manner that drew from him an audible gasp of +astonishment. At one end of the room was a massive mahogany bed, +screened by heavy curtains which were looped back by silken cords. Near +the bed was an old-fashioned mahogany dresser, with a diamond-shaped +mirror, and in front of it a straight-backed chair adorned with the +grotesque carving of an ancient and long-dead fashion. About him, +everywhere, were the evidences of luxury and of age. The big lamp, +which gave a brilliant light, was of hammered brass; the base of its +square pedestal was partly hidden in the rumples of a heavy damask +spread which covered the table on which it rested. The table itself was +old, spindle-legged, glowing with the mellow luster endowed by many +passing generations—a relic of the days when the originator of its +fashion became the favorite of a capricious and beautiful queen. Soft +rugs were upon the floor; from the walls, papered and hung with odd +bits of tapestry, strange faces looked down upon Philip from out of +heavy gilded frames; faces grim, pale, shadowed; men with plaited +ruffles and curls; women with powdered hair, who gazed down upon him +haughtily, as if they wondered at his intrusion. +</P> + +<P> +One picture was turned with its face to the wall. +</P> + +<P> +Philip sank into a huge arm-chair, cushioned with velvet, and dropped +his cap upon the floor. And this was Fort o' God! He scarcely breathed. +He was back two centuries, and he stared, as if each moment he expected +some manifestation of life in what he saw. He had dreamed his dream +over the dead at Churchill; here it was reality—almost; it lacked but +a breath, a movement, a flutter of life in the dead faces that looked +down upon him. He gazed up at them again, and laughed a little +nervously. Then he fixed his eyes on the opposite wall. One of the +pictures was moving. The thought in his brain had given birth to the +movement he had imagined. It was a woman's face in the picture, young +and beautiful, and it nodded to him, one moment radiant with light, the +next caught in shadows that cast over it a gloom. He jumped from his +chair and went so that he stood directly under it. +</P> + +<P> +A current of warm air shot up into his face from the floor. It was this +air that was causing movement in the picture, and he looked down. What +he discovered broke the spell he was under. About him were the relics +of age, of a life long dead. Rubens might have sat in that room, and +mourned over his handiwork, lost in a wilderness. The stingy Louis +might have recognized in the spindle-legged table a bit of his +predecessor's extravagance, which he had sold for the good of the +exchequer of France; a Gobelin might have reclaimed one of the woven +landscapes on the wall, a Grosellier himself have issued from behind +the curtained bed. Philip himself, in that environment, was the +stranger. It was the current of warm air which brought him back from +the eighteenth to the twentieth century. Under his feet was a furnace! +</P> + +<P> +Even the master of Fort o' God, stern and forbidding as Philip began to +imagine him, might have laughed at the look which came into his face. +Grosellier, the cavalier, had he appeared, Philip would have accepted +with the same confidence that he had accepted Jeanne and Pierre. But—a +furnace! He thrust his hands deep in his pockets, a trick which was +always the last convincing evidence of his perplexity, and walked +slowly around the room. There were two books on the table. One, bound +in faded red vellum, was a Greek Anthology, the other Drummond's Ascent +of Man. There were other books on a quaintly carved shelf, under the +picture which had been turned to the wall. He ran over the titles. +There were a number of French novels, Ely's Socialism, Sir Thomas +More's Utopia, St. Pierre's Paul and Virginia, and a dozen other +volumes; there were Balzac and Hugo, and Dante's Divine Comedy. Amid +this array, like a black sheep lost among the angels, was a finger-worn +and faded little volume bearing the name Camille. Something about this +one book, so strangely out of place in its present company, aroused +Philip's curiosity. It bore the name, too, which he had found worked in +the corner of Jeanne's handkerchief. In a way, the presence of this +book gave him a sort of shock, and he took it in his hands, and opened +the cover. Under his fingers were pages yellow and frayed with age, and +in an ancient type, once black, the title, The Meaning of God. In a +large masculine hand some one had written under this title the +accompanying words; "A black skin often contains a white soul; a +woman's beauty, hell." +</P> + +<P> +Philip replaced the book with a feeling of awe. Something in those +words, brutal in their truth—something in the strange whim that had +placed a pearl of purity within the faded and worn mask of the +condemned, seemed to speak to him of a tragedy that might be a key to +the mystery of Fort o' God. From the books he looked up at the picture +which had been turned to the wall. The temptation to see what was +hidden overcame him, and he turned the frame over. Then he stepped back +with a low cry of pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +From out of the proscribed canvas there smiled down upon him a face of +bewildering beauty. It was the face of a young woman, a stranger among +its companions, because it was of the present. Philip stepped to one +side, so that the light from the lamp shone from behind him, and he +wondered if the picture had been condemned to hang with its face to the +wall because it typified the existent rather than the past. He looked +more closely, and drew back step by step, until he was in the proper +focus to bring out every expression in the lovely face. In the picture +he saw each moment a greater resemblance to Jeanne. The eyes, the hair, +the sweetness of the mouth, the smile, brought to him a vision of +Jeanne herself. The woman in the picture was older than Jeanne, and his +first thought was that it must be a sister, or her mother. It came to +him in the next breath that this would be impossible, for Jeanne had +been found by Pierre in the deep snows, on her dead mother's breast. +And this was a painting of life, of youth, of beauty, and not of death +and starvation. +</P> + +<P> +He returned the forbidden picture to the position in which he had found +it against the wall, half ashamed of the act and thoughts into which +his curiosity had led him. And yet, after all, it was not curiosity. He +told himself that as he washed himself and groomed his disheveled +clothes. +</P> + +<P> +An hour had passed when he heard a low tap at the door, and Pierre came +in. In that time the half-breed had undergone a transformation. He was +dressed in an exquisite coat of yellow buckskin, with the same +old-fashioned cuffs he had worn when Philip first saw him, trousers of +the same material, buckled below the knees, and boot-moccasins with +flaring tops. He wore a new rapier at his waist, and his glossy black +hair was brushed smoothly back, and fell loose upon his shoulders. It +was the courtier, and not Pierre the half-breed, who bowed to Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur, are you ready?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"Then we will go to M'sieur d'Arcambal, the master of Fort o' God." +</P> + +<P> +They passed out into the hall, which was faintly illumined now, so that +Philip caught glimpses of deep shadows and massive doors as he followed +behind Pierre. They turned into a second hall, at the end of which was +an open door through which came a flood of light. At this door Pierre +stopped, and with a bow allowed his companion to pass in ahead of him. +The next moment Philip stood in a room twice as large as the one he had +left. It was brilliantly lighted by three or four lamps; he had only an +instant's vision of numberless shelves loaded with books, of walls +covered with pictures, of a ponderous table in front of him, and then +he heard a voice. +</P> + +<P> +A man stepped out from beside the door, and he stood face to face with +the master of Fort o' God. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XVII +</H3> + +<P> +He was an old man. Beard and hair were white. He was as tall as Philip; +his shoulders were broader; his chest massive; and as he stood under +the light of one of the hanging lamps, his face shining with a pale +glow, one hand upon his breast, the other extended, it seemed to Philip +that all of the greatness and past glory of Fort o' God, whatever they +may have been, were personified in the man he beheld. He was dressed in +soft buckskin, like Pierre. His hair and beard grew in wild disorder, +and from under shaggy eyebrows there burned a pair of deep-set eyes of +the color of blue steel. He was a man to inspire awe; old, and yet +young; white-haired, gray-faced, and yet a giant. One might have +expected from between his bearded lips a voice as thrilling as his +appearance; a rumbling voice, deep-chested, sonorous—and it would have +caused no surprise. It was the voice that surprised Philip more than +the man. It was low, and trembling with an agitation which even +strength and pride could not control. +</P> + +<P> +"Philip Whittemore, I am Henry d'Arcambal. May God bless you for what +you have done!" +</P> + +<P> +A hand of iron gripped his own. And then, before Philip had found words +to say, the master of Fort o' God suddenly placed his arms about his +shoulders and embraced him. Their shoulders touched. Their faces were +close. The two men who loved Jeanne d'Arcambal above all else on earth +gazed for a silent moment into each other's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"They have told me," said D'Arcambal, softly. "You have brought my +Jeanne home through death. Accept a father's blessing, and with +it—this!" +</P> + +<P> +He stepped back, and swept his arms about the great room. +</P> + +<P> +"Everything—everything—would have gone with her," he said. "If you +had let her die, I should have died. My God, what peril she was in! In +saving her you saved me. So you are welcome here, as a son. For the +first time since my Jeanne was a babe Fort o' God offers itself to a +man who is a stranger and its hospitality is yours so long as its walls +hang together. And as they have done this for upward of two hundred +years, M'sieur Philip, we may conclude that our friendship is to be +without end." +</P> + +<P> +He clasped Philip's hands again, and two tears coursed down his gray +cheeks. It was difficult for Philip to restrain the joy his words +produced, which, coming from the lips of Jeanne's father, lifted him +suddenly into a paradise of hope. For many reasons he had come to +expect a none too warm reception at Fort o' God; he had looked ahead to +the place with a grim sort of fear, scarcely definable; and here +Jeanne's father was opening his arms to him. Pierre was unapproachable; +Jeanne herself was a mystery, filling him alternately with hope and +despair; D'Arcambal had accepted him as a son. He could find no words +adequate to his emotion; none that could describe his own happiness, +unless it was in a bold avowal of his love for the girl he had saved. +And this his good sense told him not to make, at the present moment. +</P> + +<P> +"Any man would have done as much for your daughter," he said at last, +"and I am happy that I was the fortunate one to render her assistance." +</P> + +<P> +"You are wrong," said D'Arcambal, taking him by the arm. "You are one +out of a thousand. It takes a MAN to go through the Big Thunder and +come out at the other end alive. I know of only one other who has done +that in the last twenty years, and that other is Henry d'Arcambal +himself. We three, you, Jeanne, and I, have alone triumphed over those +monsters of death. All others have died. It seems like a strange +pointing of the hand of God." +</P> + +<P> +Philip trembled. +</P> + +<P> +"We three!" he exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"We three," said the old man, "and for that reason you are a part of +Fort o' God." +</P> + +<P> +He led Philip deeper into the great room, and Philip saw that almost +all the space along the walls of the huge room was occupied by shelves +upon shelves of books, masses of papers, piles of magazines +shoulder-high, scores of maps and paintings. The massive table was +covered with books; there were piles on smaller tables; chairs, and the +floor itself, covered with the skins of a score of wild beasts, were +littered with them. At the far end of the room he saw deeper and darker +shelves, where gleamed faintly in the lamplight row upon row of vials +and bottles and strange instruments of steel and glass. A scientist in +the wilderness—a student exiled in a desolation! These were the +thoughts that leaped into his mind, and he knew that in this room +Jeanne had been created; that here, between these centuries-old walls, +amid an environment of strange silence, of whispering age, her visions +of the world had come. Here, separated from all her kind, God, Nature, +and a father had made her of their handiwork. +</P> + +<P> +The old man pointed Philip to a chair near the large table, and sat +down close to him. At his feet was a stool covered with silvery +lynx-skin, and D'Arcambal looked at this, his strong, grim face +relaxing into a gentle smile of happiness. +</P> + +<P> +"There is where Jeanne sits—at my feet," he said. "It has been her +place for many years. When she is not there I am lost. Life ceases. +This room has been our world. To-night you are in Fort o' God; +to-morrow you will see D'Arcambal House. You have heard of that, +perhaps, but never of Fort o' God. That belongs to Jeanne and me, to +Pierre—and you. Fort o' God is the heart, the soul, the life's blood +of D'Arcambal House. It is this room and two or three others. +D'Arcambal House is our barrier. When strangers come, they see +D'Arcambal House; plain rooms, of rough wood; quarters such as you have +seen at posts and stations; the mask which gives no hint of what is +hidden within. It is there that we live to the world; it is here that +we live to ourselves. Jeanne has my permission to tell you whatever she +wishes, a little later. But I am curious, and being an old man must be +humored first. I am still trembling. You must tell me what happened to +Jeanne." +</P> + +<P> +For an hour they talked, and Philip went over one by one the events as +they had occurred since the fight on the cliff, omitting only such +things as he thought that Jeanne and Pierre might wish to keep secret +to themselves. At the end of that hour he was certain that D'Arcambal +was unaware of the dark cloud that had suddenly come into Jeanne's +life. The old man's brow was knitted with deep lines, and his powerful +jaws were set hard, as Philip told of the ambush, of the wounding of +Pierre, and the flight of his assailants with his daughter. It was to +get money, the old man thought. The half-breed had suggested that, and +Jeanne herself had given it as her opinion. Why else should they have +been attacked at Churchill? Such things had occurred before, he told +Philip. The little daughter of the factor at Nelson House had been +stolen, and held for ransom. With a hundred questions he wrung from +Philip every detail of the second fight and of the struggle for life in +the rapids. He betrayed no physical excitement, even in those moments +of Philip's description when Jeanne hung between life and death; but in +his eyes there was the glow of red-hot fires. At last there came to +interrupt them the low, musical tinkling of a bell under the table. +</P> + +<P> +D'Arcambal's face lighted up suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, I had forgotten," he exclaimed. "Pardon me, Philip. Dinner has +been awaiting us this last half-hour; and besides—" +</P> + +<P> +He reached out and touched a tiny button, which Philip had not observed +before. +</P> + +<P> +"I am selfish." +</P> + +<P> +He had hardly ceased speaking when footsteps sounded in the hall, and +in spite of every resolution he had made to guard himself against any +betrayal of the emotions burning in his breast, Philip sprang to his +feet. Jeanne had come in under the glow of the lamps and stood now a +dozen feet from him, a vision so exquisitely lovely that he saw nothing +of those who entered behind her, nor heard D'Arcambal's low, happy +laugh at his side. It seemed to him for a moment as if there had +suddenly appeared before him the face of the picture that was turned +against the wall, only more beautiful now, radiant with the glow of +living flesh and blood. But there was something even more startling +than this resemblance. In this moment Jeanne was the fulfilment of his +dream; she had come to him from out of another world. She was dressed +in an old-fashioned gown of pure white, a fabric so delicate that it +seemed to float about her slender form, responsive to every breath she +drew. Her white shoulders revealed themselves above masses of filmy +lace that fell upon her bosom; her slender arms, girlish rather than +womanly in their beauty, were bare. Her hair was bound up in shining +coils about her head, with a single flower nestling amid a little +cluster of curls that fell upon her neck. After his first movement, +Philip recovered himself by a strong effort. He bowed low to conceal +the flush in his face. Jeanne swept him a little courtesy, and then ran +past him, with the eagerness of any modern child, into the outstretched +arms of her father. +</P> + +<P> +Laughter and joy rumbled in the beard of the master of Fort o' God as +he looked over Jeanne's head at Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"And this is what you have saved for me," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Then he looked beyond, and for the first time Philip realized there +were others in the room. One was Pierre; the other a pretty, dark-faced +girl, with hair that glistened like a raven's wing in the lamp-glow. +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne left her father's arms and gave her hand to Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur Philip, this is my sister, Mademoiselle Couchee," she cried. +</P> + +<P> +Pierre's sister gave Philip her hand, and behind them D'Arcambal +laughed softly in his beard again, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow, in D'Arcambal House, you may call her Otille, Philip. But +to-night we are in Fort o' God. Oh, Jeanne, Jeanne, what a witch you +are!" +</P> + +<P> +"An angel!" breathed Philip, but no one heard him. +</P> + +<P> +"And this witch," added the old man, "you are to take in to supper, +M'sieur Philip. To night I suppose that I must call you m'sieur, but +to-morrow, when I have on my leather leggings and my skin cap, I will +call you Phil, or Tom, Dick, or Harry, just as I please. This is the +first time, sir, that my Jeanne has ever gone in to dinner on another +arm than mine or Pierre's. And so I may be a little jealous. Proceed." +</P> + +<P> +As Jeanne's hand rested in his arm, and they went into the hall, Philip +could not restrain himself from whispering: +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad—of that." +</P> + +<P> +"And the dress, M'sieur Philip!" exclaimed D'Arcambal behind them, in +the voice of a happy boy. "It is an honor to escort that, to say +nothing of the silly girl that's in it. That dress, sir, belonged to a +beautiful lady who was called Camille, and who died over a century ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Father, please do be good!" protested Jeanne. "Remember!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, so I will," said her father. "I had forgotten that you were to +tell M'sieur Philip these things." +</P> + +<P> +They entered another room illuminated by a single huge lamp suspended +above a table spread with silver and fine linen. The room was as great +a surprise as the other two had been. It contained no chairs. What +Philip mentally designated as benches, with deep cushion seats of +greenish leather, were arranged about the table. These same curious +seats furnished other parts of the room. From the pictures on the walls +to the ancient helmet and cuirass that stood up like a legless sentinel +in one corner, this room, like the others, breathed of extreme age. +Over a big open fireplace, in which half a dozen birch logs were +burning, hung a number of old-fashioned weapons; a flintlock, a pair of +obsolete French dueling pistols, a short rapier similar to that which +Pierre wore, and two long swords. Philip noticed that about each of the +dueling pistols was tied a bow of ribbon, dull and faded, as though the +passing of generations had robbed them of beauty and color, to be +replaced by the somberness of age. +</P> + +<P> +During the meal Philip could not but observe that Jeanne was laboring +under some mysterious strain. Her cheeks were brilliantly flushed, and +her eyes were filled with a lustrous brightness that he had never seen +in them before. Their beauty was almost feverish. Several times he +caught a strange little tremor of her white shoulders, as though a +sudden chill had passed through her. He discovered, too, that Pierre +was observing these things, and that there was something forced in the +half-breed's cheerfulness. But D'Arcambal and Otille seemed completely +oblivious of any change. Their happiness overflowed. Philip thought of +his last supper at Churchill, with Eileen Brokaw and her father. Miss +Brokaw had acted strangely then, and had struggled to hide some secret +grief or excitement, as Jeanne was struggling now. +</P> + +<P> +He was glad when the meal was finished, and the master of Fort o' God +rose from his seat. At D'Arcambal's movement his eyes caught Jeanne's, +and then he saw that Pierre was looking sharply at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Jeanne owes you an apology—and an explanation, M'sieur Philip," said +D'Arcambal, resting a hand upon Jeanne's head. "We are going to retire, +and she will initiate you into the fold of Fort o' God." +</P> + +<P> +Pierre and Otille followed him from the room. For the first time in an +hour Jeanne laughed frankly at Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't much to explain, M'sieur Philip," she said, rising from +her seat. "You know pretty nearly all there is to know about Fort o' +God now. Only I am sure that I did not appear to value your confidence +very much—a little while ago. It must have seemed ungrateful in me, +indeed, to have told you so little about myself and my home, after what +you did for Pierre and me. But I have father's permission now. It is +the second time that he has ever given it to me." +</P> + +<P> +"And I don't want to hear," exclaimed Philip, bluntly. "I have been +more or less of a brute, Miss Jeanne. I know enough about Fort o' God. +It is a glorious place. You owe me nothing, and for that reason—" +</P> + +<P> +"But I insist," interrupted the girl. "Do you mean to say that you do +not care to listen, when this is the second time in my life that I have +had the opportunity of talking about my home? And the first—didn't +give me any pleasure. This will." +</P> + +<P> +A shadow came into Jeanne's eyes. She motioned him to a seat beside her +in front of the fire. Her nearness, the touch of her dress, the sweet +perfume of her presence, thrilled him. He felt that the moment was near +when the whole world as he knew it was to slip away from him, leaving +him in a paradise, or a chaos of despair. Jeanne looked up at the +dueling pistols. The firelight trembled in the soft folds of lace over +her bosom; it glistened in her hair, and lighted her face with a gentle +glow. +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't much to explain," she said again, in a voice so low that +it was hardly more than a whisper. "But what little there is I want you +to know, so that when you go away you will understand. More than two +hundred years ago a band of gentlemen adventurers were sent over into +this country by Prince Rupert to form the Hudson's Bay Company. That is +history, and you know more of it, probably, than I. One of these men +was Le Chevalier Grosellier. One summer he came up the Churchill, and +stopped at the great rock on which we saw the sun setting to-night, and +which was called the Sun Rock by the Indians. He was struck by the +beauty of the place, and when he went back to France it was with the +plan of returning to build himself a chateau in the wilderness. Two or +three years later he did this, and called the place Fort o' God. For +more than a century, M'sieur, Fort o' God was a place of revel and +pleasure in the heart of this desolation. Early in the nineteenth +century it passed into the hands of a man by the name of D'Arcy, and it +is said that at one time it housed twenty gentlemen and as many ladies +of France for one whole season. Its history is obscure, and mostly +lost. But for a long time after D'Arcy came it was a place of +adventure, of pleasure, and of mystery, very little of which remains +to-day. Those are his pistols above the fire. He was killed by one of +them out there beside the big rock, in a quarrel with one of his guests +over a woman. We think—here—from letters that we have found, that her +name was Camille. There is a chest in my room filled with linen that +bears her name. This dress came from that chest. I have to be careful +of them, as they tear very easily. After D'Arcy the place was almost +forgotten and remained so until nearly forty years ago when my father +came into possession of it. That, M'sieur, is the very simple story of +Fort o' God. Its old name is forgotten. It lives only with us. Others +know it as D'Arcambal House." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I have heard of that," said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +He waited for Jeanne, and saw that her fingers were nervously twisting +a bit of ribbon in her lap. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, that is uninteresting," she continued. "You can almost +guess the rest. We have lived here—alone. Not one of us has ever felt +the desire to leave this little world of ours. It is curious—you may +scarcely believe what I say—but it is true that we look out upon your +big world and laugh at it and dislike it. I guess—that I have been +taught to hate it—since I can remember." +</P> + +<P> +There was a little tremble in Jeanne's voice, an instant's quivering of +her chin. Philip looked from her face into the fire, and stared hard, +choking back words which were ready to burst from his lips. In place of +them he said, with a touch of bitterness in his voice: +</P> + +<P> +"And I have grown to hate my world, Jeanne. It has compelled me to hate +it. That is why I spoke to you that night on the cliff at Churchill." +</P> + +<P> +"I have sometimes thought that I have been very wrong," said the girl. +"I have never seen this other world. I know nothing of it, except as I +have been taught. I have no right to hate it, and yet I do. I have +never wanted to see it. I have never cared to know the people who lived +in it. I wish that I could understand, but I cannot; except that father +has made for us, for Pierre and Otille and me, this little world at +Fort o' God, and has taught us to fear the other. I know that there is +no other man in the whole world like my father, and that what he has +done must be best. It is his pride that we bring your world to our +doors, but that we never go to it; he says that we know more about that +world than the people who live there, which of course cannot be so. And +so we have grown up amid the old memories, the pictures, and the dead +romances of Fort o' God. We have taken pleasure in living as we do—in +making for ourselves our own little social codes, our childish +aristocracy, our make-believe world. It is the spirit of Fort o' God +that lives with us, and makes us content; the shadow-faces of men and +women who once filled these rooms with life and pleasure, and whose +memory seems to have passed into our keeping alone. I know them all; +many of their names, all of their faces. I have a daguerreotype of +Camille Poitiers, and she must have been very beautiful. There are the +tiniest slippers in the world in her chest, and ribbons like those +which are tied about the pistols. There is a painting of D'Arcy in your +room. It is the picture next to the one that has its face turned to the +wall." +</P> + +<P> +She rose to her feet, and Philip stood beside her. There was a mist in +her eyes as she held out her hand to him. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I—would like to have you—see that picture," she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +Philip could not speak. He held the hand Jeanne had given him as they +passed through the long, dimly lighted halls. At the open door to his +room they stopped, and he could feel Jeanne trembling. +</P> + +<P> +"You will tell me—the truth?" she begged, like a child. "You will tell +me what you think—of the picture?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +She went in ahead of him and turned the frame so that the face in the +picture smiled down upon them in all of its luring loveliness. There +was something pathetic in the girl's attitude now. She stood under the +picture, facing Philip, and there was a tense eagerness in her eyes, a +light that was almost supplication, a crying out of her soul to him in +a breathless moment that seemed hovering between pain and joy. It was +Jeanne, an older Jeanne, that looked from out of the picture, smiling, +inviting admiration, bewildering hi her beauty; it was Jeanne, the +child, waiting for him in flesh and blood to speak, her eyes big and +dark, her breath coming quickly, her hands buried in the deep lace on +her bosom. A low word came to Philip's lips, and then he laughed +softly. It was a laugh, almost under his breath, which sweeps up now +and then from a soul in a joy—an emotion—which is unutterable in +words. But to Jeanne it was different. Her dark eyes grew hurt and +wounded, two great tears ran down her paling cheeks, and suddenly she +buried her face in her hands and with a sobbing cry turned from him, +with her head bowed under the smiling face above. +</P> + +<P> +"And you—you hate it, too!" she sobbed. "They all hate +it—Pierre—father—all—all hate it. It must—it must be bad. They +hate her—every one—but me. And—I love her so!" +</P> + +<P> +Her slender form shook with sobs. For a moment Philip stood like one +struck dumb. Then he sprang to her and caught her close in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Jeanne—Jeanne—listen," he cried. "To-night I looked at that picture +before I went to see your father, and I loved it because it is like +you. Jeanne, my darling, I love you—I love you—" +</P> + +<P> +She was panting against his breast. He covered her face with kisses. +Her sweet lips were not turned from him, and there filled her eyes a +sudden light that made him almost sob in his happiness. +</P> + +<P> +"I love you, I love you," he repeated, again and again, and he could +find no other words than those. +</P> + +<P> +For an instant her arms clung about his shoulders, and then, suddenly, +they strained against him, and she tore herself free, and, with a cry +so pathetic that it seemed as though her heart had broken in that +moment, she fled from him, and out of the room. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XVIII +</H3> + +<P> +Philip stood where Jeanne had left him, his arms half reaching out to +the vacant door through which she had fled, his lips parted as if to +call her name, and yet motionless, dumb. A moment before he was +intoxicated by a joy that was almost madness. He had held Jeanne in his +arms; he had looked into her eyes, filled with surrender under his +caresses and his avowal of love. For a moment he had possessed her, and +now he was alone. The cry that had wrung itself from her lips, breaking +in upon his happiness like a blow, still rang in his ears, and there +was something in the exquisite pain of it that left him in torment. +Heart and soul, every drop of blood in him, had leaped in the joy of +that glorious moment, when Jeanne's eyes and sweet lips had accepted +his love, and her arms had clung about his shoulders. Now these things +had been struck dead within him. He felt again the fierce pressure of +Jeanne's arms as she had thrust him away, he saw the fright and torture +that had leaped into her eyes as she sprang from him, as though his +touch had suddenly become a sacrilege. He lowered his arms slowly, and +went to the hall. It was empty. He heard no sound, and closed the door. +</P> + +<P> +It was so still that he could hear the excited throbbing of his own +heart. He looked at the picture again, and a strange fancy impressed +him with the idea that it was no longer smiling at him, but that its +eyes were turned to the door through which Jeanne had disappeared. He +moved his position, and the illusion was gone. It was Jeanne looking +down upon him again, an older and happier Jeanne than the one whom he +loved. For the first time he examined it closely. In one corner of the +canvas he found the artist's name, Bourret, and after it the date, +1888. Could it be the picture of Jeanne's mother? He told himself that +it was impossible, for Jeanne's mother had been found dead in the snow, +five years later than the date of the canvas, and Pierre, the +half-breed, had buried her somewhere out on the barren, so that she was +a mystery to all but him. Even the master of Fort o' God, to whom he +had brought the child, had never seen the woman upon whose cold breast +Pierre had found the little Jeanne. +</P> + +<P> +With nervous hands he replaced the picture with its face to the wall, +and began to pace up and down the room, wondering if D'Arcambal would +send for him. He had hope of seeing Jeanne again that night. He felt +sure that she had gone to her room, and that even D'Arcambal might not +know that he was alone. In that event he had a long night ahead of him, +filled with hours of sleeplessness and torment. He waited for +three-quarters of an hour, and then the idea came to him that he might +discover some plausible excuse for seeking out his host. He was about +to act upon this mental suggestion when he heard a low rustling in the +hall, followed by a distinct and yet timid knock. It was not a man's +knock, and filled with the hope that Jeanne had returned, Philip +hastened to the door and opened it. +</P> + +<P> +He heard soft footsteps retreating rapidly down the hall, but the +lights were out, and he could see nothing. Something had fallen at his +feet, and he bent down to pick it up. The object was a small, square +envelope; and re-entering his room he saw his own name written across +it in Jeanne's delicate hand. His heart beat with hope as he opened the +note. What he read brought a gray pallor into his face: +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +MONSIEUR PHILIP,—If you cannot forget what I have done, please at +least try to forgive me. No woman in the world could value your love +more than I, for circumstances have proven to me the strength and honor +of the man who gives it. And yet it is as impossible for me to accept +it as it would be for me to give up Fort o' God, my father, or my life, +though I cannot tell you why. And this, I know, you will not ask. After +what has happened to-night it will be impossible for me to see you +again, and I must ask you, as one who values your friendship among the +highest things in my life, to leave Fort o' God. No one must know what +has passed between us. You will go—in the morning. And with you there +will always be my prayers. +<BR><BR> +JEANNE. +</P> + +<P> +The paper dropped from between Philip's fingers and fell to the floor. +Three or four times in his life Philip had received blows that had made +him sick—physical blows. He felt now as though one of these blows had +descended upon him, turning things black before his eyes. He staggered +to the big chair and dropped into it, staring at the bit of white paper +on the floor. If one had spoken to him he would not have heard. +Gregson, in these moments, might have laughed a little nervously, +smoked innumerable cigarettes, and laid plans for a continuance of the +battle to-morrow. But Philip was a fighter of men, and not of women. He +had declared his love, he had laid open his soul to Jeanne, and to a +heart like his own, simple in its language, boundless in its sincerity, +this was all that could be done. Jeanne's refusal of his love was the +end—for him. He accepted his fate without argument. In an instant he +would have fought ten men—a hundred, naked-handed, if such a fight +would have given him a chance of winning Jeanne; he would have died, +laughing, happy, if it had been in a struggle for her. But Jeanne +herself had dealt him the blow. +</P> + +<P> +For a long time he sat motionless in the chair facing the picture on +the wall. Then he rose to his feet, picked up the note, and went to one +of the little square windows that looked out into the night. The moon +had risen, and the sky was full of stars. He knew that he was looking +into the north, for the pale shimmer of the aurora was in his face. He +saw the black edge of the spruce forest; the barren stretched out, pale +and ghostly, into the night shadows. +</P> + +<P> +He made an effort to open the window, but it was wedged tightly in its +heavy sill. He crossed the room, opened the door, and went silently +down the hall to the door through which Pierre had led him a few hours +before. It was not locked, and he passed out into the night. The fresh +air was like a tonic, and he walked swiftly out into the moonlit +spaces, until he found himself in the deep shadow of the Sun Rock that +towered like a sentinel giant above his head. He made his way around +its huge base, and then stopped, close to where they had landed in the +canoe. There was another canoe drawn up beside Pierre's, and two +figures stood out clear in the moonlight. +</P> + +<P> +One of these was a man, the other a woman, and as Philip stopped, +wondering at the scene, the man advanced to the woman and caught her in +his embrace. He heard a voice, low and expostulating, which sounded +like Otille's, and in spite of his own misery Philip smiled at this +other love which had found its way to Fort o' God. He turned back +softly, leaving the lovers as he had found them; but he had scarce +taken half a dozen steps when he heard other steps, and saw that the +girl had left her companion and was hurrying toward him. He drew back +close into the shadow of the rock to avoid possible discovery, and the +girl passed through the moonlight almost within arm's reach of him. At +that moment his heart ceased to beat. He choked back the groaning cry +that rose to his lips. It was not Otille who passed him. It was Jeanne. +</P> + +<P> +In another moment she was gone. The man had shoved his canoe into the +narrow stream, and was already lost in the gloom. Then, and not until +then, did the cry of torture fall from Philip. And as if in echo to it +he heard the sobbing break of another voice, and stepping out into the +moonlight he stood face to face with Pierre Couchee. +</P> + +<P> +It was Pierre who spoke first. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry, M'sieur," he whispered, hoarsely. "I know that it has +broken your heart. And mine, too, is crushed." +</P> + +<P> +Something in the half-breed's face, in the choking utterance of his +voice, struck Philip as new and strange. He had seen the eyes of dying +animals filled with the wild pain that glowed in Pierre's, and suddenly +he reached out and gripped the other's hand, and they stood staring +into each other's face. In that look, the cold grip of their hands, the +strife in their eyes, the bare truth revealed itself. +</P> + +<P> +"And you, too—you love her, Pierre," said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I love her, M'sieur," replied Pierre, softly. "I love her, not as +a brother, but as a man whose heart is broken." +</P> + +<P> +"Now—I understand," said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +He dropped Pierre's hand, and his voice was cold and lifeless. +</P> + +<P> +"I received a note—from her, asking me to leave Fort o' God in the +morning," he went on, looking from Pierre out beyond the rock into the +white barren. "I will go to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"It is best," said Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +"I have left nothing in Fort o' God, so there is no need of even +returning to my room," continued Philip. "Jeanne will understand, but +you must tell her father that a messenger came suddenly from Blind +Indian Lake, and that I thought it best to leave without awakening him. +Will you guide me for a part of the distance, Pierre?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will go with you the whole way, M'sieur. It is only twenty miles, +ten by canoe, ten by land." +</P> + +<P> +They said no more, but both went to the canoe, and were quickly lost in +the gloom into which the other canoe had disappeared a few minutes +ahead of them. They saw nothing of this canoe, and when they came to +the Churchill Pierre headed the birch-bark down-stream. For two hours +not a word passed between them. At the end of that time the half-breed +turned in to shore. +</P> + +<P> +"We take the trail here, M'sieur," he explained. +</P> + +<P> +He went on ahead, walking swiftly, and now and then when Philip caught +a glimpse of his face he saw in it a despair as great as his own. The +trail led along the backbone of a huge ridge, and then twisted down +into a broad plain; and across this they traveled, one after the other, +two moving, silent shadows in a desolation that seemed without end. +Beyond the plain there rose another ridge, and half an hour after they +had struck the top of it Pierre halted, and pointed off into the +ghostly world of light and shadow that lay at their feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Your camp is on the other side of this plain, M'sieur," he said. "Do +you recognize the country?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have hunted along this ridge," replied Philip. "It is only three +miles from here, and I will strike a beaten trail half a mile out +yonder. A thousand thanks, Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +He held out his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, M'sieur." +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +Their voices trembled. Their hands gripped hard. A choking lump rose in +Philip's throat, and Pierre turned away. He disappeared slowly in the +gray gloom, and Philip went down the side of the mountain. From the +plain below he looked back. For an instant he saw Pierre drawn like a +silhouette against the sky. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, Pierre," he shouted. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, M'sieur," came back faintly. +</P> + +<P> +Light and silence dropped about them. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIX +</H3> + +<P> +To be alone, even after the painful parting with Pierre, was in one way +a relief to Philip, for with the disappearance of the lonely half-breed +over the mountain there had gone from him the last physical association +that bound him to Jeanne and her people. With Pierre at his side, +Jeanne was still with him; but now that Pierre was gone there came a +change in him—one of those unaccountable transmutations of the mind +which make the passing of yesterdays more like a short dream than a +long and full reality. He walked slowly over the plain, and, when he +came to the trail beaten by the hoofs of his own teams he followed it +mechanically. In his measurement of things now, it seemed only a few +hours since he had traveled over this trail on his way to Fort +Churchill; it might, have been that morning, or the morning before. The +weeks of his absence had passed with marvelous swiftness, now that he +looked back upon them. They seemed short and trivial. And yet he knew +that in those weeks he had lived more of his life than he had ever +lived before, or would ever live again. For a brief spell life had +been, filled with joy and hope—a promise of happiness which a single +moment in the shadow of the Sun Rock had destroyed forever. He had seen +Jeanne in another man's arms; he had read the confirmation of his fears +in Pierre's grief-distorted face, in the strange tremble of his voice, +in the words that he had spoken. He was sorry for Pierre. He would have +been glad if that other man had been the lovable half-breed; if Jeanne, +in the poetry of life and love, had given herself to the one who had +saved the spark of life in her chilled little body years and years ago. +And yet in his own grief he unconsciously rejoiced that it was a man +like Pierre who suffered with him. +</P> + +<P> +This thought of Pierre strengthened him, and he walked faster, and +breathed more deeply of the clear night air. He had lost in the fight +for Jeanne as he had lost in many other fights; but, after all, there +was another and bigger fight ahead of him, which he would begin +to-morrow. Thoughts of his men, of his camps, and of this struggle +through which he must pass to achieve success raised him above his +depression, and stirred his blood with a growing exhilaration. And +Jeanne—was she hopelessly lost to him? He dared to ask himself the +question half an hour after he had separated from Pierre, and his mind +flew back to the portrait-room where he had told Jeanne of his love, +and where for a moment he had seen in her eyes and face the sweet +surrender that had given him a glimpse of his paradise. But what did +the sudden change mean? And after that—the scene in the starlight? +</P> + +<P> +A quickening of his pulse was the answer to these questions. Jeanne had +told him there were only two men at Fort o' God, Pierre and her father. +Then who could be this third? A lover, whom she met clandestinely? He +shivered, and began loading his pipe as he walked. He was certain that +the master of Fort o' God did not know of the tryst beyond the rock, +and he was equally certain that the girl was unaware of Pierre's +knowledge of the meeting. Pierre had remained hidden, like himself, and +he had given Philip to understand that it was not the first time he had +looked upon the meetings of Jeanne and the man they had seen from the +shadow of the rock. And yet, in spite of all evidence, he could not +lose faith in Jeanne. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he saw something ahead of him which changed for a moment the +uncomfortable trend of his thoughts. It was a pale streak, rising above +the level of the trail, and stretching diagonally across the plain to +the east. With an exclamation of surprise Philip hastened his steps, +and a moment later stood among the fresh workings of his men. When he +had left for Churchill this streak, which was the last stretch of +road-bed between them and the surveyed line of the Hudson's Bay +Railway, had ended two miles to the south and west. In a little over a +month MacDougall had pushed it on the trail, and well across it in the +direction of Gray Beaver Lake. In that time he had accomplished a work +which Philip had not thought possible to achieve that autumn. He had +figured that the heavy snows of winter would cut them off at the trail. +And MacDougall was beyond the trail, with three weeks to spare! +</P> + +<P> +Something rose up in his blood, warming him with an elation which sent +him walking swiftly toward the end of the road-bed. A quarter of a mile +out on the plain he came to the working end. About him were scattered +half a dozen big scoop shovels and piles of working tools. The embers +of a huge log fire still glowed where dinner had been cooked for the +men. Philip stood for a few moments, looking off into the distance. +Another mile and a half out there was the Gray Beaver, and from the +Gray Beaver there lay the unbroken waterway to the point of their +conjunction with the railway coming up from the south. A sudden idea +occurred to Philip. If MacDougall had built two and a quarter miles of +road-bed in five weeks they could surely complete this other mile and a +half before winter stopped them. In that event, they would have fifteen +miles of road, linking seven lakes, which would give them a splendid +winter trail for men, teams, and dogs to the Gray Beaver. And from the +Gray Beaver they would have smooth ice for twenty miles, to the new +road. He had not planned to begin fishing operations until spring, but +he could see no reason now why they should not commence that winter, +setting their nets through the ice. At Lobstick Creek, where the new +road would reach them sometime in April or May, they could freeze their +fish and keep them in storage. Five hundred tons in stock, and perhaps +a thousand, would not be a bad beginning. It would mean from forty to +eighty thousand dollars, a half of which could be paid out in dividends. +</P> + +<P> +He turned back, whistling softly. There was new life in him, burning +for action. He was eager to see MacDougall, and he hoped that Brokaw +would not be long in reaching Blind Indian Lake. Before he reached the +trail he was planning the accommodation stations, where men and animals +could find shelter. There would be one on the shore of the Gray Beaver, +and from there he would build them at regular intervals of five miles +on the ice. +</P> + +<P> +He had come to the trail, and was about to turn in the direction of the +camp, when he saw a shadowy figure making its way slowly across the +plain which he had traversed half an hour before. The manner in which +this person was following in his footsteps, apparently with extreme +caution, caused Philip to move quickly behind the embankment of the +road-bed. Two or three minutes later a man crossed into view. Philip +could not see his face distinctly, but by the tired droop of the +stranger's shoulders and his shuffling walk he guessed that what he had +first taken for caution was in reality the tedious progress of a man +nearing exhaustion. He wondered how he had missed him in his own +journey over the trail from the ridge mountains, for he had made twice +the progress of the stranger, and must surely have passed him somewhere +within the last mile or so. The fact that the man had come from the +direction of Fort o' God, that he was exhausted, and that he had +evidently concealed himself a little way back to avoid discovery, led +Philip to cut out diagonally across the plain so that he could follow +him and keep him in sight without being observed. Twice in the next +mile the nocturnal traveler stopped to rest, but no sooner had he +reached the first scattered shacks of the camp than he quickened his +steps, darting quickly among the shadows, and then stopped at last +before the door of a small log cabin within a pistol-shot of Philip's +own headquarters. The cabin was newly built, and Philip gave a low +whistle of surprise as he noted its location. He had, to a certain +degree, isolated his own camp home, building it a couple of hundred +yards back from the shore of the lake, where most of the other cabins +were erected. This new cabin was still a hundred yards farther back, +half hidden in a growth of spruce. He heard the click of a key in a +lock and the opening and closing of a door. A moment later a light +flared dimly against a curtained window. +</P> + +<P> +Philip hurried across the open to the cabin occupied by himself and +MacDougall, the engineer. He tried the door, but it was barred. Then he +knocked loudly, and continued knocking until a light appeared within. +He heard the Scotchman's voice, close to the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's there?" it demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"None of your business!" retorted Philip, falling into the error of a +joke at the welcome sound of MacDougall's voice. "Open up!" +</P> + +<P> +A bar slipped within. The door opened slowly. Philip thrust himself +against it and entered. In the pale light of the lamp he was confronted +by the red face of MacDougall, and a pair of little eyes that gleamed +menacingly. And on a line with MacDougall's face was an ugly-looking +revolver. +</P> + +<P> +Philip stopped with a sudden uncomfortable thrill. MacDougall lowered +his gun. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord preserve us, but that's the time you almost drew a perforation!" +he exclaimed. "It isn't safe to cut-up in these diggings any more—not +with Sandy MacDougall!" +</P> + +<P> +He held out a hand with a relieved laugh, and the two men shook in a +grip that made their fingers ache. +</P> + +<P> +"Is this the way you welcome all of your friends, Mac?" +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall shrugged his shoulders and laid his gun on a table in the +center of the room. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't say that I've got a friend left in camp," he said, with a +curious grimace. "What in thunder do you mean, Phil? I've tried to +reason something out of it, but I can't!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip was hanging up his cap and coat on one of a number of wooden +pegs driven into the long wall. He turned quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Reason something out of what?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Your instructions from Churchill," replied MacDougall, picking up a +big, black-bowled pipe from the table. +</P> + +<P> +Philip sat down with a restful sigh, crossed his legs, loaded his pipe, +and lighted it. +</P> + +<P> +"Thought I made myself lucid enough, even for a Scotchman, Sandy," he +said. "I learned at Churchill that the big fight is going to be pulled +off mighty soon. It's about time for the fireworks. So I told you to +put the sub-camps in fighting shape, and arm every responsible man in +this camp. There's going to be a whole lot of gun-work before you're +many days older. Great Scott, man, don't you understand NOW? What's the +matter?" +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall was staring at him as if struck dumb. +</P> + +<P> +"You told me—to arm—the camps?" he gasped. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I sent you full instructions two weeks ago." +</P> + +<P> +"MacDougall tapped his forehead suspiciously with a stubby forefinger. +</P> + +<P> +"You're mad—or trying to pull off a poor brand of joke!" he exclaimed. +"If you're dreaming, come out of it. Look here, Phil," he cried, a +little heatedly, "I've been having a hell of a time since you left the +camp, and I want to talk seriously." +</P> + +<P> +It was Philip who stared now. He fairly thrust himself upon the +engineer. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean to say you didn't get my letter telling you to put the +camps in fighting shape?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I didn't get it," said MacDougall. "But I got the other." +</P> + +<P> +"There was no other!" +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall jumped to his feet, darted to his bunk, and came back a +moment later with a letter. He thrust it almost fiercely into Philip's +hands. A sweat broke out upon his face as he saw its effect upon his +companion. Philip's face was deadly pale when he looked up from the +letter. +</P> + +<P> +"My God! you haven't done this?" he gasped. +</P> + +<P> +"What else could I do?" demanded MacDougall. "It's down there in black +and white, isn't it? It charges me to outfit six prospecting parties of +ten men each, arm every man with a rifle and revolver, victual them for +two months, and send them to the points named there. That letter came +ten days ago, and the last party, under Tom Billinger, has been gone a +week. You told me to send your very best men, and I have. It has fairly +stripped the camp of the men we depended upon, and there are hardly +enough guns left to kill meat with." +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't write this letter," said Philip, looking hard at MacDougall. +"The signature is a fraud. The letter which I sent to you, revealing my +discoveries at Churchill, has been intercepted and replaced by this. Do +you know what it means?" +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall was speechless. His square jaw was set like an iron clamp, +his heavy hands doubled into knots on his knees. +</P> + +<P> +"It means—fight," continued Philip. "To-night—to-morrow—at any +moment now. I can't guess why the blow hasn't fallen before this." +</P> + +<P> +He quickly related to MacDougall the chief facts he had gathered at +Fort Churchill. When he had finished, the young Scotchman reached over +to the table, seized his revolver, and held the butt end of it out to +Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"Pump me full of lead—for God's sake, do, Phil," he pleaded. +</P> + +<P> +Philip laughed, and gripped his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Not while I need a few fighters like yourself, Sandy," he objected. +"We're on to the game in time. By to-morrow morning we'll be prepared +for the war. We haven't an hour—perhaps not a minute—to lose. How +many men can you get hold of to-night whom we can depend upon to fight?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ten or a dozen, no more. The road gang that we were expecting up from +the Grand Trunk Pacific came three days after you started for +Churchill—twenty-eight of 'em. They're a tough-looking outfit, but +devilish good workers. I believe you could HIRE that gang to do +anything. They won't take a word from me. It's all up to Thorpe, the +foreman who brought 'em up, and they won't obey an order unless it +comes through him. Thorpe could get them to fight, but they haven't +anything to fight with, except a few knives. I've got eight guns left, +and I can scrape up eight men who'll handle them for the glory of it. +Thorpe's gang would be mighty handy in close quarters, if it came to +that." +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall moved restlessly, and ran a hand through his tawny hair. +</P> + +<P> +"I almost wish we hadn't invited that bunch up here," he added. "They +look to me like a lot of dollar thugs, but they work like horses. Never +saw such men with the shovel and pick. And fight? They've cleaned up on +a half of the men in camp. If we can get Thorpe—" +</P> + +<P> +"We'll see him to-night," interrupted Philip. "Or to be correct, this +morning. It's one o'clock. How long will it take to round up our best +men?" +</P> + +<P> +"Half an hour," said MacDougall, promptly, jumping to his feet. "There +are Roberts, Henshaw, Tom Cassidy, Lecault, the Frenchman, and the two +St. Pierre brothers. They're all crack gun-men. Give 'em each an +automatic and they're worth twenty ordinary men." +</P> + +<P> +A few moments later MacDougall extinguished the light, and the two men +left the cabin. Philip drew his companion's attention to the dimly +lighted window of the cabin to which he had followed the stranger a +short time before. +</P> + +<P> +"That's Thorpe's," said the young engineer. "I haven't seen him since +morning. Guess he must be up." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll sound him first," said Philip, starting off. +</P> + +<P> +At MacDougall's knock there was a moment's silence inside, then heavy +footsteps, and the door was flung open. Sandy entered, followed by +Philip. Thorpe stepped back. He was of medium height, yet so +athletically built that he gave the impression of being two inches +taller than he actually was. He was smooth-shaven, and his hair and +eyes were black. His whole appearance was that of a person infinitely +superior to what Philip had expected to find in the gang-foreman. His +first words, and the manner in which they were spoken, added to this +impression. +</P> + +<P> +"Good evening, gentlemen." +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning," replied MacDougall, nodding toward Philip. "This is Mr. +Whittemore, Thorpe. We saw your light, and thought you wouldn't mind a +call." +</P> + +<P> +Philip and Thorpe shook hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Just in time to have a cup of coffee," invited Thorpe, pleasantly, +motioning toward a steaming pot on the stove. "I just got in from a +long hike out over the new road-bed. Been looking the ground over along +the north shore of the Gray Beaver, and was so interested that I didn't +start for home until dark. Won't you draw up, gentlemen? There are +mighty few who can beat me at making coffee." +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall had noted a sudden change in Philip's face, and as Thorpe +hastened to lift the over-boiling pot from the stove he saw his chief +make a quick movement toward a small table, and pick up an object which +looked like a bit of cloth. In an instant Philip had hidden it in the +palm of his hand. A flush leaped into his cheeks. A strange fire burned +in his eyes when Thorpe turned. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid we can't accept your hospitality," he said. "I'm tired, and +want to get to bed. In passing, however, I couldn't refrain from +dropping in to compliment you on the remarkable work your men are doing +out on the plain. It's splendid." +</P> + +<P> +"They're good men," said Thorpe, quietly. "Pretty wild, but good +workers." +</P> + +<P> +He followed them to the door. Outside, Philip's voice trembled when he +spoke to MacDougall. +</P> + +<P> +"You go for the others, and bring them to the office, Sandy," he said. +"I said nothing to Thorpe because I have no confidence in liars, and +Thorpe is a liar. He was not out to the Gray Beaver to-day; for I saw +him when he came in—from the opposite direction. He is a liar, and he +will bear watching. Mind that, Sandy. Keep your eyes on this man +Thorpe. And keep your eyes on his gang. Hustle the others over to the +office as soon as you can." +</P> + +<P> +They separated, and Philip returned to the cabin which they had left a +few minutes before. He relighted the lamp, and with a sharp gasp in his +breath held out before his eyes the object which he had taken from +Thorpe's table. He knew now why Thorpe had come from over the mountains +that night, why he was exhausted, and why he had lied. He clasped his +head between his hands, scarcely believing the evidence of his eyes. A +deeper breath, almost a moan, fell from his twisted lips. For he had +discovered that Thorpe, the gang-foreman, was Jeanne's lover. In his +hand he held the dainty handkerchief, embroidered in blue, which he had +seen in Jeanne's possession earlier that evening—crumpled and +discolored, still damp with her tears! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XX +</H3> + +<P> +For many minutes Philip did not move, or look from the bit of damp +fabric which he held between his fingers. His heart was chilled. He +felt sick. Each moment added to the emotion which was growing in him, +an emotion which was a composite of disgust and of anguish. +Jeanne—Thorpe! An eternity of difference seemed to lie between those +two—Jeanne, with her tender beauty, her sweet life, her idyllic +dreams, and Thorpe, the gang-driver! In his own soul he had made a +shrine for Jeanne, and from his knees he had looked up at her, filled +with the knowledge of his own unworthiness. He had worshiped her, as +Dante might have worshiped Beatrice. To him she was the culmination of +all that was sweet and lovable in woman, transcendently above him. And +from this love, this worship of his, she had gone that very night to +Thorpe, the gang-man. He shivered. Going to the stove he thrust in a +handful of paper, dropped the handkerchief in with it, and set the +whole on fire. +</P> + +<P> +A few moments later the door opened and MacDougall came in. He was +followed by the two swarthy-faced St. Pierres, the camp huntsmen. +Philip shook hands with them, and they passed after the engineer +through a narrow door leading into a room which was known as the camp +office, Cassidy, Henshaw, and the others followed within the next ten +minutes. There was not a man among them whose eyes faltered when Philip +put up his proposition to them. As briefly as possible he told them a +part of what he had previously revealed to MacDougall, and frankly +conceded that the preservation of property and life in the camp +depended almost entirely upon them. +</P> + +<P> +"You're not the sort of men to demand pay in a pinch like this," he +finished, "and that's just the reason I've confidence enough in you to +ask for your support. There are fifty men in camp whom we could hire to +fight, but I don't want hired fighters. I don't want men who will run +at the crack of a few rifles, but men who are willing to die with their +boots on. I won't offer you money for this, because I know you too +well. But from this hour on you're going to be a part of the Great +Northern Fish and Development Company, and as soon as the certificates +can be signed I'm going to turn over a hundred shares of stock to each +of you. Remember that this isn't pay. It's simply a selfish scheme of +mine to make you a part of the company. There are eight of us. Give us +each an automatic and I'll wager that there isn't a combination in this +neck of the woods strong enough to do us up." +</P> + +<P> +In the pale light of the two oil-lamps the men's faces glowed with +enthusiasm. Cassidy was the first to grip Philip's hand in a pledge of +fealty. +</P> + +<P> +"When hell freezes over, we're licked," he said. "Where's me automatic?" +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall brought in the guns and ammunition. +</P> + +<P> +"In the morning we will begin the erection of a new building close to +this one," said Philip. "There is no reason for the building, but that +will give me an excuse for keeping you men together on one job, within +fifty feet of your guns, which we can keep in this room. Only four men +need work at a shift, and I'll put Cassidy in charge of the operations, +if that is satisfactory to the others. We'll have a couple of new bunks +put in here so that four men can stay with MacDougall and me every +night. The other four, who are not on the working shift, can hunt not +far from the camp, and keep their eyes peeled. Does that look good?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't be beat," said Henshaw, throwing open the breech of his gun. +"Shall we load?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +The room became ominous with the metallic click of loaded cartridge +clips and the hard snap of released chambers. +</P> + +<P> +Five minutes later Philip stood alone with MacDougall. The loaded +rifles, each with a filled cartridge belt hanging over the muzzle, were +arranged in a row along one of the walls. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll stake everything I've got on those men," he exclaimed. "Mac, did +it ever strike you that when you want REAL men you ought to come north +for them? Every one of those fellows is a northerner, except Cassidy, +and he's a fighter by birth. They'll die before they go back on their +word." +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall rubbed his hands and laughed softly. +</P> + +<P> +"What next, Phil?" +</P> + +<P> +"We must send the swiftest man you've got in camp after Billinger, and +get word to the other parties you sent out as quickly as we can. +They'll probably get in too late. Billinger may arrive in time." +</P> + +<P> +"He's been gone a week. It's doubtful if we can get him back within +three," said MacDougall. "I'll send St. Pierre's cousin, that young +Crow Feather, after him as soon as he can get a pack ready. You'd +better go to bed, Phil. You look like a dead man." +</P> + +<P> +Philip was not sure that he could sleep, notwithstanding the physical +strain he had been under during the past twenty-four hours. He was +filled with a nervous desire for continued action. Only action kept him +from thinking of Jeanne and Thorpe. After MacDougall had gone to stir +up young Crow Feather he undressed and stretched out in his bunk, +hoping that the Scotchman would soon return. Not until he closed his +eyes did he realize how tired he was. MacDougall came in an hour later, +and Philip was asleep. It was nine o'clock when he awoke. He went to +the cook's shanty, ate a hot breakfast of griddle-cakes and bacon, +drank a pint of strong coffee, and hunted up MacDougall. Sandy was just +coming from Thorpe's house. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a queer guinea, that Thorpe," said the engineer, after their +first greeting. "He doesn't pretend to do a pound's work. Notice his +hands when you see him again, Phil. They look as though he had been +drumming a piano all his life. But love o' mighty, how he does make the +OTHERS work. You want to go over and see his gang throw dirt." +</P> + +<P> +"That's where I'm going," said Philip. "Is Thorpe at home?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just leaving. There he is now!" +</P> + +<P> +At MacDougall's whistle Thorpe turned and waited for Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"Goin' over?" he asked, pleasantly, when Philip came up. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I want to see how your men work without a leader," replied +Philip. He paused for a moment to light his pipe, and pointed to a +group of men down on the lake shore. "See that gang?" he asked. +"They're building a scow. Take away their foreman and they wouldn't be +worth their grub. They're men we brought up from Winnipeg." +</P> + +<P> +Thorpe was rolling a cigarette. Under his arm he held a pair of light +gloves. +</P> + +<P> +"Mine are different," he laughed, quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"I know that," rejoined Philip, watching the skill of his long white +fingers. "That's why I want to see them in action, when you're away." +</P> + +<P> +"My policy is to know to a cubic foot what a certain number of men are +capable of doing in a certain time," explained Thorpe, as they walked +toward the plain. "My next move is to secure the men who will achieve +the result, whether I am present or not. That done, my work is done. +Simple, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +There was something likable about Thorpe. Even in his present mood +Philip could not but concede that. He was surprised in Thorpe, in more +ways than one. His voice was low, and filled with a certain +companionable quality that gave one confidence in him immediately. He +was apparently a man of education and of some little culture, in spite +of his vocation, which usually possesses a vocabulary of its own as +hard as rock. But Philip's greatest surprise came when he regarded +Thorpe's personal appearance. He judged that he was past forty, perhaps +forty-five, and the thought made him shudder inwardly. He was +twice—almost three times—as old as Jeanne. And yet there was about +him something irresistibly attractive, a fascination which had its +influence upon Philip himself. His nails dug into tie flesh of his +hands when he thought of this man—and Jeanne. +</P> + +<P> +Thorpe's gang was hard at work when they came to the end of the +rock-bed. Scarcely a man seemed to take notice when he appeared. There +was one exception, a wiry, red-faced little man who raised a hand to +his cap when he saw the foreman. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the sub-foreman," explained Thorpe. "He answers to me." The +little man had given a signal, and Thorpe added, "Excuse me for a +moment. He's got something on his mind." +</P> + +<P> +He drew a few steps aside, and Philip walked along the line of +laboring-men. He grinned and nodded to them, one after another. +MacDougall was right. They were the toughest lot of men he had ever +seen in one gang. +</P> + +<P> +Loud voices turned him about, and he saw that Thorpe and the +sub-foreman had approached a huge, heavy-shouldered man, with whom they +seemed to be in serious altercation. Two or three of the workmen had +drawn near, and Thorpe's voice rang out clear and vibrant. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll do that, Blake, or you'll shoulder your kit back home. And what +goes with you goes with your clique. I know your kind, and you can't +worry me. Take that pick and dig—or hike. There's no two ways about +it." +</P> + +<P> +Philip could not hear what the big man said, but suddenly Thorpe's fist +shot out and struck him fairly on the jaw. In another instant Thorpe +had jumped back, and was facing half a dozen angry, threatening men. He +had drawn a revolver, and his white teeth gleamed in a cool and +menacing smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Think it over, boys," he said, quietly. "And if you're not satisfied +come in and draw your pay this noon. We'll furnish you with outfits and +plenty of grub if you don't like the work up here. I don't care to hold +men like you to your contracts." +</P> + +<P> +He came to meet Philip, as though nothing unusual had happened. +</P> + +<P> +"That will delay the completion of our work for a week at least," he +said, as he thrust his revolver into a holster hidden under his coat. +"I've been expecting trouble with Blake and four or five of his pals +for some time. I'm glad it's over. Blake threatens a strike unless I +give him a sub-foremanship and increase the men's wages from six to ten +dollars a day. Think of it. A strike—up here! It would be the +beginning of history, wouldn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +He laughed softly, and Philip laughed from sheer admiration of the +man's courage. +</P> + +<P> +"You think they'll go?" he asked, anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure of it," replied Thorpe. "It's the best thing that can happen." +</P> + +<P> +An hour later Philip was back in camp. He did not see Thorpe again +until after dinner, and then the gang-foreman hunted him up. His face +wore a worried look. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a little worse than I expected," he said. "Blake and eight others +came in for their pay and outfits this noon. I didn't think that more +than three or four would have the nerve to quit." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll furnish you with men to take their places," said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"There's the hitch," replied Thorpe, rolling a cigarette. "I want my +men to work by themselves. Put half a dozen of your amateur road-men +among them and it will mean twenty per cent. less work done, and +perhaps trouble. They're a tough lot. I concede that. I've thought of a +way to offset the loss of Blake and the others. We can set a gang of +your men at work over at Gray Beaver Lake, and they can build up to +meet us." +</P> + +<P> +Philip saw MacDougall soon after his short talk with Thorpe. The +engineer did not disguise his pleasure at the turn which affairs had +taken. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad they're going," he declared. "If there's to be trouble I'll +feel easier with that bunch out of camp. I'd give my next month's +salary if Thorpe would take his whole outfit back where they came from. +They're doing business with the road-bed all right, but I don't like +the idea of having 'em around when there are throats to be cut, one +side or t'other." +</P> + +<P> +Philip did not see Thorpe again that day. He selected his men for the +Gray Beaver work, and in the afternoon despatched a messenger over the +Fort Churchill route to meet Brokaw. He was confident that Brokaw and +his daughter would show up during the next few days, but at the same +time he instructed the messenger to go to Churchill if he should not +meet them on the way. Other men he sent to recall the prospecting +parties outfitted by MacDougall. Early in the evening the St. Pierres, +Lecault, and Henshaw joined him for a few minutes in the office. During +the day the four had done scout work five miles on all sides of the +camp. Lecault had shot a moose three miles to the south, and had hung +up the meat. One of the St. Pierres saw Blake and his gang on the way +to the Churchill. Beyond these two incidents they brought in no news. A +little later MacDougall brought in two other men whom he could trust, +and armed them with muzzle-loaders. They were the two last guns in the +camp. +</P> + +<P> +With ten men constantly prepared for attack, Philip began to feel that +he had the situation well in hand. It would be practically impossible +for his enemies to surprise the camp, and after their first day's scout +duty the men on the trail would always be within sound of rifle-shots, +even if they did not discover the advance of an attacking force in time +to beat them to camp. In the event of one making such a discovery he +was to signal the others by a series of shots, such as one might fire +at a running moose. +</P> + +<P> +Philip found it almost impossible to fight back his thoughts of Jeanne. +During the two or three days that followed the departure of Blake he +did not allow himself an hour's rest from early dawn until late at +night. Each night he went to bed exhausted, with the hope that sleep +would bury his grief. The struggle wore upon him, and the faithful +MacDougall began to note the change in his comrade's face. The fourth +day Thorpe disappeared and did not show up again until the following +morning. Every hour of his absence was like the stab of a knife in +Philip's heart, for he knew that the gang-foreman had gone to see +Jeanne. Three days later the visit was repeated, and that night +MacDougall found Philip in a fever. +</P> + +<P> +"You're overdoing," he told him. "You're not in bed five hours out of +the twenty-four. Cut it out, or you'll be in the hospital instead of in +the fighting line when the big show comes to town." +</P> + +<P> +Days of mental agony and of physical pain followed. Neither Philip nor +MacDougall could understand the mysterious lack of developments. They +had expected attack before this, and yet ceaseless scout work brought +in no evidence of an approaching crisis. Neither could they understand +the growing disaffection among Thorpe's men. The numerical strength of +the gang dwindled from nineteen down to fifteen, from fifteen to +twelve. At last Thorpe voluntarily asked Philip to cut his salary in +two, because he could not hold his men. On that same day the little +sub-foreman and two others left him, leaving only nine men at work. The +delay in Brokaw's arrival was another puzzle to Philip. Two weeks +passed, and in that time Thorpe left camp three times. On the fifteenth +day the Fort Churchill messenger returned. He was astounded when he +found that Brokaw was not in camp, and brought amazing news. Brokaw and +his daughter had departed from Fort Churchill two days after Pierre had +followed Jeanne and Philip. They had gone in two canoes, up the +Churchill. He had seen no signs of them anywhere along the route. +</P> + +<P> +No sooner had he received the news than Philip sent the messenger after +MacDougall. The Scotchman's red face stared at him blankly when he told +him what had happened. +</P> + +<P> +"That's their first move in the real fight," said Philip, with a hard +ring in his voice. "They've got Brokaw. Keep your men close from this +hour on, Sandy. Hereafter let five of them sleep in our bunks during +the day, and keep them awake during the night." +</P> + +<P> +Five days passed without a sign of an enemy. +</P> + +<P> +About eight o'clock on the night of the sixth MacDougall came into the +office, where Philip was alone. The young Scotchman's usually florid +face was white. He dropped a curse as he grasped the back of a chair +with both hands. It was the third or fourth time that Philip had heard +MacDougall swear. +</P> + +<P> +"Damn that Thorpe!" he cried, in a low voice. +</P> + +<P> +"What's up?" asked Philip, his muscles tightening. +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall viciously beat the ash from the bowl of his pipe. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't want to worry you about Thorpe, so I've kept quiet about some +things," he growled. "Thorpe brought up a load of whisky with him. I +knew it was against the law you've set down for this camp, but I +figured you were having trouble enough without getting you into a +mix-up with him, so I didn't say anything. But this other—is damnable! +Twice he's had a woman sneak in to visit him. She's there again +to-night!" +</P> + +<P> +A choking, gripping sensation rose in Philip's throat. MacDougall was +not looking, and did not see the convulsive twitching of the other's +face, or the terrible light that shot for an instant into his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"A woman—Mac—" +</P> + +<P> +"A YOUNG woman," said MacDougall, with emphasis. "I don't know who she +is, but I do know that she hasn't a right there or she wouldn't sneak +in like a thief. I'm going to be blunt—damned blunt. I think she's one +of the other men's wives. There are half a dozen in camp." +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't you ever looked—to see if you could recognize her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't had the chance," said MacDougall. "She's been wrapped up both +times, and as it was none of my business I didn't lay in wait. But +now—it's up to you!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip rose slowly. He felt cold. He put on his coat and cap, and +buckled on his revolver. His face was deadly white when he turned to +MacDougall. +</P> + +<P> +"She is over there to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sneaked in not half an hour ago, I saw her come out of the edge of the +spruce." +</P> + +<P> +"From the trail that leads out over the plain?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Philip walked to the door. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going over to call on Thorpe," he said, quietly. "I may not be +back for some time, Sandy." +</P> + +<P> +In the deep shadows outside he stood gazing at the light in Thorpe's +cabin. Then he walked slowly toward the spruce. He did not go to the +door, but leaned with his back against the building, near one of the +windows. The first shuddering sickness had gone from him. His temples +throbbed. At the sound of a voice inside which was Thorpe's the chill +in his blood turned to fire. The terrible fear that had fallen upon him +at MacDougall's words held him motionless, and his brain worked upon +but one idea—one determination. If it was Jeanne who came in this way, +he would kill Thorpe. If it was another woman, he would give Thorpe +that night to get out of the country. He waited. He heard the +gang-man's voice frequently, once in a loud, half-mocking laugh. Twice +he heard a lower voice—a woman's. For an hour he watched. He walked +back and forth in the gloom of the spruce, and waited another hour. +Then the light went out, and he slipped back to the corner of the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +After a moment the door opened, and a hooded figure came out, and +walked rapidly toward the trail that buried itself amid the spruce. +Philip ran around the cabin and followed. There was a little open +beyond the first fringe of spruce, and in this he ran up silently from +behind and overtook the one he was pursuing. As his hand fell upon her +arm the woman turned upon him with a frightened cry. Philip's hand +dropped. He took a step back. +</P> + +<P> +"My God! Jeanne—it is you!" +</P> + +<P> +His voice was husky, like a choking man's. For an instant Jeanne's +white, terrified face met his own. And then, without a word to him, she +fled swiftly down the trail. +</P> + +<P> +Philip made no effort to follow. For two or three minutes he stood like +a man turned suddenly into hewn rock, staring with unseeing eyes into +the gloom where Jeanne had disappeared. Then he walked back to the edge +of the spruce. There he drew his revolver, and cocked it. The starlight +revealed a madness in his face as he approached Thorpe's cabin. He was +smiling, but it was such a smile as presages death; a smile as +implacable as fate itself. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXI +</H3> + +<P> +As Philip approached the cabin he saw a figure stealing away through +the gloom. His first thought was that he had returned a minute too late +to wreak his vengeance upon the gang-foreman in his own home, and he +quickened his steps in pursuit. The man ahead of him was cutting direct +for the camp supply-house, which was the nightly rendezvous of those +who wished to play cards or exchange camp gossip. The supply-house, +aglow with light, was not more than two hundred yards from Thorpe's, +and Philip saw that if he dealt out the justice he contemplated he had +not a moment to lose. He began to run, so quickly that he approached +within a dozen paces of the man he was pursuing without being heard. It +was not until then that he made a discovery which stopped him. The man +ahead was not Thorpe. Suddenly, looking beyond him, he saw a second +figure pass slowly through the lighted door of the supply-house. Even +at that distance he recognized the gang-foreman. He thrust his revolver +under his coat and fell a little farther behind the man he had mistaken +for Thorpe so that when the latter passed within the small circle of +light that came from the supply-house windows he was fifty instead of a +dozen paces away. Something in the other's manner, something strangely +and potently familiar in his slim, lithe form, in the quick, +half-running movement of his body, drew a sharp breath from Philip. He +was on the point of calling a name, but it died on his lips. A moment +more and the man passed through the door. Philip was certain that it +was Pierre Couchee who had followed Thorpe. +</P> + +<P> +He was filled with a sudden fear as he ran toward the store. He had +scarcely crossed the threshold when a glance showed him Thorpe leaning +upon a narrow counter, and Pierre close beside him. He saw that the +half-breed was speaking, and Thorpe drew himself erect. Then, as quick +as a flash, two things happened. Thorpe's hand went to his belt, +Pierre's sent a lightning gleam of steel back over his shoulder. The +terrible drive of the knife and the explosion of Thorpe's revolver came +in the same instant. Thorpe crumpled back over the counter, clutching +at his breast. Pierre turned about, staggering, and saw Philip. His +eyes lighted up, and with a moaning cry he stretched out his arms as +Philip sprang to him. Above the sudden tumult of men's feet and excited +voices he gasped out Jeanne's name. Half a dozen men had crowded about +them. Through the ring burst MacDougall, a revolver in his hand. Pierce +had become a dead weight in Philip's arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Help me over to the cabin with him, Mac," he said. He looked around +among the men. It struck him as curious, even then, that he saw none of +Thorpe's gang. "Is Thorpe done for?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"He's dead," replied some one. +</P> + +<P> +With an effort Pierre opened his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Dead!" he breathed, and in that one word there was a tremble of joy +and triumph. +</P> + +<P> +"Take Thorpe over to his cabin," commanded Philip, as he and MacDougall +lifted Pierre between them. "I will answer for this man." +</P> + +<P> +They could hear Pierre's sobbing breath as they hurried across the +open. They laid him on Philip's bunk and Pierre opened his eyes again. +He looked at Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur," he whispered, "tell me—quick—if I must die!" +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall had studied medicine and surgery before engineering, and +took the place of camp physician. Philip drew back while he ripped open +the half-breed's garments and bared his breast. Then he darted to his +bunk for the satchel in which he kept his bandages and medicines, +throwing off his coat as he went. Philip bent over Pierre. Blood was +oozing slowly from the wounded man's right breast. Over his heart +Philip noticed a blood-stained locket, fastened by a babiche string +about his neck. +</P> + +<P> +Pierre's hands groped eagerly for Philip's. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur—you will tell me—if I must die?" he pleaded. "There are +things you must know—about Jeanne—if I go. It will not hurt. I am not +afraid. You will tell me—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +He could scarcely speak, and while MacDougall was at work stood so that +Pierre could not see his face. There was a sobbing note in Pierre's +breath, and he knew what it meant. He had heard that same sound more +than once when he had shot moose and caribou through the lungs. Five +minutes later MacDougall straightened himself. He had done all that he +could. Philip followed him to the back part of the room. Almost without +sound his lips framed the words, "Will he die?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said MacDougall. "There is no hope. He may last until morning." +</P> + +<P> +Philip took a stool and sat down beside Pierre. There was no fear in +the wounded man's face. His eyes were clear. His voice was a little +stronger. +</P> + +<P> +"I will die, M'sieur," he said, calmly. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid so, Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +Pierre's damp fingers closed about his own. His eyes shone softly, and +he smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"It is best," he said, "and I am glad. I feel quite well. I will live +for some time?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps for a few hours, Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +"God is good to me," breathed Pierre, devoutly. "I thank Him. Are we +alone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you wish to be alone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Philip motioned to MacDougall, who went into the little office room. +</P> + +<P> +"I will die," whispered Pierre, softly, as though he were achieving a +triumph. "And everything would die with me, M'sieur, if I did not know +that you love Jeanne, and that you will care for her when I am gone. +M'sieur, I have told you that I love her. I have worshiped her, next to +my God. I die happy, knowing that I am dying for her. If I had lived I +would have suffered, for I love alone. She does not dream that my love +is different from hers, for I have never told her. It would have given +her pain. And you will never let her know. As Our Dear Lady is my +witness, M'sieur, she has loved but one man, and that man is you." +</P> + +<P> +Pierre gave a great breath. A warm flood seemed suddenly to engulf +Philip. Did he hear right? Could he believe? He fell upon his knees +beside Pierre and brushed his dark hair back from his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I love her," he said, softly. "But I did not know that she loved +me." +</P> + +<P> +"It is not strange," said Pierre, looking straight into his eyes. "But +you will understand—now—M'sieur. I seem to have strength, and I will +tell you all—from the beginning. Perhaps I have done wrong. You will +know—soon. You remember Jeanne told you the story of the baby—of the +woman frozen in the snow. That was the beginning of the long fight—for +me. This—what I am about to tell you—will be sacred to you, M'sieur?" +</P> + +<P> +"As my life," said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +Pierre was silent for a few moments. He seemed to be gathering his +thoughts, so that he could tell in few words the tragedy of years. Two +brilliant spots burned in his cheeks, and the hand which Philip held +was hot. +</P> + +<P> +"Years ago—twenty, almost—there came a man to Fort o' God," he began. +"He was very young, and from the south. D'Arcambal was then +middle-aged, but his wife was young and beautiful. Jeanne says that you +saw her picture—against the wall. D'Arcambal worshiped her. She was +his life. You understand what happened. The man from the south—the +young wife—they went away together." +</P> + +<P> +Pierre coughed. A bit of blood reddened his lips. Philip wiped it away +gently with his handkerchief, hiding the stain from Pierre's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he said, "I understand." +</P> + +<P> +"It broke D'Arcambal's heart," resumed Pierre. "He destroyed everything +that had belonged to the woman. He turned her picture to the wall. His +love turned slowly to hate. It was two years later that I came over the +barrens one night and found Jeanne and her dead mother. The woman, +M'sieur—Jeanne's mother—was D'Arcambal's wife. She was returning to +Fort o' God, and God's justice overtook her almost at its doors. I +carried little Jeanne to my Indian mother, and then made ready to carry +the woman to her husband. It was then that a terrible thought came to +me. Jeanne was not D'Arcambal's daughter. She was a part of the man who +had stolen his wife. I worshiped the little Jeanne even then, and for +her sake my mother and I swore secrecy, and buried the woman. Then we +took the babe to Fort o' God as a stranger. We saved her. We saved +D'Arcambal. No one ever knew." +</P> + +<P> +Pierre stopped for breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Was it best?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was glorious," said Philip, trembling. +</P> + +<P> +"It would have come out right—in the end—if the father had not +returned," said Pierre. "I must hurry, M'sieur, for it hurts me now to +talk. He came first a year ago, and revealed himself to Jeanne. He told +her everything. D'Arcambal was rich; Jeanne and I both had money. He +threatened—we bought him off. We fought to keep the terrible thing +from D'Arcambal. Our money sent him away for a time. Then he returned. +It was news of him I brought up the river to Jeanne—from Churchill. I +offered to kill him—but Jeanne would not listen to that. But the Great +God willed that I should. I killed him to-night—over there!" +</P> + +<P> +A great joy surged above the grief in Philip's heart. He could not +speak, but pressed Pierre's hand harder, and looked into his glistening +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Pierre's next words broke his silence, and wrung a low cry from his +lips. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur, this man Thorpe—Jeanne's father—is the man whom you know as +Lord Fitzhugh Lee." +</P> + +<P> +He coughed violently, and with sudden fear Philip lifted his head so +that it rested against his shoulder. After a moment he lowered it +again. His face was as white as Pierre's after that sudden fit of +coughing. +</P> + +<P> +"I talked with him—alone—on the afternoon of the fight on the rock," +continued Pierre, huskily. "He was hiding in the woods near Churchill, +and left for Fort o' God on that same day. I did not tell Jeanne—until +after what happened, and I came up with you on the river. Thorpe was +waiting for us at Fort o' God. It was he whom Jeanne saw that night +beside the rock, but I could not tell you the truth—then. He came +often after that—two, three times a week. He tortured Jeanne. My God! +he taunted her, M'sieur, and made her let him kiss her, because he was +her father. We gave him money—all that we could get; we promised him +more, if he would leave—five thousand dollars—in three years. He +agreed to go—after he had finished his work here. And that +work—M'sieur—was to destroy you. He told Jeanne, because it made her +fear him more. He compelled her to come to his cabin. He thought she +was his slave, that she would do anything to be free of him. He told +her of his plot—how he had fooled you in the sham fight with one of +his men—how those men were going to attack you a little later, and how +he had intercepted your letter from Churchill and sent in its place the +other letter which made your camp defenseless. He was not afraid of +her. She was in his power, and he laughed at her horror, and tortured +her as a cat will a bird. But Jeanne—" +</P> + +<P> +A spasm of pain shot over Pierre's face. Fresh blood dyed his lips, and +a shiver ran through his body. +</P> + +<P> +"My God!—water—something—M'sieur," he gasped. "I must go on!" +</P> + +<P> +Philip raised him again in his arms. He saw MacDougall's head appear +through the door. +</P> + +<P> +"You will rest easier this way, Pierre," he said. +</P> + +<P> +After a few moments Pierre spoke in a gasping whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"You must understand. I must be quick," he said. "We could not warn you +of what Jeanne had discovered. That would have revealed her father. +D'Arcambal would have known—every one. Thorpe plans to dress his +men—like Indians. They are to attack your camp to-morrow night. Ten +days ago we went to the camp of old Sachigo, the Cree, who loves Jeanne +as his own daughter. It was Jeanne's idea—to save you. Jeanne told him +of Thorpe's plot to destroy you, and to lay the blame on Sachigo's +people. Sachigo is out there—in the mountains—hiding with thirty of +his tribe. Two days ago Jeanne learned where her father's men were +hiding. We had planned everything. To-morrow night—when they move to +attack—we were to start a signal-fire on the big rock mountain at the +end of the lake. Sachigo starts at the signal, and lays in ambush for +the others in the ravine between the two mountains. None of Thorpe's +men will come out alive. Sachigo and his people will destroy them, and +none will ever know how it happened, for the Crees keep their secrets. +But now—it is too late—for me. When it happens—I will be gone. The +signal-pile is built—birch-bark—at the very top of the rock. Jeanne +will wait for me out on the plain—and I will not come. You must fire +the signal, M'sieur—as soon as it is dark. None will ever know. +Jeanne's father is dead. You will keep the secret—of her +mother—always—" +</P> + +<P> +"Forever," said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall came into the room, He brought a glass, partly filled with a +colored liquid, and placed it to Pierre's lips. Pierre swallowed with +an effort, and with a significant hunch of his shoulders for Philip's +eyes alone the engineer returned to the little room. +</P> + +<P> +"Mon Dieu, how it burns!" said Pierre, as if to himself. "May I lie +down again, M'sieur?" +</P> + +<P> +Philip lowered him gently. He made no effort to speak in these moments. +Pierre's eyes were dark and luminous as they sought his own. The +draught he had taken gave him a passing strength. +</P> + +<P> +"I saw Thorpe again this afternoon," he said, more calmly. "D'Arcambal +thought I had taken Jeanne to visit a trapper's wife down the +Churchill. I saw Thorpe—alone. He had been drinking. He laughed at me, +and said that Jeanne and I were fools—that he would not leave as he +had said he would—but that he would remain—always. I told Jeanne, and +asked her again to let me kill him. But she said no—and I had taken my +oath to her. Jeanne saw him again to-night. I was near the cabin, and +saw you. I told him I would kill him if he did not go. He laughed +again, and struck me. When I came to my feet he was half across the +open; I followed. I forgot my oath. Rage filled my heart. You know what +happened. You will tell Jeanne—so that she will understand—" +</P> + +<P> +"Can we not send for her?" asked Philip. "She must be near." +</P> + +<P> +"No, M'sieur," he replied, softly. "It would only give her great pain +to see me—like this. She was to meet me to-night—at twelve +o'clock—on the trail where the road-bed crosses. You will meet her in +my place. When she understands all that has happened you may bring her +here, if she wishes to come. Then—to-morrow night—you will go +together to fire the signal." +</P> + +<P> +"But Thorpe is dead," said Philip. "Will they attack without him?" +</P> + +<P> +"There is another, besides him," said Pierre. "That is one secret which +Thorpe has kept from Jeanne—who the other is—the one who is paying to +have you destroyed. Yes—they will attack." +</P> + +<P> +Philip bent low over Pierre. +</P> + +<P> +"I have known of this plot for a long time, Pierre," he said, tensely. +"I know that this Thorpe, who for some reason has passed as Lord +Fitzhugh Lee, is but the agent of a more powerful force behind him. +Have you told me all, Pierre? Do you know nothing more?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing, M'sieur." +</P> + +<P> +"Was it Thorpe who attacked you on the cliff at Churchill?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I am sure that it was not he. If the attack had not failed—it +would have meant loss—for him. I have laid it to the ruffians who +wanted to kill me—and secure Jeanne. You understand—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but I do not believe that was the motive for the attack, Pierre," +said Philip. "Did Thorpe go to see any one in Churchill?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. He was concealing himself in the forest." +</P> + +<P> +A convulsive shudder ran through Pierre's body. He gave a low cry of +pain, and his hand clutched at the babiche cord which held the locket +about his neck. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieur," he whispered, quickly, "this locket—was on the little +Jeanne—when I found her in the snow. I kept it because it bears the +woman's initials. I am foolish, M'sieur. I am weak. But I would like to +have it buried with me—under the old tree—where Jeanne's mother lies. +And if you could, M'sieur—if you only could—place something of +Jeanne's in my hand—I would rest easier." +</P> + +<P> +Philip bowed his head in silence, while his eyes grew blinding hot. +Pierre pressed his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"She loves you—as I love her," he whispered, so low that Philip could +scarcely hear. "You will love her—always. If you do not—the Great God +will let the curse of Pierre Couchee fall upon you!" +</P> + +<P> +Choking back the great sobs that rose in his breast, Philip sank upon +his knees beside Pierre, and buried his face in his arms like a +heartbroken boy. For several moments there was a silence, punctuated by +the rasping breath of the wounded man. Suddenly this sound ceased, and +Philip felt a cold fear leap through him. He listened, neither +breathing nor lifting his head. In that interval of pulseless quiet a +terrible cry came from Pierre's lips, and when Philip looked up the +dying half-breed had struggled to a sitting posture, blood staining his +lips again, his eyes blazing, his white face damp with the clammy touch +of death, and was staring through the cabin window. It was the window +that looked out over the lake, toward the rock mountain half a mile +away. Philip turned, horrified and wondering. Through the window he saw +a glow in the sky—the glow of a fire, leaping up in a crimson flood +from the top of the mountain! +</P> + +<P> +Again that terrible, moaning cry fell from Pierre's lips, and he +reached out his arms toward the signal that was blazing forth its +warning in the night. +</P> + +<P> +"Jeanne—Jeanne—" he sobbed. "My Jeanne—" +</P> + +<P> +He swayed, and fell back. His words came in choking gasps. +</P> + +<P> +"The signal!" he struggled, fighting to make Philip understand him. +"Jeanne—saw—Thorpe—to-night. He—must—changed—plans. +Attack—to-night. Jeanne—Jeanne—my Jeanne—has lighted—the +signal—fire!" +</P> + +<P> +A tremor ran through his body, and he lay still. MacDougall ran across +from the half-open door, and put his head to Pierre's breast. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he dead?" asked Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Will he become conscious again?" +</P> + +<P> +"Possibly." +</P> + +<P> +Philip gripped MacDougall by the arm. +</P> + +<P> +"The attack is to be made to-night, Mac," he exclaimed. "Warn the men. +Have them ready. But you—YOU, MacDougall, attend to this man, AND KEEP +HIM ALIVE!" +</P> + +<P> +Without another word he ran to the door and out into the night. The +signal-fire was leaping to the sky. It lighted up the black cap of the +mountain, and sent a thousand aurora fires flashing across the lake. +And Philip, as he ran swiftly through the camp toward the narrow trail +that led to that mountain-top, repeated over and over again the dying +words of Pierre— +</P> + +<P> +"Jeanne—my Jeanne—my Jeanne—" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXII +</H3> + +<P> +News of the double tragedy had swept through the camp, and there was a +crowd in front of the supply-house. Philip passed close to Thorpe's +house to avoid discovery, ran a hundred yards up the trail over which +Jeanne had fled a short time before, and then cut straight across +through the thin timber for the head of the lake. He felt no effort in +his running. Low bush whipped him in the face and left no sting. He was +not conscious that he was panting for breath when he came out in the +black shadow of the mountain. This night in itself had been a creation +for him, for out of grief and pain it had lifted him into a new life, +and into a happiness that seemed to fill him with the strength and the +endurance of five men. Jeanne loved him! The wonderful truth cried +itself out in his soul at every step he took, and he murmured it aloud +to himself, over and over again, as he ran. +</P> + +<P> +The glow of the signal-fire lighted up the sky above him, and he +climbed up, higher and higher, scrambling swiftly from rock to rock, +until he saw the tips of the flames licking up into the sky. He had +come up the steepest and shortest side of the ridge, and when he +reached the top he lay upon his face for a moment, his breath almost +gone. +</P> + +<P> +The fire was built against a huge dead pine, and the pine was blazing a +hundred feet in the air. He could feel its heat. The monster torch +illumined the barren cap of the rock from edge to edge, and he looked +about him for Jeanne. For a moment he did not see her, and her name +rose to his lips, to be stilled in the same breath by what he saw +beyond the burning pine. Through the blaze of the heat and fire fie +beheld Jeanne, standing close to the edge of the mountain, gazing into +the south and west. He called her name. Jeanne turned toward him with a +startled cry, and Philip was at her side. The girl's face was white and +strained. Her lips were twisted in pain at sight of him. She spoke no +word, but a strange sound rose in her throat, a welling-up of the +sudden despair which the fire-light revealed in her eyes. For one +moment they stood apart, and Philip tried to speak. And then, suddenly, +he reached out and drew her quickly into his arms—so quickly that +there was no time for her to escape, so closely that her sweet face lay +imprisoned upon his breast, as he had held it once before, under the +picture at Fort o' God. He felt her straining to free herself; he saw +the fear in her eyes, and he tried to speak calmly, while his heart +throbbed with the passion of love which he wished to pour into her ears. +</P> + +<P> +"Listen, Jeanne," he said. "Pierre has sent me to you. He has told me +everything—everything, my sweetheart. There is nothing to keep from me +now. I know. I understand. And I love you—love you—love you—my own +sweet Jeanne!" +</P> + +<P> +She trembled at his words. He felt her shuddering in his arms, and her +eyes gazed at him wonderingly, filled with a strange and incredulous +look, while her lips quivered and remained speechless. He drew her +nearer, until his face was against her own, and the warmth of her lips, +her eyes, and her hair entered into him, and near stifled his heart +with joy. +</P> + +<P> +"He has told me everything, my little Jeanne," he said again, in a +whisper that rose just above the crackling of the pine. "Everything. He +told me because he knew that I loved you, and because—" +</P> + +<P> +The words choked in his throat. At this hesitation Jeanne drew her head +back, and, with her hands pressing against his breast, looked into his +face. There were in her eyes the same struggling emotions, but with +them now there came also a sweet faltering, a piteous appeal to him, a +faith that rose above her terrors, and the tremble of her lips was like +that of a crying child. He drew her face back, and kissed the quivering +lips, and suddenly he felt the strain against him give way, and +Jeanne's head sobbed upon his breast. In that moment, looking where the +roaring pine sent its pinnacles of flame leaping up into the night, a +word of thanks, of prayer, rose mutely to his lips, and he held Jeanne +more closely, and whispered over and over again in his happiness, +"Jeanne—Jeanne—my sweetheart Jeanne." +</P> + +<P> +Jeanne's sobs grew less and less, and Philip strengthened himself to +tell her the terrible news of Pierre. He knew that in the selfishness +of his own joy he had already wasted precious minutes, and very gently +he took Jeanne's wet face between his two hands and turned it a little +toward his own. +</P> + +<P> +"Pierre has told me everything, Jeanne," he repeated. "Everything—from +the day he found you many years ago to the day your father returned to +torture you." He spoke calmly, even as he felt her shiver in pain +against him. "To-night there was a little trouble down in the camp, +dear. Pierre is wounded, and wants you to come to him. +Thorpe—is—dead." +</P> + +<P> +For an instant Philip was frightened at what happened. Jeanne's breath +ceased. There seemed to be not a quiver of life in her body, and she +lay in his arms as if dead. And then, suddenly, there came from her a +terrible cry, and she wrenched herself free, and stood a step from him, +her face as white as death. +</P> + +<P> +"He—is—dead—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he is dead." +</P> + +<P> +"And Pierre—Pierre killed him?" +</P> + +<P> +Philip held out his arms, but Jeanne did not seem to see them. She saw +the answer in his face. +</P> + +<P> +"And—Pierre—is—hurt—" she went on, never taking her wide, luminous +eyes from his face. +</P> + +<P> +Before he answered Philip took her trembling hands in his own, as +though he would lighten the blow by the warmth and touch of his great +love. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he is hurt, Jeanne," he said. "We must hurry, for I am afraid +there is no time to lose." +</P> + +<P> +"He is—dying?" +</P> + +<P> +"I fear so, Jeanne." +</P> + +<P> +He turned before the look that came into her face, and led her about +the circle of fire to the side of the mountain that sloped down into +the plain. Suddenly Jeanne stopped for an instant. Her fingers +tightened about his. Her face was turned back into the endless +desolation of night and forest that lay to the south and west. Far +out—a mile—two miles—an answering fire was breaking the black +curtain that hid all things beyond them. Jeanne lifted her face to him. +Grief and love, pain and joy, shone in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"They are there!" she said, chokingly. "It is Sachigo, and they are +coming—coming—coming—" +</P> + +<P> +Once again before they began the descent of the mountain Philip drew +her close in his arms, and kissed her. And this time there was the +sweet surrender to him of all things in the tenderness of Jeanne's +lips. Silent in their grief, and yet communing in sympathy and love in +the firm clasp of their hands, they came down the mountain, through the +thin spruce forest, and to the lighted cabin where Pierre lay dying. +MacDougall was in the room when they entered, and rose softly, +tiptoeing into the little office. Philip led Jeanne to Pierre's side, +and as he bent over him, and spoke softly, the half-breed opened his +eyes. He saw Jeanne. Into his fading eyes there came a wonderful light. +His lips moved, and his hands strove to lift themselves above the +crumpled blanket. Jeanne dropped upon her knees beside him, and as she +clasped his chilled hands to her breast a glorious understanding +lighted up her face; and then she took Pierre's face between her hands, +and bowed her own close down to it, so that the two were hidden under +the beauteous halo of her hair. Philip gripped at his throat to hold +back a sob. A terrible stillness came into the room, and he dared not +move. It seemed a long time before Jeanne lifted her head, slowly, +tenderly, as if fearing to awaken a sleeping child. She turned to him, +and he read the truth in her face before she had spoken. Her voice was +low and calm, filled with the sweetness and tenderness and strength +that come only to a woman in the final moment of a great sorrow. +</P> + +<P> +"Leave us, Philip," she said. "Pierre is dead." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXIII +</H3> + +<P> +For a moment Philip bowed his head, and then he turned and went +noiselessly from the room, without speaking. As he closed the door +softly behind him he looked back, and from her attitude beside Pierre +he knew that Jeanne was whispering a prayer. A vision flashed before +him, so quick that it had come like a ray of light—a vision of another +hour, years and years ago, when Pierre had knelt beside HER, and when +he had lifted up his wild, half-thought prayer out in the death-chill +of the snowy barrens. And this was his reward, to have Jeanne kneel +beside him as the soul which had loved her so faithfully took its +flight. +</P> + +<P> +Philip could not see when he turned his face to the light of the +office. For the first time the grief which he had choked back escaped +in a gasping break in his voice, and he wiped his eyes with his +pocket-handkerchief. He knew that MacDougall was looking upon his +weakness, but he did not at first see that there was another person in +the room besides the engineer. This second person rose to meet him, +while MacDougall remained in his seat, and as he came out into the +clearer light of the room Philip could scarce believe his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +It was Gregson! +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry that I came in just at this time, Phil," he greeted, in a +low voice. +</P> + +<P> +Philip stared, still incredulous. He had never seen Gregson as he +looked now. The artist advanced no farther. He did not hold out his +hand. There was none of the joy of meeting in his face. His eyes +shifted to the door that led into the death-chamber, and they were +filled with the gloom of a condemned man. With a low word Philip held +out his hand to meet his old comrade's. Gregson drew back. +</P> + +<P> +"No—not now," he said. "Wait—until you have heard me." +</P> + +<P> +Something in his cold, passionless voice stopped Philip. He saw Gregson +glance toward MacDougall, and understood what he meant. Going to the +engineer, he placed a hand on his shoulder, and spoke so that only he +could hear. +</P> + +<P> +"She is in there, Mac—with Pierre. She wanted to be alone with him for +a few minutes. Will you wait for her—outside—at the door, and take +her over to Cassidy's wife? Tell her that I will come to her in a +little while." +</P> + +<P> +He followed MacDougall to the door, speaking to him in a low voice, and +then turned to Gregson. The artist had seated himself at one side of +the small office table, and Philip sat down opposite him, holding out +his hand to him again. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter, Greggy?" +</P> + +<P> +"This is not a time for long explanations," said the artist, still +holding back his hand. "They can come later, Phil. But +to-night—now—you must understand why I cannot shake hands with you. +We have been friends for a good many years. In a few minutes we will be +enemies—or you will be mine. One thing, before I go on, I must ask of +you. I demand it. Whatever passes between us during the next ten +minutes, say no word against Eileen Brokaw. I will say what you might +say—that for a time her soul wandered, and was almost lost. But it has +come back to her, strong and pure. I love her. Some strange fate has +ordained that she should love me, worthless as I am. She is to be my +wife." +</P> + +<P> +Philip's hand was still across the table. +</P> + +<P> +"Greggy—Greggy—God bless you!" he cried, softly. "I know what it is +to love, and to be loved. Why should I be your enemy because Eileen +Brokaw's heart has turned to gold, and she has given it to you? Greggy, +shake!" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait," said Gregson, huskily. "Phil, you are breaking my heart. +Listen. You got my note? But I did not desert you so abominably. I made +a discovery that last night of yours in Churchill. I went to Eileen +Brokaw, and to-morrow—some time—if you care I will tell you of all +that happened. First you must know this. I have found the 'power' that +is fighting you down below. I have found the man who is behind the plot +to ruin your company, the man who is responsible for Thorpe's crimes, +the man who is responsible—for—that—in—there." +</P> + +<P> +He leaned across the table and pointed to the closed door. +</P> + +<P> +"And that man—" +</P> + +<P> +For a moment he seemed to choke. +</P> + +<P> +"Is Brokaw, the father of my affianced wife!" +</P> + +<P> +"Good God!" cried Philip. "Gregson, are you mad?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was almost mad, when I first made the discovery," said Gregson, as +cold as ice. "But I am sane now. His scheme was to have the government +annul your provisional license. Thorpe and his men were to destroy this +camp, and kill you. The money on hand from stock, over six hundred +thousand dollars, would have gone into Brokaw's pockets. There is no +need of further detail—now—for you can understand. He knew Thorpe, +and secured him as his agent. It was merely a whim of Thorpe's to take +the name of Lord Fitzhugh instead of something less conspicuous. Three +months before Brokaw came to Churchill he wished to get detailed +instructions to Thorpe which he dared not trust to a wilderness mail +service. He could find no messenger whom he dared trust. So he sent +Eileen. She was at Fort o' God for a week. Then she came to Churchill, +where we saw her. The scheme was that Brokaw should bribe the ship's +captain to run close into Blind Eskimo Point, at night, and signal to +Thorpe and Eileen, who would be waiting. It worked, and Eileen and +Thorpe came on with the ship. At the landing—you remember—Eileen was +met by the girl from Fort o' God. In order not to betray herself to you +she refused to recognize her. Later she told her father, and Thorpe and +Brokaw saw in it an opportunity to strike a first blow. Brokaw had +brought two men whom he could trust, and Thorpe had four or five others +at Churchill. The attack on the cliff followed, the object being to +kill the man, but take the girl unharmed, A messenger was to take the +news of what happened to Fort o' God, and lay the crime to men who had +run up to Churchill from your camp. Chance favored you that night, and +you spoiled their plan. Chance favored me, and I found Eileen. It is +useless for me to go into detail as to what happened after that, except +to say this—that Eileen knew nothing of the proposed attack, that she +was ignorant of the heinousness of the plot against you, and that she +was almost as much a tool of her father as you. Phil—" +</P> + +<P> +For the first time there came a pleading light into Gregson's eyes as +he leaned across the table. +</P> + +<P> +"Phil, if it wasn't for Eileen I would not be here. I thought that she +would kill herself when I told her as much of the story as I knew. She +told me what she had done; she confessed for her father. In that hour +of her agony I could not keep back my love. We plotted. I forged a +letter, and made it possible to accompany Brokaw and Eileen up the +Churchill. It was not my purpose to join you, and so Eileen professed +to be taken ill. We camped, back from the river, and I sent our two +Indians back to Churchill, for Eileen and I wished to be alone with +Brokaw in the terrible hour that was coming. That is all. Everything is +revealed. I have come to you as quickly as I could, to find that Thorpe +is dead. In my own selfishness I would have shielded Brokaw, arguing +that he could pay Thorpe, and work honorably henceforth. You would +never have known. It is Eileen who makes this confession, not I. Phil, +her last words to me were these: 'You love me. Then you will tell him +all this. Only after this, if he shows us a mercy which we do not +deserve, can I be your wife.' +</P> + +<P> +"There is only one other thing to add. I have shown Brokaw a ray of +hope. He will hand over to you all his rights in the company and the +six hundred thousand in the treasury. He will sign over to you, as +repurchase money for whatever stock you wish to call in, practically +his whole fortune—five hundred thousand. He will disappear, completely +and forever. Eileen and I will hunt out our own little corner in a new +world, and you will never hear of us again. This is what we have +planned to do, if you show us mercy." +</P> + +<P> +Philip had not spoken during Gregson's terrible recital. He sat like +one turned to stone. Rage, wonder, and horror burned so fiercely in his +heart that they consumed all evidence of emotion. And to arouse him now +there came an interruption that sent the blood flushing back into his +face—a low knock at the closed door, a slow lifting of the latch, the +appearance of Jeanne. Through her tears she saw only the man she loved, +and sobbing aloud now, like a child, she stretched out her arms to him; +and when he sprang to her and caught her to his breast, she whispered +his name again and again, and stroked his face with her hands. Love, +overpowering, breathing of heaven, was in her touch, and as she lifted +her face to him of her own sweet will now, entreating him to kiss her +and to comfort her for what she had lost, he saw Gregson moving with +bowed head, like a stricken thing, toward the outer door. In that +moment the things that had been in his heart melted away, and raising a +hand above his head, he called, softly: +</P> + +<P> +"Tom Gregson, my old chum, if you have found a love like this, thank +your God. My own love I would lose if I destroyed yours. Go back to +Eileen. Tell Brokaw that I accept his offers. And when you come back in +a few days, bring Eileen. My Jeanne will love her." +</P> + +<P> +And Jeanne, looking from Philip's face, saw Gregson, for the first +time, as he passed through the door. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXIV +</H3> + +<P> +Both Philip and Jeanne were silent for some moments after Gregson had +gone; their only movement was the gentle stroking of Philip's hand over +the girl's soft hair. Their hearts were full, too full for speech. And +yet he knew that upon his strength depended everything now. The +revelations of Gregson, which virtually ended the fight against him +personally, were but trivial in his thoughts compared with the ordeal +which was ahead of Jeanne. Both Pierre and her father were dead, and, +with the exception of Jeanne, no one but he knew of the secret that had +died with them. He could feel against him the throbbing of the storm +that was passing in the girl's heart, and in answer to it he said +nothing in words, but held her to him with a gentleness that lifted her +face, quiet and beautiful, so that her eyes looked steadily and +questioningly into his own. +</P> + +<P> +"You love me," she said, simply, and yet with a calmness that sent a +curious thrill through him. +</P> + +<P> +"Beyond all else in the world," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +She still looked at him, without speaking, as though through his eyes +she was searching to the bottom of his soul. +</P> + +<P> +"And you know," she whispered, after a moment. +</P> + +<P> +He drew her so close she could not move, and crushed his face down +against her own. +</P> + +<P> +"Jeanne—Jeanne—everything is as it should be," he said. "I am glad +that you were found out in the snows. I am glad that the woman in the +picture was your mother. I would have nothing different than it is, for +if things were different you would not be the Jeanne that I know, and I +would not love you so. You have suffered, sweetheart. And I, too, have +had my share of sorrow. God has brought us together, and all is right +in the end. Jeanne—my sweet Jeanne—" +</P> + +<P> +Gregson had left the outer door slightly ajar. A gust of wind opened it +wider. Through it there came now a sound that interrupted the words on +Philip's lips, and sent a sudden quiver through Jeanne. In an instant +both recognized the sound. It was the firing of rifles, the shots +coming to them faintly from far beyond the mountain at the end of the +lake. Moved by the same impulse, they ran to the door, hand in hand. +</P> + +<P> +"It is Sachigo!" panted Jeanne. She could hardly speak. She seemed to +struggle to get breath, "I had forgotten. They are fighting—" +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall strode up from his post beside the door, where he had been +waiting for the appearance of Jeanne. +</P> + +<P> +"Firing—off there," he said. "What does it mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"We must wait and see," replied Philip. "Send two of your men to +investigate, Mac. I will rejoin you after I have taken Miss d'Arcambal +over to Cassidy's wife." +</P> + +<P> +He moved away quickly with Jeanne. On a sudden rise of the wind from +the south the firing came to them more distinctly. Then it died away, +and ended in three or four intermittent shots. For the space of a dozen +seconds a strange stillness followed, and then over the mountain top, +where there was still a faint glow in the sky, there came the low, +quavering, triumphal cry of the Crees: a cry born of the forest itself, +mournful even in its joy, only half human—almost like a far-away burst +of tongue from a wolf pack on the hunt trail. And after that there was +an unbroken silence. +</P> + +<P> +"It is over," breathed Philip. +</P> + +<P> +He felt Jeanne's fingers tighten about his own. +</P> + +<P> +"No one will ever know," he continued. "Even MacDougall will not guess +what has happened out there—to-night." +</P> + +<P> +He stopped a dozen paces from Cassidy's cabin. The windows were aglow, +and they could hear the laughter and play of Cassidy's two children +within. Gently he drew Jeanne to him. +</P> + +<P> +"You will stay here to-night, dear," he said. "To-morrow we will go to +Fort o' God." +</P> + +<P> +"You must take me home to-night," whispered Jeanne, looking up into his +face. "I must go, Philip. Send some one with me, and you can come—in +the morning—with Pierre—" +</P> + +<P> +She put her hand to his face again, in the sweet touch that told more +of her love than a thousand words. +</P> + +<P> +"You understand, dear," she went on, seeing the anxiety in his eyes. "I +have the strength—to-night. I must return to father, and he will know +everything—when you come to Fort o' God." +</P> + +<P> +"I will send MacDougall with you," said Philip, after a moment. "And +then I will follow—" +</P> + +<P> +"With Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, with Pierre." +</P> + +<P> +For a brief space longer they stood outside of Cassidy's cabin, and +then Philip, lifting her face, said gently: +</P> + +<P> +"Will you kiss me, dear? It is the first time." +</P> + +<P> +He bent down, and Jeanne's lips reached his own. +</P> + +<P> +"No, it is not the first time," she confessed, in a whisper. "Not since +that day—when I thought you were dying—after we came through the +rapids—" +</P> + +<P> +Five minutes later Philip returned to MacDougall. Roberts, Henshaw, +Cassidy, and Lecault were with the engineer. +</P> + +<P> +"I've sent the St. Pierres to find out about the firing," he said. +"Look at the crowd over at the store. Every one heard it, and they've +seen the fire on the mountain. They think the Indians have cornered a +moose or two and are shooting them by the blaze." +</P> + +<P> +"They're probably right," said Philip. "I want a word with you, Mac." +</P> + +<P> +He walked a little aside with the engineer, leaving the others in a +group, and in a low voice told him as much as he cared to reveal about +the identity of Thorpe and Gregson's mission in camp. Then he spoke of +Jeanne. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe that the death of Thorpe practically ends all danger to us," +he concluded. "I'm going to offer you a pleasanter job than fighting, +Mac. It is imperative that Miss d'Arcambal should return to D'Arcambal +House before morning, and I want you to take her, if you will. I'm +choosing the best man I've got because—well, because she's going to be +my wife, Mac. I'm the happiest man on earth to-night!" +</P> + +<P> +MacDougall did not show surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Guessed it," he said, shortly, thrusting out a hand and grinning +broadly into Philip's face "Couldn't help from seeing, Phil. And the +firing, and Thorpe, and that half-breed in there—" +</P> + +<P> +Understanding was slowly illuminating his face. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll know all about them a little later, Mac," said Philip softly. +"To-night we must investigate nothing—very far. Miss d'Arcambal must +be taken home immediately. Will you go?" +</P> + +<P> +"With pleasure." +</P> + +<P> +"She can ride one of the horses as far as the Little Churchill," +continued Philip. "And there she will show you a canoe. I will follow +in the morning with the body of Pierre, the half-breed." +</P> + +<P> +A quarter of an hour later MacDougall and Jeanne set out over the river +trail, leaving Philip standing behind, watching them until they were +hidden in the night. It was fully an hour later before the St. Pierres +returned. Philip was uneasy until the two dark-faced hunters came into +the little office and leaned their rifles against the wall. He had +feared that Sachigo might have left some trace of his ambush behind. +But the St. Pierres had discovered nothing, and could give only one +reason for the burning pine on the summit of the mountain. They agreed +that Indians had fired it to frighten moose from a thick cover to the +south and west, and that their hunt had been a failure. +</P> + +<P> +It was midnight before Philip relaxed his caution, which he maintained +until then in spite of his belief that Thorpe's men, under Blake, had +met a quick finish at the hands of Sachigo and his ambushed braves. His +men left for their cabins, with the exception of Cassidy, whom he asked +to spend the remainder of the night in one of the office bunks. Alone +he went in to prepare Pierre for his last journey to Fort o' God. +</P> + +<P> +A lamp was burning low beside the bunk in which Pierre lay. Philip +approached and turned the wick higher, and then he gazed in wonder upon +the transfiguration in the half-breed's face. Pierre had died with a +smile on his lips; and with a curious thickening in his throat Philip +thought that those lips, even in death, were craved in the act of +whispering Jeanne's name. It seemed to him, as he stood in silence for +many moments, that Pierre was not dead, but that he was sleeping a +quiet, unbreathing sleep, in which there came to him visions of the +great love for which he had offered up his life and his soul. Jeanne's +hands, in his last moments, had stilled all pain. Peace slumbered in +the pale shadows of his closed eyes. The Great God of his faith had +come to him in his hour of greatest need on earth, and he had passed +away into the Valley of Silent Men on the sweet breath of Jeanne's +prayers. The girl had crossed his hands upon his breast. She had +brushed back his long hair. Philip knew that she had imprinted a kiss +upon the silent lips before the soul had fled, and in the warmth and +knowledge of that kiss Pierre had died happy. +</P> + +<P> +And Philip, brokenly, said aloud: +</P> + +<P> +"God bless you, Pierre, old man!" +</P> + +<P> +He lifted the cold hands back, and gently drew the covers which had +hidden the telltale stains of death from Jeanne's eyes. He turned down +Pierre's shirt, and in the lamp-glow there glistened the golden locket. +For the first time he noticed it closely. It was half as large as the +palm of his hand, and very thin, and he saw that it was bent and +twisted. A shudder ran through him when he understood what had +happened. The bullet that had killed Pierre had first struck the +locket, and had burst it partly open. He took it in his hand. And then +he saw that through the broken side there protruded the end of a bit of +paper. For a brief space the discovery made him almost forget the +presence of death. Pierre had never opened the locket, because it was +of the old-fashioned kind that locked with a key, and the key was gone. +And the locket had been about Jeanne's neck when he found her out in +the snows! Was it possible that this bit of paper had something to do +with the girl he loved? +</P> + +<P> +Carefully, so that it would not tear, he drew it forth. There was +writing on the paper, as he had expected, and he read it, bent low +beside the lamp. The date was nearly eighteen years old. The lines were +faint. The words were these: +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +MY HUSBAND,—God can never undo what I have done. I have dragged myself +back, repentant, loving you more than I have ever loved you in my life, +to leave our little girl with you. She is your daughter, and mine. She +was born on the eighth day of September, the seventh month after I left +Fort o' God, She is yours, and so I bring her back to you, with the +prayer that she will help to fill the true and noble heart that I have +broken. I cannot ask your forgiveness, for I do not deserve it. I +cannot let you see me, for I should kill myself at your feet. I have +lived this long only for the baby. I will leave her where you cannot +fail to find her, and by the time you have read this I will have +answered for my sin—my madness, if you can have charity regard it so. +And if God is kind I will hover about you always, and you will know +that in death the old sweetheart, and the mother, has found what she +could never again hope for in life. +<BR><BR> +YOUR WIFE. +</P> + +<P> +Philip rose slowly erect and gazed down into the still, tranquil face +of Pierre, the half-breed. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you open it?" he whispered. "Why didn't you open it? My +God, what it would have saved—" +</P> + +<P> +For a full minute he looked down at Pierre, as though he expected that +the white lips would move and answer him. And then he thought of Jeanne +hurrying to Fort o' God, and of the terrible things which she was to +reveal to her father that night. She was D'Arcambal's own daughter. +What pain—what agony of father and child he might have saved if he had +examined the locket a little sooner! He looked at his watch and found +that Jeanne had been gone three hours. It would be impossible to +overtake MacDougall and the girl unless something had occurred to delay +them somewhere along the trail. He hurried back into the little room, +where he had left Cassidy. In a few words he explained that it was +necessary for him to follow Jeanne and the engineer to D'Arcambal House +without a moment's delay, and he directed Cassidy to take charge of +camp affairs, and to send Pierre's body with a suitable escort the next +day. +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't necessary for me to tell you what to do," he finished, "You +understand." +</P> + +<P> +Cassidy nodded. Six months before he had buried his youngest child +under a big spruce back of his cabin. +</P> + +<P> +Philip hastened to the stables, and, choosing one of the lighter +animals, was soon galloping over the trail toward the Little Churchill. +In his face there blew a cold wind from Hudson's Bay, and now and then +he felt the sting of fine particles in his eyes. They were the presage +of storm. A shifting of the wind a little to the east and south, and +the fine particles would thicken, and turn into snow. By morning the +world would be white. He came into the forests beyond the plain, and in +the spruce and the cedar tops the wind was half a gale, filling the +night with wailing and moaning sounds that sent strange shivers through +him as he thought of Pierre in the cabin. In such a way, he imagined, +had the north wind swept across the cold barrens on the night that +Pierre had found the woman and the babe; and now it seemed, in his +fancies, as though above and about him the great hand that had guided +the half-breed then was bringing back the old night, as if Pierre, in +dying, had wished it so. For the wind changed. The fine particles +thickened, and changed to snow. And then there was no longer the +wailing and the moaning in the tree-tops, but the soft murmur of a +white deluge that smothered him in a strange gloom and hid the trail. +There were two canoes concealed at the end of the trail on the Little +Churchill, and Philip chose the smallest. He followed swiftly after +MacDougall and Jeanne. He could no longer see either side of the +stream, and he was filled with a fear that he might pass the little +creek that led to Fort o' God. He timed himself by his watch, and when +he had paddled for two hours he ran in close to the west shore, +traveling so slowly that he did not progress a mile in half an hour. +And then suddenly, from close ahead, there rose through the snow-gloom +the dismal howl of a dog, which told him that he was near to Fort o' +God. He found the black opening that marked the entrance to the creek, +and when he ran upon the sand-bar a hundred yards beyond he saw lights +burning in the great room where he had first seen D'Arcambal. He went +now where Pierre had led him that night, and found the door unlocked. +He entered silently, and passed down the dark hall until, on the left, +he saw a glow of light that came from the big room. Something in the +silence that was ahead of him made his own approach without sound, and +softly he entered through the door. +</P> + +<P> +In the great chair sat the master of Fort o' God, his gray head bent; +at his feet knelt Jeanne, and so close were they that D'Arcambal's face +was hidden in Jeanne's shining, disheveled hair. No sooner had Philip +entered the room than his presence seemed to arouse the older man. He +lifted his head slowly, looking toward the door, and when he saw who +stood there he raised one of his arms from about the girl and held it +out to Philip. +</P> + +<P> +"My son!" he said. +</P> + +<P> +In a moment Philip was upon his knees beside Jeanne, and one of +D'Arcambal's heavy hands fell upon his shoulder in a touch that told +him he had come too late to keep back any part of the terrible story +which Jeanne had bared to him. The girl did not speak when she saw him +beside her. It was as if she had expected him to come, and her hand +found his and nestled in it, as cold as ice. +</P> + +<P> +"I have hurried from the camp," he said. "I tried to overtake Jeanne. +About Pierre's neck I found a locket, and in the locket—was this—" +</P> + +<P> +He looked into D'Arcambal's haggard face as he gave him the +blood-stained note, and he knew that in the moment that was to come the +master of Fort o' God and his daughter should be alone. +</P> + +<P> +"I will wait in the portrait-room," he said, in a low voice, and as he +rose to his feet he pressed Jeanne's hand to his lips. +</P> + +<P> +The old room was as he had left it weeks before. The picture of +Jeanne's mother still hung with its face to the wall. There was the +same elusive movement of the portrait over the volume of warm air that +rose from the floor. In this room he seemed to breathe again the +presence of a warm spirit of life, as he had felt it on the first +night—a spirit that seemed to him to be a part of Jeanne herself, and +he thought of the last words of the wife and mother—of her promise to +remain always near those whom she loved, to regain after death the +companionship which she could never hope for in life. And then there +came to him a thought of the vast and wonderful mystery of death, and +he wondered if it was her spirit that had been with him more than one +lonely night, when his camp-fire was low; if it was her presence that +had filled him with transcendent dreams of hope and love, coming to him +that night beside the rock at Churchill, and leading him at last to +Jeanne, for whom she had given up her life. He heard again the rising +of the wind outside and the beating of the storm against the window, +and he went softly to see if his vision could penetrate into the white, +twisting gloom beyond the glass. For many minutes he stood, seeing +nothing. And then he heard a sound, and turned to see Jeanne and her +father standing in the door. Glory was in the face of the master of +Fort o' God. He seemed not to see Philip—he seemed to see nothing but +the picture that was turned against the wall. He strode across the +room, his great shoulders straightened, his shaggy head erect, and with +the pride of one revealing first to human eyes the masterpiece of his +soul and life he turned the picture so that the radiant face of the +wife and mother looked down upon him. And was it fancy that for a +fleeting moment the smile left the beautiful lips, and a light, soft +and luminous, pleading for love and forgiveness, filled the eyes of +Jeanne's mother? Philip trembled. Jeanne came across to him silently, +and crept into his arms. And then, slowly, the master of Fort o' God +turned toward them and stretched out both of his great arms. +</P> + +<P> +"My children!" he said. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXV +</H3> + +<P> +All that night the storm came out of the north and east. Hours after +Jeanne and her father had left him Philip went quietly from his room, +passed down the hall, and opened the outer door. He could hear the gale +whistling over the top of the great rock, and moaning in the spruce and +cedar forest, and he closed the door after him, and buried himself in +the darkness and wind. He bowed his head to the stinging snow, which +came like blasts of steeled shot, and hurried into the shelter of the +Sun Rock, and stood there after that listening to the wildness of the +storm and the strange whistling of the wind cutting itself to pieces +far over his head. Since man had first beheld that rock such storms as +this had come and gone for countless generations. Two hundred years and +more had passed since Grosellier first looked out upon a wondrous world +from its summit. And yet this storm—to-night—whistling and moaning +about him, filling all space with its grief, its triumph, and its +madness, seemed to be for him—and for him alone. His heart answered to +it. His soul trembled to the marvelous meaning of it. To-night this +storm was his own. He was a part of a world which he would never leave. +Here, beside the great Sun Rock of the Crees, he had found home, life, +happiness, his God. Here, henceforth through all time, he would live +with his beloved Jeanne, dreaming no dreams that went beyond the peace +of the mountains and the forests. He lifted his face to where the storm +swept above him, and for an instant he fancied that high up on the +ragged edge of the rock there might have stood Pierre, with his great, +gaping, hungry heart, filled with pain and yearning, staring off into +the face of the Almighty. And he fancied, too, that beside him there +hovered the wife and mother. And then he looked to Fort o' God. The +lights were out. Quiet, if not sleep, had fallen upon all life within. +And it seemed to Philip, as he went back again through the storm, that +in the moaning tumult of the night there was music instead of sadness. +</P> + +<P> +He did not sleep until nearly morning. And when he awoke he found that +the storm had passed, and that over a world of spotless white there had +risen a brilliant sun. He looked out from his window, and saw the top +of the Sun Rock glistening in a golden fire, and where the forest trees +had twisted and moaned there were now unending canopies of snow, so +that it seemed as though the storm, in passing, had left behind only +light, and beauty, and happiness for all living things. +</P> + +<P> +Trembling with the joy of this, Philip went to his door, and from the +door down the hall, and where the light of the sun blazed through a +window near to the great room where he expected to find the master of +Fort o' God, there stood Jeanne. And as she heard him coming, and +turned toward him, all the glory and beauty of the wondrous day was in +her face and hair. Like an angel she stood waiting for him, pale and +yet flushing a little, her eyes shining and yearning for him, her soul +in the tremble of the single word on her sweet lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Philip—" +</P> + +<P> +"Jeanne—" +</P> + +<P> +No more—and yet against each other their hearts told what it was +futile for their lips to attempt. They looked out through the window. +Beyond that window, as far as the vision could reach, swept the +barrens, over which Pierre had brought the little Jeanne. Something +sobbing rose in the girl's throat. She lifted her eyes, swimming with +love and tears, to Philip, and from his breast she reached up both +hands gently to his face. +</P> + +<P> +"They will bring Pierre—to-day—-" she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"We will bury him out yonder," she said, stroking his face, and he knew +that she meant out in the barren, where the mother lay. +</P> + +<P> +He bowed his face close down against hers to hide the woman's weakness +that was bringing a misty film into his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You love me," she whispered. "You love me—love me—and you will never +take me away, but will stay with me always. You will stay +here—dear—in my beautiful world—we two—alone—" +</P> + +<P> +"For ever and for ever," he murmured. +</P> + +<P> +They heard a step, firm and vibrant with the strength of a new life, +and they knew that it was the master of Fort o' God. +</P> + +<P> +"Always—we two—forever," whispered Philip again. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Flower of the North, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLOWER OF THE NORTH *** + +***** This file should be named 4703-h.htm or 4703-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/7/0/4703/ + +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: Flower of the North + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Posting Date: September 6, 2009 [EBook #4703] +Release Date: December, 2003 +First Posted: March 3, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLOWER OF THE NORTH *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + + + +FLOWER OF THE NORTH + +A MODERN ROMANCE + + +BY + +JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD + + + +AUTHOR OF THE DANGER TRAIL, PHILIP STEELS, ETC. + + + + + +TO MY COMRADES OF THE GREAT NORTHERN WILDERNESS, THOSE FAITHFUL +COMPANIONS WITH WHOM I HAVE SHARED THE JOYS AND HARDSHIPS OF THE "LONG +SILENT TRAIL," AND ESPECIALLY TO THAT "JEANNE D'ARCAMBAL." WHO WILL +FIND IN HERSELF THE HEROINE OF THIS STORY, THE WRITER GRATEFULLY +DEDICATES THIS VOLUME. + +DETROIT. MICHIGAN + +JANUARY, 1912 + + + + + +FLOWER OF THE NORTH + + + + +I + + +"Such hair! Such eyes! Such color! Laugh if you will, Whittemore, but I +swear that she was the handsomest girl I've ever laid my eyes upon!" + +There was an artist's enthusiasm in Gregson's girlishly sensitive face +as he looked across the table at Whittemore and lighted a cigarette. + +"She wouldn't so much as give me a look when I stared," he added. "I +couldn't help it. Gad, I'm going to make a full-page 'cover' of her +to-morrow for Burke's. Burke dotes on pretty women for the cover of his +magazine. Why, demmit, man, what the deuce are you laughing at?" + +"Not at this particular case, Tom," apologized Whittemore. "But--I'm +wondering--" + +His eyes wandered ruminatively about the rough interior of the little +cabin, lighted by a single oil-lamp hanging from a cross-beam in the +ceiling, and he whistled softly. + +"I'm wondering," he went on, "if you'll ever strike a place where you +won't see 'one of the most beautiful things on earth.' The last one was +at Rio Piedras, wasn't it, Tom? A Spanish girl, or was she a Creole? I +believe I've got your letter yet, and I'll read it to you to-morrow. I +wasn't surprised. There are pretty women down in Porto Rico. But I +didn't think you'd have the nerve to discover one up here--in the +wilderness." + +"She's got them all beat," retorted the artist, flecking the ash from +the tip of his cigarette. + +"Even the Valencia girl, eh?" + +There was a chuckling note of pleasure in Philip Whittemore's voice as +he leaned half across the table, his handsome face, bronzed by snow and +wind, illumined in the lamp-glow. Gregson, in strong contrast, with his +round, smooth cheeks, slim hands, and build that was almost womanish, +leaned over his side to meet him. For the twentieth time that evening +the two men shook hands. + +"Haven't forgotten Valencia, eh?" chuckled the artist, gloatingly. +"Lord, but I'm glad to see you again, Phil. Seems like a century since +we were out raising the Old Ned together, and yet it's less than three +years since we came back from South America. Valencia! Will we ever +forget it? When Burke handed me his first turn-down a month ago and +said, 'Tom, your work begins to show you want a rest,' I thought of +Valencia, and was so confoundedly homesick for those old days when you +and I pretty nearly started a revolution, and came within an ace of +getting our scalps lifted, that I moped for a week. Gad, do I remember +it? You got out by fighting, and I through a pretty girl." + +"And your nerve," chuckled Whittemore, crushing the other's hand. "That +was when I made up my mind you were the nerviest man alive, Greggy. Did +you ever learn what became of Donna Isobel?" + +"She appeared twice in Burke's, once as the 'Goddess of the Southern +Republics' and again as 'The Girl of Valencia.' She married that +reprobate of a Carabobo planter, and I believe they're happy." + +"It seems to me there were others," continued Whittemore, pondering for +a moment in mock seriousness. "There was one at Rio whom you swore +would make your fortune if you could get her to sit for you, and whose +husband was on the point of putting six inches of steel into you for +telling her so, when I explained that you were young and harmless, and +a little out of your head--" + +"With your fist," cried Gregson, joyously. "Gad, but that was a mighty +blow! I can see that knife now. I was just beginning my paternoster +when--chug!--and down he went! And he deserved it. I said nothing +wrong. In my very best Spanish I asked her if she would sit for me, and +why the devil did he take that as an insult? And she was beautiful." + +"Of course," agreed Whittemore. "If I remember, she was 'the loveliest +creature you had ever seen.' And after that there were others--a score +of them at least, each lovelier than the one before." + +"They make up my life," said Gregson, more seriously than he had yet +spoken. "They're the only thing I can draw and do well. I'd think an +editor was mad if he asked me to do something without a pretty woman in +it. God bless 'em, I hope I'll go on seeing them forever. When I can't +see beauty in woman I want to die." + +"And you always want to see it in the superlative degree." + +"I insist upon it. If she lacks something, as Donna Isobel wanted +color, I imagine that it is there, and she is perfect! But this one +that I saw to-night is perfect! Now what I want to know is this, Who +the deuce is she!" + +--"where can she be found, and will she sit for a 'Burke,' two or three +miscellaneous, and a 'study' for the annual sale," struck in +Whittemore. "Is that it?" + +"Exactly. You've a natural ability for hitting the nail on the head, +Phil." + +"And Burke told you to take a rest." + +Gregson offered his cigarettes. + +"Yes, Burke is a good-natured, poetic old soul who has a horror of +spiders, snakes, and sky-scrapers. He said to me: 'Greggy, go and seek +nature in some quiet, secluded place, and forget everything for a +fortnight or two except your clothes and half a dozen cases of beer.' +Rest! Nature! Beer! Think of those cheerful suggestions, Phil, while I +was dreaming of Valencia, of Donna Isobels, and places where Nature +cuts up as though she had been taking champagne all her life. Gad, your +letter came just in time!" + +"And I told you little enough in that," said Philip, quickly, rising +and pacing uneasily back and forth across the cabin floor. "I gave you +promise of excitement, and urged you to join me if you could. And why? +Because--" + +He turned sharply, and faced Gregson across the table. + +"I wanted you to come because the thing that happened down in Valencia, +and that other at Rio, isn't a circumstance to the hell that's going to +cut loose pretty soon up here--and I'm in need of help. Understand? +It's not fun--this time. I'm playing a single hand in what looks like a +losing game. If I ever needed a fighter in my life I need one now. +That's why I sent for you." + +Gregson shoved back his chair and rose to his feet. He was a head +shorter than his companion, of almost delicate physique. Yet there was +something in the cold gray-blue of his eyes, a peculiar hardness of his +chin, that compelled one to look at him twice and rendered first +judgment unsafe. His slim fingers closed like steel about Philip's. + +"Now you're coming down to business, Phil," he exclaimed. "I've been +waiting with the patience of Job--or of little Bobby Tuckett, if you +remember him, who began courting Minnie Sheldon seven years ago--and +married her the day after I got your letter. I was too busy figuring +out what you hadn't written to go to the wedding. I tried to read +between the lines, and fell down completely. I've been thinking all the +way up from Le Pas, and I'm still at sea. You called. I came. What's +up?" + +"It's going to sound a little mad--at first, Greggy," chuckled +Whittemore, lighting his pipe. "It's going to give your esthetic tastes +a jar. Look here!" + +He seized Gregson by the arm and led him to the door. + +The cold northern sky was brilliant with stars. The cabin, its logs +half smothered in dying masses of verdure which had climbed about it +during the summer, was built on the summit of one of the wind-cropped +ridges which are called mountains in the far north. Into that north +swept infinite wilderness, white and gray where the starlit tops of the +spruce rose up at their feet, black in the distance. From somewhere out +of it there came the low, weeping monotone of surf beating on a shore. +Philip, with one hand on Gregson's shoulder, pointed with the other +into the lonely desolation which they were facing. + +"There isn't much between us and the Arctic Ocean, Greggy," he said. +"See that light off there, like a great fire that has half a mind to +die out one minute and flares up the next? Doesn't it remind you of the +night we got away from Carabobo, when Donna Isobel pointed out our way +to us, with the moon coming up over the mountains as a guide? That +isn't the moon. It's the aurora borealis. You can hear the wash of the +Bay down there, and if you're keen you can catch the smell of icebergs. +There's Fort Churchill--a rifle-shot beyond the ridge, asleep. There's +nothing but Hudson's Bay Company's posts, Indian camps, and trappers +between here and civilization, which is four hundred miles down there. +Seems like a quiet and peaceful country, doesn't it? There's something +about it that makes you thrill and wonder if this isn't the biggest +part of the universe after all. Listen! Hear the Indian dogs wailing +down at Churchill! That's the primal voice in this world, the voice of +the wild. Even that beating of the surf is filled with the same thing, +for it's rolling up mystery instead of history. It is telling what man +doesn't know, and in a language which he cannot understand. You're a +beauty scientist, Greggy. This must sink deep." + +"It does," said Gregson. "What the deuce are you getting at, Phil?" + +"I'm arriving gradually and without undue haste to the point, Greggy. +I'm about to tell you why I induced you to join me up here. I hesitate +at the last word. It seems almost brutal, taking into consideration +your philosophy of beauty, to drop from all this--from that blackness +and mystery out there, from Donna Isobels and pretty eyes, down +to--fish." + +"Fish!" + +"Yes, fish." + +Gregson, lighting a fresh cigarette, held the match so that the tiny +flame lighted up his companion's face for a moment. + +"Look here," he expostulated, "you haven't got me up here to +go--fishing?" + +"Yes--and no," said Philip. "But even if I have--" + +He caught Gregson by the arm again, and there was a tightness in the +grip of his fingers which convinced the other that he was speaking +seriously now. + +"Do you remember what started the revolution down in Honduras the +second week after we struck Puerto Barrios, Greggy? It was a girl, +wasn't it?" + +"Yes, and she wasn't half pretty at that." + +"It was less than a girl," went on Philip. "Scene: the palm plaza at +Ceiba. President Belize is drinking wine with his cousin, the fiancee +of General O'Kelly Bonilla, the half Irish, half Latin-American leader +of his forces, and his warmest friend. At a moment when their corner of +the plaza is empty Belize helps himself to a cousinly kiss. O'Kelly, +unperceived, arrives in time to witness the act. From that moment his +friendship for Belize turns to hatred and jealousy. Within three weeks +he has started a revolution, beats the government forces at Ceiba, +chases Belize from the capital, gets Nicaragua mixed up in the trouble, +and draws three French, two German, and two American war-ships to the +scene. Six weeks after the wine-drinking he is President of the +Republic, en facto. And all of this, Greggy, because of a kiss. Now, if +a kiss can start a revolution, unseat a President, send a government to +smash, what must be the possibilities of a fish?" + +"I'm getting interested," said Gregson. "If there's a climax, come to +it, Phil. I admit that there must be enormous possibilities in--a fish. +Go on!" + + + + +II + + +For a moment the two men stood in silence, listening to the sullen beat +of surf beyond the black edge of forest. Then Philip led the way back +into the cabin. + +Gregson followed. In the light of the big oil-lamp which hung suspended +from the ceiling he noticed something in Whittemore's face he had not +observed before, a tenseness about the muscles of his mouth, a +restlessness in his eyes, rigidity of jaw, an air of suppressed emotion +which puzzled him. He was keenly observant of details, and knew that +these things had been missing a short time before. The pleasure of +their meeting that afternoon, after a separation of nearly two years, +had dispelled for a time the trouble which he now saw revealing itself +in his companion's face and attitude, and the lightness of Whittemore's +manner in beginning his explanation for inducing him to come into the +north had helped to complete the mask. There occurred to him, for an +instant, a picture which he had once drawn of Whittemore as he had +known him in certain stirring times still fresh in the memory of +each--a picture of the old, cool, irresistible Whittemore, smiling in +the face of danger, laughing outright at perplexities, always ready to +fight with a good-natured word on his lips. He had drawn that picture +for Burke's, and had called it "The Fighter." Burke himself had +criticized it because of the smile. But Gregson knew his man. It was +Whittemore. + +There was a change now. He had grown older, surprisingly older. There +were deeper lines about his eyes. His face was thinner. He saw, now, +that Philip's lightness had been but a passing flash of his old +buoyancy, that the old life and sparkle had gone from him. Two years, +he judged, had woven things into Philip's life which he could not +understand, and he wondered if this was why in all that time he had +received no word from his old college chum. + +They had seated themselves at opposite sides of the table, and from an +inside pocket Philip produced a small bundle of papers. From these he +drew forth a map, which he smoothed out under his hands. + +"Yes, there are possibilities--and more, Greggy," he said. "I didn't +ask you up here to help me fight air and moonshine. And I've promised +you a fight. Have you ever seen a rat in a trap with a blood-thirsty +terrier guarding the little door that is about to be opened? Thrilling +sport for the prisoner, isn't it? But when the rat happens to be +human--" + +"I thought it was a fish," protested Gregson, mildly. "Pretty soon +you'll be having it a girl in a trap--or at the end of a fish-line--" + +"And if I should?" interrupted Philip, looking steadily at him. "What +if I should say there is a girl--a woman--in this trap--not only one, +but a score, a hundred of them? What then, Greggy?" + +"I'd say there was going to be a glorious scrap." + +"And so there is, the biggest and most unusual scrap of its kind you +ever heard of, Greggy. It's going to be a queer kind of fight--and +queer fighting. And it's possible--very probable--that you and I will +get lost in the shuffle somewhere. We're two, no more. And we're going +up against forces which would make a dozen South American revolutions +look like thirty cents. More than that, it's likely we'll be in the +wrong locality when certain people rise in a wrath which a Helen of +Troy aroused in another people some centuries ago. See here--" + +He turned the map to Gregson, pointing with his finger. + +"See that red line? That's the new railroad to Hudson's Bay. It is well +above Le Pas now, and its builders plan to complete it by next spring. +It is the most wonderful piece of railroad building on the American +continent, Greggy--wonderful because it has been neglected so long. +Something like a hundred million people have been asleep to its +enormous value, and they're just waking up now. That road, cutting +across four hundred miles of wilderness, is opening up a country half +as big as the United States, in which more mineral wealth will be dug +during the next fifty years than will ever be taken from Yukon or +Alaska. It is shortening the route from Montreal, Duluth, Chicago, and +the Middle West to Liverpool and other European ports by a thousand +miles. It means the making of a navigable sea out of Hudson's Bay, +cities on its shores, and great steel-foundries close to the Arctic +Circle--where there is coal and iron enough to supply the world for +hundreds of years. That's only a small part of what this road means, +Greggy. Two years ago--you remember I asked you to join me in the +adventure--I came up seeking opportunity. I didn't dream then--" + +Whittemore paused, and a flash of his old smile passed over his face. + +"I didn't dream that fate had decreed me to stir up what I'm going to +tell you about, Greggy. I followed the line of the proposed railroad, +looking for chances. All Canada was asleep, or too much interested in +its west, and gave me no competition. I was alone west of the surveyed +line; east of it steel-corporation men had optioned mountains of iron +and another interest had a grip on coal-fields. Six months I spent +among the Indians, French, and half-breeds. I lived with them, trapped +and hunted with them, and picked up a little Cree and French. The life +suited me. I became a northerner in heart and soul, if not quite yet in +full experience. Clubs and balls and cities grew to be only memories. +You know how I have always hated that hothouse sort of existence, and +you know that same world of clubs and balls and cities has gripped at +my throat, downing me again and again, as though it returned my +sentiment with interest. Up here I learned to hate it more than ever. I +was completely happy. And then--" + +He had refolded the map, and drew another from the bundle of papers. It +was drawn in pencil. + +"And then, Greggy," he went on, smoothing out this map where the other +had been, "I struck my chance. It fairly clubbed me into recognizing +it. It came in the middle of the night, and I sat up with a camp-fire +laughing at me through the flap in my tent, stunned by the knockout it +had given me. It seemed, at first, as though a gold-mine had walked up +and laid itself down at my feet, and I wondered how there could be so +many silly fools in this world of ours. Take a look at that map, +Greggy. What do you see?" + +Gregson had listened like one under a spell. It was one of his careless +boasts that situations could not faze him, that he was immune to +outward betrayals of sensation. This seeming indifference--his +light-toned attitude in the face of most serious affairs would have +made a failure of him in many things. But his tense interest did not +hide itself now. A cigarette remained unlighted between his fingers. +His eyes never took themselves for an instant from his companion's +face. Something that Whittemore had not yet said thrilled him. He +looked at the map. + +"There's not much to see," he said, "but lakes and rivers." + +"You're right," exclaimed Philip, jumping suddenly from his chair and +beginning to walk back and forth across the cabin. "Lakes and +rivers--hundreds of them--thousands of them! Greggy, there are more +than three thousand lakes between here and civilization and within +forty miles of the new railroad. And nine out of ten of those lakes are +so full of fish that the bears along 'em smell fishy. Whitefish, +Gregson--whitefish and trout. There is a fresh-water area represented +on that map three times as large as the whole of the five Great Lakes, +and yet the Canadians and the government have never wakened up to what +it means. There's a fish supply in this northland large enough to feed +the world, and that little rim of lakes that I've mapped out along the +edge of the coming railroad represents a money value of millions. That +was the idea that came to me in the middle of the night, and then I +thought--if I could get a corner on a few of these lakes, secure +fishing privileges before the road came--" + +"You'd be a millionaire," said Gregson. + +"Not only that," replied Philip, pausing for a moment in his restless +pacing. "I didn't think of money, at first; at least, it was a +secondary consideration after that night beside the camp-fire. I saw +how this big vacant north could be made to strike a mighty blow at +those interests which make a profession of cornering meatstuffs on the +other side, how it could be made to fight the fight of the people by +sending down an unlimited supply of fish that could be sold at a profit +in New York, Boston, or Chicago for a half of what the trust demands. +My scheme wasn't aroused entirely by philanthropy, mind you. I saw in +it a chance to get back at the very people who brought about my +father's ruin, and who kept pounding him after he was in a corner until +he broke down and died. They killed him. They robbed me a few years +later. They made me hate what I was once, a moving, joyous part +of--life down there. I went from the north, first to Ottawa, then to +Toronto and Winnipeg. After that I went to Brokaw, my father's old +partner, with the scheme. I've told you of Brokaw--one of the deepest, +shrewdest old fighters in the Middle West. It was only a year after my +father's death that he was on his feet again, as strong as ever. Brokaw +drew in two or three others as strong as himself, and we went after the +privileges. It was a fight from the beginning. Hardly were our plans +made public before we were met by powerful opposition. A combination of +Canadian capital quickly organized and petitioned for the same +privileges. Old Brokaw knew what it meant. It was the hand of the +trust--disguised under a veneer of Canadian promoters. They called us +'aliens'--American 'money-grabbers' robbing Canadians of what justly +belonged to them. They aroused two-thirds of the press against us, and +yet--" + +The lines in Whittemore's face softened. He chuckled as he pulled out +his pipe and began filling it. + +"They had to go some to beat the old man, Greggy. I don't know just how +Brokaw pulled the thing off, but I do know that when we won out three +members of parliament and half a dozen other politicians were honorary +members of our organization, and that it cost Brokaw a hundred thousand +dollars! Our opponents had raised such a howl, calling upon the +patriotism of the country and pointing out that the people of the north +would resent this invasion of foreigners, that we succeeded in getting +only a provisional license, subject to withdrawal by the government at +any time conditions seemed to warrant it. I saw in this no blow to my +scheme, for I was certain that we could carry the thing along on such a +square basis that within a year the whole country would be in sympathy +with us. I expressed my views with enthusiasm at our final meeting, +when the seven of us met to complete our plans. Brokaw and the other +five were to direct matters in the south; I was to have full command of +affairs in the north. A month later I was at work. Over here"--he +leaned over Gregson's shoulder and placed a forefinger on the map--"I +established our headquarters, with MacDougall, a Scotch engineer, to +help me. Within six months we had a hundred and fifty men at Blind +Indian Lake, fifty canoemen bringing in supplies, and another gang +putting in stations over a stretch of more than a hundred miles of lake +country. Everything was working smoothly, better than I had expected. +At Blind Indian Lake we had a shipyard, two warehouses, ice-houses, a +company store, and a population of three hundred, and had nearly +completed a ten-mile roadbed for narrow-gauge steel, which would +connect us with the main line when it came up to us. I was completely +lost in my work. At times I almost forgot Brokaw and the others. I was +particularly careful of the funds sent up to me, and had accomplished +my work at a cost of a little under a hundred thousand. At the end of +the six months, when I was about to make a visit into the south, one of +our warehouses and ten thousand dollars' worth of supplies went up in +smoke. It was our first misfortune, and it was a big one. It was about +the first matter that I brought up after I had shaken hands with +Brokaw." + +Philip's face was set and white as he stood in the middle of the room +looking at Gregson. + +"And what do you think was his reply, Greggy? He looked at me for a +moment, a peculiar twitching around the corners of his mouth, and then +said, 'Don't allow a trivial matter like that to worry you, Philip. +Why--we've already cleaned up a million on this little fish deal!'" + +Gregson sat up with a jerk. + +"A million! Great Scott--" + +"Yes, a million, Greggy," said Philip, softly, with his old fighting +smile. "There was a hundred thousand dollars to my credit in a First +National Bank. Pleasant surprise, eh?" + +Gregson had dropped his cigarette. His slim hands gripped the edges of +the table. He made no reply as he waited for Whittemore to continue. + + + + +III + + +For a full minute Philip paced back and forth without speaking. Then he +stopped, and faced Gregson, who was staring at him. + +"A million, Greggy," he repeated, in the same soft voice. "A hundred +thousand dollars to my credit--in a First National Bank! While I was up +here hustling to get affairs on a working basis, eager to show the +government and the people what we could do and would do, triumphing in +our victory over the trust, and figuring each day on my scheme of +making this big, rich north deal a staggering blow to those accursed +combinations down there, they were at work, too. While I was dreaming +and doing these things, Brokaw and the others had formed the Great +Northern Fish and Development Company, had incorporated it under the +laws of New Jersey, and had already sold over a million dollars' worth +of stock! The thing was in full swing when I reached headquarters. I +had authorized Brokaw to act for me, and I found that I was +vice-president of one of the biggest legalized robbery combinations of +recent years. More money had been spent in advertising than in +development work. Hundreds of thousands of copies of my letters from +the north, filled to the brim with the enthusiasm I had felt for my +work and projects, had been sent out broadcast, luring buyers of stock. +In one of these letters I had said that if a half of the lakes I had +mapped out were fished the north could be made to produce a million +tons of fish a year. Two hundred thousand copies of this letter were +sent out, but Brokaw and his associates had omitted the words, 'If a +half of the lakes mapped out were fished.' It would take fifteen +thousand men, a thousand refrigerator cars, and a capital of five +million to bring this about. I was stunned by the enormity of their +fraud, and yet when I threatened to bring the whole thing to smash +Brokaw only laughed and pointed out that not a single caution had been +omitted. In all of the advertising it was frankly stated that our +license was provisional, subject to withdrawal if the company did not +keep within laws. That very frankness was an advertisement. It was +something different. It struck home where it was meant to strike--among +small and unfledged investors. It roped them in by thousands. The +shares were ten dollars each, and non-assessable. Five out of six +orders were from one to five shares; ninety-nine out of every hundred +were not above ten shares. It was damnable. The very people for whom I +wanted the north to fight had been humbugged to the tune of a million +and a quarter dollars. Within a year Brokaw and the others had floated +a scheme which was worse than any trust, for the trusts pay back a part +of their steals in dividends. And _I_ was responsible! Do you realize +that, Greggy? It was I who started the project. It was my reports from +the north which chiefly induced people to buy. And this company--a +company of robbers licensed under the law--I am its founder and its +vice-president!" + +Philip dropped back into his chair. The face that he turned to Gregson +was damp with perspiration, though the room was chilly. + +"You stayed in," said Gregson. + +"I had to. There wasn't a loophole left open to me. There wasn't a +single point at which I could bring attack against Brokaw and the +others. They were six veritable Bismarcks of deviltry and shrewdness. +They hadn't over-stepped the law. They had sold a million and a quarter +of stock on a hundred-thousand-dollar investment, but Brokaw only +laughed when I raged at this. 'Why, Philip,' he said, 'we value our +license alone at over a million!' And there was no law which could +prevent them from placing that value upon it, or more. There was one +thing that I could do--and only one. I could resign, decline to accept +my stock and the hundred thousand, and publicly announce why I had +broken off my connections with the company. I was about to do this when +cooler judgment prevailed. It occurred to me that there would have to +be an accounting. The company might sell a million and a quarter of +stock--but in the end there would have to be an accounting. If I was +out of the game it would be easily made. If I was in--well, do you see, +Greggy? There was still a chance of making the company win out as a +legitimate enterprise, even though it began under the black flag of +piratical finance and fraud. Brokaw and the others were astonished at +the stand I took. It was like throwing a big, ripe plum into the fire +Brokaw was the first to hedge. He came over to my side in a private +interview which we had, and for the first time I convinced him +completely of the tremendous possibilities before us. To my surprise he +began to show actual enthusiasm in my favor. We figured out how the +company, if properly developed, could be made to pay a dividend of +fifty cents a share on the stock issued within two years. This, I +thought, would be at least a partial return of the original steal. +Brokaw worked the thing through in his own way. He was authorized to +vote for one of the directors, who was in Europe, and he won over two +of the others. As a consequence we voted all of the money in the +treasury, nearly six hundred thousand dollars, and the remainder of the +stock that was on the market, for development purposes. Brokaw then +made the proposition that the company buy up any interest that wished +to withdraw. The two M. P.'s and a professional promoter from Toronto +immediately sold out at fifty thousand each. With their original +hundred thousand these three retired with an aggregate steal of nearly +half a million. Pretty good work for yours truly, eh, Greggy! Good +Heaven, think of it! I started out to strike a blow, to launch a +gigantic project for the people, and this was what I had hatched! +Robbery, bribery, fraud--" + +He paused, his hands clenched until the blue veins stood out on them +like whipcords. + +"And--" + +Gregson spoke, uneasily. + +"And what?" + +Philip's fingers relaxed their grip on the table. + +"If that had been all, I wouldn't have called you up here," he +continued. "I've taken a long time in coming down to the real hell of +the affair, because I wanted you to understand the situation from the +beginning. After I left Brokaw I came north again. I possessed all the +funds necessary to make an honest working organization out of the +Northern Fish and Development Company. I hired two hundred additional +men, added twenty new fishing-stations, began a second road-bed to the +main line, and started a huge dam at Blind Indian Lake. We had thirty +horses, driven up through the wilderness from Le Pas, and twenty teams +on the way. There didn't appear to be an important obstacle in the path +of our success, and I had recovered most of my old enthusiasm when +Brokaw sprung a new mine under my feet. + +"He had written a long letter almost immediately after I left him, +which had been delayed at several places. In it he told me that he had +discovered a plot to wreck our enterprise, that some powerful force was +about to be pitted against us in the very country we were holding. I +could see that Brokaw was tremendously worked up when he wrote the +letter, and that for once he felt himself outwitted by a rival faction, +and realized to the full a danger which it took me some time to +comprehend. He had discovered absolute evidence, he said, that the +bunch of trust capitalists whom he had beaten were about to attack us +in another way. Their forces were already moving into the north +country. Their object was to stir up the country against us, to bring +about that condition of unrest and antagonism between the people of the +north and ourselves which would compel the government to take away our +license. Remember, this license was only provisional. It was, in fact, +left to the people of the north to decide whether we should remain +among them or not. If they turned against us there would be only one +thing for the government to do. + +"At first Brokaw's letter caused me no very great uneasiness. I knew +the people up here. I knew that the Indian, the Breed, the Frenchman, +and the White of this God's country were as invulnerable to bribery as +Brokaw himself is to the pangs of conscience. I loved them. I had faith +in them. I knew them to possess an honor which is not known down there, +where we have a church on every four corners, and where the Word of God +is preached day and night on the open streets. I felt myself warming +with indignation as I replied to Brokaw, resenting his insinuations as +to the crimes which a 'half-savage' people might be induced to commit +for a little whisky and a little money. And then--" + +Whittemore wiped his face. The lines settled deeper about his mouth. + +"Greggy, a week after I received this letter two warehouses were burned +on the same night at Blind Indian Lake. They were three hundred yards +apart. There is absolutely no doubt that it was incendiarism." + +He waited in silence, but Gregson still sat watching him in silence. + +"That was the beginning--three months ago. Since then some mysterious +force has been fighting us at every step. A week after the warehouses +burned, a dredge and boat-building yard, which we had constructed at +considerable expense at the mouth of the Gray Beaver, was destroyed by +fire. A little later a 'premature' explosion of dynamite cost us ten +thousand dollars and two weeks' labor of fifty men. I organized a +special guard service, composed of fifty of my best men, but it seemed +to do no good. Since then we have lost three miles of road-bed, +destroyed by a washout. A terrific charge of dynamite had been used to +let down upon us the water of a lake which was situated at the top of a +ridge near our right of way. Whoever our enemies are, they seem to know +our most secret movements, and attack us whenever we leave a vulnerable +point open. The most surprising part of the whole affair is this: in +spite of my own efforts to keep our losses quiet the rumor has spread +for hundreds of miles around us, even reaching Churchill, that the +northerners have declared war against our enterprise and are determined +to drive us out. Two-thirds of my men believe this. MacDougall, my +engineer, believes it. Between my working forces and the Indians, +French, and half-breeds about us there has slowly developed a feeling +of suspicion and resentment. It is growing--every day, every hour. If +it continues it can result in but two things--ruin for ourselves, +triumph for those who are getting at us in this dastardly manner. If +something is not done very soon--within a month--perhaps less--the +country will run with the blood of vengeance from Churchill to the +Barrens. If what I expect to happen does happen there will be no +government road built to the Bay, the new buildings at Churchill will +turn gray with disuse, the treasures of the north will remain +undisturbed, the country itself will slip back a hundred years. The +forest people will be filled with hatred and suspicion so long as the +story of great wrong travels down from father to son. And this wrong, +this crime--" + +Philip's face was white, cold, almost passionless in the grim hardness +that had settled in it. He unfolded a long typewritten letter, and +handed it to Gregson. + +"That letter is the final word," he explained. "It will tell you what I +have not told you. In some way it was mixed in my mail and I did not +discover the error until I had opened it. It is from the headquarters +of our enemies, addressed to the man who is in charge of their plot up +here." + +"He waited, scarce breathing, while Gregson bent over the typewritten +pages. He noted the slow tightening of the other's fingers as he turned +from the first sheet to the second; he watched Gregson's face, the slow +ebbing of color, the gray white that followed it, the stiffening of his +arms and shoulders as he finished. Then Gregson looked up. + +"Good God!" he breathed. + +For a full half-minute the two men gazed at each other across the +table, without speaking. + + + + +IV + + +Philip broke the silence. + +"Now--you understand." + +"It is impossible!" gasped Gregson. "I cannot believe this! It--it +might have happened a thousand--two thousand years ago--but not now. My +God, man!" he cried, more excitedly. "You do not mean to tell me that +you believe this will be done?" + +"Yes," replied Philip. + +"It is impossible!" exclaimed Gregson again, crushing the letter in his +hand. "A man doesn't live--a combination doesn't exist--that would +start such a hell loose as this--in this way!" + +Philip smiled grimly. + +"The man does live, and the combination does exist," he said, slowly. +"Greggy, I have known of men, and of combinations who have spent +millions, who have sacrificed everything of honor and truth, who have +driven thousands of men, women, and children to starvation--and +worse--to achieve a victory in high finance. I have known of men and +combinations who have broken almost every law of man and God in the +fight for money and power. And so have you! You have associated with +some of these men. You have laughed and talked with them, smoked with +them, and have dined at their tables. You spent a week at Selden's +summer borne, and it was Selden who cornered wheat three years ago and +raised the price of bread two cents a loaf. It was Selden who brought +about the bread riots in New York, Chicago, and a score of other +cities, who swung wide the prison doors for thousands, whose millions +were gained at a cost of misery, crime, and even death. And Selden is +only one out of thousands who live to-day, watching for their +opportunities, giving no heed to those who may fall under the +juggernaut of their capital. This isn't the age of petty +discrimination, Greggy. It's the age of the almighty dollar, and of the +fight for it. And there's no chivalry, no quarter shown in this fight. +Men of Selden's stamp don't stop at women and children. The +scrubwoman's dollar is just as big as yours or mine, and if a scheme +could be promoted whereby every scrubwoman in America could be safely +robbed of a dollar you'd find thousands of men down there in our cities +ready to go into it to-morrow. And to such men as these what is the +sacrifice of a few women up here?" + +Gregson dropped the letter, crumpled and twisted, upon the table. + +"I wonder--if I understand," he said, looking into Philip's white face. +"There has undoubtedly been previous correspondence, and this letter +contains the final word. It shows that your enemies have already +succeeded in working up the forest people against you, and have filled +them with suspicion. Their last blow is to be--" + +He stopped, and Philip nodded at the horrified question in his eyes. + +"Greggy, up here there is one law which reigns above all other law. +When I was in Prince Albert a year ago I was sitting on the veranda of +the little old Windsor Hotel. About me were a dozen wild men of the +north, who had come down for a day or two to the edge of civilization. +Most of those men had not been out of the forests for a year. Two of +them were from the Barrens, and this was their first glimpse of +civilized life in five years. As we sat there a woman came up the +street. She turned in at the hotel. About me there was a sudden +lowering of voices, a shuffling of feet. As she passed, every one of +those twelve rose from their seats and stood with bowed heads and their +caps in their hands until she had gone. I was the only one who remained +sitting! That, Greggy, is the one great law of life up here, the +worship of woman because she is woman. A man may steal, he may kill, +but he must not break this law. If he steals or kills, the mounted +police may bring the offender to justice; but if he breaks this other +law there is but one punishment, and that is the punishment of the +people. That is what this letter purposes to do--to break this law in +order that its penalty may fall upon us. And if they succeed, God help +us!" + +It was Gregson who jumped to his feet now. He took half a dozen nervous +steps, paused, lighted a cigarette, and looked down into Philip's +upturned face. + +"I understand now where the fight is coming in," he said. "If this +thing goes through, these people will rise and wipe you off the map. +They'll lay it to you and your men, of course. And I fancy it won't be +a job half done if they feel about it as I'd feel. But," he demanded, +sharply, "why don't you put the affair into the hands of the proper +authorities--the police or the government? You've got--By George, you +must have the name of the man to whom that letter was addressed!" + +Philip handed him a soiled white envelope, of the kind in which +official documents are usually mailed. + +"That's the man." + +Gregson gave a low whistle. + +"Lord--Fitzhugh--Lee!" he read, slowly, as though scarce believing his +eyes. "Great Scott! A British peer!" + +The cynical smile on Philip's lips cut his words short. + +"Perhaps," he said. "But if there is a British lord up here he isn't +very well known, Greggy. No one knows of him. No one has heard a rumor +of him. That is why we can't go to the police or the government. They'd +give small credence to what we've got to show. This letter wouldn't +count the weight of a feather without further evidence, and a lot of +it. Besides, we haven't time to go to the government. It is too far +away and too slow. And as for the police--I know of three in this +territory, and there are fifteen thousand square miles of mountains and +plains and forest in their 'beat.' It's up to you and me to find this +Lord Fitzhugh. If we can do that we will be in a position to put a +kibosh on this plot in a hurry. If we fail to run him down--" + +"What then?" + +"We'll have to watch our chances. I've told you all that I know, and +you're on an even working basis with me. At first I thought that I +understood the object of those who are planning to ruin us in this +cowardly manner. But I don't now. If they ruin us they also destroy the +chances of any other company that may be scheming to usurp our place. +For that reason I--" + +"There must still be other factors in the game," said Gregson, as +Philip hesitated. + +"There are. I want you to work out your own suspicions, Greggy, and +then we'll compare notes. Lord Fitzhugh is the key to the whole +situation. No matter who is at the bottom of this plot, Lord Fitzhugh +is the man at the working end of it. We don't care so much about the +writer of this letter as the one to whom it was written. It is evident +that he had planned to be at Churchill, for the letter is addressed to +him here. But he hasn't shown up. He has never been here, so far as I +can discover." + +"I'd give a year's growth for a copy of the BRITISH PEERAGE or a WHO'S +WHO," mused Gregson, flecking the ashes from his cigarette. "Who the +deuce can this Lord Fitzhugh be? What sort of an Englishman would mix +up in a dirty job of this kind? You might imagine him to be one of the +men behind the guns, like Brokaw. But, by George, he's working the +dirty end of it himself, according to that letter!" + +"You're beginning to use your head already, Greggy," said Philip, a +little more cheerfully. "I've asked myself that question a hundred +times during the last three days, and I'm more at sea than ever. If it +had been plain Tom Brown or Bill Jones, the name would not have +suggested anything beyond what you have read in the letter. That's the +question: Why should a Lord Fitzhugh Lee be mixed up in this affair?" + +The two men looked at each other keenly for a few moments in silence. + +"It suggests--" began Gregson. + +"What?" + +"That there may be a bigger scheme behind this affair than we imagine. +In fact, it suggests to me that the northerners are being stirred up +against you and your men for some other and more powerful reason than +to make you get out of the country and compel the government to +withdraw your license. So help me God, I believe there's more behind +it!" + +"So do I," said Philip, quietly. + +"Have you any suspicions of what might be the more powerful motive?" + +"None. I know that British capital is heavily interested in mineral +lands east of the surveyed line. But there is none at Churchill. All +operations have been carried on from Montreal and Toronto." + +"Have you written to Brokaw about this letter?" + +"You are the first to whom I have revealed its contents," said Philip. +"I have neglected to tell you that Brokaw is so worked up over the +affair that he is joining me in the north. The Hudson's Bay Company's +ship, which comes over twice a year, touches at Halifax, and if Brokaw +followed out his intentions he took passage there. The ship should be +in within a week or ten days. And, by the way"--Philip stood up and +thrust his hands deep in his pockets as he spoke, half smiling at +Gregson--"it gives me pleasure to hand you a bit of cheerful +information along with that," he added. "Miss Brokaw is coming with +him. She is very beautiful." + +Gregson held a lighted match until it burnt his finger-tips. + +"The deuce you say! I've heard--" + +"Yes, you have heard of her beauty, no doubt. I am not a special +enthusiast in your line, Greggy, but I will confirm your opinion of +Miss Brokaw. You will say that she is the most beautiful girl you have +ever seen, and you will want to make heads of her for BURKE'S. I +suppose you wonder why she is coming up here? So do I." + +There was a look of perplexity in Philip's eyes which Gregson might +have noticed if he had not gone to the door to look out into the night. + +"What makes the stars so big and bright up in this country, Phil?" he +asked. + +"Because of the clearness of the atmosphere through which you are +looking," replied Philip, wondering what was passing through the +other's mind. "This air--compared with ours--is just like a piece of +glass that has been cleaned of a year's accumulation of dirt." + +Gregson whistled softly for a few moments. Then he said, without +turning: + +"She's got to go some if she beats the girl I saw this evening, Phil." +He turned at Philip's silence, and laughed. "I beg your pardon, old +man, I didn't mean to speak of her as if she were a horse. I mean Miss +Brokaw." + +"And I don't particularly like the idea of betting on the merits of a +pretty girl," replied Philip, "but I'll break the rule for once, and +wager you the best hat in New York that she does beat her." + +"Done!" said Gregson. "A little gentle excitement of this sort will +relieve the tension of the other thing, Phil. I've heard enough of +business for to-night. I'm going to finish a sketch that I have begun +of her before I forget the fine points. Any objection?" + +"None at all," said Philip. "Meanwhile I'll go out to breathe a spell." + +He put on his coat and took down his cap from a peg in the wall. +Gregson had seated himself under the lamp and was sharpening a pencil. +As Philip went to go out Gregson drew an envelope from his pocket and +tossed it on the table. + +"If you should happen to see any one that looks like--her," he said, +nodding toward the envelope, "kindly put in a word for me, will you? I +did that in a hurry. It's not half flattering." + +Philip laughed as he picked up the envelope. + +"The most beau--" he began. + +He caught himself with a jerk. Gregson, looking up from his +pencil-sharpening, saw the smile leave his lips and a quick flush leap +into his bronzed cheeks. He stared at the face on the envelope for a +half a minute, then gazed speechlessly at Gregson. + +It was Gregson who laughed, softly and without suspicion. + +"How does your wager look now?" he taunted. + +"She--is--beautiful," murmured Philip, dropping the envelope and +turning to the door, "Don't wait for me, Greggy. Go to bed." + +He heard Gregson laugh behind him, and he wondered, as he went out, +what Gregson would say if he told him that he had drawn on the back of +the old envelope the beautiful face of Eileen Brokaw! + + + + +V + + +A dozen steps beyond the door Philip paused in the shadow of a dense +spruce, half persuaded to return. From where he stood he could see +Gregson bending over the table, already at work on the picture. He +confessed that the sketch had startled him. He knew that it had sent +the hot blood rushing to his face, and that only through a fortunate +circumstance had Gregson ascribed its effect upon him to something that +was wide of the truth. Miss Brokaw was a thousand or more miles away. +At this moment she was somewhere in the North Atlantic, if their ship +had left Halifax. She had never been in the north. More than that, he +knew that Gregson had never seen Miss Brokaw, and had heard of her only +through himself and the society columns of the newspapers. How could he +explain his possession of the sketch? + +He drew a step or two nearer to the open door, and stopped again. If he +returned to question Gregson it would draw him perilously near to +explanations which he did not care to make, to the one secret which he +wished to guard from his friend's knowledge. After all, the picture was +only a resemblance. It could be nothing but a resemblance, even though +it was so striking and unusual that it had thrown him off his guard at +first. When he returned later and looked at it again he would no doubt +be able to see his error. + +He walked on through the spruce shadows and up a narrow trail that led +to the bald knob of the ridge, feeling his way with his right hand +before him when the denseness of the forest shut out the light of the +stars and the moon, until at last he stood out strong and clear under +the glow of the skies, with the world sweeping out in black and gray +mystery around him. To the north was the Bay, reaching away like a vast +black plain. Half a mile distant two or three lights were burning over +Fort Churchill, red eyes peering up out of the deep pool of darkness; +to the south and west there swept the gray, starlit distances which lay +between him and civilization. + +He leaned against a great rock, resting his elbows in a carpet of moss, +and his eyes turned into the mystery of those distances. The sea of +spruce-tops that rose out of the ragged valley at his feet whispered +softly in the night wind; from out of their depths trembled the low +hoot of an owl; over the vaster desolation beyond hovered a weird and +unbroken silence. More than once the spirit of this world had come to +him in the night and had roused him from his slumber to sit alone out +under the stars, imagining all that it might tell him if he could read +the voice of it in the whispering of the trees, if he could but +understand it as he longed to understand it, and could find in it the +peace which he knew that it all but held for him. The spirit of it had +never been nearer to him than to-night. He felt it close to him, so +near that it seemed like the warm, vibrant touch of a presence at his +side, something which had come to him in a voiceless loneliness as +great as his own, watching and listening with him beside the rock. It +seemed nearer to him since he had seen and talked with Gregson. It was +much nearer to him since a few minutes ago, when he had looked upon +what he had first thought to be the face of Eileen Brokaw. + +And this was the world--the spirit--that had changed him. He wondered +if Gregson had seen the change which he tried so hard to conceal. He +wondered if Miss Brokaw would see it when she came, and if her soft, +gray eyes would read to the bottom of him as they had fathomed him once +before upon a time which seemed years and years ago. Thoughts like +these troubled him. Twice that day he had found stealing over him a +feeling that was almost physical pain, and yet he knew that this pain +was but the gnawing of a great loneliness in his heart. In these +moments he had been sorry that he had brought Gregson back into his +life. And with Gregson he was bringing back Eileen Brokaw. He was more +than sorry for that. The thought of it made him grow warm and +uncomfortable, though the night air from off the Bay was filled with +the chill tang of the northern icebergs. Again his thoughts brought him +face to face with the old pictures, the old life. With them came +haunting memories of a Philip Whittemore who had once lived, and who +had died; and with these ghosts of the past there surged upon him the +loneliness which seemed to crush and stifle him. Like one in a dream he +was swept back. Over the black spruce at his feet, far into the gray, +misty distances beyond, over forests and mountains and the vast, grim +silences his vision reached out until he saw life as it had begun for +him, and as he had lived it for a time. It had opened fair. It had +given promise. It had filled him with hope and ambition. And then it +had changed. + +Unconsciously he clenched his hands as he thought of what had followed, +of the black days of ruin, of death, of the dissolution of all that he +had hoped and dreamed for. He had fought, because he was born a +fighter. He had risen again and again, only to find misfortune still at +his face. At first he had laughed, and had called it bad luck. But the +bad luck had followed him, dogging him with a persistence which +developed in him a new perspective of things. He dropped away from his +clubs. He began to measure men and women as he had not measured them +before, and there grew in him slowly a revulsion for what those +measurements revealed. The spirit that was growing in him called out +for bigger things, for the wild freedom which he had tasted for a time +with Gregson--for a life which was not warped by the gilded amenities +of the crowded ballroom to-night, by the frenzied dollar-fight +to-morrow. No one could understand that change in him. He could find no +spirit in sympathy with him, no chord in another breast that he could +reach out and touch and thrill with understanding. Once he had +hoped--and tried-- + +A deep breath, almost a sigh, fell from his lips as he thought of that +last night, at the Brokaw ball. He heard again the laughter and chatter +of men and women, the soft rustle of skirts--and then the break, the +silence, as the low, sweet music of his favorite waltz began, while he +stood screened behind a bank of palms looking down into the clear gray +eyes of Eileen Brokaw. He saw himself as he had stood then, leaning +over her slim white shoulders, intoxicated by her beauty, his face pale +with the fear of what he was about to say; and he saw the girl, with +her beautiful head thrown a little back, so that her golden hair almost +touched his lips, waiting for him to speak. For months he had fought +against the fascination of her beauty. Again and again he had almost +surrendered to it, only to pull himself back in time. He had seen this +girl, as pure-looking as an angel, strike deeply at the hearts of other +men; he had heard her laugh and talk lightly of the wounds she had +made. Behind the eyes which gazed up at him, dear and sweet as pools of +sunlit water, he knew there lay the consuming passion for power, for +admiration, for the froth-like pleasures of the life that was swirling +about them. Sincerity was but their mask. He knew that the beautiful +gray eyes lied to him when he saw in them all that he held glorious in +womanhood. + +He laughed softly to himself as the picture grew in his mind, and he +saw Ransom come blundering in through the palms, mopping his red face +and chattering inane things to little Miss Meesen. Ransom was always +blundering. This time his blunder saved Philip. The passionate words +died on his lips; and when Ransom and Miss Meesen turned about in a +giggling flutter, he spoke no words of love, but opened up his heart to +this girl whom he would have loved if she had been like her eyes. It +was his last hope--that she would understand him, see with him the +emptiness of his life, sympathize with him. + +And she had laughed at him! + +She had risen to her feet; there had come for an instant a flash like +that of fire in her eyes; her voice trembled a little when she spoke. +There was resentment in the poise of her white shoulders as Ransom's +voice came to them in a loud laugh from behind the palms; her red lips +showed disdain and anger. She hated Ransom for breaking in; she +despised Philip for allowing the interruption to tear away her triumph. +Her own betrayal of herself was like tonic to Philip. He laughed +joyously when he was alone out in the cool night air. Ransom never knew +why Philip hunted him out and shook his fat hand so warmly at parting. + +Philip again felt himself in the fever of that night as he turned from +the rock and began picking his way down the side of the ridge toward +the Bay. He found himself wondering what had become of good-natured, +dense-headed Ransom, who had all he could do to spend his father's +allowance. From Ransom his thoughts turned to little Harry Dell, +Roscoe, big Dan Philips, and three or four others who had sacrificed +their hearts at Miss Brokaw's feet. He grimaced as he thought of young +Dell, who had worshiped the ground she walked on, and who had gone +straight to the devil when she threw him over. He wondered, too, where +Roscoe was. He knew that Roscoe would have won out if it had not been +for the financial crash which took his brokerage firm off its feet and +left him a pauper. He had heard that Roscoe had gone up into British +Columbia to recuperate his fortune in Douglas fir. As for big Dan-- + +Philip stumbled over a rock, and rose with a bruised knee. The shock +brought him back to realities, and a few moments later he stood upon +the narrow boulder-strewn beach, rubbing his knee and calling himself a +fool for allowing the old thoughts to stir him up. Out there, +somewhere, Brokaw and his daughter were coming. That Miss Brokaw was +with her father was a circumstance which was of no importance to him. +At least he told himself so, and set his face toward Churchill. + +To-night the stars and the moon seemed to be more than usually +brilliant. About him the great masses of rock, the tumbling surf, the +edge of the forest, and the Bay itself were illumined as if by the +light of a softly radiant day. He looked at his watch and found that it +was past midnight. He had been up since dawn, and yet he felt no touch +of fatigue, no need of sleep. He took off his cap and walked bareheaded +in the mellow light, his moccasined feet falling lightly, his eyes +alert to all that this wonderful night world might hold for him. Ahead +of him rose a giant mass of rock, worn smooth and slippery by the water +dashed against it in the crashing storms of countless centuries, and +this he climbed, panting when he reached the top. His eyes turned to +where he saw Fort Churchill sleeping along the edge of the Bay. + +In that same spot, a great pool of night-glow between two +forest-crowned ridges, it had lain for hundreds of years. He passed the +ancient landing-place of rocks, built a hundred and fifty years ago for +the first ships that came over the strange sea; he stood upon the +tumbled foundations of the Fort, that was still older, and saw the +starlight glinting on one of the brass cannon that lay where it had +fallen amid the debris, untouched and unmoved since the days, +ages-gone, when it had last thundered its welcome or its defiance +through the solitudes; he walked slowly along the shore where the sea +had lashed wearily for many a year, to reach the wilderness dead, and +where now, triumphant, the frothing surf bared gun-case coffins and +tumbled the bones of men down into its sullen depths. And such men! Men +who had lived and died when the world was unborn in a half of its +knowledge and science, when red blood was the great capital, strong +hearts the winners of life. And there were women, too, women who had +come with these men, and died with them, in the opening-up of a new +world. It was such men as these, and such women as these, that Philip +loved, and he walked with bared head and swiftly beating heart over the +unmarked jungle of the dead. + +And then he came to other things, the first low log buildings of +Churchill, to the silence of sleeping life. New buildings loomed +up--working quarters of men who were grubbing for dollars, the new +wharves, the skeletons of elevators, sullen, windowless warehouses, the +office-buildings of men who were already fighting and quarreling and +gripping at one another's throats in the struggle for supremacy, for +the biggest and ripest plums in this new land of opportunity. The +dollar-fight had begun, and the things that already marked its presence +loomed monstrous and grotesque to Philip, as if jeering at the +forgotten efforts of those whom the sea was washing away. And suddenly +it struck Philip that the sea, working ceaselessly, digging away at its +dead, was not the enemy of the nameless creatures in the gun-case +coffins, but that it was a friend, stanch through centuries, rescuing +them now from the desecration that was to come; and for a moment he was +resistless to the spirit that moved him about and made him face that +sea with something that was almost a prayer in his heart. + +As he turned he saw that a light had appeared in one of the low log +buildings which contained the two offices of the Keewatin Mines and +Lands Company. The light, and the bulky shadow of old Pearce, which +appeared for a moment on one of the drawn curtains, aroused Philip to +other thoughts. Since his arrival at Churchill he had made the +acquaintance of Pearce, and it struck him now that just such a man as +this might be Lord Fitzhugh Lee. The Keewatin Mines and Lands Company +had no mines and few lands, and yet Pearce had told him that they were +doing a hustling business down south, selling stock on mineral claims +that couldn't be worked for years. After all, was he any better than +Pearce? + +The old bitterness rose in him. He was no better than Pearce, no better +than this Lord Fitzhugh himself, and it was fate--fate and people, that +had made him so. He walked swiftly now, following close along the shore +in the hard stretch kept bare by the tides, until he came to the red +coals of half a dozen Indian fires on the edge of the forest beyond the +company's buildings. A dog scented him and howled. He heard a guttural +voice break in a word of command from one of the tepees, and there was +silence again. + +He turned to the right, burying himself deeper and deeper into the +great silence of the north, his quick steps keeping pace with the +thoughts that were passing through his brain. Fate, bad luck, +circumstance--they had been against him. He had told himself this a +hundred times, had laughed at them with the confidence of one who knew +that some day he would rise above these things in triumph. And yet what +were these elements of fortune, as he had called them, but people? A +feeling of personal resentment began to oppress him. People had downed +him, and not circumstance and bad luck. Men and women had made a +failure of him, and not fate. For the first time it occurred to him +that the very men and women whom Brokaw and his associates had duped, +whom Pearce was duping, would play the game in the same way if they had +the opportunity. What if he had played on the winning side, if he had +enlisted his fighting energies with men like Brokaw and Pearce, fought +for money and power in place of this other thing, which seemed to count +so little? Other men would have given much to have been in his favor +with Eileen Brokaw. He might have been in the front of this other +fight, the winning fight, the possessor of fortune, a beautiful woman-- + +He stopped suddenly. It seemed to him that he had heard a voice. He had +climbed from out of the shadow of the forest until he stood now on a +gray cliff of rock that reached out into the Bay, like the point of a +great knife guarding Churchill. A block of sandstone rose in his path, +and he passed quietly around it. In another instant he had flattened +himself against it. + +A dozen feet away, full in the moonlight, three figures sat on the edge +of the cliff, as motionless as though hewn out of rock. Instinctively +Philip's hand slipped to his revolver holster, but he drew it back when +he saw that one of the three figures was that of a woman. Beside her +crouched a huge wolf-dog; on the other side of the dog sat a man. The +man was resting in the attitude of an Indian, with his elbows on his +knees, his chin in the palms of his hands, gazing steadily and silently +out over the Bay toward Churchill. + +It was his companion that held Philip motionless against the face of +the rock. She, too, was leaning forward, gazing in that same steady, +silent way toward Churchill. She was bareheaded. Her hair fell loose +over her shoulders and streamed down her back until it piled itself +upon the rock, shining dark and lustrous in the light of the moon. +Philip knew that she was not an Indian. + +Suddenly the girl sat erect, and then sprang to her feet, partly facing +him, the breeze rippling her hair about her face and shoulders, her +eyes turned to the vast gray depths of the world beyond the forests. +For an instant she turned so that the light of the moon fell full upon +her, and in that moment Philip thought that her eyes had searched him +out in the shadow of the rock and were looking straight into his own. +Never had he seen such a beautiful face among the forest people. He had +dreamed of such faces beside camp-fires, in the deep loneliness of long +nights in the forests, when he had awakened to bring before him visions +of what Eileen Brokaw might have been to him if he had found her one of +these people. He drew himself closer to the rock. The girl turned again +to the edge of the cliff, her slender form silhouetted against the +starlit sky. She leaned over the dog, and he heard her voice, soft and +caressing, but he could not understand her words. The man lifted his +head, and he recognized the swarthy, clear-cut features of a French +half-breed. He moved away as quietly as he had come. + +The girl's voice stopped him. + +"And that is Churchill, Pierre--the Churchill you have told me of, +where the ships come in?" + +"Yes, that is Churchill, Jeanne." + +For a moment there was silence. Then, clear and low, with a wild, +sobbing note in her voice that thrilled Philip, the girl cried: + +"And I hate it, Pierre. I hate it--hate it--hate it!" + +Philip stepped out boldly from the rock. + +"And I hate it, too," he said. + + + + +VI + + +Scarce had he spoken when he would have given much to have recalled his +words, wrung from his lips by that sobbing note of loneliness, of +defiance, of half pain in the girl's voice. It was the same note, the +same spirit crying out against his world that he had listened to in the +moaning of the surf as it labored to carry away the dead, and in the +wind that sighed in the spruce-tops below the mountain, only now it was +the spirit speaking through a human voice. Every fiber in his body +vibrated in response to it, and he stood with bared head, filled with a +wild desire to make these people understand, and yet startled at the +effect which his appearance had produced. + +The girl faced him, her eyes shining with sudden fear. Quicker than her +own was the movement of the half-breed. In a flash he was upon his +feet, his dark face tense with action, his right hand gripping at +something in his belt as he bent toward the figure in the center of the +rock. His posture was that of an animal ready to spring. Close beside +him gleamed the white fangs of the wolf-dog. The girl leaned over and +twisted her fingers in the tawny hair that bristled on the dog's neck. +Philip heard her speak, but she did not move her eyes from his face. It +was the tableau of a moment, tense, breathless. The only thing that +moved was the shimmer of steel. Philip caught the gleam of it under the +half-breed's hand. + +"Don't do that, M'sieur," he said, pointing at the other's belt. "I am +sorry that I disturbed you. Sometimes I come up here--alone--to smoke +my pipe and listen to the sea down there. I heard you say that you hate +Churchill, and I hate it. That is why I spoke." + +He turned to the girl. + +"I am sorry. I beg your pardon." + +He looked at her with new wonderment. She had tossed back her loose +hair, and stood tall and straight in the moonlight, her dark eyes +gazing at him now calmly and without affright. She was dressed in rich +yellow buckskin, as soft as chamois. Her throat was bare. A deep collar +of lace fell over her shoulders. One hand, raised to her breast, +revealed a wide gauntlet cuff of red or purple plush, of a fashion two +centuries old. Her lips were parted, and he saw the faintest gleam of +her white teeth, the quick rising and falling of her bosom. He had +spoken directly to her, yet she gave no sign of having heard him. + +"You startled us, that is all, M'sieur," said Pierre, quietly. His +English was excellent, and as he spoke he bowed low to Philip. "It is I +whom you must pardon, M'sieur--for betraying so much caution." + +Philip held out his hand. + +"My name is Whittemore--Philip Whittemore," he said. "I'm staying at +Churchill until the ship comes in and--and I hope you'll let me sit +here on the rock." + +For an instant Pierre's fingers gripped his hand, and he bowed low +again like a courtier. Philip saw that he, too, wore the same big, +old-fashioned cuffs, and that it was not a knife that hung at his belt, +but a short rapier. + +"And I am Pierre--Pierre Couchee," he said. "And this--is my +sister--Jeanne. We do not belong to Fort Churchill, but come from Fort +o' God. Good night, M'sieur!" + +The girl had taken a step back, and now she swept him a courtesy so low +that her fallen hair streamed over her shoulders. She spoke no word, +but passed quickly with Pierre up the rock, and while Philip stood +stunned and speechless they disappeared swiftly into the white gloom of +the night. + +Mutely he gazed after them. For a long time he stood staring beyond the +rocks, marveling at the strangeness of this thing that had happened. An +hour before he had stood with bared head over the ancient dead at +Churchill, and now, on the rock, he had seen the resurrection of what +he had dreamed those dead to be in life. He had never seen people like +Pierre and Jeanne. Their strange dress, the rapier at Pierre's side, +his courtly bow, the low, graceful courtesy that the girl had made him, +all carried him back to the days of the old pictures that hung in the +factor's room at Churchill, when high-blooded gallants came into the +wilderness with their swords at their sides, wearing the favors of +court ladies next their hearts. Pierre, standing there on the rock, +with his hand on his rapier, might have been Grosellier himself, the +prince's favorite, and Jeanne-- + +Something white on the rock near where the girl had been sitting caught +Philip's eyes. In a moment he held in his fingers a small handkerchief +and a broad ribbon of finely knit lace. In her haste to get away she +had forgotten these things. He was about to run to the crest of the +cliff and call loudly for Pierre Couchee when he held the handkerchief +and the lace close to his face and the delicate perfume of heliotrope +stopped him. There was something familiar about it, something that held +him wondering and mystified, until he knew that he had lost the +opportunity to recall Pierre and his companion. He looked at the +handkerchief more, closely. It was a dainty fabric, so soft that it +gave barely the sensation of touch when he crushed it in the palm of +his hand. For a few moments he was puzzled to account for the filmy +strip of lace. Then the truth came to him. Jeanne had used it to bind +her hair! + +He laughed softly, joyously, as he wound the bit of fabric about his +fingers and retraced his steps toward Churchill. Again and again he +pressed the tiny handkerchief to his face, breathing of its sweetness; +and the action suddenly stirred his memory to the solution of its +mystery. It was this same sweetness that had come to him on the night +that he had looked down into the beautiful face of Eileen Brokaw at the +Brokaw ball. He remembered now that Eileen Brokaw loved heliotrope, and +that she always wore a purple heliotrope at her white throat or in the +gold of her hair. For a moment it struck him as singular that so many +things had happened this day to remind him of Brokaw's daughter. The +thought hastened his steps. He was anxious to look at the picture +again, to convince himself that he had been mistaken. Gregson was +asleep when he re-entered the cabin. The light was burning low, and +Philip turned up the wick. On the table was the picture as Gregson had +left it. This time there was no doubt. He had drawn the face of Eileen +Brokaw. In a spirit of jest he had written under it, "The Wife of Lord +Fitzhugh." + +In spite of their absurdity the words affected Philip curiously. Was it +possible that Miss Brokaw had reached Fort Churchill in some other way +than by ship? And, if not, was it possible that in this remote corner +of the earth there was another woman who resembled her so closely? +Philip took a step toward Gregson, half determined to awaken him. And +yet, on second thought, he knew that Gregson could not explain. Even if +the artist had learned of his affair with Miss Brokaw and had secured a +picture of her in some way, he would not presume to go this far. He was +convinced that Gregson had drawn the picture of a face that he had seen +that day. Again he read the words at the bottom of the sketch, and once +more he experienced their curious effect upon him--an effect which it +was impossible for him to analyze even in his own mind. + +He replaced the picture upon the table and drew the handkerchief and +bit of lace from his pocket. In the light of the lamp he saw that both +were as unusual as had been the picturesque dress of the girl and her +companion. Even to his inexperienced eyes and touch they gave evidence +of a richness that puzzled him, of a fashion that he had never seen. +They were of exquisite workmanship. The lace was of a delicate ivory +color, faintly tinted with yellow. The handkerchief was in the shape of +a heart, and in one corner of it, so finely wrought that he could +barely make out the silken letters, was the word "Camille." + +The scent of heliotrope rose more strongly in the closed room, and from +the handkerchief Philip's eyes turned to the face of Eileen Brokaw +looking at him from out of Gregson's sketch. It was a curious +coincidence. He reached over and placed the picture face down. Then he +loaded his pipe, and sat smoking, his vision traveling beyond the +table, beyond the closed door to the lonely black rock where he had +come upon Jeanne and Pierre. Clouds of smoke rose about him, and he +half closed his eyes. He saw the girl again, as she stood there; he saw +the moonlight shining in her hair, the dark, startled beauty of her +eyes as she turned upon him; he heard again the low sobbing note in her +voice as she cried out her hatred against Churchill. He forgot Eileen +Brokaw now, forgot in these moments all that he and Gregson had talked +of that day. His schemes, his fears, his feverish eagerness to begin +the fight against his enemies died away in thoughts of the beautiful +girl who had come into his life this night. It seemed to him now that +he had known her for a long time, that she had been a part of him +always, and that it was her spirit that he had been groping and +searching for, and could never find. For the space of those few moments +on the cliff she had driven out the emptiness and the loneliness from +his heart, and there filled him a wild desire to make her understand, +to talk with her, to stand shoulder to shoulder with Pierre out there +in the night, a comrade. + +Suddenly his fingers closed tightly over the handkerchief. He turned +and looked steadily at Gregson. His friend was sleeping, with his face +to the wall. + +Would not Pierre return to the rock in search of these articles which +his sister had left behind? The thought set his blood tingling. He +would go back--and wait for Pierre. But if Pierre did not return--until +to-morrow? + +He laughed softly to himself as he drew paper toward him and picked up +the pencil which Gregson had used. For many minutes he wrote steadily. +When he had done, he folded what he had written and tied it in the +handkerchief. The strip of lace with which Jeanne had bound her hair he +folded gently and placed in his breast pocket. There was a guilty flush +in his face as he stole silently to the door. What would Gregson say if +he knew that he--Phil Whittemore, the man whom he had once idealized as +"The Fighter," and whom he believed to be proof against all love of +woman--was doing this thing? He opened and closed the door softly. + +At least he would send his message to these strange people of the +wilderness. They would know that he was not a part of that Churchill +which they hated, that in his heart he had ceased to be a thing of its +breed. He apologized again for his sudden appearance on the rock, but +the apology was only an excuse for other things which he wrote, in +which for a few brief moments he bared himself to those whom he knew +would understand, and asked that their acquaintance might be continued. +He felt that there was something almost boyish in what he was doing; +and yet, as he hurried over the ridge and down into Churchill again, he +was thrilled as no other adventure had ever thrilled him before. As he +approached the cliff he began to fear that the half-breed would not +return for the things which Jeanne had left, or that he had already +re-visited the rock. The latter thought urged him on until he was half +running. The crest of the cliff was bare when he reached it. He looked +at his watch. He had been gone an hour. + +Where the moonlight seemed to fall brightest he dropped the +handkerchief, and then slipped back into the rocky trail that led to +the edge of the Bay. He had scarcely reached the strip of level beach +that lay between him and Churchill when from far behind him there came +the long howl of a dog. It was the wolf-dog. He knew it by the slow, +dismal rising of the cry and the infinite sadness with which it as +slowly died away until lost in the whisperings of the forest and the +gentle wash of the sea. Pierre was returning. He was coming back +through the forest. Perhaps Jeanne would be with him. + +For the third time Philip climbed back to the great moonlit rock at the +top of the cliff. Eagerly he faced the north, whence the wailing cry of +the wolf-dog had come. Then he turned to the spot where he had dropped +the handkerchief, and his heart gave a sudden jump. + +There was nothing on the rock. The handkerchief was gone! + + + + +VII + + +Philip stood undecided, his ears strained to catch the slightest sound. +Ten minutes had not elapsed since he had dropped the handkerchief. +Pierre could not have gone far among the rocks. It was possible that he +was concealed somewhere near him now. Softly he called his name. + +"Pierre--ho, Pierre Couchee!" + +There was no answer, and in the next breath he was sorry that he had +called. He went silently down the trail. He had come to the edge of +Churchill when once more he heard the howl of the dog far back in the +forest. He stopped to locate as nearly as he could the point whence the +sound came, for he was certain now that the dog had not returned with +Pierre, but had remained with Jeanne, and was howling from their camp. + +Gregson was awake and sitting on the edge of his bunk when Philip +entered the cabin. + +"Where the deuce have you been?" he demanded. "I was just trying to +make up my mind to go out and hunt for you. Stolen--lost--or something +like that?" + +"I've been thinking," said Philip, truthfully. + +"So have I," said Gregson. "Ever since you came back, wrote that +letter, and went out again--" + +"You were asleep," corrected Philip. "I looked at you." + +"Perhaps I was--when you looked. But I have a hazy recollection of you +sitting there at the table, writing like a fiend. Anyway, I've been +thinking ever since you went out of the door, and--I'd like to read +that Lord Fitzhugh letter again." + +Philip handed him the letter. He was quite sure from his friend's +manner of speaking that he had seen nothing of the handkerchief and the +lace. + +Gregson seized the paper lazily, yawned, and slipped it under the +blanket which he had doubled up for a pillow. + +"Do you mind if I keep it for a few days. Phil?" he asked. + +"Not in the least, if you'll tell me why you want it," said Philip. + +"I will--when I discover a reason myself," replied his friend, coolly, +stretching himself out again in the bunk. "Remember when I dreamed that +Carabobo planter was sticking a knife into you, Phil?--and the next day +he tried it? Well, I've had a funny dream, I want to sleep on this +letter. I may want to sleep on it for a week. Better turn in if you +expect to get a wink between now and morning." + +For half an hour after he had undressed and extinguished the light +Philip lay awake reviewing the incidents of his night's adventure. He +was certain that his letter was in the hands of Pierre and Jeanne, but +he was not so sure that they would respond to it. He half expected that +they would not, and yet he felt a deep sense of satisfaction in what he +had done. If he met them again he would not be quite a stranger. And +that he would meet them he was not only confident, but determined. If +they did not appear in Fort Churchill he would hunt out their camp. + +He found himself asking a dozen questions, none of which he could +answer. Who was this girl who had come like a queen from out of the +wilderness, and this man who bore with him the manner of a courtier? +Was it possible, after all, that they were of the forests? And where +was Fort o' God? He had never heard of it before, and as he thought of +Jeanne's strange, rich dress, of the heliotrope-scented handkerchief, +of the old-fashioned rapier at Pierre's side, and of the exquisite +grace with which the girl had left him he wondered if such a place as +this Fort o' God must be could exist in the heart of the desolate +northland. Pierre had said that they had come from Fort o' God. But +were they a part of it? + +He fell asleep, the resolution formed in his mind to investigate as +soon as he found the opportunity. There would surely be those at +Churchill who would know these people; if not, they would know of Fort +o' God. + +Philip found Gregson awake and dressed when he rolled out of his bunk a +few hours later. Gregson had breakfast ready. + +"You're a good one to have company," growled the artist. "When you go +out mooning again please take me along, will you? Chuck your head in +that pail of water and let's eat. I'm starved." + +Philip noticed that his companion had tacked the sketch against one of +the logs above the table. + +"Pretty good for imagination, Greggy," he said, nodding. "Burke will +jump at that if you do it in colors." + +"Burke won't get it," replied Gregson, soberly, seating himself at the +table. "It won't be for sale." + +"Why?" + +Gregson waited until Philip had seated himself before he answered. + +"Look here, old man--get ready to laugh. Split your sides, if you want +to. But it's God's truth that the girl I saw yesterday is the only girl +I've ever seen that I'd be willing to die for!" + +"To be sure," agreed Philip. "I understand." + +Gregson stared at him in surprise. "Why don't you laugh?" he asked. + +"It is not a laughing matter," said Philip. "I say that I understand. +And I do." + +Gregson looked from Philip's face to the picture. + +"Does it--does it hit you that way, Phil?" + +"She is very beautiful." + +"She is more than that," declared Gregson, warmly. "If I ever looked +into an angel's face it was yesterday, Phil. For just a moment I met +her eyes--" + +"And they were--" + +"Wonderful!" + +"I mean--the color," said Philip, engaging himself with the food. + +"They were blue or gray. It is the first time I ever looked into a +woman's eyes without being sure of the color of them. It was her hair, +Phil--not this tinsel sort of gold that makes you wonder if it's real, +but the kind you dream about. You may think me a loon, but I'm going to +find out who she is and where she is as soon as I have done with this +breakfast." + +"And Lord Fitzhugh?" + +A shadow passed over Gregson's face. For a few moments he ate in +silence. Then he said: + +"That's what kept me awake after you had gone--thinking of Lord +Fitzhugh and this girl. See here, Phil. She isn't one of the kind up +here. There was breeding and blood in every inch of her, and what I am +wondering is if these two could be associated in any way. I don't want +it to be so. But--it's possible. Beautiful young women like her don't +come, traveling up to this knob-end of the earth alone, do they?" + +Philip did not pursue the subject. A quarter of an hour later the two +young men left the cabin, crossed the ridge, and walked together down +into Churchill. Gregson went to the Company's store, while Philip +entered the building occupied by Pearce. Pearce was at his desk. He +looked up with tired, puffy eyes, and his fat hands lay limply before +him. Philip knew that he had not been to bed. His oily face strove to +put on an appearance of animation and business as Philip entered. + +Philip produced a couple of cigars and took a chair opposite him. + +"You look bushed, Pearce," he began. "Business must be rushing. I saw a +light in your window after midnight, and I came within an ace of +calling. Thought you wouldn't like to be interrupted, so I put off my +business until this morning." + +"Insomnia," said Pearce, huskily. "I can't sleep. Suppose you saw me at +work through the window?" There was almost an eager haste in his +question. + +"Saw nothing but the light," replied Philip, carelessly. "You know this +country pretty well, don't you, Pearce?" + +"Been 'squatting' on prospects for eight years, waiting for this damned +railroad," said Pearce, interlacing his thick fingers. "I guess I know +it!" + +"Then you can undoubtedly tell me the location of Fort o' God?" + +"Fort o' What?" + +"Fort o' God." + +Pearce looked blank. + +"It's a new one on me," he said, finally. "Never heard of it." He rose +from his chair and went over to a big map hanging against the wall. +Studiously he went over it with the point of his stubby forefinger. +"This is the latest from the government," he continued, with his back +to Philip, "but it ain't here. There's a God's Lake down south of +Nelson House, but that's the only thing with a God about it north of +fifty-three." + +"It's not so far south as that," said Philip, rising. + +Pearce's little eyes were fixed on him shrewdly. + +"Never heard of it," he repeated. "What sort of a place is it, a post--" + +"I have no idea," replied Philip. "I came for information more out of +curiosity than anything else. Perhaps I misunderstood the name. I'm +much obliged." + +He left Pearce in his chair and went directly to the factor's quarters. +Bludsoe, chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Company in the far north, +could give him no more information than had Pearce. He had never heard +of Fort o' God. He could not remember the name of Couchee. During the +next two hours Philip talked with French, Indian, and half-breed +trappers, and questioned the mail runner, who had come in that morning +from the south. No one could tell him of Fort o' God. + +Had Pierre lied to him? His face flushed with anger as this thought +came to him. In the next breath he assured himself that Pierre was not +a man who would lie. He had measured him as a man who would fight, and +not one who would lie. Besides, he had voluntarily given the +information that he and Jeanne were from Fort o' God. There had been no +excuse for falsehood. + +He purposely directed his movements so that he would not come into +contact with Gregson, little dreaming that his artist friend was +working under the same formula. He lunched with the factor, and a +little later went boldly back to the cliff where he had met Jeanne and +Pierre the preceding night. Although he had now come to expect no +response to what he had written, he carefully examined the rocks about +him. Then he set out through the forest in the direction from which had +come the howling of the wolf-dog. + +He searched until late in the afternoon, but found no signs of a recent +camp. For several miles he followed the main trail that led northward +from Fort Churchill. He crossed three times through the country between +this trail and the edge of the Bay, searching for smoke from the top of +every ridge that he climbed, listening for any sound that might give +him a clue. He visited the shack of an old half-breed deep in the +forest beyond the cliff, but its aged tenant could give him no +information. He had not seen Pierre and Jeanne, nor had he heard the +howling of their dog. + +Tired and disappointed, Philip returned to Churchill. He went directly +to his cabin and found Gregson waiting for him. There was a curious +look in the artist's face as he gazed questioningly at his friend. His +immaculate appearance was gone. He looked like one who had passed +through an uncomfortable hour or two. Perspiration had dried in dirty +streaks on his face, and his hands were buried dejectedly in his +trousers pockets. He rose to his feet and stood before his companion. + +"Look at me, Phil--take a good long look," he urged. + +Philip stared. + +"Am I awake?" demanded the artist. "Do I look like a man in his right +senses? Eh, tell me!" + +He turned and pointed to the sketch hanging against the wall. + +"Did I see that girl, or didn't I?" he went on, not waiting for Philip +to answer. "Did I dream of seeing her? Eh? By thunder, Phil--" He +whirled upon his companion, a glow of excitement taking the place of +the fatigue in his eyes. "I couldn't find her to-day. I've hunted in +every shack and brush heap in and around Churchill. I've hunted until +I'm so tired I can hardly stand up. And the devil of it is, I can find +no one else who got more than a glimpse of her, and then they did not +see her as I did. She had nothing on her head when I saw her, but I +remember now that something like a heavy veil fell about her shoulders, +and that she was lifting it when she passed. Anyway, no one saw her +like--that." He pointed to the sketch. "And she's gone--gone as +completely as though she came in a flying-machine and went away in one. +She's gone--unless--" + +"What?" + +"Unless she is in concealment right here in Churchill. She's gone--or +hiding." + +"You have reason to suspect that she would be hiding," said Philip, +concealing the effect of the other's words upon him. + +Gregson was uneasy. He lighted a cigarette, puffed at it once or twice, +and tossed it through the open door. Suddenly he reached in his coat +pocket and pulled out an envelope. + +"Deuce take it, if I know whether I have or not!" he cried. "But--look +here, Phil. I saw the mail come in to-day, and I walked up as bold as +you please and asked if there was anything for Lord Fitzhugh. I showed +the other letter, and said I was Fitzhugh's agent. It went. And I +got--this!" + +Philip snatched at the letter which Gregson held out to him. His +fingers trembled as he unfolded the single sheet of paper which he drew +forth. Across it was written a single line: + +Don't lose an hour. Strike now. + +There was nothing more, except a large ink blot under the words. The +envelope was addressed in the same hand as the one he had previously +received. The men stared into each other's face. + +"It's singular, that's all," pursued Gregson. "Those words are +important. The writer expects that they will reach Lord Fitzhugh +immediately, and as soon as he gets them you can look for war. Isn't +that their significance? I repeat that it is singular this girl should +come here so mysteriously, and disappear still more so, just at this +psychological moment; and it is still more puzzling when you take into +consideration the fact that two hours before the runner came in from +the south another person inquired for Lord Fitzhugh's mail!" + +Philip started. + +"And they told you this?" + +"Yes. It was a man who asked--a stranger. He gave no name and left no +word. Now, if it should happen to be the man who was with the girl when +I saw her--and we can find him--we've as good as got this Lord +Fitzhugh. If we don't find him--and mighty soon--it's up to us to start +for your camps and put them into fighting shape. See the point?" + +"But we've got the letter," said Philip. "Fitzhugh won't receive the +final word, and that will delay whatever plot he has ready to spring." + +"My dear Phil," said Gregson, softly. "I always said that you were the +fighter and I the diplomat, yours the brawn and mine the brain. Don't +you see what this means? I'll gamble my right hand that these very +words have been sent to Lord Fitzhugh at two or three different points, +so that they would be sure of reaching him. I'm just as positive that +he has already received a copy of the letter which we have. Mark my +words, it's catch Lord Fitzhugh within the next few days--or fight!" + +Philip sat down, breathing heavily. + +"I'll send word to MacDougall," he said. "But I--I must wait for the +ship!" + +"Why not leave word for Brokaw and join MacDougall?" + +"Because when the ship comes in I believe that a large part of this +mystery will be cleared up," replied Philip. "It is necessary that I +remain here. That will give us a few days in which to make a further +search for these people." + +Gregson did not urge the point, but replaced the second letter in his +pocket with the first. During the evening he remained at the cabin. +Philip returned to Churchill. For an hour he sat among the ruins of the +old fort, striving to bring some sort of order out of the chaos of +events that had occurred during the past few days. He was almost +convinced that he ought to reveal all that he knew to Gregson, and yet +several reasons kept him from doing so. If Miss Brokaw was on the +London ship when it arrived at Churchill, there would be no necessity +of disclosing that part of his own history which he was keeping secret +within himself. If Eileen was not on the ship her absence would be +sufficient proof to him that she was in or near Churchill, and in this +event he knew that it would be impossible for him to keep from +associating with her movements not only those of Lord Fitzhugh, but +also those of Jeanne and Pierre and of Brokaw himself. He could see but +two things to do at present, wait and watch. If Miss Brokaw was not +with her father, he would take Gregson fully into his confidence. + +The next morning he despatched a messenger with a letter for +MacDougall, at Blind Indian Lake, warning him to be on his guard and to +prepare the long line of sub-stations for possible attack. All this day +Gregson remained in the cabin. + +"It won't do for me to make myself too evident," he explained. "I've +called for Lord Fitzhugh's mail, and I'd better lie as low as possible +until the corn begins to pop." + +Philip again searched the forests to the north and west with the hope +of finding some trace of Pierre and Jeanne. The forest people were +beginning to come into Churchill from all directions to be present at +the big event of the year--the arrival of the London ship--and Philip +made inquiries on every trail. No one had seen those whom he described. +The fourth and fifth days passed without any developments. So far as he +could discover there was no Fort o' God, no Jeanne and Pierre Couchee. +He was completely baffled. The sixth day he spent in the cabin with +Gregson. On the morning of the seventh there came from far out over the +Bay the hollow booming of a cannon. + +It was the signal which for two hundred years the ships from over the +sea had given to the people of Churchill. + +By the time the two young men had finished their breakfasts and climbed +to the top of the ridge overlooking the Bay, the vessel had dropped +anchor half a mile off shore, where she rode safe from the rocks at low +tide. Along the shore below them, where Churchill lay, the forest +people were gathered in silent, waiting groups. Philip pointed to the +factor's big York boat, already two-thirds of the way to the ship. + +"We should have gone with Bludsoe," he said. "Brokaw will think this a +shabby reception on our part, and Miss Brokaw won't be half flattered. +We'll go down and get a good position on the pier." + +Fifteen minutes later they were thrusting themselves through the crowd +of men, women, children, and dogs congregated at the foot of the long +stone pier alongside which the ship would lie for two or three hours at +each high tide. Philip stopped among a number of Crees and half-breeds, +and laid a detaining hand upon Gregson's arm. + +"This is near enough, if you don't want to make yourself conspicuous," +he said. + +The York boat was returning. Philip pulled a cigar from his pocket and +lighted it. He felt his heart throbbing excitedly as the boat drew +nearer. He looked at Gregson. The artist was taking short, quick puffs +on his cigarette, and Philip wondered at the evident eagerness with +which he was watching the approaching craft. + +Until the boat ran close up under the pier its sail hid the occupants. +While the canvas still fluttered in the light wind Bludsoe sprang from +the bow out upon the rocks with a rope. Three or four of his men +followed. With a rattle of blocks and rings the sheet dropped like a +huge white curtain, and Philip took a step forward, scarce restraining +the exclamation that forced itself to his lips at the picture which it +revealed. Standing on the broad rail, her slender form poised for the +quick upward step, one hand extended to Bludsoe, was Eileen Brokaw! In +another instant she was upon the pier, facing the strange people before +her, while her father clambered out of the boat behind. There was a +smile of expectancy on her lips as she scanned the dark, silent faces +of the forest people. Philip knew that she was looking for him. His +pulse quickened. He turned for a moment to see the effect of the girl's +appearance upon Gregson. + +The artist's two hands had gripped his arm. They closed now until his +fingers were like cords of steel. His face was white, his lips set into +thin lines. For a breath he stood thus, while Miss Brokaw's scrutiny +traveled nearer to them. Then, suddenly, he released his hold and +darted back among the half-breeds and Indians, his face turning to +Philip's in one quick, warning appeal. + +He was not a moment too soon, for scarce had he gone when Miss Brokaw +caught sight of Philip's tall form at the foot of the pier. Philip did +not see the signal which she gave him. He was staring at the line of +faces ahead of him. Two people had worked their way through that line, +and suddenly every muscle in his body became tense with excitement and +joy. They were Pierre and Jeanne! + +He caught his breath at what happened then. He saw Jeanne falter for a +moment. He noticed that she was now dressed like the others about her, +and that Pierre, who stood at her shoulder, was no longer the fine +gentleman of the rock. The half-breed bent over her, as if whispering +to her, and then Jeanne ran out from those about her to Eileen, her +beautiful face flushed with joy and welcome as she reached out her arms +to the other woman. Philip saw a sudden startled look leap into Miss +Brokaw's face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She stared at +the forest girl, drew herself haughtily erect, and, with a word which +he could not hear, turned to Bludsoe and her father. For an instant +Jeanne stood as if some one had struck her a blow. Then, slowly, she +turned. The flush was gone from her face. Her beautiful mouth was +quivering, and Philip fancied that he could hear the low sobbing of her +breath. With a cry in which he uttered no name, but which was meant for +her, he sprang forward into the clear space of the pier. She saw him, +and darted back among her people. He would have followed, but Miss +Brokaw was coming to him now, her hand held out to him, and a step +behind were Brokaw and the factor. + +"Philip!" she cried. + +He spoke no word as he crushed her hand. The hot grip of his fingers, +the deep flush in his face, was interpreted by her as a welcome which +it did not require speech to strengthen. He shook hands with Brokaw, +and as the three followed after the factor his eyes sought vainly for +Pierre and Jeanne. + +They were gone, and he felt suddenly a thrill of repugnance at the +gentle pressure of Eileen Brokaw's hand upon his arm. + + + + +VIII + + +Philip did not see the hundred staring eyes that followed in wonderment +the tall, beautiful girl who walked at his side. He knew that Miss +Brokaw was talking and laughing, and that he was nodding his head and +answering her, while his brain raged for an idea that would give him an +excuse for leaving her to follow Jeanne and Pierre. The facts that +Gregson had left him so strangely, that Eileen had come with her +father, and that, instead of clearing up the mystery in which they were +so deeply involved, the arrival of the London ship had even more +hopelessly entangled them, were forgotten for the moment in the desire +to intercept Jeanne and Pierre before they could leave Churchill. Miss +Brokaw herself unconsciously gave him the opportunity for which he was +seeking. + +"You don't look very happy, Philip," she exclaimed, in a chiding voice, +meant only for his ears. "I thought--perhaps--my coming would make you +glad." + +Philip caught eagerly at the half question in her voice. + +"I feared you would notice it," he said, quickly. "I was afraid you +would think me indifferent because I did not go out to meet you in the +boat, and because I stood hidden at the end of the pier when you +landed. But I was looking for a man. I have been hunting for him for a +long time. And I saw his face just as we came through the crowd. That +is why I am--am rattled," he laughed. "Will you excuse me if I go back? +Can you find some excuse for the others? I will return in a few +minutes, and then you will not say that I am unhappy." + +Miss Brokaw drew her hand from his arm. + +"Surely I will excuse you," she cried. "Hurry, or you may lose him. I +would like to go with you if it is going to be exciting." + +Philip turned to Brokaw and the factor, who were close behind them. + +"I am compelled to leave you here," he explained. "I have excused +myself to Miss Brokaw, and will rejoin you almost immediately." + +He lost no time in hurrying back to the shore of the Bay. As he had +expected, Jeanne and her companion were no longer in sight. There was +only one direction in which they could have disappeared so quickly, and +this was toward the cliff. Once hidden by the fringe of forest, he +hastened his steps until he was almost running. He had reached the base +of the huge mass of rock that rose up from the sea, when down the +narrow trail that led to the cliff there came a figure to meet him. It +was an Indian boy, and he advanced to question him. If Jeanne and +Pierre had passed that way the boy must surely have seen them. + +Before he had spoken the lad ran toward him, holding out something in +his hand. The question on Philip's lips changed to an exclamation of +joy when he recognized the handkerchief which he had dropped upon the +rock a few nights before, or one so near like it that he could not have +told them apart. It was tied into a knot, and he felt the crumpling of +paper under the pressure of his fingers. He almost tore the bit of lace +and linen in his eagerness to rescue the paper, which a moment later he +held in his fingers. Three short lines, written in a fine, +old-fashioned hand, were all that it held for him. But they were +sufficient to set his heart, beating wildly. + + +Will Monsieur come to the top of the rock to-night, some time between +the hours of nine and ten. + + +There was no signature to the note, but Philip knew that only Jeanne +could have written it, for the letters were almost of microscopic +smallness, as delicate as the bit of lace in which they had been +delivered, and of a quaintness of style which added still more to the +bewildering mystery which already surrounded these people. He read the +lines half a dozen times, and then turned to find that the Indian boy +was slipping sway through the rocks. + +"Here--you," he commanded, in English. "Come back!" + +The boy's white teeth gleamed in a laugh as he waved his hand and +leaped farther away. From Philip his eyes shifted in a quick, searching +glance to the top of the cliff. In a flash Philip followed its +direction. He understood the meaning of the look. From the cliff Jeanne +and Pierre had seen his approach, and their meeting with the Indian boy +had made it possible for them to intercept him in this manner. They +were probably looking down upon him now, and in the gladness of the +moment Philip laughed up at the bare rocks and waved his cap above his +head as a signal of his acceptance of the strange invitation he had +received. + +Vaguely he wondered why they had set the meeting for that night, when +in three or four minutes he could have joined them up there in broad +day. But the central tangle of the mystery that had grown up about him +during the past few days was too perplexing to embroider with such a +minor detail as this, and he turned back toward Churchill with the +feeling that everything was working in his favor. During the next few +hours he would clear up the tangle, and in addition to that he would +meet Jeanne and Pierre. It was the thought of Jeanne, and not of the +surprises which he was about to explain, that stirred his blood as he +hurried back to the Fort. + +It was his intention to return to Eileen and her father. But he changed +this. He would first hunt up Gregson and begin his work there. He knew +that the artist would be expecting him, and he went directly to the +cabin, escaping notice by following along the fringe of the forest. + +Gregson was pacing back and forth across the cabin floor when Philip +arrived. His steps were quick and excited. His hands were thrust deep +in his trousers pockets. The butts of innumerable half-smoked +cigarettes lay scattered under his feet. He ceased his restless +movement upon his companion's interruption, and for a moment or two +gazed at Philip in blank silence. + +"Well," he said, at last, "have you got anything to say?" + +"Nothing," said Philip. "It's beyond me, Greggy. For Heaven's sake give +me an explanation!" + +There was nothing womanish in the hard lines of Gregson's face now. He +spoke with the suggestion of a sneer. + +"You knew--all the time," he said, coldly. "You knew that Miss Brokaw +and the girl whom I drew were one and the same person. What was the +object of your little sensation?" + +Philip ignored his question. He stepped quickly up to Gregson and +seized him by the arm. + +"It is impossible!" he cried, in a low voice. "They cannot be the same +person. That ship out there has not touched land since she left +Halifax. Until she hove in sight off Churchill she hasn't been within +two hundred miles of a coast this side of Hudson's Strait. Miss Brokaw +is as new to this country as you. It is beyond all reason to suppose +anything else." + +"Nevertheless," said Gregson, quietly, "it was Miss Brokaw whom I saw +the other day, and that is Miss Brokaw's picture." + +He pointed to the sketch, and freed his arm to light another cigarette. +There was a peculiar tone of finality in his voice which warned Philip +that no amount of logic or arguing on his part would change his +friend's belief. Gregson looked at him over his lighted match. + +"It was Miss Brokaw," he said again. "Perhaps it is within reason to +suppose that she came to Churchill in a balloon, dropped into town for +luncheon, and departed in a balloon, descending by some miraculous +chance aboard the ship that was bringing her father. However it may +have happened, she was in Churchill a few days ago. On that hypothesis +I am going to work, and as a consequence I am going to ask you for the +indefinite loan of the Lord Fitzhugh letter. Will you give me your word +to say nothing of that letter--for a few days?" + +"It is almost necessary to show it to Brokaw," hesitated Philip. + +"Almost--but not quite," Gregson caught him up. "Brokaw knows the +seriousness of the situation without that letter. See here, Phil--you +go out and fight, and let me handle this end of the business. Don't +reveal me to the Brokaws. I don't want to meet--her--yet, though God +knows if it wasn't for my confounded friendship for you I'd go over +there with you this minute. She was even more beautiful than when I saw +her--before." + +"Then there is a difference," laughed Philip, meaningly. + +"Not a difference, but a little better view," corrected the artist. + +"Now, if we could only find the other girl, what a mess you'd be in, +Greggy! By George, but this is beginning to have its humorous as well +as its tragic side. I'd give a thousand dollars to have this other +golden-haired beauty appear upon the scene!" + +"I'll give a thousand if you produce her," retorted Gregson. + +"Good!" laughed Philip, holding out a hand. "I'll report again this +afternoon or to-night." + +Inwardly he felt himself in no humorous mood as he retraced his steps +to Churchill. He had thought to begin his work of clearing up the +puzzling situation with Gregson, and Gregson had failed him completely +by his persistence in the belief that Miss Brokaw was the girl whose +face he had seen more than a week before. Was it possible, after all, +that the ship had touched at some point up the coast? The supposition +was preposterous. Yet before rejoining the Brokaws he sought out the +captain and found that the company's vessel had come directly from +Halifax without a change or stop in her regular course. The word of the +company's captain cleared up his doubts in one direction; it mystified +him more than ever in another. He was convinced that Gregson had not +seen Miss Brokaw until that morning. But who was Eileen's double? Where +was she at this moment? What peculiar combination of circumstance had +drawn them both to Churchill at this particularly significant time? It +was impossible for him not to associate the girl whom Gregson had +encountered, and who so closely resembled Eileen, with Lord Fitzhugh +and the plot against his company. And it struck him with a certain +feeling of dread that, if his suspicions were true, Jeanne and Pierre +must also be mixed up in the affair. For had not Jeanne, in her error, +greeted Eileen as though she were a dear friend? + +He went directly to the factor's house, and knocked at the door opening +into the rooms occupied by Brokaw and his daughter. Brokaw admitted +him, and at Philip's searching glance about the room he nodded toward a +closed inner door and said: + +"Eileen is resting. It's been a hard trip on her, Phil, and she hasn't +slept for two consecutive nights since we left Halifax." + +Philip's keen glance told him that Brokaw himself had not slept much. +The promoter's eyes were heavy, with little puffy bags under them. But +otherwise he betrayed no signs of unrest or lack of rest. He motioned +Philip to a chair close to a huge fireplace in which a pile of birch +was leaping into flame, offered him a cigar, and plunged immediately +into business. + +"It's hell, Philip," he said, in a hard, quiet voice, as though he were +restraining an outburst of passion with effort. "In another three +months we'd have been on a working basis, earning dividends. I've even +gone to the point of making contracts that show us five hundred per +cent, profit. And now--this!" + +He dashed his half-burned cigar into the fire, and viciously bit the +end from another. + +Philip was lighting his own, and there was a moment's silence, broken +sharply by the financier. + +"Are your men prepared to fight?" + +"If it's necessary," replied Philip. "We can at least depend upon a +part of them, especially the men at Blind Indian Lake. But--this +fighting--Why do you think it will come to that? If there is fighting +we are ruined." + +"If the people rise against us in a body--yes, we are ruined. That is +what we must not permit. It is our one chance. I have done everything +in my power to beat this movement against us down south, and have +failed. Our enemies are completely masked. They have won popular +sentiment through the newspapers. Their next move is to strike directly +at us. Whatever is to happen will happen soon. The plan is to attack +us, to destroy our property, and the movement is to be advertised as a +retaliation for heinous outrages perpetrated by our men. It is possible +that the attack will not be by northerners alone, but by men brought in +for the purpose. The result will be the same--if it succeeds. The +attack is planned to be a surprise. Our one chance is to meet it, to +completely frustrate it--to strike an overwhelming blow, and to capture +enough of our assailants to give us the evidence we must have." + +Brokaw was excited. He emphasized his words with angry sweeps of his +arms. He clenched his fists, and his face grew red. He was not like the +old, shrewd, indomitable Brokaw, completely master of himself, never +revealing himself beyond the unruffled veil of his self-possession, and +Philip was surprised. He had expected that Brokaw's wily brain would +bring with it half a dozen schemes for the quiet undoing of their +enemies. And now here was Brokaw, the man who always hedged himself in +with legal breast-works--who never revealed himself to the shot of his +enemies--enlisting himself for a fight in the open! Philip had told +Gregson that there would be a fight. He was firmly convinced that there +would be a fight. But he had never believed that Brokaw would come to +join in it. He leaned toward the financier, his face flushed a little +by the warmth of the fire and by the knowledge that Brokaw was +relinquishing the situation entirely into his hands. If it came to +fighting, he would win. He was confident of himself there. But-- + +"What will be the result if we win?" he asked. + +"If we secure those who will give the evidence we need--evidence that +the movement against us is a plot to destroy our company, the +government will stand by us," replied Brokaw. "I have sounded the +situation there. I have filed a formal declaration to the effect that +such a movement is on foot, and have received a promise that the +commissioner of police will investigate the matter. But before that +happens our enemies will strike. There is no time for red tape or +investigations. We must achieve our own salvation. And to achieve that +we must fight." + +"And if we lose?" + +Brokaw lifted his hands and shoulders with a significant gesture. + +"The moral effect will be tremendous," he said. "It will be shown that +the entire north is inimical to our company, and the government will +withdraw our option. We will be ruined. Our stockholders will lose +every cent invested." + +In moments of mental energy Philip was restless. He rose from his chair +now and moved softly back and forth across the carpeted floor of the +big room, shrouded in tobacco smoke. Should he break his word to +Gregson and tell Brokaw of Lord Fitzhugh? But, on second thought, what +good would come of it? Brokaw was already aware of the seriousness of +the situation. In some one of his unaccountable ways he had learned +that their enemies were to strike almost immediately, and his own +revelation of the Fitzhugh letters would but strengthen this evidence. +He would keep his faith with Gregson for the promised day or two. For +an hour the two men were alone in the room. At the end of that time +their plans were settled. The next morning Philip would leave for Blind +Indian Lake and prepare for war. Brokaw would follow two or three days +later. + +A heavy weight seemed lifted from Philip's shoulders when he left +Brokaw. After months of worry and weeks of physical inaction he saw his +way clear for the first time. And for the first time, too, something +seemed to have come into his life that filled him with a strange +exhilaration, and made him forgetful of the gloom that had settled over +him during these last months. That night he would see Jeanne. His body +thrilled at the thought, until for a time he forgot that he would also +see and talk with Eileen. A few days before he had told Gregson that it +would be suicidal to fight the northerners; now he was eager for +action, eager to begin and end the affair--to win or lose. If he had +stopped to analyze the change in himself he would have found that the +beautiful girl whom he had first seen on the moonlit rock was at the +bottom of it. And yet Jeanne was a northerner, one of those against +whom his actions must be directed. But he had confidence in himself, +confidence in what that night would bring forth. He was like one freed +from a bondage that had oppressed him for a long time, and the fact +that he might be compelled to fight Jeanne's own people did not destroy +his hopefulness, the new joy and excitement that he had found in life. +As he hurried back to his cabin he told himself that both Jeanne and +Pierre had read what he had sent to them in the handkerchief; their +response was a proof that they understood him, and deep down a voice +kept telling him that if it came to fighting they three, Pierre, +Jeanne, and himself, would rise or fall together. A few hours had +transformed him into Gregson's old appreciation of the fighting man. +Long and tedious months of diplomacy, of political intrigue, of bribery +and dishonest financiering, in which he had played but the part of a +helpless machine, were gone. Now he held the whip-hand; Brokaw had +acknowledged his own surrender. He was to fight--a clean, fair fight on +his part, and his blood leaped in every vein like marshaling armies. +That nights on the rock, he would reveal himself frankly to Pierre and +Jeanne. He would tell them of the plot to disrupt the company, and of +the work ahead of him. And after that-- + +He thrust open the door of his cabin, eager to enlist Gregson in his +enthusiasm. The artist was not in. Philip noticed that the +cartridge-belt and the revolver which usually hung over Gregson's bunk +were gone. He never entered the cabin without looking at the sketch of +Eileen Brokaw. Something about it seemed to fascinate him, to challenge +his presence. Now it was missing from the wall. + +He threw off his coat and hat, filled his pipe, and began gathering up +his few possessions, ready for packing. It was noon before he was +through, and Gregson had not returned. He boiled himself some coffee +and sat down to wait. At five o'clock he was to eat supper with the +Brokaws and the factor; Eileen, through her father, had asked him to +join her an hour or two earlier in the big room. He waited until four, +and then left a brief note for Gregson upon the table. + +It was growing dusk in the forest. From the top of the ridge Philip +caught the last red glow of the sun, sinking far to the south and west. +A faint radiance of it still swept over his head and mingled with the +thickening gray gloom of the northern sea. Across the dip in the Bay +the huge, white-capped cliff seemed to loom nearer and more gigantic in +the whimsical light. For a few moments a red bar shot across it, and as +the golden fire faded and died away Philip could not but think it was +like a torch beckoning to him. A few hours more, and where that light +had been he would see Jeanne. And now, down there, Eileen was waiting +for him. + +His pulse quickened as he passed beyond the ancient fort, over the +burial-place of the dead, and into Churchill. He met no one at the +factor's, and the door leading into Miss Brokaw's room was partly ajar. +A great fire was burning in the fireplace, and he saw Eileen seated in +the rich glow of it, smiling at him as he entered. He closed the door, +and when he turned she had risen and was holding out her hands to him. +She had dressed for him, almost as on that night of the Brokaw ball. In +the flashing play of the fire her exquisite arms and shoulders shone +with dazzling beauty; her eyes laughed at him; her hair rippled in a +golden flood. Faintly there came to him, filling the room slowly, +tingling his nerves, the sweet scent of heliotrope--the perfume that +had filled his nostrils on that other night, a long time ago, the sweet +scent that had come to him in the handkerchief dropped on the rock, the +breath of the bit of lace that had bound Jeanne's hair! + +Eileen moved toward him. "Philip," she said, "now are you glad to see +me?" + + + + +IX + + +Her voice broke the spell that had held him for a moment. + +"I am glad to see you," he cried, quickly, seizing both her hands. +"Only I haven't quite yet awakened from my dream. It seems too +wonderful, almost unreal. Are you the old Eileen who used to shudder +when I told you of a bit of jungle and wild beasts, and who laughed at +me because I loved to sleep out-of-doors and tramp mountains, instead +of decently behaving myself at home? I demand an explanation. It must +be a wonderful change--" + +"There has been a change," she interrupted him. "Sit down, +Philip--there!" She nestled herself on a stool, close to his feet, and +looked up at him, her hands clasped under her chin, radiantly lovely. +"You told me once that girls like me simply fluttered over the top of +life like butterflies; that we couldn't understand life, or live it, +until somewhere--at some time--we came into touch with nature. Do you +remember? I was consumed with rage then--at your frankness, at what I +considered your impertinence. I couldn't get what you said out of my +mind. And I'm trying it." + +"And you like it?" He put the question almost eagerly. + +"Yes." She was looking at him steadily, her beautiful gray eyes meeting +his own in a silence that stirred him deeply. He had never seen her +more beautiful. Was it the firelight on her face, the crimson leapings +of the flames, that gave her skin a richer hue? Was it the mingling of +fire and shadow that darkened her cheeks? An impulse made him utter the +words which passed through his mind. + +"You have already tried it," he said. "I can see the effects of it in +your face. It would take weeks in the forests to do that." + +The gray eyes faltered; the flush deepened. + +"Yes, I have tried it. I spent a half of the summer at our cottage on +the lake." + +"But it is not tan," he persisted, thrilled for a moment by the +discoveries he was making. "It is the wind; it is the open; it is the +smoke of camp-fires; it is the elixir of balsam and cedar and pine. +That is what I see in your face--unless it is the fire." + +"It is the fire, partly," she said. "And the rest is the wind and the +open of the seas we have come across, and the sting of icebergs. Ugh: +my face feels like nettles!" + +She rubbed her cheeks with her two hands, and then held up one hand to +Philip. + +"Look," she said. "It's as rough as sand-paper. Isn't that a change? I +didn't even wear gloves on the ship. I'm an enthusiast. I'm going down +there with you, and I'm going to fight. Now have you got anything to +say against me, Mr. Philip?" + +There was a lightness in her words, and yet not in her voice. In her +manner was an uneasiness, mingled with an almost childish eagerness for +him to answer, which Philip could not understand. He fancied that once +or twice he had caught the faintest sign of a break in her voice. + +"You really mean to hazard this adventure?" he cried, softly, in his +astonishment. "You, whom wild horses couldn't drag into the wilderness, +as you once told me!" + +"Yes," she affirmed, drawing her stool back out of the increasing heat +of the fire. Her face was almost entirely in shadow now, and she did +not look at Philip. "I am beginning to--to love adventure," she went +on, in an even voice. "It was an adventure coming up. And when we +landed down there something curious happened. Did you see a girl who +thought that she knew me--" + +She stopped, and a sudden flash of the fire lit up her eyes, fixed on +him intently from between her shielding hands. + +"I saw her run out and speak to you," said Philip, his heart beating at +double-quick. He leaned over so that he was looking squarely into Miss +Brokaw's face. + +"Did you know her?" she asked. + +"I have seen her only twice--once before she spoke to you." + +"If I meet her again I shall apologize," said Eileen. "It was her +mistake, and she startled me. When she ran out to me like that, and +held out her hands I--I thought of beggars." + +"Beggars!" almost shouted Philip. "A beggar!" He caught himself with a +laugh, and to cover his sudden emotion turned to lay a fresh piece of +birch on the fire. "We don't have beggars up here." + +The door opened behind them and Brokaw entered. Philip's face was red +when he greeted him. For half an hour after that he cursed himself for +not being as clever as Gregson. He knew that there was a change in +Eileen Brokaw, a change which nature had not worked alone, as she +wished him to believe. Then, and at supper, he tried to fathom her. At +times he detected the metallic ring of what was unreal and make-believe +in what she said; at other times she seemed stirred by emotions which +added immeasurably to the sweetness and truthfulness of her voice. She +was nervous. He found her eyes frequently seeking her father's face, +and more than once they were filled with a mysterious questioning, as +if within Brokaw's brain there lurked hidden things which were new to +her, and which she was struggling to understand. She no longer held the +old fascination for Philip, and yet he conceded that she was more +beautiful than ever. Until to-night he had never seen the shadow of +sadness in her eyes; he had never seen them darken as they darkened +now, when she listened with almost feverish interest to the words which +passed between himself and Brokaw. He was certain that it was not a +whim that had brought her into the north. It was impossible for him to +believe that he had piqued at her vanity until she had leaped into +action, as she had suggested to him while they were sitting before the +fire. Could it be that she had accompanied her father because +he--Philip Whittemore--was in the north? + +The thought drew a slow flush into his face, and his uneasiness +increased when he knew that she was looking at him. He was glad when it +came time for cigars, and Eileen excused herself. He opened the door +for her, and told her that he probably would not see her again until +morning, as he had an important engagement for the evening. She gave +him her hand, and for a moment he felt the clinging of her fingers +about his own. + +"Good night," she whispered. + +"Good night." + +She drew her hand half away, and then, suddenly, raised her eyes +straight to his own. They were calm, quiet, beautiful, and yet there +came a quick little catch in her throat as she leaned so close to him +that she touched his breast, and said: + +"It will be best--best for everything--everybody--if you can influence +father to stay at Fort Churchill." + +She did not wait for him to reply, but hurried toward her room. For a +moment Philip stared after her in amazement. Then he took a step as if +to follow her, to call her back. The impulse left him as quickly as it +came, and he rejoined Brokaw and the factor. + +He looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. At half-past seven he +shook hands with the two men, lighted a fresh cigar, and passed out +into the night. It was early for his meeting with Pierre and Jeanne, +but he went down to the shore and walked slowly in the direction of the +cliff. He was still an hour early when he arrived at the great rock, +and sat down, with his face turned to the sea. + +It was a white, radiant night, such as he had seen in the tropics. Only +here, in the north, his vision reached to greater distances. Churchill +lay lifeless in its pool of light; the ship hung like a black +silhouette in the distance, with a cloud of jet-black smoke rising +straight up from its funnels, and spreading out high up against the +sky, a huge, ebon monster that cast its shadow for half a mile over the +Bay. The shadow held Philip's eyes. Now it was like a gigantic face, +now like a monster beast--now it reached out in the form of a great +threatening hand, as though somewhere in the mystery of the north it +sought a spirit-victim as potent as itself. + +Then the spell of it was broken. From the end of the shadow, which +reached almost to the base of the cliff on which Philip sat, there came +a sound. It was a clear, metallic sound that left the vibration of +steel in the air, and Philip leaned over the edge of the rock. Below +him the shadow was broken into a pool of rippling starlight. He heard +the faint dip of paddles, and suddenly a canoe shot from the shadow out +into the clear light of the moon and stars. + +It was a large canoe. In it he could make out four figures. Three of +them were paddling; the fourth sat motionless in the bow. They passed +under him swiftly, guiding their canoe so that it was soon hidden in +the shelter of the cliff. By the faint reflections cast by the +disturbed water, Philip saw that the occupants of the canoe had made an +effort to conceal themselves by following the course of the dense +shadow. Only the chance sound had led him to observe them. + +Under ordinary circumstances the passing of a strange canoe at night +would have had no significance for him. But at the present time it +troubled him. The manner of its approach through the shadow, the +strange quiet of its occupants, the stealth with which they had shot +the canoe under the cliff, were all unusual. Could the incident have +anything to do with Jeanne and Pierre? + +He waited until he heard the tiny bell in his watch tinkle the +half-hour, and then he set out slowly over the moonlit rocks to the +north. Jeanne and Pierre would surely come from that direction. It was +impossible to miss them. He walked without sound in his moccasins, +keeping close to the edge of the cliff so that he could look out over +the Bay. Two or three hundred yards beyond the big rock the sea-wall +swung in sharply, disclosing the open water, like a still, silvery +sheet, for a mile or more. Philip scanned it for the canoe, but as far +as he could see there was not a shadow. + +For a quarter of a mile he walked over the rocks, then returned. It was +nine o'clock. The moment had arrived for the appearance of Jeanne and +Pierre. He resumed his patrol of the cliff, and with each moment his +nervousness increased. What if Jeanne failed him? What if she did not +come to the rock? The mere thought made his heart sink with a sudden +painful throb. Until now the fear that Jeanne might disappoint him, +that she might not keep the tryst, had not entered his head. His faith +in this girl, whom he had seen but twice, was supreme. + +A second and a third time he patrolled the quarter mile of cliff. Again +his watch tinkled the half-hour, and he knew that the last minutes of +the appointed time had come. + +The third and last time he went beyond the quarter-mile limit, +searching in the white distances beyond. A low wind was rising from the +Bay; it rustled in the spruce and balsam tops of the forest that +reached up to the barren whiteness of the rock plateau on which he +stood; under him he heard, growing more and more distinct, the moaning +wash of the swelling tide. A moment of despair possessed him, and he +felt that he had lost. + +Suddenly the wind brought to him a different sound--a shout far down +the cliff, a second cry, and then the scream of a woman, deadened by +the wash of the sea and the increasing sweep of the wind among the +trees. + +He stood for a moment powerless, listening. The wind lulled, and the +woman's cry now came to him again--a voice that was filled with terror +rising in a wild appeal for help. With an answering shout he ran like a +swift-footed animal along the cliff. It was Jeanne who was calling! Who +else but Jeanne would be out there in the gray night--Jeanne and +Pierre? He listened as he ran, but there came no other sound. At last +he stopped, and drew in a great breath, to send out a shout that would +reach their ears. + +Above the fierce beating of his heart, the throbbing intake of his +breath, he heard sounds which were not of the wind or the sea. He ran +on, and suddenly the cliff dropped from under his feet, and he found +himself on the edge of a great rift in the wall of rock, looking across +upon a strange scene. In the brilliant moonlight, with his back against +a rock, stood Pierre, his glistening rapier in his hand, his thin, +lithe body bent for the attack of three men who faced him. It was but a +moment's tableau. The men rushed in. Muffled cries, blows, a single +clash of steel, and Pierre's voice rose above the sound of conflict. +"For the love of God, give me help, M'sieur!" He had seen Philip rush +up to the edge of the break in the cliff, and as he fought he cried out +again. + +"Shoot, M'sieur! In a moment it will be too late!" + +Philip had drawn his heavy revolver. He watched for an opportunity. The +men were fighting now so that Pierre had been forced between his +assailants and the breach in the wall. There was no chance to fire +without hitting him. + +"Run, Pierre!" shouted Philip. "Run--" + +He fired once, over the heads of the fighters, and as Pierre suddenly +darted to one side in obedience to his command there came for the first +time a shot from the other side. The bullet whistled close to his ears. +A second shot, and Pierre fell down like one dead among the rocks. +Again Philip fired--a third and a fourth time, and one of the three who +were disappearing in the white gloom stumbled over a rock, and fell as +Pierre had fallen. His companions stopped, picked him up, and staggered +on with him. Philip's last shot missed, and before he could reload they +were lost among the upheaved masses of the cliff. + +"Pierre!" he called. "Ho! Pierre Couchee!" + +There was no answer from the other side. + +He ran along the edge of the break, and in the direction of the forest +he found a place where he could descend. In his haste he fell; his +hands were scratched, blood flowed from a cut in his forehead when he +dragged himself up to the face of the cliff again. He tried to shout +when he saw a figure drag itself up from among the rocks, but his +almost superhuman exertions had left him voiceless. His wind whistled +from between his parted lips when he came to Pierre. + +Pierre was supporting himself against a rock. His face was streaming +with blood. In his hand he held what remained of the rapier, which had +broken off close to the hilt. His eyes were blazing like a madman's, +and his face was twisted with an agony that sent a thrill of horror +through Philip. + +"My hurt is nothing--nothing-M'sieur!" he gasped, understanding the +look in Philip's face. "It is Jeanne! They have gone--gone with +Jeanne!" The rapier slipped from his hand and he slid weakly down +against the rock. Philip dropped upon his knees, and with his +handkerchief began wiping the blood from the half-breed's face. For a +few moments Pierre's head hung limp against his shoulder. + +"What is it, Pierre?" he urged. "Tell me--quick! They have gone with +Jeanne!" + +Pierre's body grew rigid. With one great effort he seemed to marshal +all of his strength, and straightened himself. + +"Listen, M'sieur," he said, speaking calmly. "They set upon us as we +were going to meet you at the rock. There were four. One of them is +dead--back there. The others--with Jeanne--have gone in the canoe. It +is death--worse than death--for her--" + +His body writhed. In a passion he strove to rise to his feet. Then with +a groan he sank back, and for a moment Philip thought he was dying. + +"I will go, Pierre," he cried. "I will bring her back. I swear it." + +Pierre's hand detained him as he went to rise. + +"You swear--" + +"Yes." + +"At the next break--there is a canoe. They have gone for the +Churchill--" + +Pierre's voice was growing weaker. In a spasm of sudden fear at the +dizziness which was turning the night black for him he clutched at +Philip's arm. + +"If you save her, M'sieur, do not bring her back," he whispered, +hoarsely. "Take her to Fort o' God. Lose not an hour--not a minute. +Trust no one. Hide yourselves. Fight--kill--but take her to Fort o' +God! You will do this--M'sieur--you promise--" + +He fell back limp. Philip lowered him gently, holding his head so that +he could look into the staring eyes that were still open and +understanding. + +"I will go, Pierre," he said. "I will take her to Fort o' God. And +you--" + +A shadow was creeping over Pierre's eyes. He was still fighting to +understand, fighting to hold for another breath or two the +consciousness that was fast slipping from him. + +"Listen," cried Philip, striving to rouse him. "You will not die. The +bullet grazed your head, and the wound has already stopped bleeding. +To-morrow you must go to Churchill and hunt up a man named Gregson--the +man I was with when you and Jeanne came to see the ship. Tell him that +an important thing has happened, and that he must tell the others I +have gone to the camps. He will understand. Tell him--tell him--" + +He struggled to find some final word for Gregson. Pierre still looked +at him, his eyes half closed now. + +Philip bent close down. + +"Tell him," he said, "that I am on the trail of Lord Fitzhugh!" + +Scarcely had he uttered the name when Pierre's closing eyes shot open. +A groaning cry burst from his lips, and, as if that name had aroused +the last spark of life and strength within him into action, he wrenched +himself from Philip's arms, striving to speak. A trickle of fresh blood +ran over his face. Incoherent sounds rattled in his throat, and then, +overcome by his effort, he dropped back unconscious. Philip wound his +handkerchief about the wounded man's head and straightened out his +limbs. Then he rose to his feet and reloaded his revolver. His hands +were steady now. His brain was clear; the enervating thrill of +excitement had gone from his body. Only his heart beat like a racing +engine. + +He turned and ran in the direction which Pierre's assailants had taken, +his head lowered, his revolver held in front of him, on a level with +his breast. He had not gone a hundred yards when something stopped him. +In his path, with its face turned straight up to the moonlit sky, lay +the body of a man. For an instant Philip bent over it. The broken blade +of Pierre's rapier glistened under the man's throat. One lifeless hand +clutched at it, as though in the last moment of life he had tried to +draw it forth. The face was distorted, the eyes were still open, the +lips parted. Death had come with terrible suddenness. + +Philip bent lower, and stared into the face of the dead man. Where had +he seen that face before? + +Suddenly he remembered. He drew back, and a cold sweat seemed to break +out all at once over his face and body. This man who lay with the +broken blade of Pierre Couchee's rapier in his breast had come ashore +from the London ship that day in company with Eileen and her father! + +For a space he was overwhelmed by the discovery. Everything that had +happened--the scene upon the rock when he first met Jeanne, the arrival +of the ship, the moment's tableau on the pier when Jeanne and Eileen +stood face to face--rushed upon him now as he gazed down into the +staring eyes at his feet. What did it all mean? Why had Lord Fitzhugh's +name been sufficient to drag the half-breed back from the brink of +unconsciousness? What significance was there in this strange +combination of circumstances that persisted in drawing Pierre and +Jeanne into the plot that threatened himself? Had there been truth, +after all, in those last words that he impressed upon the fainting +senses of Pierre Couchee's message to Gregson? + +He waited to answer none of the questions that leaped through his +brain. To-morrow some one would find Pierre, or Pierre would crawl down +into Churchill. And then there would be the dead man to account for. He +shuddered as he returned his revolver into his holster and braced his +limbs. It was an unpleasant task, but he knew that it must be done--to +save Pierre. He lifted the body clear of the rocks, and bending under +its weight carried it to the edge of the cliff. Far below sounded the +wash of the sea. He shoved his burden over the edge, and listened. +After a moment there came a dull splash. + +Then he hastened on, as Pierre had guided him. + + + + +X + + +Soon Philip slackened his pace, and looked anxiously ahead of him. From +where he stood the cliff sloped down to a white strip of beach that +reached out into the night as far as he could see, hemmed close in by +the black gloom of the forest. Half-way down the slope the moonlight +was cut by a dark streak, and he found this to be the second break. He +had no difficulty in descending. Its sides were smooth, as though worn +by water. At the bottom white, dry sand slipped under his feet. He made +his way between the walls, and darkness shut him in. The trail grew +rougher. Near the shore he stumbled blindly among huge rocks and piles +of crumbling slate, wondering why Jeanne and Pierre had come this way +when they might have taken a smoother road. Close to the stony beach, +where the light was a little better, he made out the canoe which Pierre +had drawn into the shadows. + +Not until he had dragged it into the moonlight at the edge of the water +did he see that it was equipped as if for a long journey. Close to the +stern was a bulging pack, with a rifle strapped across it. Two or three +smaller caribou-skin bags lay in the center of the canoe. In the bow +was a thick nest of bearskin, and he knew that this was for Jeanne. + +Cautiously Philip launched himself, and with silent sweeps of the +paddle that made scarcely the sound of a ripple in the water set out in +the direction of Churchill. Jeanne's captors had a considerable start +of him, but he felt confident of his ability to overtake them shortly +if Pierre had spoken with truth when he said that they would head for +the Churchill River. He had observed the caution with which Pierre's +assailants had approached the cliff, and he was sure that they would +double that caution in their return, especially as their attack had +been interrupted at the last moment. For this reason he paddled without +great haste, keeping well within the concealment of the precipitous +shore, with his ears and eyes keenly alive to discover a sign of those +who were ahead of him. + +Opposite the rock where Pierre and Jeanne were to have met him he +stopped and stood up in the canoe. The wind had dispelled the smoke +shadow. Between him and the distant ship lay an unclouded sea. +Two-thirds of the distance to the vessel he made out the larger canoe, +rising and falling with the smooth undulations of the tide. He sank +upon his knees again and unstrapped Pierre's rifle. There was a +cartridge in the chamber. He made sure that the magazine was loaded, +and resumed his paddling. + +His mind worked rapidly. Within half an hour, if he desired, he could +overtake the other canoe. And what then? There were three to one, if it +came to a fight--and how could he rescue Jeanne without a fight? His +blood was pounding eagerly, almost with pleasure at the promise of what +was ahead of him, and he laughed softly to himself as he thought of the +odds. + +The ship loomed nearer; the canoe vanished behind it. A brief stop, a +dozen words of explanation, and Philip knew that he could secure +assistance from the vessel. After all, would that not be the wisest +course for him to pursue? For a moment he hesitated, and paddled more +slowly. If others joined with him in the rescue of Jeanne what excuse +could he offer for not bringing her back to Churchill? What would +happen if he returned with her? Why had Pierre roused himself from +something that was almost death to entreat him to take Jeanne to Fort +o' God? + +At the thought of Fort o' God a new strength leaped into his arms and +body, urging him on to cope with the situation single-handed. If he +rescued Jeanne alone, and went on with her as he had promised Pierre, +many things that were puzzling him would be explained. It occurred to +him again that Jeanne and Pierre might be the key to the mysterious +plot that promised to crash out the life of the enterprise he had +founded in the north. He found reasons for this belief. Why had Lord +Fitzhugh's name had such a startling effect upon Pierre? Why was one of +his assailants a man fresh from the London ship that had borne Eileen +Brokaw and her father as passengers? He felt that Jeanne could explain +these things, as well as her brother. She could explain the strange +scene on the pier, when for a moment she had stood crushed and startled +before Eileen. She could clear up the mystery of Gregson's sketch, for +if there were two Eileen Brokaws, Jeanne would know. With these +arguments he convinced himself that he should go on alone. Yet, behind +them there was another and more powerful motive. He confessed to +himself that he would willingly accept double the chances against him +to achieve Jeanne's rescue without assistance and to accompany her to +Fort o' God. The thought of their being together, of the girl's +companionship--perhaps for days--thrilled him with exquisite +anticipation. An hour or so ago he had been satisfied in the assurance +that he would see her for a few minutes on the cliff. Since then fate +had played his way. Jeanne was his own, to save, to defend, to carry on +to Fort o' God. + +Not for a moment did he hesitate at the danger ahead of him, and yet +his pursuit was filled with caution. Gregson, the diplomat, would have +seen the necessity of halting at the ship for help; Philip was +confident in himself. He knew that he would have at least three against +him, for he was satisfied that the man whom he had wounded on the cliff +was still in fighting trim. There might be others whom he had not taken +into account. + +He passed so close under the stern of the ship that his canoe scraped +against her side. For a few minutes the vessel had obstructed his view, +but now he saw again, a quarter of a mile distant, the craft which he +was pursuing. Jeanne's captors were heading straight for the river, and +as the canoe was now partly broadside to him he could easily make out +the figures in her, but not distinctly enough to make sure of their +number. He shoved out boldly into the moonlight, and, instead of +following in his former course, he turned at a sharp angle in the +direction of the shore. If the others saw him, which was probable, they +would think that he was making a landing from the ship. Once he was in +the deep fringe of shadow along the shore he could redouble his +exertions and draw nearer to them without being observed. + +No sooner had he readied the sheltering gloom than he bent to his +paddle and the light birch-bark fairly hissed through the water. Not +until he found himself abreast of the pursued did it occur to him that +he could beat them out to the mouth of the Churchill and lie in wait +for them. Every stroke of his paddle widened the distant between him +and the larger canoe. Fifteen minutes later he reached the edge of the +huge delta of wild rice and reeds through which the sluggish volume of +the river emptied into the Bay. The chances were that the approaching +canoe would take the nearest channel into the main stream, and Philip +concealed himself so that it would have to pass within twenty yards of +him. + +From his ambuscade he looked out upon the approaching canoe. He was +puzzled by the slowness of its progress. At times it seemed to stand +still, and he could distinguish no movement at all among its occupants. +At first he thought they were undecided as to which course to pursue, +but a few minutes more sufficed to show that this was not the reason +for their desultory advance. The canoe was headed for the first +channel. The solution came when a low but clear whistle signaled over +the water. Almost instantly there came a responsive whistle from up the +channel. + +Philip drew a quick breath, and a new sensation brought his teeth +together in sudden perplexity. It looked as though he had a bigger +fight before him than he had anticipated. + +At the signal from up-stream he heard the quick dip of paddles, and the +canoe cut swiftly toward him. He drew back the hammer of Pierre's rule, +and cleared a little space through the reeds and grass so that his view +into the channel was unobstructed. Three or four well-directed shots, a +quick dash out into the stream, and he would possess Jeanne. This was +his first thought. It was followed by others, rapid as lightning, that +restrained his eagerness. The night-glow was treacherous to shoot by. +What if he should miss, or hit Jeanne--or in the sudden commotion and +destruction of his shots the canoe should be overturned? A single +error, the slightest mishap to himself, would mean the annihilation of +his hopes. Even if he succeeded in directing his shots with accuracy, +both himself and Jeanne would almost immediately be under fire from +those above. + +He dropped back again behind the screen of reeds. The canoe drew +nearer. A moment more and it was almost abreast of him, and his heart +pounded like a swiftly beating hammer when he saw Jeanne in the stern. +She was leaning back as though unconscious. He could see nothing of her +face, but as the canoe passed within ten yards of his hiding-place he +saw the dark glow of her disheveled hair, which fell thickly over the +object against which she was resting. It was but a moment's view, and +they were gone. He had not looked at the three men in the canoe. His +whole being was centered upon Jeanne. He had seen no sign of life--no +movement in her body, not the flutter of a hand, and all his fears +leaped like brands of burning fire into his brain. He thought of the +inhuman plot which Lord Fitzhugh's letter had revealed; in the same +breath Pierre Couchee's words rang in his ears--"It is death--worse +than death--for her--" + +Was Jeanne the first victim of that diabolical scheme to awaken the +wrath of the northland? In the madness which possessed him now Philip +shoved out his canoe while there was still danger of discovery. +Fortunately none of the pursued glanced back, and a turn in the channel +soon hid them from view. Philip had recovered his self-possession by +the time he reached the turn. He assured himself that Jeanne was +unharmed as yet, and that when he saw her she had probably fainted from +excitement and terror. Her fate still lay before her, somewhere in the +deep and undisturbed forests up the Churchill. His one hope was to +remain undiscovered and to rescue her at the last moment when she was +taken ashore by her captors. + +He followed, close up against the reeds, never trusting himself out of +the shadows. After a little he heard voices, and a second canoe +appeared. There was a short pause, and the two canoes continued side by +side up the channel. A quarter of an hour brought both the pursuers and +the pursued into the main stream, which lay in black gloom between +forest walls that cut out all light but the shimmer of the stars. + +No longer could Philip see those ahead of him, but he guided himself by +occasional voices and the dip of paddles. At times, when the stream +narrowed and the forest walls gave him deeper shelter, he drew +perilously near with the hope of overhearing what was said, but he +caught only an occasional word or two. He listened in vain for Jeanne's +voice. Once he heard her name spoken, and it was followed by a low +laugh from some one in the canoe that had waited at the mouth of the +Churchill. A dozen times during the first half-hour after they entered +the main stream Philip heard this same laughing voice. + +After a time there fell a silence upon those ahead. No sound rose above +the steady dip of paddles, and the speed of the two canoes increased. +Suddenly, from far up the river, there came a voice, faintly at first, +but growing steadily louder, singing one of the wild half-breed songs +of the forest. The voice broke the silence of those in the canoes. They +ceased paddling, and Philip stopped. He heard low words, and after a +few moments the paddling was resumed, and the canoes turned in toward +the shore. Philip followed their movement, dropping fifty yards farther +down the stream, and thrust big birch-bark alongside a thick balsam +that had fallen into the river. + +The singing voice approached rapidly. Five minutes later a long company +canoe floated down out of the gloom. It passed so near that Philip +could see the picturesque figure in the stern paddling and singing. In +the bow kneeled an Indian working in stoic silence. Between them, in +the body of the canoe, sat two men whom he knew at a glance were white +men. The strangers and their craft slipped by with the quickness of a +shadow. + +Again Philip heard movements above him, and once more he took up the +pursuit. He wondered why Jeanne had not called for help when the +company canoe passed. If she was not hurt or unconscious, her captors +had been forced to hold a handkerchief or a brutal hand over her mouth, +perhaps at her throat! His blood grew hot with rage at the thought. + +For three-quarters of an hour longer the swift paddling up-stream +continued without interruption. Then the river widened into a small +lake, and Philip was compelled to hold back until the two canoes, which +he could see clearly now, had passed over the exposed area. + +By the time he dared to follow, Jeanne's captors were a quarter of a +mile ahead of him. He no longer heard their paddles when he entered the +stream at the upper end of the lake, and he bent to his work with +greater energy and less caution. Five minutes--ten minutes passed, and +he saw nothing, heard nothing. His strokes grew more powerful and the +canoe shot through the water with the swift cleavage of a knife. A +perspiration began to gather on his face, and a sudden chilling fear +entered him. Another five minutes and he stopped. The river swept out +ahead of him, broad and clear, for a quarter of a mile. There was no +sign of the canoes! + +For a few moments he remained motionless, drifting back with the slow +current of the stream, stunned by the thought that he had allowed +Jeanne's captors to escape him. Had they heard him and dropped in to +shore to let him pass? He swung his canoe about and headed down-stream. +In that case he could not miss them, if he used caution. But if they +had turned into some creek hidden in the gloom--were even now picking +their way through a secret channel that led back from the river-- + +A groan burst from his lips as he thought of Jeanne. In that half mile +of river he could surely find where the canoes had gone, but it might +be too late. He went down in mid-stream, searching the shadows of both +shores. His heart sank like lead when he came to the lake. There was +but one thing to do now, and he ran his canoe close along the +right-hand shore, looking for an opening. His progress was slow. A +dozen times he entangled himself in masses of reeds and rice, or thrust +himself under over-hanging tree-tops and vines to investigate the +deeper gloom beyond. He had returned two-thirds of the distance to the +straight-water where he had given up the pursuit when the bow of his +canoe ran upon a smooth, sandy bar that shelved out thirty or forty +feet from the shore. Scarcely had he felt the grate of sand when with a +powerful shove he sent his canoe back, and almost in the same instant +Pierre's rifle leveled menacingly shoreward. Drawn up high and dry on +the sand-bar were the two canoes. + +For a space Philip expected that his appearance would be the signal for +some movement ashore; but as he drifted slowly away, his rifle still +leveled, he was filled more and more with the belief that he had not +been discovered. He allowed himself to drift until he knew that he was +hidden in the shadows, and then quietly worked himself in to shore. +Making no sound, he pulled himself up the bank and crept among the +trees toward the bar. There was no one guarding the canoes. He heard no +sound of voice, no crackling of brush or movement of reeds. For a full +minute he crouched and listened. Then he crept nearer and found where +both reeds and brush were trampled down into a path that led away from +the river. + +His heart gave a bound of joy, and he darted along the path, holding +his rifle ready for instant use. The trail wound through the tall grass +of a dry swamp meadow and, two hundred yards beyond the river, plunged +into a forest. He had barely entered this when he saw the glow of a +fire. It was only a short distance ahead, hidden in a deep hollow that +completely concealed its existence from the keenest eyes that might +pass along the river. Stealing cautiously to the crest of the little +knoll between him and the light, Philip found himself within fifty feet +of a camp. + +A big canvas tent was the first thing to come within his vision. The +fire was built against this face of a rock in front of this, and over +the fire hovered a man dragging out beds of coals with a forked stick. +Almost at the same moment a second man appeared from the tent, bearing +two huge skillets in one hand and a big pot in the other. At a glance +Philip knew that they were preparing to cook a meal, and that it was +for many instead of two. Wildly he searched the firelit spaces and the +shadows for a sign of Jeanne. He saw nothing. She was not in the camp. +The five or six men who had fled up the river with her were not there. +His fingers dug deep in the earth under him at the discovery, and once +more appalling fears overwhelmed him. Perhaps she had already met her +fate a little deeper in the forest. + +He crept over the edge of the knoll and worked himself down through the +low bush on the opposite side, which would bring him within a dozen +feet of the man over the fire. There he would have them at his mercy, +and at the point of his revolver would compel them to tell him where +Jeanne had been taken. The advantage was all in his favor. It would not +be difficult to make them prisoners and leave them secured while he +followed after their companions. + +He was intent only upon his plan, and did not take his eyes from the +men over the fire. He came to the end of the bush, and crouched with +head and shoulders exposed, his revolver in his hand. Suddenly a sound +close to the tent startled him. It was a low cough. The men over the +fire made no movement to look behind them, but Philip turned. + +In the shadow of a tree, which had concealed her until now, sat Jeanne. +She was tense and straight. Her white face was turned to him. Her +beautiful eyes glowed like stars. Her lips were parted; he could see +her quick, excited breathing. She saw him! She knew him! He could see +the joy of hope in her face and that she was crushing back an impulse +to cry out to him, even as he was restraining his own mad desire to +shout out his defiance and joy. And there in the firelight, his face +illumined, and oblivious for the moment of the presence of the two men, +Philip straightened himself and held out his arms with a glad smile to +Jeanne. + +Hardly had he turned to the men, ready to spring out upon them, when +there came a terrific interruption. There was a sudden crash in the +brush behind him, a menacing snarl, and a huge wolfish brute launched +itself at his throat. The swift instinct of self-preservation turned +the weapon intended for the men over the fire upon this unexpected +assailant. The snarling fangs of the husky were gleaming in his face +and the animal's body was against the muzzle of his revolver when +Philip fired. Though he escaped the fangs, he could not ward off the +impact of the dog's body, and in another moment he was sprawling upon +his back in the light of the camp. Before Philip could recover himself +Jeanne's startled guards were upon him. Flung back, he still possessed +his pistol, and pulled the trigger blindly. The report was muffled and +sickening. At the same moment a heavy blow fell upon his head, and a +furious weight crushed him back to the ground. He dropped his revolver. +His brain reeled; his muscles relaxed. He felt his assailant's fingers +at his throat, and their menace brought back every ounce of fighting +strength in his body. For a moment he lay still, his eyes closed, the +warm blood flowing over his face. He had worked this game once before, +years ago. He even thought of that time now, as he lay upon his back. +It had worked then, and it worked now. The choking fingers at his +throat loosened; the weight lifted itself a little from his chest. The +lone guard thought that he was unconscious, and Jeanne, who had +staggered to her feet, thought that he was dead. + +It was her cry, terrible, filled with agony and despair, that urged him +into action an instant too soon. His foe was still partly on his guard, +rising with a caution born of more than one wilderness episode, when +with a quick movement Philip closed with him. Locked in a deadly grip, +they rolled upon the ground; and, with a feeling of despair which had +never entered into his soul before, the terrible truth came to Philip +that the old strength was gone from his arms and that with each added +exertion he was growing weaker. For a moment he saw Jeanne. She stood +almost above them, her hands clutched at her breast. And as he looked, +she suddenly turned and ran to the fire. An instant more and she was +back, a red-hot brand in her hand. Philip saw it flash close to his +eyes, felt the heat of it; and then a scream, animal-like in its +ferocity and pain, burst from the lips of his antagonist. The man +reeled backward, clutching at his thick neck, where Jeanne had thrust +the burning stick. Philip rose to his knees. His fist shot out like +lightning against the other's jaw, and the second guard fell back in a +limp heap. + +Even as the blow fell, a loud shout came from close back in the forest, +followed by the crashing of many feet tearing through the underbrush. + + + + +XI + + +Philip and Jeanne stood face to face in the firelight. + +"Quick!" he cried. "We must hurry!" + +He bent over to pick up his revolver from the ground. His movement was +followed by a low sob of pain. Jeanne was swaying as though about to +faint. She fell in a crumpled heap before he could reach her side. + +"You are hurt!" he exclaimed. "Jeanne! Jeanne!" + +He was upon his knees beside her, crying out her name, half holding her +in his arms. + +"No, no! I am not hurt--much," she replied, trying to recover herself. +"It is my ankle. I sprained it--on the cliff. Now--" + +She became heavier against his arm. Her eyes were limpid with pain. + +Rising, Philip caught her in his arms. The crashing of brush was within +pistol-shot distance of them, but in that moment he felt no fear. Life +leaped back into his veins. He wanted to shout back his defiance as he +ran with Jeanne along the path to the river. He could feel her pulsing +against him. His lips were in her hair. Her heart was beating wildly +against his own. One of her arms was about his shoulder, her hand +against his neck. Life, love, the joy of possession swept through him +in burning floods, and it seemed in these first moments of his contact +with Jeanne, in the first sound of her voice speaking to him, that the +passionate language of his soul must escape through his lips. For this +moment he had risked his life, had taken a hundred chances; he had +anticipated, and yet he had not dreamed beyond a hundredth part of what +it would mean for him. He looked down into the white face of the girl +as he ran. Her beautiful eyes were open to him. Her lips were parted; +her cheek lay against his breast. He did not realize how close he was +holding her until, at last, he stopped where he had hidden the canoe. +Then he felt her beating and throbbing against him, as he had felt the +quivering life of a frightened bird imprisoned in his hands. She drew a +deep breath when he opened his arms, and lifted her head. Her loose +hair swept over his breast and hands. + +He spoke no word as he placed her in the canoe. Not a whisper passed +between them as the canoe sped swiftly from the shore. A hundred yards +down the stream Philip headed straight across the river and plunged +into the shadows along the opposite bank. + +Jeanne was close to him. He could hear her breathing. Suddenly he felt +the touch of her hand. + +"M'sieur, I must ask--about Pierre!" + +There was the thrill of fear in the low words. She leaned back, her +face a pale shadow in the deep gloom; and Philip bent over until he +felt her breath, and the sweetness of her hair filled his nostrils. +Quickly he whispered what had happened. He told her that Pierre was +hurt, but not badly, and that he had promised to take her on to Fort o' +God. + +"It is up the Churchill?" he questioned. + +"Yes," she whispered. + +They heard voices now, and almost opposite them they saw shadowy +figures running out to the canoes upon the sand-bar. + +"They will think that we are escaping toward Churchill," said Philip, +gloatingly. "It is the nearest refuge. See--" + +One of the canoes was launched, and shot swiftly down the river. A +moment later the second followed. The dip of paddles died away, and +Philip laughed softly and joyously. + +"They will hunt for us from now until morning between here and the Bay. +And then they will look for you again in Churchill." + +Philip was conscious, almost without seeing, that Jeanne had bowed her +head in her arms and that she was giving way now to the terrific strain +which she had been under. Not until he heard a low sob, which she +strove hard to choke back in her throat, did he dare to lean over again +and touch her. Whatever was throbbing in his heart, he knew that he +must hide it now. + +"You read the letter?" he asked, softly. + +"Yes, M'sieur." + +"Then you know--that you are safe with me!" + +There was pride and strength, the ring of triumph in his voice. It was +the voice of a man thrilled by his own strength, by the warmth of a +great love, by the knowledge that he was the protector of a creature +dearer to him than all else on earth. The truth of it set Jeanne +quivering. She reached out until in the darkness her two hands found +one of Philip's, and for a moment she held his paddle motionless in +midair. + +"Thank you, M'sieur," she whispered. "I trust you, as I would trust +Pierre." + +All the words that women had ever spoken to him were as nothing to +those few that fell softly from Jeanne's lips; in the clinging pressure +of her fingers as she uttered them were the concentrated joys of all +that he had dreamed of in the touch of women. He knelt silent, +motionless, until her hands left his own. + +"I am to take you to Fort o' God," he said, fighting to keep the +tremble of joy out of his voice. "And you--you must guide me." + +"It is far up the Churchill," she replied, understanding the question +he intended. "It is two hundred miles from the Bay." + +He put his strength into his paddle for ten minutes, and then ran the +canoe into shore fully half a mile above the sand-bar. He stepped out +into water up to his knees. + +"We must risk a little time here to attend to your injured ankle," he +explained. "Then you can arrange yourself comfortably among these robes +in the bow. Shall I carry you?" + +"You can--help," said Jeanne. She gave him her hand and made an effort +to rise. Instantly she sank back with a sob of pain. + +It was strange that her pain should fill him with a wonderful joy. He +knew that she was suffering, that she could not walk or stand alone. +And yet, back at the camp, she had risen in her torture and had come to +his rescue. She could not bear her own weight now, but then she had run +to him and had fought for him. The knowledge that she had done this, +and for him, filled him with an exquisite sensation. + +"I must carry you," he said, speaking to her with the calm decision +that he might have voiced to a little child. His tone reassured her, +and she made no remonstrance when he lifted her in his arms. For a +brief moment she lay against him again, and when he lowered her upon +the bank his hand accidentally touched the soft warmth of her face. + +"My specialty is sprains," he said, speaking a little lightly to raise +her spirits for the instant's ordeal through which she must pass. "I +have doctored half a dozen during the last three months. You must take +off your moccasin and your stocking, and I will make a bandage." + +He drew a big handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it in the water. +Then he searched along the shore for a dozen paces, until he found an +Indian willow. With his knife he scraped off a handful of bark, soaked +it in water, crushed it between his hands, and returned to her. +Jeanne's little foot lay naked in the starlight. + +"It will hurt just a moment," he said, gently. "But it is the only +cure. To-morrow it will be strong enough for you to stand upon. Can you +bear a little hurt?" + +He knelt before her and looked up, scarce daring to touch her foot +before she spoke. + +"I may cry," she said. + +Her voice fluttered, but it gave him permission. He folded the wet +handkerchief in the form of a bandage, with the willow bark spread over +it. Then, very gently, he seized her foot in one hand and her ankle in +the other. + +"It will hurt just a little," he soothed. "Only a moment." + +His fingers tightened. He put into them the whole strength of his grip, +pulling downward on the foot and upward on the ankle until, with a low +cry, Jeanne flung her hands over his. + +"There, it is done," he laughed, nervously. He wrapped the bandage +around so tightly that Jeanne could not move her foot, and tied it with +strips of cloth. Then he turned to the canoe while she drew on her +stocking and moccasin. + +He was trembling. A maddening joy pounded in his brain. Jeanne's voice +came to him sweetly, with a shyness in it that made him feel like a +boy. He was glad that the night concealed his face. He would have given +worlds to have seen Jeanne's. + +"I am ready," she said. + +He carried her to the bow of the canoe and fixed her among the robes, +arranging a place for her head so that she might sleep if she wished. +For the first time the light was so that he could see her plainly as +she nestled back in the place made for her. Their eyes met for a moment. + +"You must sleep," he urged. "I shall paddle all night." + +"You are sure that Pierre is not badly hurt?" she asked, tremulously. +"You--you would not--keep the truth from me?" + +"He was not more than stunned," assured Philip. "It is impossible that +his wound should prove serious. Only there was no time to lose, and I +came without him. He will follow us soon." + +He took his position in the stern, and Jeanne lay back among the +bearskins. For a long time after that Philip paddled in silence. He had +hoped that Jeanne would give him an opportunity to continue their +conversation, in spite of his advice to her to secure what rest she +could. But there came no promise from the bow of the canoe. After half +an hour he guessed that Jeanne had taken him at his word, and was +asleep. + +It was disappointing, and yet there came a pleasurable throb with his +disappointment. Jeanne trusted him. She was sleeping under his +protection as sweetly as a child. Fear of her enemies no longer kept +her awake or filled her with terror. This night, under these stars, +with the wilderness all about them, she had given herself into his +keeping. His cheeks burned. He dipped his paddle noiselessly, so that +he might not interrupt her slumber. Each moment added to the fullness +of his joy, and he wished that he might only see her face, hidden in +the darkness of her hair and the bear-robes. + +The silence no longer seemed a silence to him. It was filled with the +beating of his heart, the singing of his love, a gentle sigh now and +then that came like a deeper breath between Jeanne's sweet lips. It was +a silence that pulsated with a voiceless and intoxicating life for him, +and he was happy. In these moments, when even their voices were +stilled, Jeanne belonged to him, and to him alone. He could feel the +warmth of her presence. He felt still the thrill of her breast against +his own, the touch of her hair upon his lips, the gentle clinging of +her arms. The spirit of her moved, and sat awake, and talked with him, +just as the old spirit of his dreams had communed with him a thousand +times in his loneliness. Dreams were at an end. Now had come reality. + +He looked up into the sky. The moon had dropped below the southwestern +forests, and there were only the stars above him, filling a gray-blue +vault in which there was not even the lingering mist of a cloud. It was +a beautifully clear night, and he wondered how the light fell so that +it did not reveal Jeanne in her nest. The thought that came to him then +set his heart tingling and made his face radiant. Even the stars were +guarding Jeanne, and refused to disclose the mystery of her slumber. He +laughed within himself. His being throbbed, and suddenly a voice seemed +to cry softly, trembling in its joy: + +"Jeanne! Jeanne! My beloved Jeanne!" + +With horror Philip caught himself too late. He had spoken the words +aloud. For an instant reality had transformed itself into the old +dream, and his dream-spirit had called to its mate for the first time +in words. Appalled at what he had said, Philip bent over and listened. +He heard Jeanne's breathing. It was deeper than before. She was surely +asleep! + +He straightened himself and resumed his paddling. He was glad now that +he had spoken. Jeanne seemed nearer to him after those words. + +Before this night he never realized how beautiful the wilderness was, +how complete it could be. It had offered him visions of new life, but +these visions had never quite shut out the memories of old pain. He +watched and listened. The water rippled behind his canoe; it trickled +in a soothing cadence after each dip of his paddle; he heard the gentle +murmur of it among the reeds and grasses, and now and then the gurgling +laughter of it, like the faintest tinkling of dainty bells. He had +never understood it before; he had never joined in its happiness. The +night sounds came to him with a different meaning, filled him with +different sensations. As he slipped quietly around a bend in the river +he heard a splashing ahead of him, and knew that a moose was feeding, +belly-deep, in the water. At other times the sound would have set his +fingers itching for a rifle, but now it was a part of the music of the +night. Later he heard the crashing of a heavy body along the shore and +in the distance the lonely howl of a wolf. He listened to the sounds +with a quiet pleasure instead of creeping thrills which they once sent +through him. Every sound spoke of Jeanne--of Jeanne and her world, into +which each stroke of his paddle carried them a little deeper. + +And yet the truth could not but come to him that Jeanne was but a +stranger. She was a creature of mystery, as she lay there asleep in the +bow of the canoe; he loved her, and yet he did not know her. He +confessed to himself, as the night lengthened, that he would be glad +when morning came. Jeanne would clear up a half of his perplexities +then, perhaps all of them. He would at least learn more about herself +and the reason for the attack at Fort Churchill. + +He paddled for another hour, and then looked at his watch by the light +of a match. It was three o'clock. + +Jeanne had not moved, but as the match burned out between his fingers +she startled him by speaking. + +"Is it nearly morning, M'sieur?" + +"An hour until dawn," said Philip. "You have been sleeping a long +time--" Her name was on his lips, but he found it a little more +difficult to speak now. And yet there was a gentleness in Jeanne's +"M'SIEUR" which encouraged him. "Are you getting hungry?" he asked. + +"Pierre and my father always ask me that when THEY are starving," +replied Jeanne, sitting erect in her nest so that Philip saw her face +and the shimmer of her hair. "There is everything to eat in the pack, +M'sieur Philip, even to a bottle of olives." + +"Good!" cried Philip, delighted, "But won't you please cut out that +'m'sieur?' My greatest weakness is a desire to be called by my first +name. Will you?" + +"If it pleases you," said Jeanne. "There is everything there to eat, +and I will make you a cup of coffee, M'sieur--" + +"What?" + +"Philip." + +There was a ripple of laughter in the girl's voice. Philip fairly +trembled. + +"You were prepared for this journey," he said. "You were going to leave +after you saw me on the rock. I have been wondering why--why you took +enough interest in me--" + +He knew that he was blundering, and in the darkness his face turned +red. Jeanne's tact was delightful. + +"We were curious about you," she said, with bewitching candor. "Pierre +is the most inquisitive creature in the world, and I wanted to thank +you for returning my handkerchief. I'm sorry you didn't find a bit of +lace which I lost at the same time!" + +"I did!" exclaimed Philip. + +He bit his tongue, and cursed himself at this fresh break. Jeanne was +silent. After a moment she said: + +"Shall I make you some coffee?" + +"Will you be able to do it? Your foot--" + +"I had forgotten that," she said. "It doesn't hurt any more. But I can +show you how." + +Her unaffected ingenuousness, the sweetness of her voice, the +simplicity and ease of her manner delighted Philip, and at the same +time filled him with amazement. He had never met a forest girl like +Jeanne. Her beauty, her queen-like bearing, when she had stood with +Pierre on the rock, had puzzled him and filled him with admiration. But +now her voice, the music of her words, her quickness of perception +added tenfold to those impressions. It might have been Miss Brokaw who +was sitting there in the bow talking to him, only Jeanne's voice was +sweeter than Miss Brokaw's; and even in the lightest of the words she +had spoken there was a tone of sincerity and truth. It flashed upon +Philip that Jeanne might have stepped from a convent school, where +gentle voices had taught her and language was formed in the ripe +fullness of music. In a moment he believed that something like this had +happened. + +"We will go ashore," he said, searching for an open space. "This must +be tedious to you, if you are not accustomed to it." + +"Accustomed to it, M'sieur--Philip!" exclaimed Jeanne, catching +herself. "I was born here!" + +"In the wilderness?" + +"At Fort o' God." + +"You have not always lived there?" + +For a brief space Jeanne was silent. + +"Yes, always, M'sieur. I am eighteen years old, and this is the first +time that I have ever seen what you people call civilization. It is my +first visit to Fort Churchill. It is the first time I have ever been +away from Fort o' God." + +Jeanne's voice was low and subdued. It rang with truth. In it there was +something that was almost tragedy. For a breath or two Philip's heart +seemed to stop its beating, and he leaned far over, looking straight +and questioningly into the beautiful face that met his own. In that +moment the world had opened and engulfed him in a wonder which at first +his mind could not comprehend. + + + + +XII + + +The canoe ran among the reeds, with its bow to the shore. Philip's +astonishment still held him motionless. + +"A little while ago you asked me if I would tell you anything +but--but--the truth," he stammered, trying to find words to express +himself, "and this--" + +"Is the truth," interrupted Jeanne, a little coolly. "Why should I tell +you an untruth, M'sieur?" + +Philip had asked himself that same question shortly after their first +meeting on the cliff. And now in the girl's question there was sounded +a warning for him to be more discreet. + +"I did not mean that," he cried, quickly. "Please forgive me. Only--it +is so wonderful, so almost IMPOSSIBLE to believe. Do you know what I +thought of for three-quarters of the night after I left you and Pierre +on the rock? It was of years--centuries ago. I put you and Pierre back +there. It seemed as though you had come to me from out of another +world, that you had strayed from the chivalry and beauty of some royal +court, that a queen's painter might have known and made a picture of +you, as I saw you there, but that to me you were only the vision of a +dream. And now you say that you have always lived here!" + +He saw Jeanne's eyes glowing. She had lifted herself from among the +bearskins and was leaning toward him. Her face was quivering with +emotion; her whole being seemed concentrated on his words. + +"M'sieur--Philip--did we seem--like that?" she asked, tremulously. + +"Yes, or I would not have written the letter," replied Philip. He +leaned forward over the pack, and his face was close to Jeanne's. "I +had just passed over the place where men and women of a century or two +ago were buried, and when I saw you and Pierre I thought of them; of +Mademoiselle D'Arcon, who left a prince to follow her lover to a grave +back there at Churchill, and I wondered if Grosellier--" + +"Grosellier!" cried the girl. + +She was breathing quickly, excitedly. Suddenly she drew back with a +little, nervous laugh. + +"I am glad you thought of us like THAT," she added. "It was Grosellier, +le grand chevalier, who first lived at Fort o' God!" + +Philip could no longer restrain himself. He forgot that the canoe was +lying motionless among the reeds and that they were to go ashore. In a +voice that trembled with his eagerness to be understood, to win her +confidence, he told her fully of what had happened that night on the +cliff. He repeated Pierre's instructions to him, described his terrible +fear for her, and in it all withheld but one thing--the name of Lord +Fitzhugh Lee. Jeanne listened to him without a word. She sat as erect +as one of the slender reeds among which the canoe was hidden. Her dark +eyes never left his face. They seemed to have grown darker when he +finished. + +"May the great God reward you for what you have done," she said, in a +low voice, quivering with a suppressed passion. "You are brave, M'sieur +Philip--as brave as I have dreamed of men being." + +Philip's heart throbbed with delight, and yet he said quickly: + +"It isn't THAT. I have done nothing--nothing more than Pierre would +have done for me. But don't you understand? If there is to be a reward +for the little I have given--I could ask for nothing greater than your +confidence and Pierre's. There are reasons, and perhaps if I told you +those you would understand." + +"I do understand, without further explanation," answered Jeanne, in the +same low, strained voice. "You fought for Pierre on the cliff, and you +have saved--me. We owe you everything, even our lives. I understand, +M'sieur Philip," she said, more softly, leaning still nearer to him; +"but I can tell you nothing." + +"You prefer to leave that to Pierre," he said a little hurt. "I beg +your pardon." + +"No, no! I don't mean that!" she cried, quickly. "You misunderstand me. +I mean that you know as much of this whole affair as I do, that you +know what I know, and perhaps more." + +The emotion which she had suppressed burst forth now in a choking sob. +She recovered herself in an instant, her eyes still upon Philip. + +"It was only a whim of mine that took us to Churchill," she went on, +before he could find words to say. "It is Pierre's secret why we lived +in our own camp and went down into Churchill but once--when the ship +came in. I do not know the reason for the attack. I can only guess--" + +"And your guess--" + +Jeanne drew back. For a moment she did not speak. Then she said, +without a note of harshness in her voice, but with the finality of a +queen: + +"Father may tell you that when we reach Fort o' God!" + +And then she suddenly leaned toward him again and held out both her +hands. + +"If you only could know how I thank you!" she exclaimed, impulsively. + +For a moment Philip held her hands. He felt them trembling. In Jeanne's +eyes he saw the glisten of tears. + +"Circumstances have come about so strangely," he said, his heart +palpitating at the warm pressure of her fingers, "that I half believed +you and Pierre could help me in--in an affair of my own. I would give a +great deal to find a certain person, and after the attack on the cliff, +and what Pierre said, I thought--" + +He hesitated, and Jeanne gently drew her hands from him. + +"I thought that you might know him," he finished. "His name is Lord +Fitzhugh Lee." + +Jeanne gave no sign that she had heard the name before. The question in +her eyes remained unchanged. + +"We have never heard of him at Fort o' God," she said. + +Philip shoved the canoe more firmly upon the shore and stepped over the +side. + +"This Fort o' God must be a wonderful place," he said, as he bent over +to help her. "You have aroused something in me I never thought I +possessed before--a tremendous curiosity." + +"It is a wonderful place, M'sieur Philip," replied the girl, holding up +her hands to him. "But why should you guess it?" + +"Because of you," laughed Philip. "I am half convinced that you take a +wicked delight in bewildering me." + +He found Jeanne a comfortable spot on the bank, brought her one of the +bearskins, and began collecting a pile of dry reeds and wood. + +"I am sure of it," he went on. He struck a match, and the reeds flared +into flame, lighting up his face. + +Jeanne gave a startled cry. + +"You are hurt!" she exclaimed. "Your face is red with blood." + +Philip jumped back. + +"I had forgotten that. I'll wash my face." + +He waded into the edge of the water and began scrubbing himself. When +he returned, Jeanne looked at him closely. The fire illumined her pale +face. She had gathered her beautiful hair in a thick braid, which fell +over her shoulder. She appeared lovelier to him now than when he had +first seen her in the night-glow on the cliff. She was dressed the +same. He observed that the filmy bit of lace about her slender throat +was torn, and that one side of her short buckskin skirt was covered +with half-dried splashes of mud. His blood rose at these signs of the +rough treatment of those who had attacked her. It reached fever-heat +when, coming nearer, he saw a livid bruise on her forehead close up +under her hair. + +"They struck you?" he demanded. + +He stood with his hands clenched. She smiled up at him. + +"It was my fault," she explained. "I'm afraid I gave them a good deal +of trouble on the cliff." + +She laughed outright at the fierceness in Philip's face, and so sweet +was the sound of it to him that his hands relaxed and he laughed with +her. + +"So help me, you're a brick!" he cried. + +"There are pots and kettles and coffee and things to eat in the pack, +M'sieur Philip," reminded Jeanne, softly, as he still remained staring +down upon her. + +Philip turned to the canoe, with a laugh that was like a boy's. He +threw the pack at Jeanne's feet and unstrapped it. Together they sorted +out the things they wanted, and Philip cut crotched sticks on which he +suspended two pots of water over the fire. He found himself whistling +as he gathered an armful of wood along the shore. When he came back +Jeanne had opened a bottle of olives and was nibbling at one, while she +held out another to him on the end of a fork. + +"I love olives," she said. "Won't you have one?" + +He accepted the thing, and ate it joyously, though he hated olives. + +"Where did you acquire the taste?" he asked. "I thought it took a +course at college to make one like 'em." + +"I've been to college," answered Jeanne, quietly. There was a glow in +her cheeks now, a swift flash of tantalizing fun in her eyes, as she +fished after another olive. "I have been a student--a TENERIS ANNIS," +she added, and he stood stupefied. + +"That's Latin!" he gasped. + +"Oui, M'sieur. Wollen Sie noch eine Olive haben?" + +Laughter rippled in her throat. She held out another olive to him, her +face aglow. Firelight danced in her hair, flooding its darker shadows +with lights of red and gold. + +"I was sure of it," he exclaimed, convinced. "That's post-graduate +Latin and senior German, or I'm as mad as a March hare! Where--where +did you go to school?" + +"At Fort o' God. Quick, M'sieur Philip, the water is boiling over!" + +Philip sprang to the fire. Jeanne handed him coffee, and set out cold +meat and bread. For the first time that night he pulled out his pipe +and filled it with tobacco. + +"You don't mind if I smoke, do you, Miss Jeanne?" he groaned. "Under +some circumstances tobacco is the only thing that will hold me up. Do +you know that you are shaking my confidence in you?" + +"I have told you nothing but the truth," retorted Jeanne, innocently. +She was still busying herself over the pack, but Philip caught the +slightest gleam of her laughing teeth. + +"You are making fun of me," he remonstrated. "Tell me--where is this +Fort o' God, and what is it?" + +"It is far up the Churchill, M'sieur Philip. It is a log chateau, built +hundreds and hundreds of years ago, I guess. My father, Pierre, and I, +with one other, live there alone among the savages. I have never been +so far away from home before." + +"I suppose," said Philip, "that the savages up your way converse in +Latin, Greek, and German--" + +"Latin, FRENCH, and German," corrected Jeanne. "We haven't added a +Greek course yet." + +"I know of a girl," mused Philip, as though speaking to himself, "who +spent five years in a girls' college, and she can talk nothing but +light English. Her name is Eileen Brokaw." + +Jeanne looked up, but only to point to the coffee. + +"It is done," she advised, "unless you like it bitter." + + + + +XIII + + +Philip knew that Jeanne was watching him as he lifted the coffee from +the fire and placed the pot on the ground to cool. His mind was in a +hopeless tangle--a riot of things he would like to say, throbbing with +a hundred questions he would like to ask, one after another. And yet +Jeanne seemed bewitchingly unconscious of his uneasiness. Not one of +his references to names and events so vital to himself had in any way +produced a change in her. Was she, after all, innocent of all knowledge +in the things he wished to know? Was it possible that she was entirely +ignorant as to the identity of the men who had attacked Pierre and +herself on the cliff? Was it true that she did not know Eileen Brokaw, +that she had never heard of Lord Fitzhugh Lee, and that she had always +lived among the wild people of the north? By what miracle performed +here in the heart of a savage world could this girl talk to him in +German and Latin? Was she making fun of him? He turned to look at her +and found her dark, clear eyes upon him. She smiled at him in a tired +little way, and he saw nothing but sweetness and truth in her face. In +an instant every suspicion was swept away. He felt like a criminal for +having doubted her; and for a moment he was on the point of confessing +to her what had been in his thoughts. He restrained himself, and went +to the river to wash the pot-black from his hands. Jeanne was a mystery +to him, a mystery that delighted him and filled him each moment with a +deeper love. He saw the life and freedom of the forests in her every +movement--in the gesture of her hands, the bird-like poise of her +pretty head, the lithe grace of her slender body. She breathed the +forests. It glowed in her eyes, in the rich red of her lips, and +revealed its beauty and strength in the unconfined wealth of her +gold-brown hair. In a dozen ways he could see her primitiveness, her +kinship to the wilderness. She had told him the truth. Her eyes smiled +truth at him as he came up the bank. No other woman's eyes had ever +looked at him like hers; none had he seen so beautiful. And yet in them +he saw nothing that she would not have expressed in +words--companionship, trust, thankfulness that he was there to care for +her. Such eyes as those belonged only to the wilderness, brimming with +the flawless beauty of an undefiled nature. He had seen them, but not +so beautiful, in Cree women. He thought of Eileen Brokaw's eyes as he +looked at Jeanne's. They were very beautiful, but they were DIFFERENT. +Jeanne's could not lie. + +On a white napkin Jeanne had spread out cold meat, bread, pickles, and +cheese, and Philip brought her the coffee. He noticed that she was +resting a little of her weight upon her injured ankle. + +"Better?" he asked, indicating the bandaged ankle with a nod of his +head. + +"Much," replied Jeanne, as tersely. "I'm going to try standing upon it +in a few minutes. But not now. I'm starved." + +She gave him his coffee and began eating with a relish that made him +want to sit back and watch her. Instead, he joined her; and they ate +like two hungry children. It was when she turned him out a second cup +of coffee that Philip noticed her hand tremble a little. + +"If Pierre was here we would be quite happy, M'sieur Philip," she said, +uneasily. "I can't understand why he asked you to run away with me to +Fort o' God. If he is not badly hurt, as you have told me, why do we +not hide and wait for him? He would overtake us to-morrow." + +"There--there was no time to talk over plans," answered Philip, +inwardly embarrassed for a moment by the unexpectedness of Jeanne's +question. A vision of Pierre, bleeding and unconscious on the cliff, +leaped into his mind, and the thought that he had lied to Jeanne and +must still make her believe what was half false sickened him. There +was, after all, a chance that Pierre would never again come up the +Churchill. "Perhaps Pierre thought we would be hotly pursued," he went +on, seeing no escape from the demand in the girl's eyes. "In that event +it would be best for me to get you to Fort o' God as quickly as +possible. You must remember that Pierre was thinking of you. He can +care for himself. It may take him two or three days to get back the +strength of--of his arm," he finished, blindly. + +"He was wounded in the arm?" + +"And on the head," said Philip. "It was only a scalp wound, +however--nothing at all, except that it dazed him a little at the time." + +Jeanne pointed to the reflection of the fire on the river. + +"If we should be pursued?" she suggested. + +"There is no danger," assured Philip, though he had left the flap of +his revolver holster unbuttoned. "They will search for us between their +camp and Churchill." + +"Citius venit periculum cum contemnitur," remonstrated Jeanne, half +smiling. + +She was pale, but Philip saw that she was making a tremendous effort to +appear brave and cheerful. + +"Perhaps you are right," laughed Philip, "but I swear that I don't know +what you mean. I suppose you picked that lingo up among the Indians." + +He caught the faintest gleam of Jeanne's white teeth again as she bent +her head. + +"I have a tutor at home," she explained, softly. "You shall meet him +when we reach Fort o' God. He is the most wonderful man in the world." + +Her words sent a strange chill through Philip. They were filled with an +exquisite tenderness, a pride that sent her eyes back to his, glowing. +The questions that he had meant to ask died and faded away. He thought +of her words of a few minutes before, when he had asked about Fort o' +God. She had said, "My father, Pierre, and I, WITH ONE OTHER, live +there alone." The OTHER was the tutor, the man who had come from +civilization to teach this beautiful girl those things which had amazed +him, and this man was THE MOST WONDERFUL MAN IN THE WORLD. He had no +excuse for the feelings which were aroused in him. Only he knew, as he +rose to his feet, that a part of his old burden seemed suddenly to have +returned to his shoulders, and the old loneliness was beating at the +door of his heart. He rearranged the pack in silence, and the strength +and joy of life were gone from his arms when he helped Jeanne back to +her place among the bear-skins. He did not notice that her eyes were +watching him curiously, or that her lips trembled once or twice, as if +about to speak words which never came. Jeanne, as well as he, seemed to +have discovered something which neither dared to reveal in that last +five minutes on the shore. + +"There is one thing that I must know," said Philip, when they were +about to start, "and that is where to find Fort o' God? Is it on the +Churchill?" + +"It is on the Little Churchill, M'sieur, near Waskiaowaka Lake." + +Darkness concealed the effect of her words upon Philip. For a moment he +stared like one struck dumb. He stifled the exclamation that rose to +his lips. He felt himself trembling. He knew that if he spoke his voice +would betray him. + +NEAR WASKIAOWAKA LAKE! And Waskiaowaka was within thirty miles of his +own camp on the Blind Indian! If a bomb had burst under his feet he +could not have been more amazed than at this information, given to him +in Jeanne's quiet voice. Fort o' God--within thirty miles of the scene +where very soon he was to fight the great battle of his life! He dug +his paddle into the water and sent the canoe hissing up the river. His +blood pounded like that of a racehorse on the home-stretch. Of all the +things that had happened, of all he had learned, this was the most +significant. Every thought ran like a separate powder-flash to a single +idea, to one great, overpowering question. Were Fort o' God and its +people the key to the plot against himself and his company? Was it the +rendezvous of those who were striving to work his ruin? Doubt, +suspicion, almost belief came to him in those few moments, in spite of +himself. + +He looked at Jeanne. The gray dawn was breaking, and now light followed +swiftly and dissolved the last mist. In the chill of early morning, +when with the approach of the sun a cold, uncomfortable sweat rises +heavily from the earth and water, Jeanne had drawn one of the bearskins +closely about her. Her head was bare. Her hair, glistening with damp, +clung in heavy masses about her face. There was a bewitching +childishness about her, a pathetic appeal to him in the forlorn little +picture she made--so helpless, and yet so confident in him. Every +energy in him leaped up in defiance of the revolution which for a few +moments had stirred within him. And Jeanne, as though she had read the +working of his mind, looked straight at him and smiled, with a little +purring note in her throat that took the place of a thousand words. It +was such a smile, and yet not one of love, which puts the strength of +ten men in one man's arms; and Philip laughed back at her, every chord +in his body responding in joyous vibration to the delicate note that +had come with it. No matter what events might find their birth at Fort +o' God, Jeanne was innocent of all knowledge of plot or wrong-doing. +Once for all Philip convinced himself of this. + +The thought that came to him, as he looked at Jeanne, found voice +through his lips. + +"Do you know," he said, "if I never saw you again I would always have +three pictures of you in my memory. I would never forget how you looked +when I first saw you on the cliff--or as I see you now, wrapped in your +bearskins. Only--I would think of you--as you smiled." + +"And the third picture?" questioned Jeanne, little guessing what was in +his mind. "Would that be at the fire, when I burned the bad man's +neck--or--or when--" + +She stopped herself, and pouted her mouth in sudden vexation, while a +flush which Philip could easily see rose in her cheeks. + +"When I doctored your foot?" he finished, rather unchivalrously, +chuckling in his delight at her pretty discomfiture. "No, that wouldn't +be the third, Miss Jeanne. The other scene which I shall never forget +was that on the stone pier at Churchill, when you met a beautiful girl +who was coming off the ship." + +The blood leaped to Jeanne's face. Her soft lips tightened. A sudden +movement, and the bearskin slipped from her shoulders, leaving her +leaning a little forward, her eyes blazing. A dozen words had +transformed her from the child he had fancied her to a woman quivering +with some powerful emotion, her beautiful head proud and erect, her +nostrils dilating with the quickness of her breath. + +"That was a mistake," she said. There was no sign of passion in her +voice. It trembled a little, but that was all. "It was a mistake, +M'sieur Philip. I thought that I knew her, and--and I was wrong. +You--you must not remember THAT!" + +"I am no better than a wild beast," groaned Philip, hating himself. +"I'm the biggest idiot in the world when it comes to saying the wrong +thing, I never miss a chance. I didn't mean to say anything--that would +hurt--" + +"You haven't," interrupted the girl, quickly, seeing the distress in +his face. "You haven't said a thing that's wrong. Only I don't want you +to remember THAT picture. I want you to think of me as--as--I burned +the bad man's neck." + +She was laughing now, though her breast was rising and falling a little +excitedly and the deep color was still in her cheeks. + +"Will you?" she entreated. + +"Until I die," he exclaimed. + +She was fumbling under the luggage, and dragged forth a second paddle. + +"I've had an easy time with you, M'sieur Philip," she said, turning so +that she was kneeling with her back to him. "Pierre makes me work. +Always I kneel here, in the bow, and paddle. I am ashamed of myself. +You have worked all night." + +"And I feel as fresh as though I had slept for a week," declared +Philip, his eyes devouring the slim figure a paddle's length in front +of him. + +For an hour they continued up the river, with scarcely a word between +them to break the silence. Their paddles rose and fell with a rhythmic +motion; the water rippled like low music under their canoe; the spell +of the silent shores, of voiceless beauty, of the wilderness awakening +into day appealed to them both and held them quiet. The sun broke +faintly through the drawn mists behind. Its first rays lighted up +Jeanne's rumpled hair, so that her heavy braid, partly undone and +falling upon the luggage behind her, shone in rich and changing colors +that fascinated Philip. He had thought that Jeanne's hair was very +dark, but he saw now that it was filled with the rare life of a Titian +head, running from red to gold and dark brown, with changing shadows +and flashes of light. It was beautiful. And Jeanne, as he looked at +her, he thought to be the most beautiful thing on earth. The movement +of her arms, the graceful, sinuous twists of her slender body as she +put her strength upon the paddle, the poise of her head, the piquant +tilt to her chin whenever she turned so that he caught a half profile +of her flushed, eager face all filled his cup of admiration to +overflowing. And he found himself wondering, suddenly, how this girl +could be a sister to Pierre Couchee. He saw in her no sign of French or +half-breed blood. Her hair was fine and soft, and waved about her ears +and where it fell loose upon the back. The color in her cheeks was as +delicate as the tints of the bakneesh flower. She had rolled up her +broad cuffs to give her greater freedom in paddling, and her arms shone +white and firm, glistening with the wet drip of the paddle. He was +marveling at her relationship to Pierre when she looked back at him, +her face aglow with exercise and the spice of the morning, and he saw +the sunlight as blue as the sky above him in her eyes. If he had not +known, he would have sworn that there was not a drop of Pierre's blood +in her veins. + +"We are coming to the first rapids, M'sieur Philip," she announced. "It +is just beyond that ugly mountain of rock ahead of us, and we will have +a quarter-mile portage. It is filled with great stones and so swift +that Pierre and I nearly wrecked ourselves coming down." + +It was the most that had been said since the beginning of that +wonderful hour that had come before the first gleam of sunrise, and +Philip, laying his paddle athwart the canoe, stretched himself and +yawned, as though he had just awakened. + +"Poor boy," said Jeanne; and it struck him that her words were +strangely like those which Eileen might have spoken had she been there, +only an artless comradeship replaced what would have been Miss Brokaw's +tone of intimacy. She added, with genuine sympathy in her face and +voice: "You must be exhausted, M'sieur Philip. If you were Pierre I +should insist upon going ashore for a number of hours. Pierre obeys me +when we are together. He calls me his captain. Won't you let me command +you?" + +"If you will let me call you--my captain," replied Philip. "Only there +is one thing--one reservation. We must go on. Command me in everything +else, but we must go on--for a time. To-night I will sleep. I will +sleep like the dead. So, My Captain," he laughed, "may I have your +permission to work to-day?" + +Jeanne was turning the bow shoreward. Her back was turned to him again. + +"You have no pity on me," she pouted. "Pierre would be good to me, and +we would fish all day in that pretty pool over there. I'll bet it's +full of trout." + +Her words, her manner of speaking them, was a new revelation to Philip. +She was delightful. He laughed, and his voice rang out in the clear +morning like a school-boy's. Jeanne pretended that she saw nothing to +laugh at, and no sooner had the canoe touched shore than she sprang +lightly out, not waiting for his assistance. With a laughing cry, she +stumbled and fell. Philip was at her side in an instant. + +"You shouldn't have done that," he objected. "I am your doctor, and I +insist that your foot is not well." + +"But it is!" cried Jeanne, and he saw that there was laughter instead +of pain in her eyes. "It's the bandage. My right foot feels like that +of a Chinese debutante. Ugh! I'm going to undo it." + +"You've been to China, too," mused Philip, half to himself. + +"I know that it's filled with yellow girls, and that they squeeze their +feet like this," said Jeanne, unlacing her moccasin. "My tutor and I +have just finished a delightful trip along the Great Wall. We'd go to +Peking, in an automobile, if I wasn't afraid." + +Philip's groan was audible. He went to the canoe, and Jeanne's red lips +curled in a merriment which it was hard for her too suppress. Philip +did not see. When he had unloaded the canoe and turned, Jeanne was +walking slowly back and forth, limping a little. + +"It's all right," she said, answering the question on his lips. "I +don't feel any pain at all, but my foot's asleep. Won't you please +unstrap the small pack? I'm going to make my toilet while you are gone +with the canoe." + +Half an hour later Philip unshouldered the canoe at the upper end of +the rapids. His own toilet articles were back in the cabin with +Gregson, but he took a wash in the river and combed his hair with his +fingers. When he returned, there was a transformation in Jeanne. Her +beautiful hair was done up in shining coils. She had changed her +bedraggled skirt for another of soft, yellow buckskin. At her throat +she wore a fluffy mass of crimson stuff which seemed to reflect a +richer rose-flush in her cheeks. A curious thought came to Philip as he +looked at her. Like a flash the memory of a certain night came to +him--when it had taken Miss Brokaw and her maid two hours to make a +toilet for a ball. And Jeanne, in the heart of a wilderness, had made +herself more beautiful than Eileen. He imagined, as she stood before +him, a little embarrassed by the admiration in his eyes, the sensation +Jeanne would create in a ballroom at home. And then he laughed--laughed +joyously at thoughts which he could not reveal to Jeanne, and which +she, by some quick intuition, knew that she should not ask him to +express. + +Twice again Philip made the portage, accompanied the second time by +Jeanne, who insisted on carrying a small pack and two paddles. In spite +of his determination and splendid physique, Philip began to feel the +effects of the tremendous strain which he had been under for so long. +He counted back and found that he had slept but six hours in the last +forty-eight. There was a warning ache in his shoulders and a gnawing +pain in the bones of his forearms. But he knew that he had not yet made +sufficient headway up the Churchill. It would not be difficult for him +to make a camp far enough back in the bush to avoid discovery; but, at +the same time, if he and Jeanne were pursued, the stop would give their +enemies a chance to get ahead of them. This danger he wished to escape. + +He flattered himself that Jeanne saw no signs of his weakening. He did +not know that Jeanne put more and more effort into her paddle, until +her arms and body ached, because she saw the truth. + +The Churchill narrowed and its current became swifter as they +progressed. Five portages were made between sunrise and eleven o'clock. +They ate dinner at the fifth, and rested for two hours. Then the +journey was resumed. It was three o'clock when Jeanne dropped her +paddle and turned to Philip. There were deep lines in his face. He +smiled, but there was more of haggard misery than cheer in the smile. +There was an unnatural flush in his cheeks, and he began to feel a +burning pain where the blow had fallen upon his head before. For a full +half-minute Jeanne looked at him without speaking. "Philip," she +said--and it was the first time she had spoken his name in this way, "I +insist upon going ashore immediately. If you do not land--now--in that +opening ahead, I shall jump out, and you can go on alone." + +"As you say--my Captain Jeanne," surrendered Philip, a little dizzily. + +Jeanne guided the canoe to the shore, and was the first to spring out, +while Philip steadied the light craft with his paddle. She pointed to +the luggage. + +"We will want the tent--everything," she said, "because we are going to +camp here until to-morrow." + +Once on shore, Philip's dizziness left him. He pulled the canoe high up +on the bank, and then Jeanne and he set off, side by side, to explore +the high, wooded ground back from the river. They followed a well-worn +moose trail, and two or three hundred yards from the stream came upon a +small opening cluttered by great rocks and surrounded by clumps of +birch, spruce, and banskian pine. The moose trail crossed this rough +open space; and, following it to the opposite side, Philip and Jeanne +came upon a clear, rippling little stream, scarcely two yards in width, +hidden in places under thick caribou moss and jungles of seedling +pines. It was an ideal camping spot, and Jeanne gave a little cry of +delight when they found the cold water of the creek. + +Philip then returned to the river, concealed the canoe, covered up all +traces of their landing, and began to carry the camping outfit back to +the open. The small silk tent for Jeanne's use he set up in a little +grassy corner of the clearing, and built their fire a dozen paces from +it. With a sort of thrilling pleasure he began cutting balsam boughs +for Jeanne's bed. He cut armful after armful, and it was growing dusk +in the forest by the time he was done. In the glow and the heat of the +fire Jeanne's cheeks were as pink as an apple. She had turned a big +flat rock into a table, and as she busied herself about this she burst +suddenly into a soft ripple of song; then, remembering that it was not +Pierre who was near her, she stopped. Philip, with his last armful of +bedding, was directly behind her, and he laughed happily at her over +the green mass of balsam when she turned and saw him looking at her. + +"You like this?" he asked. + +"It is glorious!" cried Jeanne, her eyes flashing. She seemed to grow +taller before him, and stood with her head thrown back, lips parted, +gazing upon the wilderness about her. "It is glorious!" she repeated, +breathing deeply. "There is nothing in the whole world that could make +me give this up, M'sieur Philip. I was born in it. I want to die in it. +Only--" + +Her face clouded for a moment as her eyes rested upon his. + +"Your civilization is coming north to spoil it all," she added, and +turned to the rock table. + +Philip dropped his load. + +"Supper is ready," she said, and the cloud had passed. + +It was Jeanne's first reference to his own people, to the invasion of +civilization into the north, and there recurred to Philip the words in +which she had cried out her hatred against Churchill. But Jeanne did +not betray herself again. She was quiet while they were eating, and +Philip saw that she was very tired. When they had finished, they sat +for a few minutes watching the lowering flames of the fire. Darkness +had gathered about them. Their faces and the rock were illumined more +and more faintly as the embers died down. A silence fell upon them. In +the banskians close behind them an owl hooted softly, a cautious, +drumming note, as though the night-bird possessed still a fear of the +newly dead day. The brush gave out sound--voices infinitesimally small, +strange quiverings, rustlings that might have been made by wind, by +breath, by shadows, almost. Overhead the tips of the spruce and tall +pines whispered among themselves, as they never commune by day. Spirits +seemed to move among them, sending down to Jeanne's and Philip's +listening ears a restful, sleepy murmur. Farther back there sounded a +deep sniff, where a moose, traveling the well-worn trail, stopped in +sudden fear and wonder at the strange man-scent which came to its +nostrils. And still farther, from some little lake nameless and +undiscovered in the black depths of the forest to the south, a great +northern loon sent out its cowardly cry of defiance to all night +things, and then plunged deep under water, as though frightened into +the depths by its own mad jargon. The fire died lower. Philip moved a +little nearer to the girl, whose breathing he could hear. + +"Jeanne," he said, softly, fighting to keep himself from touching her +hand, "I know what you mean--I understand. Two years ago I gave up +civilization for this. I am glad that I wrote to you as I did, for now +you will believe me and know that I understand. I love this world up +here as you love it. I am never going back again." + +Jeanne was silent. + +"But there is one thing, at least one--which I cannot understand in +you," he went on, nerving himself for what might come a moment later. +"You are of this world--you hate civilization--and yet you have brought +a man into the north to teach you its ways. I mean this man who you say +is the most wonderful man in the world." + +He waited, trembling. It seemed an eternity before Jeanne answered. And +then she said: + +"He is my father, M'sieur Philip." + +Philip could not speak. Darkness hid him from Jeanne. She did not see +that which leaped into his face, and that for a moment he was on the +point of flinging himself at her feet. + +"You spoke of yourself, of Pierre, of your father, and of one other at +Fort o' God," said Philip. "I thought that he--the other--was your +tutor." + +"No, it is Pierre's sister," replied Jeanne. + +"Your sister! You have a sister?" + +He could hear Jeanne catch her breath. + +"Listen, M'sieur,'" she said, after a moment. "I must tell you a little +about Pierre, a story of something that happened a long, long time ago. +It was in the middle of a terrible winter, and Pierre was then a boy. +One day he was out hunting and he came upon a trail--the trail of a +woman who had dragged herself through the snow in her moccasined feet. +It was far out upon a barren, where there was no life, and he followed. +He found her, M'sieur, and she was dead. She had died from cold and +starvation. An hour sooner he might have saved her, for, wrapped up +close against her breast, he found a little child--a baby girl, and she +was alive. He brought her to Fort o' God, M'sieur--to a noble man who +lived there almost alone; and there, through all these years, she has +lived and grown up. And no one knows who her mother was, or who her +father was, and so it happens that Pierre, who found her, is her +brother, and the man who has loved her and cared for her is her father." + +"And she is the other at Fort o' God--Pierre's sister," said Philip. + +Jeanne rose from the rock and moved toward the tent, glimmering +indistinctly in the night. Her voice came back chokingly. + +"No, M'sieur. Pierre's real sister is at Fort o' God. I am the one whom +he found out on the barren." + +To the night sounds there was added a heart-broken sob, and Jeanne +disappeared in the tent. + + + + +XIV + + +Philip sat where Jeanne had left him. He was powerless to move or to +say a word that might have recalled her. Her own grief, quivering in +that one piteous sob, overwhelmed him. It held him mute and listening, +with the hope that each instant the tent-flap might open and Jeanne +reappear. And yet if she came he had no words to say. Unwittingly he +had probed deep into one of those wounds that never heal, and he +realized that to ask forgiveness would be but another blunder. He +almost groaned as he thought of what he had done. In his desire to +understand, to know more about Jeanne, he had driven her into a corner. +What he had forced from her he might have learned a little later from +Pierre or from the father at Fort o' God. He thought that Jeanne must +despise him now, for he had taken advantage of her helplessness and his +own position. He had saved her from her enemies; and in return she had +opened her heart, naked and bleeding, to his eyes. What she had told +him was not a voluntary confidence; it was a confession wrung from her +by the rack of his questionings--the confession that she was a +waif-child, that Pierre was not her brother, and that the man at Fort +o' God was not her father. He had gone to the very depths of that which +was sacred to herself and those whom she loved. + +He rose and stirred the fire, and stray ends of birch leaped into +flame, lighting his pale face. He wanted to go to the tent, kneel there +where Jeanne could hear him, and tell her that it was all a mistake. +Yet he knew that this could not be, neither the next day nor the next, +for to plead extenuation for himself would be to reveal his love. Two +or three times he had been on the point of revealing that love. Only +now, after what had happened, did it occur to him that to disclose his +heart to Jeanne would be the greatest crime he could commit. She was +alone with him in the heart of a wilderness, dependent upon him, upon +his honor. He shivered when he thought how narrow had been his escape, +how short a time he had known her, and how in that brief spell he had +given himself up to an almost insane hope. To him Jeanne was not a +stranger. She was the embodiment, in flesh and blood, of the spirit +which had been his companion for so long. He loved her more than ever +now, for Jeanne the lost child of the snows was more the earthly +revelation of his beloved spirit than Jeanne the sister of Pierre. +But--what was he to Jeanne? + +He left the fire and went to the pile of balsam which he had spread out +between two rocks for his bed. He lay down and pulled Pierre's blanket +over him, but his fatigue and his desire for sleep seemed to have left +him, and it was a long time before slumber finally drove from him the +thought of what he had done. After that he did not move. He heard none +of the sounds of the night. A little owl, the devil-witch, screamed +horribly overhead and awakened Jeanne, who sat up for a few moments in +her balsam bed, white-faced and shivering. But Philip slept. Long +afterward something warm awakened him, and he opened his eyes, thinking +that it was the glow of the fire in his face. It was the sun. He heard +a sound which brought him quickly into consciousness of day. It was +Jeanne singing softly over beyond the rocks. + +He had dreaded the coming of morning, when he would have to face +Jeanne. His guilt hung heavily upon him. But the sound of her voice, +low and sweet, filled with the carroling happiness of a bird, brought a +glad smile to his lips. After all, Jeanne had understood him. She had +forgiven him, if she had not forgotten. + +For the first time he noticed the height of the sun, and he sat bolt +upright. Jeanne saw his head and shoulders pop over the top of the +rocks, and she laughed at him from their stone table. + +"I've been keeping breakfast for over an hour, M'sieur Philip," she +cried. "Hurry down to the creek and wash yourself, or I shall eat all +alone!" + +Philip rose stupidly and looked at his watch. + +"Eight o'clock!" he gasped. "We should have been ten miles on the way +by this time!" + +Jeanne was still laughing at him. Like sunlight she dispelled his gloom +of the night before. A glance around the camp showed him that she must +have been awake for at least two hours. The packs were filled and +strapped. The silken tent was down and folded. She had gathered wood, +built the fire, and cooked breakfast while he slept. And now she stood +a dozen paces from him, blushing a little at his amazed stare, waiting +for him. + +"It's deuced good of you, Miss Jeanne!" he exclaimed. "I don't deserve +such kindness from you." + +"Oh!" said Jeanne, and that was all. She bent over the fire, and Philip +went to the creek. + +He was determined now to maintain a more certain hold upon himself. As +he doused his face in the cold water his resolutions formed themselves. +For the next few days he would forget everything but the one fact that +Jeanne was in his care; he would not hurt her again or compel her +confidence. + +It was after nine o'clock before they were upon the river. They paddled +without a rest until twelve. After lunch Philip confiscated Jeanne's +paddle and made her sit facing him in the canoe. + +The afternoon passed like a dream to Philip, He did not refer again to +Fort o' God or the people there; he did not speak again of Eileen +Brokaw, of Lord Fitzhugh, or of Pierre. He talked of himself and of +those things which had once been his life. He told of his mother and +his father, who had died, and of the little sister, whom he had +worshiped, but who had gone with the others. He bared his loneliness to +her as he would have told them to the sister, had she lived; and +Jeanne's soft blue eyes were filled with tenderness and sympathy. And +then he talked of Gregson's world. Within himself he called it no +longer his own. + +It was Jeanne who questioned now. She asked about cities and great +people, about books and WOMEN. Her knowledge amazed Philip. She might +have visited the Louvre. One would have guessed that she had walked in +the streets of Paris, Berlin, and London. She spoke of Johnson, of +Dickens, and of Balzac as though they had died but yesterday. She was +like one who had been everywhere and yet saw everything through a veil +that bewildered her. In her simplicity she unfolded herself to Philip, +leaf by leaf, petal by petal, like the morning apios that surrenders +its mysteries to the sun. She knew the world which he had come from, +its people, its cities, its greatness; and yet her knowledge was like +that of the blind. She knew, but she had never seen; and in her +wistfulness to see as HE could see there was a sweetness and a pathos +which made every fiber in his body sing with a quiet and thrilling joy. +He knew, now, that the man who was at Fort o' God must, indeed, be the +most wonderful man in the world. For out of a child of the snows, of +the forest, of a savage desolation, he had made Jeanne. And Jeanne was +glorious! + +The afternoon passed, and they made thirty miles before they camped for +the night. They traveled the next day, and the one that followed. On +the afternoon of the fourth they were approaching Big Thunder Rapids, +close to the influx of the Little Churchill, sixty miles from Fort o' +God. + +These days, too, passed for Philip with joyous swiftness; swiftly +because they were too short for him. His life, now, was Jeanne. Each +day she became a more vital part of him. She crept into his soul until +there was no longer left room for any other thought than of her. And +yet his happiness was tampered by a thing which, if not grief, +depressed and saddened him at times. Two days more and they would be at +Fort o' God, and there Jeanne would be no longer his own, as she was +now. Even the wilderness has its conventionality, and at Fort o' God +their comradeship would end. A day of rest, two at the most, and he +would leave for the camp on Blind Indian Lake. As the time drew nearer +when they would be but friends and no longer comrades, Philip could not +always hide the signs of gloom which weighed upon him. He revealed +nothing in words; but now and then Jeanne had caught him when the fears +at his heart betrayed themselves in his face. Jeanne became happier as +their journey approached its end. She was alive every moment, joyous, +expectant, looking ahead to Fort o' God; and this in itself was a +bitterness to Philip, though he knew that he was a fool for allowing it +to be so. He reasoned, with dull, masculine wit, that if Jeanne cared +for him at all she would not be so anxious for their comradeship to +end. But these moods, when they came, passed quickly. And on this +afternoon of the fourth day they passed away entirely, for in an +instant there came a solution to it all. They had known each other but +four days, yet that brief time had encompassed what might not have been +in as many years. Life, smooth, uneventful, develops friendship slowly; +an hour of the unusual may lay bare a soul. Philip thought of Eileen +Brokaw, whose heart was still a closed mystery to him; who was a +stranger, in spite of the years he had known her. In four days he had +known Jeanne a lifetime; in those four days Jeanne had learned more of +him than Eileen Brokaw could ever know. So he arrived at the resolution +which made him, too, look eagerly ahead to the end of the journey. At +Fort o' God he would tell Jeanne of his love. + +Jeanne was looking at him when the determination came. She saw the +gloom pass, a flush mount into his face; and when he saw her eyes upon +him he laughed, without knowing why. + +"If it is so funny," she said, "please tell me." + +It was a temptation, but he resisted it. + +"It is a secret," he said, "which I shall keep until we reach Fort o' +God." + +Jeanne turned her face up-stream to listen. A dozen times she had done +this during the last half-hour, and Philip had listened with her. At +first they had heard a distant murmur, rising as they advanced, like an +autumn wind that grows stronger each moment in the tree-tops. The +murmur was steady now, without the variations of a wind. It was the +distant roaring of the rocks and rushing floods of Big Thunder Rapids. +It grew steadily from a murmur to a moan, from a moan to rumbling +thunder. The current became so swift that Philip was compelled to use +all his strength to force the canoe ahead. A few moments later he +turned into shore. + +From where they landed, a worn trail led up to one of the precipitous +walls of rock and shut in the Big Thunder Rapids. Everything about them +was rock. The trail was over rock, worn smooth by the countless feet of +centuries--clawed feet, naked feet, moccasined feet, the feet of white +men. It was the Great Portage, for animal as well as man. Philip went +up with the pack, and Jeanne followed behind him. The thunder +increased. It roared in their ears until they could no longer hear +their own voices. Directly above the rapids the trail was narrow, +scarcely eight feet in width, shut in on the land side by a mountain +wall, on the other by the precipice. Philip looked behind, and saw +Jeanne hugging close to the wall. Her face was white, her eyes shone +with terror and awe. He spoke to her, but she saw only the movement of +his lips. Then he put down his pack and went close to the edge of the +precipice. + +Sixty feet below him was the Big Thunder, a chaos of lashing foam, of +slippery, black-capped rocks bobbing and grimacing amid the rushing +torrents like monsters playing at hide-and-seek. Now one rose high, as +though thrust up out of chaos by giant hands; then it sank back, and +milk-white foam swirled softly over the place where it had been. There +seemed to be life in the chaos--a grim, terrible life whose voice was a +thunder that never died. For a few moments Philip stood fascinated by +the scene below him. Then he felt a touch upon his arm. It was Jeanne. +She stood beside him quivering, dead-white, Almost daring to take the +final step. Philip caught her hands firmly in his own, and Jeanne +looked over. Then she darted back and hovered, shuddering, near the +wall. + +The portage was a short one, scarce two hundred yards in length, and at +the upper end was a small green meadow in which river voyagers camped. +It still lacked two hours of dusk when Philip carried over the last of +the luggage. + +"We will not camp here," he said to Jeanne pointing to the remains of +numerous fires and remembering Pierre's exhortation. "It is too public, +as you might say. Besides, that noise makes me deaf." + +Jeanne shuddered. + +"Let us hurry," she said. "I'm--I'm afraid of THAT!" + +Philip carried the canoe down to the river, and Jeanne followed with +the bearskins. The current was soft and sluggish, with tiny maelstroms +gurgling up here and there, like air-bubbles in boiling syrup. He only +half launched the canoe, and Jeanne remained while he went for another +load. The dip, kept green by the water of a spring, was a pistol-shot +from the river. Philip looked back from the crest and saw Jeanne +leaning over the canoe. Then he descended into the meadow, whistling. +He had reached the packs when to his ears there seemed to come a sound +that rose faintly above the roar of the water in the chasm. He +straightened himself and listened. + +"Philip! Philip!" + +The cry came twice--his own name, piercing, agonizing, rising above the +thunder of the floods. He heard no more, but raced up the slope of the +dip. From the crest he stared down to where Jeanne had been. She was +gone. The canoe was gone. A terrible fear swept upon him, and for an +instant he turned faint. Jeanne's cry came to him again. + +"Philip! Philip!" + +Like a madman he dashed up the rocky trail to the chasm, calling to +Jeanne, shrieking to her, telling her that he was coming. He reached +the edge of the precipice and looked down. Below him was the canoe and +Jeanne. She was fighting futilely against the resistless flood; he saw +her paddle wrenched suddenly from her hands, and as it went swirling +beyond her reach she cried out his name again. Philip shouted, and the +girl's white face was turned up to him. Fifty yards ahead of her were +the first of the rocks. In another minute, even less, Jeanne would be +dashed to pieces before his eyes. Thoughts, swifter than light, flashed +through his mind. He could do nothing for her, for it seemed impossible +that any living creature could exist amid the maelstroms and rocks +ahead. And yet she was calling to him. She was reaching up her arms to +him. She had faith in him, even in the face of death. + +"Philip! Philip!" + +There was no M'SIEUR to that cry now, only a moaning, sobbing prayer +filled with his name. + +"I'm coming, Jeanne!" he shouted. "I'm coming! Hold fast to the canoe!" + +He ran ahead, stripping off his coat. A little below the first rocks a +stunted banskian grew out of an earthy fissure in the cliff, with its +lower branches dipping within a dozen feet of the stream. He climbed +out on this with the quickness of a squirrel, and hung to a limb with +both hands, ready to drop alongside the canoe. There was one chance, +and only one, of saving Jeanne. It was a chance out of a thousand--ten +thousand. If he could drop at the right moment, seize the stern of the +canoe, and make a rudder of himself, he could keep the craft from +turning broadside and might possibly guide it between the rocks below. +This one hope was destroyed as quickly as it was born. The canoe +crashed against the first rock. A smother of foam rose about it and he +saw Jeanne suddenly engulfed and lost. Then she reappeared, almost +under him, and he launched himself downward, clutching at her dress +with his hands. By a supreme effort he caught her around the waist with +his left arm, so that his right was free. + +Ahead of them was a boiling sea of white, even more terrible than when +they had looked down upon it from above. The rocks were hidden by mist +and foam; their roar was deafening. Between Philip and the awful +maelstrom of death there was a quieter space of water, black, sullen, +and swift--the power itself, rushing on to whip itself into ribbons +among the taunting rocks that barred its way to the sea. In that space +Philip looked at Jeanne. Her face was against his breast. Her eyes met +his own, and In that last moment, face to face with death, love leaped +above all fear. They were about to die, and Jeanne would die in his +arms. She was his now--forever. His hold tightened. Her face came +nearer. He wanted to shout, to let her know what he had meant to say at +Fort o' God. But his voice would have been like a whisper in a +hurricane. Could Jeanne understand? The wall of foam was almost in +their faces. Suddenly he bent down, crushed his face to hers, and +kissed her again and again. Then, as the maelstrom engulfed them, he +swung his own body to take the brunt of the shock. + +He no longer reasoned beyond one thing. He must keep his body between +Jeanne and the rocks. He would be crushed, beaten to pieces, made +unrecognizable, but Jeanne would be only drowned. He fought to keep +himself half under her, with his head and shoulders in advance. When he +felt the floods sucking him under, he thrust her upward. He fought, and +did not know what happened. Only there was the crashing of a thousand +cannon in his ears, and he seemed to live through an eternity. They +thundered about him, against him, ahead of him, and then more and more +behind. He felt no pain, no shock. It was the SOUND that he seemed to +be fighting; in the buffeting of his body against the rocks there was +the painlessness of a knife-thrust delivered amid the roar of battle. +And the sound receded. It was thundering in retreat, and a curious +thought came to him. Providence had delivered him through the +maelstrom. He had not struck the rocks. He was saved. And in his arms +he held Jeanne. + +It was day when he began the fight, broad day. And now it was night. He +felt earth, under his feet, and he knew that he had brought Jeanne +ashore. He heard her voice speaking his name; and he was so glad that +he laughed and sobbed like a babbling idiot. It was dark, and he was +tired. He sank down, and he could feel Jeanne's arms striving to hold +him up, and he could still hear her voice. But nothing could keep him +from sleeping. And during that sleep he had visions. Now it was day, +and he saw Jeanne's face over him; again it was night, and he heard +only the roaring of the flood. Again he heard voices, Jeanne's voice +and a man's, and he wondered who the man could be. It was a strange +sleep filled with strange dreams. But at last the dreams seemed to go. +He lost himself. He awoke, and the night had turned into day. He was in +a tent, and the sun was gleaming on the outside. It had been a curious +dream, and he sat up astonished. + +There was a man sitting beside him. It was Pierre. + +"Thank God, M'sieur!" he heard. "We have been waiting for this. You are +saved!" + +"Pierre!" he gasped. + +Memory returned to him. He was awake. He felt weak, but he knew that +what he saw was not the vision of a dream. + +"I came the day after you went through the rapids," explained Pierre, +seeing his amazement. "You saved Jeanne. She was not hurt. But you were +badly bruised, M'sieur, and you have been in a fever." + +"Jeanne--was not--hurt?" + +"No. She cared for you until I came. She is sleeping now." + +"I have not been this way--very long, have I, Pierre?" + +"I came yesterday," said Pierre. He bent over Philip, and added: "You +must remain quiet for a little longer, M'sieur. I have brought you a +letter from M'sieur Gregson, and when you read that I will have some +broth made for you." + +Philip took the letter and opened it as Pierre went quietly out of the +tent. Gregson had written him but a few lines. He wrote: + + +MY DEAR PHIL,--I hope you'll forgive me. But I'm tired of this mess. I +was never cut out for the woods, and so I'm going to dismiss myself, +leaving all best wishes behind for you. Go in and fight. You're a devil +for fighting, and will surely win. I'll only be in the way. So I'm +going back with the ship, which leaves in three or four days. Was going +to tell you this on the night you disappeared. Am sorry I couldn't +shake hands with you before I left. Write and let me know how things +come out. As ever, + +TOM. + + +Stunned, Philip dropped the letter. He lifted his eyes, and a strange +cry burst from his lips. Nothing that Gregson had written could have +wrung that cry from him. It was Jeanne. She stood in the open door of +the tent. But it was not the Jeanne he had known. A terrible grief was +written in her face. Her lips were bloodless, her eyes lusterless; deep +suffering seemed to have put hollows in her cheeks. In a moment she had +fallen upon her knees beside him and clasped one of his hands in both +of her own. + +"I am so glad," she whispered, chokingly. + +For an instant she pressed his hands to her face. + +"I am so glad--" + +She rose to her feet, swaying slightly. She turned to the door, and +Philip could hear her sobbing as she left him. + + + + +XV + + +Not until the silken flap of the tent had fallen behind Jeanne did +power of movement and speech return to Philip. He called her name and +straggled to a sitting posture. Then he staggered to his feet. He could +scarcely stand. Shooting pains passed like flashes of electricity +through his body. His right arm was numb and stiff, and he found that +it was thickly bandaged. His head ached, his legs could hardly support +him. He went to raise his left hand to his head, but stopped it in +front of him, while a slow smile of understanding crept over his face. +It was swollen and covered with livid bruises. He wondered if his body +looked that way, and sank down exhausted upon his balsam bed. A minute +later Pierre returned with a cup of broth in his hand. + +Philip looked at him with less feverish eyes now. There was an +unaccountable change in the half-breed's appearance, as there had been +in Jeanne's. His face seemed thinner. There was a deep gloom in his +eyes, a dejected droop to his shoulders. Philip accepted the broth, and +drank it slowly, without speaking. He felt strengthened. Then he looked +steadily at Pierre. The old pride had fallen from Pierre like a mask. +His eyes dropped under Philip's gaze. + +Philip held up a hand. + +"Pierre!" + +The half-breed grasped it and waited. His lips tightened. + +"What is the matter?" demanded Philip. "What has happened to Jeanne? +You say she was not hurt--" + +"By the rocks, M'sieur," interrupted Pierre, quickly, kneeling beside +Philip. "Listen. It is best that I tell you. You are a man, you will +understand, without being told all. From Churchill I brought news which +it was necessary for me to tell Jeanne. It was terrible news, and she +is distressed under its weight. Your honor will not allow you to +inquire further, M'sieur. I can tell you no more than this--that it is +a grief which belongs to but one person on earth--herself. I ask you to +help me. Be blind to her unhappiness, M'sieur. Believe that it is the +distress of the peril through which she has passed. A little later I +will tell you all, and you will understand. But it is impossible now. I +confide this much in you--I ask you this--because--" + +Pierre's eyes were half closed, and he looked as though unseeing over +Philip's head. + +"I ask you this," he repeated, softly, "because I have guessed--that +you love her." + +A cry of joy burst from Philip's lips. + +"I do, Pierre--I do--I do--" + +"I have guessed it," said Pierre. "You will help me--to save her!" + +"Until death!" + +"Then you will go with us to Fort o' God, and from there you will go at +once to your camp on Blind Indian Lake." + +Philip felt the sweat breaking out over his face. He was still weak. +His voice was unnatural, and trembled. + +"You know--" he gasped. + +"Yes, I know, M'sieur," replied Pierre. "I know that you are in charge +there, and Jeanne knows. We knew who you were before we appointed to +meet you on the cliff. You must return to your men." + +Philip was silent. For the moment every hope was crushed within him. + +He looked at Pierre. The half-breed's eyes were glowing, his haggard +cheeks were flushed. + +"And this is necessary?" + +"It is absolutely necessary, M'sieur." + +"Then I will go. But first, Pierre, I must know a little more. I cannot +go entirely blind. Do they fear my men--at Fort o' God?" + +"No, M'sieur." + +"One more question, Pierre. Who is Lord Fitzhugh Lee?" + +For an instant Pierre's eyes widened. They grew black, and burned with +a strange, threatening fire. He rose slowly to his feet, and placed +both hands upon Philip's shoulders. For a full minute the two men +stared into each other's face. Then Pierre spoke. His voice was soft +and low, scarcely above a murmur, but it was filled with something that +struck a chill to Philip's heart. + +"I would kill you before I would answer that question, M'sieur," he +said. "No other person has ever done for Jeanne and I what you have +done. We owe you more than we can ever repay. Yet if you insist upon an +answer to that question you make of me an enemy; if you breathe that +name to Jeanne, you turn her away from you forever." + +Without another word he left the tent. + +For many minutes Philip sat motionless where Pierre had left him. The +earth seemed suddenly to have dropped from under his feet, leaving him +in an illimitable chaos of mind. Gregson had deserted him, with almost +no word of explanation, and he would have staked his life upon +Gregson's loyalty. Under other circumstances his unaccountable action +would have been a serious blow. But now it was overshadowed by the +mysterious change that had come over Jeanne. A few hours before she had +been happy, laughing and singing as they drew nearer to Fort o' God; +each hour had added to the brightness of her eyes, the gladness in her +voice. The change had come with Pierre, and at the bottom of it all was +Lord Fitzhugh Lee. Pierre had warned him not to mention Lord Fitzhugh's +name to Jeanne, and yet only a short time before he had spoken the name +boldly before Jeanne, and she had betrayed no sign of recognition or of +fear. More than that, she had assured him that she had never heard the +name before, that it was not known at Fort o' God. + +Philip bowed his head in his hands, and his fingers clutched in his +hair. What did it all mean? He went back to the scene on the cliff, +when Pierre had roused himself at the sound of the name; he thought of +all that had happened since Gregson had come to Churchill, and the +result was a delirium of thought that made his temples throb. He was +sure--now--of but few things. He loved Jeanne--loved her more than he +had ever dreamed that he could love a woman, and he believed that it +would be impossible for her to tell him a falsehood. He was confident +that she had never heard of Lord Fitzhugh until Pierre overtook them in +their flight from Churchill. He could see but one thing to do, and that +was to follow Pierre's advice, accepting his promise that in the end +everything would come out right. He had faith in Pierre. + +He rose to his feet and went to the tent-flap. An embarrassing thought +came to him, and he stopped, a flush of feverish color suddenly +mounting into his pale cheeks. He had kissed Jeanne in the chasm, when +death thundered in their faces. He had kissed her again and again, and +in those kisses he had declared his love. He was glad, and yet sorry; +the knowledge that she must know of his love filled him with happiness, +and yet with it there was the feeling that it would place a distance +between him and Jeanne. + +Jeanne was the first to see him when he came out of the tent. She was +sitting beside a small balsam shelter, and Pierre was busy over a fire, +with his back turned to them. For a moment the two looked at each other +in silence, and then Jeanne came toward him, holding out one of her +hands. He saw that she was making a strong effort to appear natural, +but there was something in his own face that made her attempt a poor +one. The hand that she gave him trembled. Her lips quivered. For the +first time her eyes failed to meet his own in their limpid frankness. + +"Pierre has told you what happened," she said. "It was a miracle, and I +owe you my life. I have had my punishment for being so careless." She +tried to laugh at him now, and drew her hand away. "I wasn't beaten +against the rocks, like you, but--" + +"It was terrible," interrupted Philip, remembering Pierre's words, and +eager to put her at ease. "You have stood up under it beautifully. I am +afraid of after effects. You must not collapse under the strain now." + +Pierre heard his last words and a smile flashed over his dark face as +he encountered Philip's glance. + +"It is true, M'sieur," he said. "I know of no other woman who would +have stood up under such a thing as Jeanne has done. MON DIEU, when I +found a part of the canoe wreckage far below I thought that both of you +were dead!" + +Philip began to feel that he had foolishly overestimated his strength. +There was a weakness in his limbs that surprised him, and a sudden +chill replaced the fever in his blood. Jeanne placed her hand upon his +arm and thrust him gently toward the tent. + +"You must not exert yourself," she said, watching the pallor in his +face. "You must be quiet, until after dinner." + +He obeyed the pressure of her hand. Pierre followed into the tent, and +for a moment he was compelled to lean heavily upon the half-breed. + +"It is the reaction, M'sieur," said Pierre. "You are weak after the +fever. If you could sleep--" + +"I can," murmured Philip, dizzily, dropping upon his balsam. "But, +Pierre--" + +"Yes, M'sieur." + +"I have something--to say to you--no questions--" + +"Not now, M'sieur." + +Philip heard the rustling of the flap, and Pierre was gone. He felt +more comfortable lying down. Dizziness and nausea left him, and he +slept. It was the deep, refreshing sleep that always follows the +awakening from fever. When he awoke he felt like his old self, and went +outside. Pierre was alone; a blanket was drawn across the front of the +balsam shelter, and the half-breed nodded toward it in response to +Philip's inquiring glance. + +Philip ate lightly of the food which Pierre had ready for him. When he +had finished he leaned close to him, and said: + +"You have warned me to ask no questions, and I am going to ask none. +But you have not forbidden me to tell you things which I know. I am +going to talk to you about Lord Fitzhugh Lee." + +Pierre's dark eyes flashed. + +"M'sieur--" + +"Listen!" demanded Philip. "I seek your confidence no further. But I +shall tell you what I know of Lord Fitzhugh Lee, if it makes us fight. +Do you understand? I insist upon this because you have as good as told +me that this man is your enemy, and that he is at the bottom of +Jeanne's trouble. He is also my enemy. And after I have told you +why--you may change your determination to keep me a stranger to your +trouble. If not--well, you can hold your tongue then as well as now." + +Quickly, without moving his eyes from Pierre's face, Philip told his +own story of Lord Fitzhugh Lee. And as he continued a strange change +came over the half-breed. When he came to the letters revealing the +plot to turn the northerners against his company a low cry escaped +Pierre's lips. His eyes seemed starting from his head. Drops of sweat +burst out upon his face. His fingers worked convulsively, something +rose in his throat and choked him. When Philip had done he buried his +face in his hands. For a few moments he remained thus, and then +suddenly looked up. Livid spots burned in his cheeks, and he fairly +hissed at Philip. + +"M'sieur, if this is not the truth--if this is a lie--" + +He stopped. Something in Philip's eyes told him to go no further. He +was fearless, and he saw more than fearlessness in Philip's face. Such +men believe, when they come together. + +"It is the truth," said Philip. + +With a low, strained laugh Pierre held out his hand as a pledge of his +faith. + +"I believe in you, M'sieur," he said, and it seemed an effort for him +to speak. "Do you know what I would have thought, if you had told this +to Jeanne before I came?" + +"No." + +"I would have thought, M'sieur, that she threw herself purposely into +the death of the Big Thunder rocks." + +"My God, you mean--" + +"That is all, M'sieur. I can say no more. Ah, there is Jeanne!" he +cried, more loudly. "Now we will take down the tent, and go." + +Jeanne stood a dozen steps behind them when Philip turned. She greeted +him with a smile, and hastened to assist Pierre in gathering up the +things about the camp. Philip was not blind to her efforts to evade +him. He could see that it was a relief to her when they were at last in +Pierre's canoe, and headed up the river. They traveled till late in the +evening, and set up Jeanne's tent by starlight. The journey was +continued at dawn. Late the following afternoon the Little Churchill +swept through a low, woodless country, called the White Fox Barren. It +was a narrow barren and across it lay the forest and the ridge +mountains. Behind these mountains and the forest the sun was setting. +Above all else there rose out of the gathering gloom of evening a +single ridge, a towering mass of rock which caught the last glow of the +sun, and blazed like a signal-fire. + +The canoe stopped. Jeanne and Pierre both gazed toward the great rock. + +Then Jeanne, who was in the bow, turned her face to Philip, and the +glow of the rock itself suffused her cheeks as she pointed over the +barren. + +"M'sieur Philip," she said, "there is Fort o' God!" + + + + +XVI + + +There was a low tremble in Jeanne's voice. The canoe swung broadside to +the slow current, and Philip looked in astonishment at the change in +Pierre. The tired half-breed had uncovered his head, and knelt with his +face turned to that last crimson glow in the sky, like one in prayer. +But his eyes were open, there was a smile on his lips, and he was +breathing quickly. Pride and joy came where there had been the lines of +grief and exhaustion. His shoulders were thrown back, his head erect, +and the fire of the distant rock reflected itself in his eyes. From him +Philip turned, so that he could look into Jeanne's face. The girl, too, +had changed. Again these two were the Pierre and Jeanne whom he had +seen that first night on the moonlit cliff. Pierre seemed no longer the +half-breed, but the prince of the rapier and broad cuffs; and Jeanne, +smiling proudly at Philip, made him an exquisite little courtesy from +her cramped seat in the bow, and said: + +"M'sieur Philip, welcome to Fort o' God!" + +"Thank you," he said, and stared toward the sun-capped rock. + +He could see nothing but the rock, the black forests, and the desolate +barren stretching between. Fort o' God, unless it was the rock itself, +was still a mystery hidden in the gathering gloom. The canoe began +moving slowly onward, and Jeanne turned so that her eyes searched the +stream ahead. A thick wall of stunted forest shut out the barren from +their view; the stream grew narrower, and on the opposite side a barren +ridge, threatening them with torn and upheaved masses of rock, flung +the heavy shadows of evening down upon them. No one spoke. Philip could +hear Pierre breathing behind him: something in the intense quiet--in +the awesome effect which their approach to Fort o' God had upon these +two--sent strange little thrills shooting through his body. He +listened, and heard nothing, not even the howl of a dog. The stillness +was oppressive, and the darkness thickened about them. For half an hour +they continued, and then Pierre headed the canoe into a narrow creek, +thrusting it through a thick growth of wild rice and reeds. + +Balsam and cedar and swamp hazel shut them in. Overhead the tall cedars +interlaced, and hid the pale light of the sky. Philip could just make +out Jeanne ahead of him. + +And then, suddenly, there came a wonderful change. They shot out of the +darkness, as if from a tunnel, but so quietly that one a dozen feet +away could not have heard the ripple of Pierre's paddle. Almost in +their faces rose a huge black bulk, and in that blackness three or four +yellow lights gleamed like mellow stars. The canoe touched noiselessly +upon sand. Pierre sprang out, still without sound. Jeanne followed, +with a whispered word. Philip was last. + +Pierre pulled the canoe up, and Jeanne came to Philip. She held out her +two hands. Her face shone white in the gloom, and there was a look in +her beautiful eyes, as she stood for a moment almost touching him, that +set his heart jumping. She let her hands lie in his while she spoke. + +"We have not even alarmed the dogs, M'sieur Philip," she whispered. "Is +not that splendid? I am going to surprise father, and you will go with +Pierre. I will see you a little later, and--" + +She rose on tiptoe, and her face was dangerously close to his own. + +"And you are very, very welcome to Fort o' God, M'sieur." + +She slipped away into the darkness, and Pierre stood beside Philip. His +white teeth were gleaming strangely, and he said in a soft voice: + +"M'sieur, that is the first time that I have ever heard those words +spoken at Fort o' God. We welcome no man here who has your blood and +your civilization in his veins. You are greater than a king!" + +With a sudden exclamation Philip turned upon Pierre. + +"And that is the reason for Jeanne's surprise?" he said. "She wishes to +pave a way for me. I begin to understand!" + +"It is true that you might not have received that welcome which you are +certain to receive now from the master of Fort o' God," replied Pierre, +frankly. "So we will go in quietly, and make no disturbance, while your +way is being paved, as you call it." + +He walked ahead, with Philip following so closely that he could have +touched him. He made out more distinctly now the lines of the huge +black edifice from which the lights shone. It was a massive structure +of logs, two stories high, a half of it almost completely hidden in the +impenetrable shadow of a great wall of rock. Philip's eyes traveled up +this wall, and he was convinced that he stood under the rock upon whose +towering crest he had seen the last reflection of the evening sun. +About him there were no signs of life or of other habitation. Pierre +moved swiftly. They passed under a small lighted window that was a foot +above Philip's head, and turned around the corner of the building. Here +all was blackness. + +Pierre went straight to a door, and uttered at low word of satisfaction +when he found that it was not barred. He opened it, and reached out a +guiding hand to Philip's arm. Philip entered, and the door closed +softly behind him. He felt the flow of warm air in his face, and his +moccasined feet trod upon something soft and velvety. Faintly, as +though coming from a great distance, he heard a voice singing. It was a +woman's voice, but he knew that it was not Jeanne's. + +In spite of himself his heart was beating excitedly. The mystery of +Fort o' God was about him, warm and subtle, like a strange spirit, +sending through him the thrill of anticipation, a hundred fancies, +little fears. Pierre advanced, still guiding him; then he stopped, and +chuckled softly in the darkness. The distant voice had stopped singing, +and there came in place of it the loud barking of a dog, an +unintelligible sound of a voice, and then quiet. Jeanne had sprung her +surprise. + +Pierre led the way to another room. + +"This is to be your room, M'sieur," he explained. "Make yourself +comfortable. I have no doubt that the master of Fort o' God will wish +to see you very soon." + +He struck a match as he spoke, and lighted a lamp. A moment more and he +was gone. + +Philip looked about him. He was in a room fully twenty feet square, +furnished in a manner that drew from him an audible gasp of +astonishment. At one end of the room was a massive mahogany bed, +screened by heavy curtains which were looped back by silken cords. Near +the bed was an old-fashioned mahogany dresser, with a diamond-shaped +mirror, and in front of it a straight-backed chair adorned with the +grotesque carving of an ancient and long-dead fashion. About him, +everywhere, were the evidences of luxury and of age. The big lamp, +which gave a brilliant light, was of hammered brass; the base of its +square pedestal was partly hidden in the rumples of a heavy damask +spread which covered the table on which it rested. The table itself was +old, spindle-legged, glowing with the mellow luster endowed by many +passing generations--a relic of the days when the originator of its +fashion became the favorite of a capricious and beautiful queen. Soft +rugs were upon the floor; from the walls, papered and hung with odd +bits of tapestry, strange faces looked down upon Philip from out of +heavy gilded frames; faces grim, pale, shadowed; men with plaited +ruffles and curls; women with powdered hair, who gazed down upon him +haughtily, as if they wondered at his intrusion. + +One picture was turned with its face to the wall. + +Philip sank into a huge arm-chair, cushioned with velvet, and dropped +his cap upon the floor. And this was Fort o' God! He scarcely breathed. +He was back two centuries, and he stared, as if each moment he expected +some manifestation of life in what he saw. He had dreamed his dream +over the dead at Churchill; here it was reality--almost; it lacked but +a breath, a movement, a flutter of life in the dead faces that looked +down upon him. He gazed up at them again, and laughed a little +nervously. Then he fixed his eyes on the opposite wall. One of the +pictures was moving. The thought in his brain had given birth to the +movement he had imagined. It was a woman's face in the picture, young +and beautiful, and it nodded to him, one moment radiant with light, the +next caught in shadows that cast over it a gloom. He jumped from his +chair and went so that he stood directly under it. + +A current of warm air shot up into his face from the floor. It was this +air that was causing movement in the picture, and he looked down. What +he discovered broke the spell he was under. About him were the relics +of age, of a life long dead. Rubens might have sat in that room, and +mourned over his handiwork, lost in a wilderness. The stingy Louis +might have recognized in the spindle-legged table a bit of his +predecessor's extravagance, which he had sold for the good of the +exchequer of France; a Gobelin might have reclaimed one of the woven +landscapes on the wall, a Grosellier himself have issued from behind +the curtained bed. Philip himself, in that environment, was the +stranger. It was the current of warm air which brought him back from +the eighteenth to the twentieth century. Under his feet was a furnace! + +Even the master of Fort o' God, stern and forbidding as Philip began to +imagine him, might have laughed at the look which came into his face. +Grosellier, the cavalier, had he appeared, Philip would have accepted +with the same confidence that he had accepted Jeanne and Pierre. But--a +furnace! He thrust his hands deep in his pockets, a trick which was +always the last convincing evidence of his perplexity, and walked +slowly around the room. There were two books on the table. One, bound +in faded red vellum, was a Greek Anthology, the other Drummond's Ascent +of Man. There were other books on a quaintly carved shelf, under the +picture which had been turned to the wall. He ran over the titles. +There were a number of French novels, Ely's Socialism, Sir Thomas +More's Utopia, St. Pierre's Paul and Virginia, and a dozen other +volumes; there were Balzac and Hugo, and Dante's Divine Comedy. Amid +this array, like a black sheep lost among the angels, was a finger-worn +and faded little volume bearing the name Camille. Something about this +one book, so strangely out of place in its present company, aroused +Philip's curiosity. It bore the name, too, which he had found worked in +the corner of Jeanne's handkerchief. In a way, the presence of this +book gave him a sort of shock, and he took it in his hands, and opened +the cover. Under his fingers were pages yellow and frayed with age, and +in an ancient type, once black, the title, The Meaning of God. In a +large masculine hand some one had written under this title the +accompanying words; "A black skin often contains a white soul; a +woman's beauty, hell." + +Philip replaced the book with a feeling of awe. Something in those +words, brutal in their truth--something in the strange whim that had +placed a pearl of purity within the faded and worn mask of the +condemned, seemed to speak to him of a tragedy that might be a key to +the mystery of Fort o' God. From the books he looked up at the picture +which had been turned to the wall. The temptation to see what was +hidden overcame him, and he turned the frame over. Then he stepped back +with a low cry of pleasure. + +From out of the proscribed canvas there smiled down upon him a face of +bewildering beauty. It was the face of a young woman, a stranger among +its companions, because it was of the present. Philip stepped to one +side, so that the light from the lamp shone from behind him, and he +wondered if the picture had been condemned to hang with its face to the +wall because it typified the existent rather than the past. He looked +more closely, and drew back step by step, until he was in the proper +focus to bring out every expression in the lovely face. In the picture +he saw each moment a greater resemblance to Jeanne. The eyes, the hair, +the sweetness of the mouth, the smile, brought to him a vision of +Jeanne herself. The woman in the picture was older than Jeanne, and his +first thought was that it must be a sister, or her mother. It came to +him in the next breath that this would be impossible, for Jeanne had +been found by Pierre in the deep snows, on her dead mother's breast. +And this was a painting of life, of youth, of beauty, and not of death +and starvation. + +He returned the forbidden picture to the position in which he had found +it against the wall, half ashamed of the act and thoughts into which +his curiosity had led him. And yet, after all, it was not curiosity. He +told himself that as he washed himself and groomed his disheveled +clothes. + +An hour had passed when he heard a low tap at the door, and Pierre came +in. In that time the half-breed had undergone a transformation. He was +dressed in an exquisite coat of yellow buckskin, with the same +old-fashioned cuffs he had worn when Philip first saw him, trousers of +the same material, buckled below the knees, and boot-moccasins with +flaring tops. He wore a new rapier at his waist, and his glossy black +hair was brushed smoothly back, and fell loose upon his shoulders. It +was the courtier, and not Pierre the half-breed, who bowed to Philip. + +"M'sieur, are you ready?" he asked. + +"Yes," replied Philip. + +"Then we will go to M'sieur d'Arcambal, the master of Fort o' God." + +They passed out into the hall, which was faintly illumined now, so that +Philip caught glimpses of deep shadows and massive doors as he followed +behind Pierre. They turned into a second hall, at the end of which was +an open door through which came a flood of light. At this door Pierre +stopped, and with a bow allowed his companion to pass in ahead of him. +The next moment Philip stood in a room twice as large as the one he had +left. It was brilliantly lighted by three or four lamps; he had only an +instant's vision of numberless shelves loaded with books, of walls +covered with pictures, of a ponderous table in front of him, and then +he heard a voice. + +A man stepped out from beside the door, and he stood face to face with +the master of Fort o' God. + + + + +XVII + + +He was an old man. Beard and hair were white. He was as tall as Philip; +his shoulders were broader; his chest massive; and as he stood under +the light of one of the hanging lamps, his face shining with a pale +glow, one hand upon his breast, the other extended, it seemed to Philip +that all of the greatness and past glory of Fort o' God, whatever they +may have been, were personified in the man he beheld. He was dressed in +soft buckskin, like Pierre. His hair and beard grew in wild disorder, +and from under shaggy eyebrows there burned a pair of deep-set eyes of +the color of blue steel. He was a man to inspire awe; old, and yet +young; white-haired, gray-faced, and yet a giant. One might have +expected from between his bearded lips a voice as thrilling as his +appearance; a rumbling voice, deep-chested, sonorous--and it would have +caused no surprise. It was the voice that surprised Philip more than +the man. It was low, and trembling with an agitation which even +strength and pride could not control. + +"Philip Whittemore, I am Henry d'Arcambal. May God bless you for what +you have done!" + +A hand of iron gripped his own. And then, before Philip had found words +to say, the master of Fort o' God suddenly placed his arms about his +shoulders and embraced him. Their shoulders touched. Their faces were +close. The two men who loved Jeanne d'Arcambal above all else on earth +gazed for a silent moment into each other's eyes. + +"They have told me," said D'Arcambal, softly. "You have brought my +Jeanne home through death. Accept a father's blessing, and with +it--this!" + +He stepped back, and swept his arms about the great room. + +"Everything--everything--would have gone with her," he said. "If you +had let her die, I should have died. My God, what peril she was in! In +saving her you saved me. So you are welcome here, as a son. For the +first time since my Jeanne was a babe Fort o' God offers itself to a +man who is a stranger and its hospitality is yours so long as its walls +hang together. And as they have done this for upward of two hundred +years, M'sieur Philip, we may conclude that our friendship is to be +without end." + +He clasped Philip's hands again, and two tears coursed down his gray +cheeks. It was difficult for Philip to restrain the joy his words +produced, which, coming from the lips of Jeanne's father, lifted him +suddenly into a paradise of hope. For many reasons he had come to +expect a none too warm reception at Fort o' God; he had looked ahead to +the place with a grim sort of fear, scarcely definable; and here +Jeanne's father was opening his arms to him. Pierre was unapproachable; +Jeanne herself was a mystery, filling him alternately with hope and +despair; D'Arcambal had accepted him as a son. He could find no words +adequate to his emotion; none that could describe his own happiness, +unless it was in a bold avowal of his love for the girl he had saved. +And this his good sense told him not to make, at the present moment. + +"Any man would have done as much for your daughter," he said at last, +"and I am happy that I was the fortunate one to render her assistance." + +"You are wrong," said D'Arcambal, taking him by the arm. "You are one +out of a thousand. It takes a MAN to go through the Big Thunder and +come out at the other end alive. I know of only one other who has done +that in the last twenty years, and that other is Henry d'Arcambal +himself. We three, you, Jeanne, and I, have alone triumphed over those +monsters of death. All others have died. It seems like a strange +pointing of the hand of God." + +Philip trembled. + +"We three!" he exclaimed. + +"We three," said the old man, "and for that reason you are a part of +Fort o' God." + +He led Philip deeper into the great room, and Philip saw that almost +all the space along the walls of the huge room was occupied by shelves +upon shelves of books, masses of papers, piles of magazines +shoulder-high, scores of maps and paintings. The massive table was +covered with books; there were piles on smaller tables; chairs, and the +floor itself, covered with the skins of a score of wild beasts, were +littered with them. At the far end of the room he saw deeper and darker +shelves, where gleamed faintly in the lamplight row upon row of vials +and bottles and strange instruments of steel and glass. A scientist in +the wilderness--a student exiled in a desolation! These were the +thoughts that leaped into his mind, and he knew that in this room +Jeanne had been created; that here, between these centuries-old walls, +amid an environment of strange silence, of whispering age, her visions +of the world had come. Here, separated from all her kind, God, Nature, +and a father had made her of their handiwork. + +The old man pointed Philip to a chair near the large table, and sat +down close to him. At his feet was a stool covered with silvery +lynx-skin, and D'Arcambal looked at this, his strong, grim face +relaxing into a gentle smile of happiness. + +"There is where Jeanne sits--at my feet," he said. "It has been her +place for many years. When she is not there I am lost. Life ceases. +This room has been our world. To-night you are in Fort o' God; +to-morrow you will see D'Arcambal House. You have heard of that, +perhaps, but never of Fort o' God. That belongs to Jeanne and me, to +Pierre--and you. Fort o' God is the heart, the soul, the life's blood +of D'Arcambal House. It is this room and two or three others. +D'Arcambal House is our barrier. When strangers come, they see +D'Arcambal House; plain rooms, of rough wood; quarters such as you have +seen at posts and stations; the mask which gives no hint of what is +hidden within. It is there that we live to the world; it is here that +we live to ourselves. Jeanne has my permission to tell you whatever she +wishes, a little later. But I am curious, and being an old man must be +humored first. I am still trembling. You must tell me what happened to +Jeanne." + +For an hour they talked, and Philip went over one by one the events as +they had occurred since the fight on the cliff, omitting only such +things as he thought that Jeanne and Pierre might wish to keep secret +to themselves. At the end of that hour he was certain that D'Arcambal +was unaware of the dark cloud that had suddenly come into Jeanne's +life. The old man's brow was knitted with deep lines, and his powerful +jaws were set hard, as Philip told of the ambush, of the wounding of +Pierre, and the flight of his assailants with his daughter. It was to +get money, the old man thought. The half-breed had suggested that, and +Jeanne herself had given it as her opinion. Why else should they have +been attacked at Churchill? Such things had occurred before, he told +Philip. The little daughter of the factor at Nelson House had been +stolen, and held for ransom. With a hundred questions he wrung from +Philip every detail of the second fight and of the struggle for life in +the rapids. He betrayed no physical excitement, even in those moments +of Philip's description when Jeanne hung between life and death; but in +his eyes there was the glow of red-hot fires. At last there came to +interrupt them the low, musical tinkling of a bell under the table. + +D'Arcambal's face lighted up suddenly. + +"Ah, I had forgotten," he exclaimed. "Pardon me, Philip. Dinner has +been awaiting us this last half-hour; and besides--" + +He reached out and touched a tiny button, which Philip had not observed +before. + +"I am selfish." + +He had hardly ceased speaking when footsteps sounded in the hall, and +in spite of every resolution he had made to guard himself against any +betrayal of the emotions burning in his breast, Philip sprang to his +feet. Jeanne had come in under the glow of the lamps and stood now a +dozen feet from him, a vision so exquisitely lovely that he saw nothing +of those who entered behind her, nor heard D'Arcambal's low, happy +laugh at his side. It seemed to him for a moment as if there had +suddenly appeared before him the face of the picture that was turned +against the wall, only more beautiful now, radiant with the glow of +living flesh and blood. But there was something even more startling +than this resemblance. In this moment Jeanne was the fulfilment of his +dream; she had come to him from out of another world. She was dressed +in an old-fashioned gown of pure white, a fabric so delicate that it +seemed to float about her slender form, responsive to every breath she +drew. Her white shoulders revealed themselves above masses of filmy +lace that fell upon her bosom; her slender arms, girlish rather than +womanly in their beauty, were bare. Her hair was bound up in shining +coils about her head, with a single flower nestling amid a little +cluster of curls that fell upon her neck. After his first movement, +Philip recovered himself by a strong effort. He bowed low to conceal +the flush in his face. Jeanne swept him a little courtesy, and then ran +past him, with the eagerness of any modern child, into the outstretched +arms of her father. + +Laughter and joy rumbled in the beard of the master of Fort o' God as +he looked over Jeanne's head at Philip. + +"And this is what you have saved for me," he said. + +Then he looked beyond, and for the first time Philip realized there +were others in the room. One was Pierre; the other a pretty, dark-faced +girl, with hair that glistened like a raven's wing in the lamp-glow. + +Jeanne left her father's arms and gave her hand to Philip. + +"M'sieur Philip, this is my sister, Mademoiselle Couchee," she cried. + +Pierre's sister gave Philip her hand, and behind them D'Arcambal +laughed softly in his beard again, and said: + +"To-morrow, in D'Arcambal House, you may call her Otille, Philip. But +to-night we are in Fort o' God. Oh, Jeanne, Jeanne, what a witch you +are!" + +"An angel!" breathed Philip, but no one heard him. + +"And this witch," added the old man, "you are to take in to supper, +M'sieur Philip. To night I suppose that I must call you m'sieur, but +to-morrow, when I have on my leather leggings and my skin cap, I will +call you Phil, or Tom, Dick, or Harry, just as I please. This is the +first time, sir, that my Jeanne has ever gone in to dinner on another +arm than mine or Pierre's. And so I may be a little jealous. Proceed." + +As Jeanne's hand rested in his arm, and they went into the hall, Philip +could not restrain himself from whispering: + +"I am glad--of that." + +"And the dress, M'sieur Philip!" exclaimed D'Arcambal behind them, in +the voice of a happy boy. "It is an honor to escort that, to say +nothing of the silly girl that's in it. That dress, sir, belonged to a +beautiful lady who was called Camille, and who died over a century ago." + +"Father, please do be good!" protested Jeanne. "Remember!" + +"Ah, so I will," said her father. "I had forgotten that you were to +tell M'sieur Philip these things." + +They entered another room illuminated by a single huge lamp suspended +above a table spread with silver and fine linen. The room was as great +a surprise as the other two had been. It contained no chairs. What +Philip mentally designated as benches, with deep cushion seats of +greenish leather, were arranged about the table. These same curious +seats furnished other parts of the room. From the pictures on the walls +to the ancient helmet and cuirass that stood up like a legless sentinel +in one corner, this room, like the others, breathed of extreme age. +Over a big open fireplace, in which half a dozen birch logs were +burning, hung a number of old-fashioned weapons; a flintlock, a pair of +obsolete French dueling pistols, a short rapier similar to that which +Pierre wore, and two long swords. Philip noticed that about each of the +dueling pistols was tied a bow of ribbon, dull and faded, as though the +passing of generations had robbed them of beauty and color, to be +replaced by the somberness of age. + +During the meal Philip could not but observe that Jeanne was laboring +under some mysterious strain. Her cheeks were brilliantly flushed, and +her eyes were filled with a lustrous brightness that he had never seen +in them before. Their beauty was almost feverish. Several times he +caught a strange little tremor of her white shoulders, as though a +sudden chill had passed through her. He discovered, too, that Pierre +was observing these things, and that there was something forced in the +half-breed's cheerfulness. But D'Arcambal and Otille seemed completely +oblivious of any change. Their happiness overflowed. Philip thought of +his last supper at Churchill, with Eileen Brokaw and her father. Miss +Brokaw had acted strangely then, and had struggled to hide some secret +grief or excitement, as Jeanne was struggling now. + +He was glad when the meal was finished, and the master of Fort o' God +rose from his seat. At D'Arcambal's movement his eyes caught Jeanne's, +and then he saw that Pierre was looking sharply at him. + +"Jeanne owes you an apology--and an explanation, M'sieur Philip," said +D'Arcambal, resting a hand upon Jeanne's head. "We are going to retire, +and she will initiate you into the fold of Fort o' God." + +Pierre and Otille followed him from the room. For the first time in an +hour Jeanne laughed frankly at Philip. + +"There isn't much to explain, M'sieur Philip," she said, rising from +her seat. "You know pretty nearly all there is to know about Fort o' +God now. Only I am sure that I did not appear to value your confidence +very much--a little while ago. It must have seemed ungrateful in me, +indeed, to have told you so little about myself and my home, after what +you did for Pierre and me. But I have father's permission now. It is +the second time that he has ever given it to me." + +"And I don't want to hear," exclaimed Philip, bluntly. "I have been +more or less of a brute, Miss Jeanne. I know enough about Fort o' God. +It is a glorious place. You owe me nothing, and for that reason--" + +"But I insist," interrupted the girl. "Do you mean to say that you do +not care to listen, when this is the second time in my life that I have +had the opportunity of talking about my home? And the first--didn't +give me any pleasure. This will." + +A shadow came into Jeanne's eyes. She motioned him to a seat beside her +in front of the fire. Her nearness, the touch of her dress, the sweet +perfume of her presence, thrilled him. He felt that the moment was near +when the whole world as he knew it was to slip away from him, leaving +him in a paradise, or a chaos of despair. Jeanne looked up at the +dueling pistols. The firelight trembled in the soft folds of lace over +her bosom; it glistened in her hair, and lighted her face with a gentle +glow. + +"There isn't much to explain," she said again, in a voice so low that +it was hardly more than a whisper. "But what little there is I want you +to know, so that when you go away you will understand. More than two +hundred years ago a band of gentlemen adventurers were sent over into +this country by Prince Rupert to form the Hudson's Bay Company. That is +history, and you know more of it, probably, than I. One of these men +was Le Chevalier Grosellier. One summer he came up the Churchill, and +stopped at the great rock on which we saw the sun setting to-night, and +which was called the Sun Rock by the Indians. He was struck by the +beauty of the place, and when he went back to France it was with the +plan of returning to build himself a chateau in the wilderness. Two or +three years later he did this, and called the place Fort o' God. For +more than a century, M'sieur, Fort o' God was a place of revel and +pleasure in the heart of this desolation. Early in the nineteenth +century it passed into the hands of a man by the name of D'Arcy, and it +is said that at one time it housed twenty gentlemen and as many ladies +of France for one whole season. Its history is obscure, and mostly +lost. But for a long time after D'Arcy came it was a place of +adventure, of pleasure, and of mystery, very little of which remains +to-day. Those are his pistols above the fire. He was killed by one of +them out there beside the big rock, in a quarrel with one of his guests +over a woman. We think--here--from letters that we have found, that her +name was Camille. There is a chest in my room filled with linen that +bears her name. This dress came from that chest. I have to be careful +of them, as they tear very easily. After D'Arcy the place was almost +forgotten and remained so until nearly forty years ago when my father +came into possession of it. That, M'sieur, is the very simple story of +Fort o' God. Its old name is forgotten. It lives only with us. Others +know it as D'Arcambal House." + +"Yes, I have heard of that," said Philip. + +He waited for Jeanne, and saw that her fingers were nervously twisting +a bit of ribbon in her lap. + +"Of course, that is uninteresting," she continued. "You can almost +guess the rest. We have lived here--alone. Not one of us has ever felt +the desire to leave this little world of ours. It is curious--you may +scarcely believe what I say--but it is true that we look out upon your +big world and laugh at it and dislike it. I guess--that I have been +taught to hate it--since I can remember." + +There was a little tremble in Jeanne's voice, an instant's quivering of +her chin. Philip looked from her face into the fire, and stared hard, +choking back words which were ready to burst from his lips. In place of +them he said, with a touch of bitterness in his voice: + +"And I have grown to hate my world, Jeanne. It has compelled me to hate +it. That is why I spoke to you that night on the cliff at Churchill." + +"I have sometimes thought that I have been very wrong," said the girl. +"I have never seen this other world. I know nothing of it, except as I +have been taught. I have no right to hate it, and yet I do. I have +never wanted to see it. I have never cared to know the people who lived +in it. I wish that I could understand, but I cannot; except that father +has made for us, for Pierre and Otille and me, this little world at +Fort o' God, and has taught us to fear the other. I know that there is +no other man in the whole world like my father, and that what he has +done must be best. It is his pride that we bring your world to our +doors, but that we never go to it; he says that we know more about that +world than the people who live there, which of course cannot be so. And +so we have grown up amid the old memories, the pictures, and the dead +romances of Fort o' God. We have taken pleasure in living as we do--in +making for ourselves our own little social codes, our childish +aristocracy, our make-believe world. It is the spirit of Fort o' God +that lives with us, and makes us content; the shadow-faces of men and +women who once filled these rooms with life and pleasure, and whose +memory seems to have passed into our keeping alone. I know them all; +many of their names, all of their faces. I have a daguerreotype of +Camille Poitiers, and she must have been very beautiful. There are the +tiniest slippers in the world in her chest, and ribbons like those +which are tied about the pistols. There is a painting of D'Arcy in your +room. It is the picture next to the one that has its face turned to the +wall." + +She rose to her feet, and Philip stood beside her. There was a mist in +her eyes as she held out her hand to him. + +"I--I--would like to have you--see that picture," she whispered. + +Philip could not speak. He held the hand Jeanne had given him as they +passed through the long, dimly lighted halls. At the open door to his +room they stopped, and he could feel Jeanne trembling. + +"You will tell me--the truth?" she begged, like a child. "You will tell +me what you think--of the picture?" + +"Yes." + +She went in ahead of him and turned the frame so that the face in the +picture smiled down upon them in all of its luring loveliness. There +was something pathetic in the girl's attitude now. She stood under the +picture, facing Philip, and there was a tense eagerness in her eyes, a +light that was almost supplication, a crying out of her soul to him in +a breathless moment that seemed hovering between pain and joy. It was +Jeanne, an older Jeanne, that looked from out of the picture, smiling, +inviting admiration, bewildering hi her beauty; it was Jeanne, the +child, waiting for him in flesh and blood to speak, her eyes big and +dark, her breath coming quickly, her hands buried in the deep lace on +her bosom. A low word came to Philip's lips, and then he laughed +softly. It was a laugh, almost under his breath, which sweeps up now +and then from a soul in a joy--an emotion--which is unutterable in +words. But to Jeanne it was different. Her dark eyes grew hurt and +wounded, two great tears ran down her paling cheeks, and suddenly she +buried her face in her hands and with a sobbing cry turned from him, +with her head bowed under the smiling face above. + +"And you--you hate it, too!" she sobbed. "They all hate +it--Pierre--father--all--all hate it. It must--it must be bad. They +hate her--every one--but me. And--I love her so!" + +Her slender form shook with sobs. For a moment Philip stood like one +struck dumb. Then he sprang to her and caught her close in his arms. + +"Jeanne--Jeanne--listen," he cried. "To-night I looked at that picture +before I went to see your father, and I loved it because it is like +you. Jeanne, my darling, I love you--I love you--" + +She was panting against his breast. He covered her face with kisses. +Her sweet lips were not turned from him, and there filled her eyes a +sudden light that made him almost sob in his happiness. + +"I love you, I love you," he repeated, again and again, and he could +find no other words than those. + +For an instant her arms clung about his shoulders, and then, suddenly, +they strained against him, and she tore herself free, and, with a cry +so pathetic that it seemed as though her heart had broken in that +moment, she fled from him, and out of the room. + + + + +XVIII + + +Philip stood where Jeanne had left him, his arms half reaching out to +the vacant door through which she had fled, his lips parted as if to +call her name, and yet motionless, dumb. A moment before he was +intoxicated by a joy that was almost madness. He had held Jeanne in his +arms; he had looked into her eyes, filled with surrender under his +caresses and his avowal of love. For a moment he had possessed her, and +now he was alone. The cry that had wrung itself from her lips, breaking +in upon his happiness like a blow, still rang in his ears, and there +was something in the exquisite pain of it that left him in torment. +Heart and soul, every drop of blood in him, had leaped in the joy of +that glorious moment, when Jeanne's eyes and sweet lips had accepted +his love, and her arms had clung about his shoulders. Now these things +had been struck dead within him. He felt again the fierce pressure of +Jeanne's arms as she had thrust him away, he saw the fright and torture +that had leaped into her eyes as she sprang from him, as though his +touch had suddenly become a sacrilege. He lowered his arms slowly, and +went to the hall. It was empty. He heard no sound, and closed the door. + +It was so still that he could hear the excited throbbing of his own +heart. He looked at the picture again, and a strange fancy impressed +him with the idea that it was no longer smiling at him, but that its +eyes were turned to the door through which Jeanne had disappeared. He +moved his position, and the illusion was gone. It was Jeanne looking +down upon him again, an older and happier Jeanne than the one whom he +loved. For the first time he examined it closely. In one corner of the +canvas he found the artist's name, Bourret, and after it the date, +1888. Could it be the picture of Jeanne's mother? He told himself that +it was impossible, for Jeanne's mother had been found dead in the snow, +five years later than the date of the canvas, and Pierre, the +half-breed, had buried her somewhere out on the barren, so that she was +a mystery to all but him. Even the master of Fort o' God, to whom he +had brought the child, had never seen the woman upon whose cold breast +Pierre had found the little Jeanne. + +With nervous hands he replaced the picture with its face to the wall, +and began to pace up and down the room, wondering if D'Arcambal would +send for him. He had hope of seeing Jeanne again that night. He felt +sure that she had gone to her room, and that even D'Arcambal might not +know that he was alone. In that event he had a long night ahead of him, +filled with hours of sleeplessness and torment. He waited for +three-quarters of an hour, and then the idea came to him that he might +discover some plausible excuse for seeking out his host. He was about +to act upon this mental suggestion when he heard a low rustling in the +hall, followed by a distinct and yet timid knock. It was not a man's +knock, and filled with the hope that Jeanne had returned, Philip +hastened to the door and opened it. + +He heard soft footsteps retreating rapidly down the hall, but the +lights were out, and he could see nothing. Something had fallen at his +feet, and he bent down to pick it up. The object was a small, square +envelope; and re-entering his room he saw his own name written across +it in Jeanne's delicate hand. His heart beat with hope as he opened the +note. What he read brought a gray pallor into his face: + +MONSIEUR PHILIP,--If you cannot forget what I have done, please at +least try to forgive me. No woman in the world could value your love +more than I, for circumstances have proven to me the strength and honor +of the man who gives it. And yet it is as impossible for me to accept +it as it would be for me to give up Fort o' God, my father, or my life, +though I cannot tell you why. And this, I know, you will not ask. After +what has happened to-night it will be impossible for me to see you +again, and I must ask you, as one who values your friendship among the +highest things in my life, to leave Fort o' God. No one must know what +has passed between us. You will go--in the morning. And with you there +will always be my prayers. + +JEANNE. + +The paper dropped from between Philip's fingers and fell to the floor. +Three or four times in his life Philip had received blows that had made +him sick--physical blows. He felt now as though one of these blows had +descended upon him, turning things black before his eyes. He staggered +to the big chair and dropped into it, staring at the bit of white paper +on the floor. If one had spoken to him he would not have heard. +Gregson, in these moments, might have laughed a little nervously, +smoked innumerable cigarettes, and laid plans for a continuance of the +battle to-morrow. But Philip was a fighter of men, and not of women. He +had declared his love, he had laid open his soul to Jeanne, and to a +heart like his own, simple in its language, boundless in its sincerity, +this was all that could be done. Jeanne's refusal of his love was the +end--for him. He accepted his fate without argument. In an instant he +would have fought ten men--a hundred, naked-handed, if such a fight +would have given him a chance of winning Jeanne; he would have died, +laughing, happy, if it had been in a struggle for her. But Jeanne +herself had dealt him the blow. + +For a long time he sat motionless in the chair facing the picture on +the wall. Then he rose to his feet, picked up the note, and went to one +of the little square windows that looked out into the night. The moon +had risen, and the sky was full of stars. He knew that he was looking +into the north, for the pale shimmer of the aurora was in his face. He +saw the black edge of the spruce forest; the barren stretched out, pale +and ghostly, into the night shadows. + +He made an effort to open the window, but it was wedged tightly in its +heavy sill. He crossed the room, opened the door, and went silently +down the hall to the door through which Pierre had led him a few hours +before. It was not locked, and he passed out into the night. The fresh +air was like a tonic, and he walked swiftly out into the moonlit +spaces, until he found himself in the deep shadow of the Sun Rock that +towered like a sentinel giant above his head. He made his way around +its huge base, and then stopped, close to where they had landed in the +canoe. There was another canoe drawn up beside Pierre's, and two +figures stood out clear in the moonlight. + +One of these was a man, the other a woman, and as Philip stopped, +wondering at the scene, the man advanced to the woman and caught her in +his embrace. He heard a voice, low and expostulating, which sounded +like Otille's, and in spite of his own misery Philip smiled at this +other love which had found its way to Fort o' God. He turned back +softly, leaving the lovers as he had found them; but he had scarce +taken half a dozen steps when he heard other steps, and saw that the +girl had left her companion and was hurrying toward him. He drew back +close into the shadow of the rock to avoid possible discovery, and the +girl passed through the moonlight almost within arm's reach of him. At +that moment his heart ceased to beat. He choked back the groaning cry +that rose to his lips. It was not Otille who passed him. It was Jeanne. + +In another moment she was gone. The man had shoved his canoe into the +narrow stream, and was already lost in the gloom. Then, and not until +then, did the cry of torture fall from Philip. And as if in echo to it +he heard the sobbing break of another voice, and stepping out into the +moonlight he stood face to face with Pierre Couchee. + +It was Pierre who spoke first. + +"I am sorry, M'sieur," he whispered, hoarsely. "I know that it has +broken your heart. And mine, too, is crushed." + +Something in the half-breed's face, in the choking utterance of his +voice, struck Philip as new and strange. He had seen the eyes of dying +animals filled with the wild pain that glowed in Pierre's, and suddenly +he reached out and gripped the other's hand, and they stood staring +into each other's face. In that look, the cold grip of their hands, the +strife in their eyes, the bare truth revealed itself. + +"And you, too--you love her, Pierre," said Philip. + +"Yes, I love her, M'sieur," replied Pierre, softly. "I love her, not as +a brother, but as a man whose heart is broken." + +"Now--I understand," said Philip. + +He dropped Pierre's hand, and his voice was cold and lifeless. + +"I received a note--from her, asking me to leave Fort o' God in the +morning," he went on, looking from Pierre out beyond the rock into the +white barren. "I will go to-night." + +"It is best," said Pierre. + +"I have left nothing in Fort o' God, so there is no need of even +returning to my room," continued Philip. "Jeanne will understand, but +you must tell her father that a messenger came suddenly from Blind +Indian Lake, and that I thought it best to leave without awakening him. +Will you guide me for a part of the distance, Pierre?" + +"I will go with you the whole way, M'sieur. It is only twenty miles, +ten by canoe, ten by land." + +They said no more, but both went to the canoe, and were quickly lost in +the gloom into which the other canoe had disappeared a few minutes +ahead of them. They saw nothing of this canoe, and when they came to +the Churchill Pierre headed the birch-bark down-stream. For two hours +not a word passed between them. At the end of that time the half-breed +turned in to shore. + +"We take the trail here, M'sieur," he explained. + +He went on ahead, walking swiftly, and now and then when Philip caught +a glimpse of his face he saw in it a despair as great as his own. The +trail led along the backbone of a huge ridge, and then twisted down +into a broad plain; and across this they traveled, one after the other, +two moving, silent shadows in a desolation that seemed without end. +Beyond the plain there rose another ridge, and half an hour after they +had struck the top of it Pierre halted, and pointed off into the +ghostly world of light and shadow that lay at their feet. + +"Your camp is on the other side of this plain, M'sieur," he said. "Do +you recognize the country?" + +"I have hunted along this ridge," replied Philip. "It is only three +miles from here, and I will strike a beaten trail half a mile out +yonder. A thousand thanks, Pierre." + +He held out his hand. + +"Good-by, M'sieur." + +"Good-by, Pierre." + +Their voices trembled. Their hands gripped hard. A choking lump rose in +Philip's throat, and Pierre turned away. He disappeared slowly in the +gray gloom, and Philip went down the side of the mountain. From the +plain below he looked back. For an instant he saw Pierre drawn like a +silhouette against the sky. + +"Good-by, Pierre," he shouted. + +"Good-by, M'sieur," came back faintly. + +Light and silence dropped about them. + + + + +XIX + + +To be alone, even after the painful parting with Pierre, was in one way +a relief to Philip, for with the disappearance of the lonely half-breed +over the mountain there had gone from him the last physical association +that bound him to Jeanne and her people. With Pierre at his side, +Jeanne was still with him; but now that Pierre was gone there came a +change in him--one of those unaccountable transmutations of the mind +which make the passing of yesterdays more like a short dream than a +long and full reality. He walked slowly over the plain, and, when he +came to the trail beaten by the hoofs of his own teams he followed it +mechanically. In his measurement of things now, it seemed only a few +hours since he had traveled over this trail on his way to Fort +Churchill; it might, have been that morning, or the morning before. The +weeks of his absence had passed with marvelous swiftness, now that he +looked back upon them. They seemed short and trivial. And yet he knew +that in those weeks he had lived more of his life than he had ever +lived before, or would ever live again. For a brief spell life had +been, filled with joy and hope--a promise of happiness which a single +moment in the shadow of the Sun Rock had destroyed forever. He had seen +Jeanne in another man's arms; he had read the confirmation of his fears +in Pierre's grief-distorted face, in the strange tremble of his voice, +in the words that he had spoken. He was sorry for Pierre. He would have +been glad if that other man had been the lovable half-breed; if Jeanne, +in the poetry of life and love, had given herself to the one who had +saved the spark of life in her chilled little body years and years ago. +And yet in his own grief he unconsciously rejoiced that it was a man +like Pierre who suffered with him. + +This thought of Pierre strengthened him, and he walked faster, and +breathed more deeply of the clear night air. He had lost in the fight +for Jeanne as he had lost in many other fights; but, after all, there +was another and bigger fight ahead of him, which he would begin +to-morrow. Thoughts of his men, of his camps, and of this struggle +through which he must pass to achieve success raised him above his +depression, and stirred his blood with a growing exhilaration. And +Jeanne--was she hopelessly lost to him? He dared to ask himself the +question half an hour after he had separated from Pierre, and his mind +flew back to the portrait-room where he had told Jeanne of his love, +and where for a moment he had seen in her eyes and face the sweet +surrender that had given him a glimpse of his paradise. But what did +the sudden change mean? And after that--the scene in the starlight? + +A quickening of his pulse was the answer to these questions. Jeanne had +told him there were only two men at Fort o' God, Pierre and her father. +Then who could be this third? A lover, whom she met clandestinely? He +shivered, and began loading his pipe as he walked. He was certain that +the master of Fort o' God did not know of the tryst beyond the rock, +and he was equally certain that the girl was unaware of Pierre's +knowledge of the meeting. Pierre had remained hidden, like himself, and +he had given Philip to understand that it was not the first time he had +looked upon the meetings of Jeanne and the man they had seen from the +shadow of the rock. And yet, in spite of all evidence, he could not +lose faith in Jeanne. + +Suddenly he saw something ahead of him which changed for a moment the +uncomfortable trend of his thoughts. It was a pale streak, rising above +the level of the trail, and stretching diagonally across the plain to +the east. With an exclamation of surprise Philip hastened his steps, +and a moment later stood among the fresh workings of his men. When he +had left for Churchill this streak, which was the last stretch of +road-bed between them and the surveyed line of the Hudson's Bay +Railway, had ended two miles to the south and west. In a little over a +month MacDougall had pushed it on the trail, and well across it in the +direction of Gray Beaver Lake. In that time he had accomplished a work +which Philip had not thought possible to achieve that autumn. He had +figured that the heavy snows of winter would cut them off at the trail. +And MacDougall was beyond the trail, with three weeks to spare! + +Something rose up in his blood, warming him with an elation which sent +him walking swiftly toward the end of the road-bed. A quarter of a mile +out on the plain he came to the working end. About him were scattered +half a dozen big scoop shovels and piles of working tools. The embers +of a huge log fire still glowed where dinner had been cooked for the +men. Philip stood for a few moments, looking off into the distance. +Another mile and a half out there was the Gray Beaver, and from the +Gray Beaver there lay the unbroken waterway to the point of their +conjunction with the railway coming up from the south. A sudden idea +occurred to Philip. If MacDougall had built two and a quarter miles of +road-bed in five weeks they could surely complete this other mile and a +half before winter stopped them. In that event, they would have fifteen +miles of road, linking seven lakes, which would give them a splendid +winter trail for men, teams, and dogs to the Gray Beaver. And from the +Gray Beaver they would have smooth ice for twenty miles, to the new +road. He had not planned to begin fishing operations until spring, but +he could see no reason now why they should not commence that winter, +setting their nets through the ice. At Lobstick Creek, where the new +road would reach them sometime in April or May, they could freeze their +fish and keep them in storage. Five hundred tons in stock, and perhaps +a thousand, would not be a bad beginning. It would mean from forty to +eighty thousand dollars, a half of which could be paid out in dividends. + +He turned back, whistling softly. There was new life in him, burning +for action. He was eager to see MacDougall, and he hoped that Brokaw +would not be long in reaching Blind Indian Lake. Before he reached the +trail he was planning the accommodation stations, where men and animals +could find shelter. There would be one on the shore of the Gray Beaver, +and from there he would build them at regular intervals of five miles +on the ice. + +He had come to the trail, and was about to turn in the direction of the +camp, when he saw a shadowy figure making its way slowly across the +plain which he had traversed half an hour before. The manner in which +this person was following in his footsteps, apparently with extreme +caution, caused Philip to move quickly behind the embankment of the +road-bed. Two or three minutes later a man crossed into view. Philip +could not see his face distinctly, but by the tired droop of the +stranger's shoulders and his shuffling walk he guessed that what he had +first taken for caution was in reality the tedious progress of a man +nearing exhaustion. He wondered how he had missed him in his own +journey over the trail from the ridge mountains, for he had made twice +the progress of the stranger, and must surely have passed him somewhere +within the last mile or so. The fact that the man had come from the +direction of Fort o' God, that he was exhausted, and that he had +evidently concealed himself a little way back to avoid discovery, led +Philip to cut out diagonally across the plain so that he could follow +him and keep him in sight without being observed. Twice in the next +mile the nocturnal traveler stopped to rest, but no sooner had he +reached the first scattered shacks of the camp than he quickened his +steps, darting quickly among the shadows, and then stopped at last +before the door of a small log cabin within a pistol-shot of Philip's +own headquarters. The cabin was newly built, and Philip gave a low +whistle of surprise as he noted its location. He had, to a certain +degree, isolated his own camp home, building it a couple of hundred +yards back from the shore of the lake, where most of the other cabins +were erected. This new cabin was still a hundred yards farther back, +half hidden in a growth of spruce. He heard the click of a key in a +lock and the opening and closing of a door. A moment later a light +flared dimly against a curtained window. + +Philip hurried across the open to the cabin occupied by himself and +MacDougall, the engineer. He tried the door, but it was barred. Then he +knocked loudly, and continued knocking until a light appeared within. +He heard the Scotchman's voice, close to the door. + +"Who's there?" it demanded. + +"None of your business!" retorted Philip, falling into the error of a +joke at the welcome sound of MacDougall's voice. "Open up!" + +A bar slipped within. The door opened slowly. Philip thrust himself +against it and entered. In the pale light of the lamp he was confronted +by the red face of MacDougall, and a pair of little eyes that gleamed +menacingly. And on a line with MacDougall's face was an ugly-looking +revolver. + +Philip stopped with a sudden uncomfortable thrill. MacDougall lowered +his gun. + +"Lord preserve us, but that's the time you almost drew a perforation!" +he exclaimed. "It isn't safe to cut-up in these diggings any more--not +with Sandy MacDougall!" + +He held out a hand with a relieved laugh, and the two men shook in a +grip that made their fingers ache. + +"Is this the way you welcome all of your friends, Mac?" + +MacDougall shrugged his shoulders and laid his gun on a table in the +center of the room. + +"Can't say that I've got a friend left in camp," he said, with a +curious grimace. "What in thunder do you mean, Phil? I've tried to +reason something out of it, but I can't!" + +Philip was hanging up his cap and coat on one of a number of wooden +pegs driven into the long wall. He turned quickly. + +"Reason something out of what?" he said. + +"Your instructions from Churchill," replied MacDougall, picking up a +big, black-bowled pipe from the table. + +Philip sat down with a restful sigh, crossed his legs, loaded his pipe, +and lighted it. + +"Thought I made myself lucid enough, even for a Scotchman, Sandy," he +said. "I learned at Churchill that the big fight is going to be pulled +off mighty soon. It's about time for the fireworks. So I told you to +put the sub-camps in fighting shape, and arm every responsible man in +this camp. There's going to be a whole lot of gun-work before you're +many days older. Great Scott, man, don't you understand NOW? What's the +matter?" + +MacDougall was staring at him as if struck dumb. + +"You told me--to arm--the camps?" he gasped. + +"Yes, I sent you full instructions two weeks ago." + +"MacDougall tapped his forehead suspiciously with a stubby forefinger. + +"You're mad--or trying to pull off a poor brand of joke!" he exclaimed. +"If you're dreaming, come out of it. Look here, Phil," he cried, a +little heatedly, "I've been having a hell of a time since you left the +camp, and I want to talk seriously." + +It was Philip who stared now. He fairly thrust himself upon the +engineer. + +"Do you mean to say you didn't get my letter telling you to put the +camps in fighting shape?" + +"No, I didn't get it," said MacDougall. "But I got the other." + +"There was no other!" + +MacDougall jumped to his feet, darted to his bunk, and came back a +moment later with a letter. He thrust it almost fiercely into Philip's +hands. A sweat broke out upon his face as he saw its effect upon his +companion. Philip's face was deadly pale when he looked up from the +letter. + +"My God! you haven't done this?" he gasped. + +"What else could I do?" demanded MacDougall. "It's down there in black +and white, isn't it? It charges me to outfit six prospecting parties of +ten men each, arm every man with a rifle and revolver, victual them for +two months, and send them to the points named there. That letter came +ten days ago, and the last party, under Tom Billinger, has been gone a +week. You told me to send your very best men, and I have. It has fairly +stripped the camp of the men we depended upon, and there are hardly +enough guns left to kill meat with." + +"I didn't write this letter," said Philip, looking hard at MacDougall. +"The signature is a fraud. The letter which I sent to you, revealing my +discoveries at Churchill, has been intercepted and replaced by this. Do +you know what it means?" + +MacDougall was speechless. His square jaw was set like an iron clamp, +his heavy hands doubled into knots on his knees. + +"It means--fight," continued Philip. "To-night--to-morrow--at any +moment now. I can't guess why the blow hasn't fallen before this." + +He quickly related to MacDougall the chief facts he had gathered at +Fort Churchill. When he had finished, the young Scotchman reached over +to the table, seized his revolver, and held the butt end of it out to +Philip. + +"Pump me full of lead--for God's sake, do, Phil," he pleaded. + +Philip laughed, and gripped his hand. + +"Not while I need a few fighters like yourself, Sandy," he objected. +"We're on to the game in time. By to-morrow morning we'll be prepared +for the war. We haven't an hour--perhaps not a minute--to lose. How +many men can you get hold of to-night whom we can depend upon to fight?" + +"Ten or a dozen, no more. The road gang that we were expecting up from +the Grand Trunk Pacific came three days after you started for +Churchill--twenty-eight of 'em. They're a tough-looking outfit, but +devilish good workers. I believe you could HIRE that gang to do +anything. They won't take a word from me. It's all up to Thorpe, the +foreman who brought 'em up, and they won't obey an order unless it +comes through him. Thorpe could get them to fight, but they haven't +anything to fight with, except a few knives. I've got eight guns left, +and I can scrape up eight men who'll handle them for the glory of it. +Thorpe's gang would be mighty handy in close quarters, if it came to +that." + +MacDougall moved restlessly, and ran a hand through his tawny hair. + +"I almost wish we hadn't invited that bunch up here," he added. "They +look to me like a lot of dollar thugs, but they work like horses. Never +saw such men with the shovel and pick. And fight? They've cleaned up on +a half of the men in camp. If we can get Thorpe--" + +"We'll see him to-night," interrupted Philip. "Or to be correct, this +morning. It's one o'clock. How long will it take to round up our best +men?" + +"Half an hour," said MacDougall, promptly, jumping to his feet. "There +are Roberts, Henshaw, Tom Cassidy, Lecault, the Frenchman, and the two +St. Pierre brothers. They're all crack gun-men. Give 'em each an +automatic and they're worth twenty ordinary men." + +A few moments later MacDougall extinguished the light, and the two men +left the cabin. Philip drew his companion's attention to the dimly +lighted window of the cabin to which he had followed the stranger a +short time before. + +"That's Thorpe's," said the young engineer. "I haven't seen him since +morning. Guess he must be up." + +"We'll sound him first," said Philip, starting off. + +At MacDougall's knock there was a moment's silence inside, then heavy +footsteps, and the door was flung open. Sandy entered, followed by +Philip. Thorpe stepped back. He was of medium height, yet so +athletically built that he gave the impression of being two inches +taller than he actually was. He was smooth-shaven, and his hair and +eyes were black. His whole appearance was that of a person infinitely +superior to what Philip had expected to find in the gang-foreman. His +first words, and the manner in which they were spoken, added to this +impression. + +"Good evening, gentlemen." + +"Good morning," replied MacDougall, nodding toward Philip. "This is Mr. +Whittemore, Thorpe. We saw your light, and thought you wouldn't mind a +call." + +Philip and Thorpe shook hands. + +"Just in time to have a cup of coffee," invited Thorpe, pleasantly, +motioning toward a steaming pot on the stove. "I just got in from a +long hike out over the new road-bed. Been looking the ground over along +the north shore of the Gray Beaver, and was so interested that I didn't +start for home until dark. Won't you draw up, gentlemen? There are +mighty few who can beat me at making coffee." + +MacDougall had noted a sudden change in Philip's face, and as Thorpe +hastened to lift the over-boiling pot from the stove he saw his chief +make a quick movement toward a small table, and pick up an object which +looked like a bit of cloth. In an instant Philip had hidden it in the +palm of his hand. A flush leaped into his cheeks. A strange fire burned +in his eyes when Thorpe turned. + +"I'm afraid we can't accept your hospitality," he said. "I'm tired, and +want to get to bed. In passing, however, I couldn't refrain from +dropping in to compliment you on the remarkable work your men are doing +out on the plain. It's splendid." + +"They're good men," said Thorpe, quietly. "Pretty wild, but good +workers." + +He followed them to the door. Outside, Philip's voice trembled when he +spoke to MacDougall. + +"You go for the others, and bring them to the office, Sandy," he said. +"I said nothing to Thorpe because I have no confidence in liars, and +Thorpe is a liar. He was not out to the Gray Beaver to-day; for I saw +him when he came in--from the opposite direction. He is a liar, and he +will bear watching. Mind that, Sandy. Keep your eyes on this man +Thorpe. And keep your eyes on his gang. Hustle the others over to the +office as soon as you can." + +They separated, and Philip returned to the cabin which they had left a +few minutes before. He relighted the lamp, and with a sharp gasp in his +breath held out before his eyes the object which he had taken from +Thorpe's table. He knew now why Thorpe had come from over the mountains +that night, why he was exhausted, and why he had lied. He clasped his +head between his hands, scarcely believing the evidence of his eyes. A +deeper breath, almost a moan, fell from his twisted lips. For he had +discovered that Thorpe, the gang-foreman, was Jeanne's lover. In his +hand he held the dainty handkerchief, embroidered in blue, which he had +seen in Jeanne's possession earlier that evening--crumpled and +discolored, still damp with her tears! + + + + +XX + + +For many minutes Philip did not move, or look from the bit of damp +fabric which he held between his fingers. His heart was chilled. He +felt sick. Each moment added to the emotion which was growing in him, +an emotion which was a composite of disgust and of anguish. +Jeanne--Thorpe! An eternity of difference seemed to lie between those +two--Jeanne, with her tender beauty, her sweet life, her idyllic +dreams, and Thorpe, the gang-driver! In his own soul he had made a +shrine for Jeanne, and from his knees he had looked up at her, filled +with the knowledge of his own unworthiness. He had worshiped her, as +Dante might have worshiped Beatrice. To him she was the culmination of +all that was sweet and lovable in woman, transcendently above him. And +from this love, this worship of his, she had gone that very night to +Thorpe, the gang-man. He shivered. Going to the stove he thrust in a +handful of paper, dropped the handkerchief in with it, and set the +whole on fire. + +A few moments later the door opened and MacDougall came in. He was +followed by the two swarthy-faced St. Pierres, the camp huntsmen. +Philip shook hands with them, and they passed after the engineer +through a narrow door leading into a room which was known as the camp +office, Cassidy, Henshaw, and the others followed within the next ten +minutes. There was not a man among them whose eyes faltered when Philip +put up his proposition to them. As briefly as possible he told them a +part of what he had previously revealed to MacDougall, and frankly +conceded that the preservation of property and life in the camp +depended almost entirely upon them. + +"You're not the sort of men to demand pay in a pinch like this," he +finished, "and that's just the reason I've confidence enough in you to +ask for your support. There are fifty men in camp whom we could hire to +fight, but I don't want hired fighters. I don't want men who will run +at the crack of a few rifles, but men who are willing to die with their +boots on. I won't offer you money for this, because I know you too +well. But from this hour on you're going to be a part of the Great +Northern Fish and Development Company, and as soon as the certificates +can be signed I'm going to turn over a hundred shares of stock to each +of you. Remember that this isn't pay. It's simply a selfish scheme of +mine to make you a part of the company. There are eight of us. Give us +each an automatic and I'll wager that there isn't a combination in this +neck of the woods strong enough to do us up." + +In the pale light of the two oil-lamps the men's faces glowed with +enthusiasm. Cassidy was the first to grip Philip's hand in a pledge of +fealty. + +"When hell freezes over, we're licked," he said. "Where's me automatic?" + +MacDougall brought in the guns and ammunition. + +"In the morning we will begin the erection of a new building close to +this one," said Philip. "There is no reason for the building, but that +will give me an excuse for keeping you men together on one job, within +fifty feet of your guns, which we can keep in this room. Only four men +need work at a shift, and I'll put Cassidy in charge of the operations, +if that is satisfactory to the others. We'll have a couple of new bunks +put in here so that four men can stay with MacDougall and me every +night. The other four, who are not on the working shift, can hunt not +far from the camp, and keep their eyes peeled. Does that look good?" + +"Can't be beat," said Henshaw, throwing open the breech of his gun. +"Shall we load?" + +"Yes." + +The room became ominous with the metallic click of loaded cartridge +clips and the hard snap of released chambers. + +Five minutes later Philip stood alone with MacDougall. The loaded +rifles, each with a filled cartridge belt hanging over the muzzle, were +arranged in a row along one of the walls. + +"I'll stake everything I've got on those men," he exclaimed. "Mac, did +it ever strike you that when you want REAL men you ought to come north +for them? Every one of those fellows is a northerner, except Cassidy, +and he's a fighter by birth. They'll die before they go back on their +word." + +MacDougall rubbed his hands and laughed softly. + +"What next, Phil?" + +"We must send the swiftest man you've got in camp after Billinger, and +get word to the other parties you sent out as quickly as we can. +They'll probably get in too late. Billinger may arrive in time." + +"He's been gone a week. It's doubtful if we can get him back within +three," said MacDougall. "I'll send St. Pierre's cousin, that young +Crow Feather, after him as soon as he can get a pack ready. You'd +better go to bed, Phil. You look like a dead man." + +Philip was not sure that he could sleep, notwithstanding the physical +strain he had been under during the past twenty-four hours. He was +filled with a nervous desire for continued action. Only action kept him +from thinking of Jeanne and Thorpe. After MacDougall had gone to stir +up young Crow Feather he undressed and stretched out in his bunk, +hoping that the Scotchman would soon return. Not until he closed his +eyes did he realize how tired he was. MacDougall came in an hour later, +and Philip was asleep. It was nine o'clock when he awoke. He went to +the cook's shanty, ate a hot breakfast of griddle-cakes and bacon, +drank a pint of strong coffee, and hunted up MacDougall. Sandy was just +coming from Thorpe's house. + +"He's a queer guinea, that Thorpe," said the engineer, after their +first greeting. "He doesn't pretend to do a pound's work. Notice his +hands when you see him again, Phil. They look as though he had been +drumming a piano all his life. But love o' mighty, how he does make the +OTHERS work. You want to go over and see his gang throw dirt." + +"That's where I'm going," said Philip. "Is Thorpe at home?" + +"Just leaving. There he is now!" + +At MacDougall's whistle Thorpe turned and waited for Philip. + +"Goin' over?" he asked, pleasantly, when Philip came up. + +"Yes. I want to see how your men work without a leader," replied +Philip. He paused for a moment to light his pipe, and pointed to a +group of men down on the lake shore. "See that gang?" he asked. +"They're building a scow. Take away their foreman and they wouldn't be +worth their grub. They're men we brought up from Winnipeg." + +Thorpe was rolling a cigarette. Under his arm he held a pair of light +gloves. + +"Mine are different," he laughed, quietly. + +"I know that," rejoined Philip, watching the skill of his long white +fingers. "That's why I want to see them in action, when you're away." + +"My policy is to know to a cubic foot what a certain number of men are +capable of doing in a certain time," explained Thorpe, as they walked +toward the plain. "My next move is to secure the men who will achieve +the result, whether I am present or not. That done, my work is done. +Simple, isn't it?" + +There was something likable about Thorpe. Even in his present mood +Philip could not but concede that. He was surprised in Thorpe, in more +ways than one. His voice was low, and filled with a certain +companionable quality that gave one confidence in him immediately. He +was apparently a man of education and of some little culture, in spite +of his vocation, which usually possesses a vocabulary of its own as +hard as rock. But Philip's greatest surprise came when he regarded +Thorpe's personal appearance. He judged that he was past forty, perhaps +forty-five, and the thought made him shudder inwardly. He was +twice--almost three times--as old as Jeanne. And yet there was about +him something irresistibly attractive, a fascination which had its +influence upon Philip himself. His nails dug into tie flesh of his +hands when he thought of this man--and Jeanne. + +Thorpe's gang was hard at work when they came to the end of the +rock-bed. Scarcely a man seemed to take notice when he appeared. There +was one exception, a wiry, red-faced little man who raised a hand to +his cap when he saw the foreman. + +"That's the sub-foreman," explained Thorpe. "He answers to me." The +little man had given a signal, and Thorpe added, "Excuse me for a +moment. He's got something on his mind." + +He drew a few steps aside, and Philip walked along the line of +laboring-men. He grinned and nodded to them, one after another. +MacDougall was right. They were the toughest lot of men he had ever +seen in one gang. + +Loud voices turned him about, and he saw that Thorpe and the +sub-foreman had approached a huge, heavy-shouldered man, with whom they +seemed to be in serious altercation. Two or three of the workmen had +drawn near, and Thorpe's voice rang out clear and vibrant. + +"You'll do that, Blake, or you'll shoulder your kit back home. And what +goes with you goes with your clique. I know your kind, and you can't +worry me. Take that pick and dig--or hike. There's no two ways about +it." + +Philip could not hear what the big man said, but suddenly Thorpe's fist +shot out and struck him fairly on the jaw. In another instant Thorpe +had jumped back, and was facing half a dozen angry, threatening men. He +had drawn a revolver, and his white teeth gleamed in a cool and +menacing smile. + +"Think it over, boys," he said, quietly. "And if you're not satisfied +come in and draw your pay this noon. We'll furnish you with outfits and +plenty of grub if you don't like the work up here. I don't care to hold +men like you to your contracts." + +He came to meet Philip, as though nothing unusual had happened. + +"That will delay the completion of our work for a week at least," he +said, as he thrust his revolver into a holster hidden under his coat. +"I've been expecting trouble with Blake and four or five of his pals +for some time. I'm glad it's over. Blake threatens a strike unless I +give him a sub-foremanship and increase the men's wages from six to ten +dollars a day. Think of it. A strike--up here! It would be the +beginning of history, wouldn't it?" + +He laughed softly, and Philip laughed from sheer admiration of the +man's courage. + +"You think they'll go?" he asked, anxiously. + +"I'm sure of it," replied Thorpe. "It's the best thing that can happen." + +An hour later Philip was back in camp. He did not see Thorpe again +until after dinner, and then the gang-foreman hunted him up. His face +wore a worried look. + +"It's a little worse than I expected," he said. "Blake and eight others +came in for their pay and outfits this noon. I didn't think that more +than three or four would have the nerve to quit." + +"I'll furnish you with men to take their places," said Philip. + +"There's the hitch," replied Thorpe, rolling a cigarette. "I want my +men to work by themselves. Put half a dozen of your amateur road-men +among them and it will mean twenty per cent. less work done, and +perhaps trouble. They're a tough lot. I concede that. I've thought of a +way to offset the loss of Blake and the others. We can set a gang of +your men at work over at Gray Beaver Lake, and they can build up to +meet us." + +Philip saw MacDougall soon after his short talk with Thorpe. The +engineer did not disguise his pleasure at the turn which affairs had +taken. + +"I'm glad they're going," he declared. "If there's to be trouble I'll +feel easier with that bunch out of camp. I'd give my next month's +salary if Thorpe would take his whole outfit back where they came from. +They're doing business with the road-bed all right, but I don't like +the idea of having 'em around when there are throats to be cut, one +side or t'other." + +Philip did not see Thorpe again that day. He selected his men for the +Gray Beaver work, and in the afternoon despatched a messenger over the +Fort Churchill route to meet Brokaw. He was confident that Brokaw and +his daughter would show up during the next few days, but at the same +time he instructed the messenger to go to Churchill if he should not +meet them on the way. Other men he sent to recall the prospecting +parties outfitted by MacDougall. Early in the evening the St. Pierres, +Lecault, and Henshaw joined him for a few minutes in the office. During +the day the four had done scout work five miles on all sides of the +camp. Lecault had shot a moose three miles to the south, and had hung +up the meat. One of the St. Pierres saw Blake and his gang on the way +to the Churchill. Beyond these two incidents they brought in no news. A +little later MacDougall brought in two other men whom he could trust, +and armed them with muzzle-loaders. They were the two last guns in the +camp. + +With ten men constantly prepared for attack, Philip began to feel that +he had the situation well in hand. It would be practically impossible +for his enemies to surprise the camp, and after their first day's scout +duty the men on the trail would always be within sound of rifle-shots, +even if they did not discover the advance of an attacking force in time +to beat them to camp. In the event of one making such a discovery he +was to signal the others by a series of shots, such as one might fire +at a running moose. + +Philip found it almost impossible to fight back his thoughts of Jeanne. +During the two or three days that followed the departure of Blake he +did not allow himself an hour's rest from early dawn until late at +night. Each night he went to bed exhausted, with the hope that sleep +would bury his grief. The struggle wore upon him, and the faithful +MacDougall began to note the change in his comrade's face. The fourth +day Thorpe disappeared and did not show up again until the following +morning. Every hour of his absence was like the stab of a knife in +Philip's heart, for he knew that the gang-foreman had gone to see +Jeanne. Three days later the visit was repeated, and that night +MacDougall found Philip in a fever. + +"You're overdoing," he told him. "You're not in bed five hours out of +the twenty-four. Cut it out, or you'll be in the hospital instead of in +the fighting line when the big show comes to town." + +Days of mental agony and of physical pain followed. Neither Philip nor +MacDougall could understand the mysterious lack of developments. They +had expected attack before this, and yet ceaseless scout work brought +in no evidence of an approaching crisis. Neither could they understand +the growing disaffection among Thorpe's men. The numerical strength of +the gang dwindled from nineteen down to fifteen, from fifteen to +twelve. At last Thorpe voluntarily asked Philip to cut his salary in +two, because he could not hold his men. On that same day the little +sub-foreman and two others left him, leaving only nine men at work. The +delay in Brokaw's arrival was another puzzle to Philip. Two weeks +passed, and in that time Thorpe left camp three times. On the fifteenth +day the Fort Churchill messenger returned. He was astounded when he +found that Brokaw was not in camp, and brought amazing news. Brokaw and +his daughter had departed from Fort Churchill two days after Pierre had +followed Jeanne and Philip. They had gone in two canoes, up the +Churchill. He had seen no signs of them anywhere along the route. + +No sooner had he received the news than Philip sent the messenger after +MacDougall. The Scotchman's red face stared at him blankly when he told +him what had happened. + +"That's their first move in the real fight," said Philip, with a hard +ring in his voice. "They've got Brokaw. Keep your men close from this +hour on, Sandy. Hereafter let five of them sleep in our bunks during +the day, and keep them awake during the night." + +Five days passed without a sign of an enemy. + +About eight o'clock on the night of the sixth MacDougall came into the +office, where Philip was alone. The young Scotchman's usually florid +face was white. He dropped a curse as he grasped the back of a chair +with both hands. It was the third or fourth time that Philip had heard +MacDougall swear. + +"Damn that Thorpe!" he cried, in a low voice. + +"What's up?" asked Philip, his muscles tightening. + +MacDougall viciously beat the ash from the bowl of his pipe. + +"I didn't want to worry you about Thorpe, so I've kept quiet about some +things," he growled. "Thorpe brought up a load of whisky with him. I +knew it was against the law you've set down for this camp, but I +figured you were having trouble enough without getting you into a +mix-up with him, so I didn't say anything. But this other--is damnable! +Twice he's had a woman sneak in to visit him. She's there again +to-night!" + +A choking, gripping sensation rose in Philip's throat. MacDougall was +not looking, and did not see the convulsive twitching of the other's +face, or the terrible light that shot for an instant into his eyes. + +"A woman--Mac--" + +"A YOUNG woman," said MacDougall, with emphasis. "I don't know who she +is, but I do know that she hasn't a right there or she wouldn't sneak +in like a thief. I'm going to be blunt--damned blunt. I think she's one +of the other men's wives. There are half a dozen in camp." + +"Haven't you ever looked--to see if you could recognize her?" + +"Haven't had the chance," said MacDougall. "She's been wrapped up both +times, and as it was none of my business I didn't lay in wait. But +now--it's up to you!" + +Philip rose slowly. He felt cold. He put on his coat and cap, and +buckled on his revolver. His face was deadly white when he turned to +MacDougall. + +"She is over there to-night?" + +"Sneaked in not half an hour ago, I saw her come out of the edge of the +spruce." + +"From the trail that leads out over the plain?" + +"Yes." + +Philip walked to the door. + +"I'm going over to call on Thorpe," he said, quietly. "I may not be +back for some time, Sandy." + +In the deep shadows outside he stood gazing at the light in Thorpe's +cabin. Then he walked slowly toward the spruce. He did not go to the +door, but leaned with his back against the building, near one of the +windows. The first shuddering sickness had gone from him. His temples +throbbed. At the sound of a voice inside which was Thorpe's the chill +in his blood turned to fire. The terrible fear that had fallen upon him +at MacDougall's words held him motionless, and his brain worked upon +but one idea--one determination. If it was Jeanne who came in this way, +he would kill Thorpe. If it was another woman, he would give Thorpe +that night to get out of the country. He waited. He heard the +gang-man's voice frequently, once in a loud, half-mocking laugh. Twice +he heard a lower voice--a woman's. For an hour he watched. He walked +back and forth in the gloom of the spruce, and waited another hour. +Then the light went out, and he slipped back to the corner of the cabin. + +After a moment the door opened, and a hooded figure came out, and +walked rapidly toward the trail that buried itself amid the spruce. +Philip ran around the cabin and followed. There was a little open +beyond the first fringe of spruce, and in this he ran up silently from +behind and overtook the one he was pursuing. As his hand fell upon her +arm the woman turned upon him with a frightened cry. Philip's hand +dropped. He took a step back. + +"My God! Jeanne--it is you!" + +His voice was husky, like a choking man's. For an instant Jeanne's +white, terrified face met his own. And then, without a word to him, she +fled swiftly down the trail. + +Philip made no effort to follow. For two or three minutes he stood like +a man turned suddenly into hewn rock, staring with unseeing eyes into +the gloom where Jeanne had disappeared. Then he walked back to the edge +of the spruce. There he drew his revolver, and cocked it. The starlight +revealed a madness in his face as he approached Thorpe's cabin. He was +smiling, but it was such a smile as presages death; a smile as +implacable as fate itself. + + + + +XXI + + +As Philip approached the cabin he saw a figure stealing away through +the gloom. His first thought was that he had returned a minute too late +to wreak his vengeance upon the gang-foreman in his own home, and he +quickened his steps in pursuit. The man ahead of him was cutting direct +for the camp supply-house, which was the nightly rendezvous of those +who wished to play cards or exchange camp gossip. The supply-house, +aglow with light, was not more than two hundred yards from Thorpe's, +and Philip saw that if he dealt out the justice he contemplated he had +not a moment to lose. He began to run, so quickly that he approached +within a dozen paces of the man he was pursuing without being heard. It +was not until then that he made a discovery which stopped him. The man +ahead was not Thorpe. Suddenly, looking beyond him, he saw a second +figure pass slowly through the lighted door of the supply-house. Even +at that distance he recognized the gang-foreman. He thrust his revolver +under his coat and fell a little farther behind the man he had mistaken +for Thorpe so that when the latter passed within the small circle of +light that came from the supply-house windows he was fifty instead of a +dozen paces away. Something in the other's manner, something strangely +and potently familiar in his slim, lithe form, in the quick, +half-running movement of his body, drew a sharp breath from Philip. He +was on the point of calling a name, but it died on his lips. A moment +more and the man passed through the door. Philip was certain that it +was Pierre Couchee who had followed Thorpe. + +He was filled with a sudden fear as he ran toward the store. He had +scarcely crossed the threshold when a glance showed him Thorpe leaning +upon a narrow counter, and Pierre close beside him. He saw that the +half-breed was speaking, and Thorpe drew himself erect. Then, as quick +as a flash, two things happened. Thorpe's hand went to his belt, +Pierre's sent a lightning gleam of steel back over his shoulder. The +terrible drive of the knife and the explosion of Thorpe's revolver came +in the same instant. Thorpe crumpled back over the counter, clutching +at his breast. Pierre turned about, staggering, and saw Philip. His +eyes lighted up, and with a moaning cry he stretched out his arms as +Philip sprang to him. Above the sudden tumult of men's feet and excited +voices he gasped out Jeanne's name. Half a dozen men had crowded about +them. Through the ring burst MacDougall, a revolver in his hand. Pierce +had become a dead weight in Philip's arms. + +"Help me over to the cabin with him, Mac," he said. He looked around +among the men. It struck him as curious, even then, that he saw none of +Thorpe's gang. "Is Thorpe done for?" he asked. + +"He's dead," replied some one. + +With an effort Pierre opened his eyes. + +"Dead!" he breathed, and in that one word there was a tremble of joy +and triumph. + +"Take Thorpe over to his cabin," commanded Philip, as he and MacDougall +lifted Pierre between them. "I will answer for this man." + +They could hear Pierre's sobbing breath as they hurried across the +open. They laid him on Philip's bunk and Pierre opened his eyes again. +He looked at Philip. + +"M'sieur," he whispered, "tell me--quick--if I must die!" + +MacDougall had studied medicine and surgery before engineering, and +took the place of camp physician. Philip drew back while he ripped open +the half-breed's garments and bared his breast. Then he darted to his +bunk for the satchel in which he kept his bandages and medicines, +throwing off his coat as he went. Philip bent over Pierre. Blood was +oozing slowly from the wounded man's right breast. Over his heart +Philip noticed a blood-stained locket, fastened by a babiche string +about his neck. + +Pierre's hands groped eagerly for Philip's. + +"M'sieur--you will tell me--if I must die?" he pleaded. "There are +things you must know--about Jeanne--if I go. It will not hurt. I am not +afraid. You will tell me--" + +"Yes," said Philip. + +He could scarcely speak, and while MacDougall was at work stood so that +Pierre could not see his face. There was a sobbing note in Pierre's +breath, and he knew what it meant. He had heard that same sound more +than once when he had shot moose and caribou through the lungs. Five +minutes later MacDougall straightened himself. He had done all that he +could. Philip followed him to the back part of the room. Almost without +sound his lips framed the words, "Will he die?" + +"Yes," said MacDougall. "There is no hope. He may last until morning." + +Philip took a stool and sat down beside Pierre. There was no fear in +the wounded man's face. His eyes were clear. His voice was a little +stronger. + +"I will die, M'sieur," he said, calmly. + +"I am afraid so, Pierre." + +Pierre's damp fingers closed about his own. His eyes shone softly, and +he smiled. + +"It is best," he said, "and I am glad. I feel quite well. I will live +for some time?" + +"Perhaps for a few hours, Pierre." + +"God is good to me," breathed Pierre, devoutly. "I thank Him. Are we +alone?" + +"Do you wish to be alone?" + +"Yes." + +Philip motioned to MacDougall, who went into the little office room. + +"I will die," whispered Pierre, softly, as though he were achieving a +triumph. "And everything would die with me, M'sieur, if I did not know +that you love Jeanne, and that you will care for her when I am gone. +M'sieur, I have told you that I love her. I have worshiped her, next to +my God. I die happy, knowing that I am dying for her. If I had lived I +would have suffered, for I love alone. She does not dream that my love +is different from hers, for I have never told her. It would have given +her pain. And you will never let her know. As Our Dear Lady is my +witness, M'sieur, she has loved but one man, and that man is you." + +Pierre gave a great breath. A warm flood seemed suddenly to engulf +Philip. Did he hear right? Could he believe? He fell upon his knees +beside Pierre and brushed his dark hair back from his face. + +"Yes, I love her," he said, softly. "But I did not know that she loved +me." + +"It is not strange," said Pierre, looking straight into his eyes. "But +you will understand--now--M'sieur. I seem to have strength, and I will +tell you all--from the beginning. Perhaps I have done wrong. You will +know--soon. You remember Jeanne told you the story of the baby--of the +woman frozen in the snow. That was the beginning of the long fight--for +me. This--what I am about to tell you--will be sacred to you, M'sieur?" + +"As my life," said Philip. + +Pierre was silent for a few moments. He seemed to be gathering his +thoughts, so that he could tell in few words the tragedy of years. Two +brilliant spots burned in his cheeks, and the hand which Philip held +was hot. + +"Years ago--twenty, almost--there came a man to Fort o' God," he began. +"He was very young, and from the south. D'Arcambal was then +middle-aged, but his wife was young and beautiful. Jeanne says that you +saw her picture--against the wall. D'Arcambal worshiped her. She was +his life. You understand what happened. The man from the south--the +young wife--they went away together." + +Pierre coughed. A bit of blood reddened his lips. Philip wiped it away +gently with his handkerchief, hiding the stain from Pierre's eyes. + +"Yes," he said, "I understand." + +"It broke D'Arcambal's heart," resumed Pierre. "He destroyed everything +that had belonged to the woman. He turned her picture to the wall. His +love turned slowly to hate. It was two years later that I came over the +barrens one night and found Jeanne and her dead mother. The woman, +M'sieur--Jeanne's mother--was D'Arcambal's wife. She was returning to +Fort o' God, and God's justice overtook her almost at its doors. I +carried little Jeanne to my Indian mother, and then made ready to carry +the woman to her husband. It was then that a terrible thought came to +me. Jeanne was not D'Arcambal's daughter. She was a part of the man who +had stolen his wife. I worshiped the little Jeanne even then, and for +her sake my mother and I swore secrecy, and buried the woman. Then we +took the babe to Fort o' God as a stranger. We saved her. We saved +D'Arcambal. No one ever knew." + +Pierre stopped for breath. + +"Was it best?" + +"It was glorious," said Philip, trembling. + +"It would have come out right--in the end--if the father had not +returned," said Pierre. "I must hurry, M'sieur, for it hurts me now to +talk. He came first a year ago, and revealed himself to Jeanne. He told +her everything. D'Arcambal was rich; Jeanne and I both had money. He +threatened--we bought him off. We fought to keep the terrible thing +from D'Arcambal. Our money sent him away for a time. Then he returned. +It was news of him I brought up the river to Jeanne--from Churchill. I +offered to kill him--but Jeanne would not listen to that. But the Great +God willed that I should. I killed him to-night--over there!" + +A great joy surged above the grief in Philip's heart. He could not +speak, but pressed Pierre's hand harder, and looked into his glistening +eyes. + +Pierre's next words broke his silence, and wrung a low cry from his +lips. + +"M'sieur, this man Thorpe--Jeanne's father--is the man whom you know as +Lord Fitzhugh Lee." + +He coughed violently, and with sudden fear Philip lifted his head so +that it rested against his shoulder. After a moment he lowered it +again. His face was as white as Pierre's after that sudden fit of +coughing. + +"I talked with him--alone--on the afternoon of the fight on the rock," +continued Pierre, huskily. "He was hiding in the woods near Churchill, +and left for Fort o' God on that same day. I did not tell Jeanne--until +after what happened, and I came up with you on the river. Thorpe was +waiting for us at Fort o' God. It was he whom Jeanne saw that night +beside the rock, but I could not tell you the truth--then. He came +often after that--two, three times a week. He tortured Jeanne. My God! +he taunted her, M'sieur, and made her let him kiss her, because he was +her father. We gave him money--all that we could get; we promised him +more, if he would leave--five thousand dollars--in three years. He +agreed to go--after he had finished his work here. And that +work--M'sieur--was to destroy you. He told Jeanne, because it made her +fear him more. He compelled her to come to his cabin. He thought she +was his slave, that she would do anything to be free of him. He told +her of his plot--how he had fooled you in the sham fight with one of +his men--how those men were going to attack you a little later, and how +he had intercepted your letter from Churchill and sent in its place the +other letter which made your camp defenseless. He was not afraid of +her. She was in his power, and he laughed at her horror, and tortured +her as a cat will a bird. But Jeanne--" + +A spasm of pain shot over Pierre's face. Fresh blood dyed his lips, and +a shiver ran through his body. + +"My God!--water--something--M'sieur," he gasped. "I must go on!" + +Philip raised him again in his arms. He saw MacDougall's head appear +through the door. + +"You will rest easier this way, Pierre," he said. + +After a few moments Pierre spoke in a gasping whisper. + +"You must understand. I must be quick," he said. "We could not warn you +of what Jeanne had discovered. That would have revealed her father. +D'Arcambal would have known--every one. Thorpe plans to dress his +men--like Indians. They are to attack your camp to-morrow night. Ten +days ago we went to the camp of old Sachigo, the Cree, who loves Jeanne +as his own daughter. It was Jeanne's idea--to save you. Jeanne told him +of Thorpe's plot to destroy you, and to lay the blame on Sachigo's +people. Sachigo is out there--in the mountains--hiding with thirty of +his tribe. Two days ago Jeanne learned where her father's men were +hiding. We had planned everything. To-morrow night--when they move to +attack--we were to start a signal-fire on the big rock mountain at the +end of the lake. Sachigo starts at the signal, and lays in ambush for +the others in the ravine between the two mountains. None of Thorpe's +men will come out alive. Sachigo and his people will destroy them, and +none will ever know how it happened, for the Crees keep their secrets. +But now--it is too late--for me. When it happens--I will be gone. The +signal-pile is built--birch-bark--at the very top of the rock. Jeanne +will wait for me out on the plain--and I will not come. You must fire +the signal, M'sieur--as soon as it is dark. None will ever know. +Jeanne's father is dead. You will keep the secret--of her +mother--always--" + +"Forever," said Philip. + +MacDougall came into the room, He brought a glass, partly filled with a +colored liquid, and placed it to Pierre's lips. Pierre swallowed with +an effort, and with a significant hunch of his shoulders for Philip's +eyes alone the engineer returned to the little room. + +"Mon Dieu, how it burns!" said Pierre, as if to himself. "May I lie +down again, M'sieur?" + +Philip lowered him gently. He made no effort to speak in these moments. +Pierre's eyes were dark and luminous as they sought his own. The +draught he had taken gave him a passing strength. + +"I saw Thorpe again this afternoon," he said, more calmly. "D'Arcambal +thought I had taken Jeanne to visit a trapper's wife down the +Churchill. I saw Thorpe--alone. He had been drinking. He laughed at me, +and said that Jeanne and I were fools--that he would not leave as he +had said he would--but that he would remain--always. I told Jeanne, and +asked her again to let me kill him. But she said no--and I had taken my +oath to her. Jeanne saw him again to-night. I was near the cabin, and +saw you. I told him I would kill him if he did not go. He laughed +again, and struck me. When I came to my feet he was half across the +open; I followed. I forgot my oath. Rage filled my heart. You know what +happened. You will tell Jeanne--so that she will understand--" + +"Can we not send for her?" asked Philip. "She must be near." + +"No, M'sieur," he replied, softly. "It would only give her great pain +to see me--like this. She was to meet me to-night--at twelve +o'clock--on the trail where the road-bed crosses. You will meet her in +my place. When she understands all that has happened you may bring her +here, if she wishes to come. Then--to-morrow night--you will go +together to fire the signal." + +"But Thorpe is dead," said Philip. "Will they attack without him?" + +"There is another, besides him," said Pierre. "That is one secret which +Thorpe has kept from Jeanne--who the other is--the one who is paying to +have you destroyed. Yes--they will attack." + +Philip bent low over Pierre. + +"I have known of this plot for a long time, Pierre," he said, tensely. +"I know that this Thorpe, who for some reason has passed as Lord +Fitzhugh Lee, is but the agent of a more powerful force behind him. +Have you told me all, Pierre? Do you know nothing more?" + +"Nothing, M'sieur." + +"Was it Thorpe who attacked you on the cliff at Churchill?" + +"No, I am sure that it was not he. If the attack had not failed--it +would have meant loss--for him. I have laid it to the ruffians who +wanted to kill me--and secure Jeanne. You understand--" + +"Yes, but I do not believe that was the motive for the attack, Pierre," +said Philip. "Did Thorpe go to see any one in Churchill?" + +"I don't know. He was concealing himself in the forest." + +A convulsive shudder ran through Pierre's body. He gave a low cry of +pain, and his hand clutched at the babiche cord which held the locket +about his neck. + +"M'sieur," he whispered, quickly, "this locket--was on the little +Jeanne--when I found her in the snow. I kept it because it bears the +woman's initials. I am foolish, M'sieur. I am weak. But I would like to +have it buried with me--under the old tree--where Jeanne's mother lies. +And if you could, M'sieur--if you only could--place something of +Jeanne's in my hand--I would rest easier." + +Philip bowed his head in silence, while his eyes grew blinding hot. +Pierre pressed his hand. + +"She loves you--as I love her," he whispered, so low that Philip could +scarcely hear. "You will love her--always. If you do not--the Great God +will let the curse of Pierre Couchee fall upon you!" + +Choking back the great sobs that rose in his breast, Philip sank upon +his knees beside Pierre, and buried his face in his arms like a +heartbroken boy. For several moments there was a silence, punctuated by +the rasping breath of the wounded man. Suddenly this sound ceased, and +Philip felt a cold fear leap through him. He listened, neither +breathing nor lifting his head. In that interval of pulseless quiet a +terrible cry came from Pierre's lips, and when Philip looked up the +dying half-breed had struggled to a sitting posture, blood staining his +lips again, his eyes blazing, his white face damp with the clammy touch +of death, and was staring through the cabin window. It was the window +that looked out over the lake, toward the rock mountain half a mile +away. Philip turned, horrified and wondering. Through the window he saw +a glow in the sky--the glow of a fire, leaping up in a crimson flood +from the top of the mountain! + +Again that terrible, moaning cry fell from Pierre's lips, and he +reached out his arms toward the signal that was blazing forth its +warning in the night. + +"Jeanne--Jeanne--" he sobbed. "My Jeanne--" + +He swayed, and fell back. His words came in choking gasps. + +"The signal!" he struggled, fighting to make Philip understand him. +"Jeanne--saw--Thorpe--to-night. He--must--changed--plans. +Attack--to-night. Jeanne--Jeanne--my Jeanne--has lighted--the +signal--fire!" + +A tremor ran through his body, and he lay still. MacDougall ran across +from the half-open door, and put his head to Pierre's breast. + +"Is he dead?" asked Philip. + +"Not yet." + +"Will he become conscious again?" + +"Possibly." + +Philip gripped MacDougall by the arm. + +"The attack is to be made to-night, Mac," he exclaimed. "Warn the men. +Have them ready. But you--YOU, MacDougall, attend to this man, AND KEEP +HIM ALIVE!" + +Without another word he ran to the door and out into the night. The +signal-fire was leaping to the sky. It lighted up the black cap of the +mountain, and sent a thousand aurora fires flashing across the lake. +And Philip, as he ran swiftly through the camp toward the narrow trail +that led to that mountain-top, repeated over and over again the dying +words of Pierre-- + +"Jeanne--my Jeanne--my Jeanne--" + + + + +XXII + + +News of the double tragedy had swept through the camp, and there was a +crowd in front of the supply-house. Philip passed close to Thorpe's +house to avoid discovery, ran a hundred yards up the trail over which +Jeanne had fled a short time before, and then cut straight across +through the thin timber for the head of the lake. He felt no effort in +his running. Low bush whipped him in the face and left no sting. He was +not conscious that he was panting for breath when he came out in the +black shadow of the mountain. This night in itself had been a creation +for him, for out of grief and pain it had lifted him into a new life, +and into a happiness that seemed to fill him with the strength and the +endurance of five men. Jeanne loved him! The wonderful truth cried +itself out in his soul at every step he took, and he murmured it aloud +to himself, over and over again, as he ran. + +The glow of the signal-fire lighted up the sky above him, and he +climbed up, higher and higher, scrambling swiftly from rock to rock, +until he saw the tips of the flames licking up into the sky. He had +come up the steepest and shortest side of the ridge, and when he +reached the top he lay upon his face for a moment, his breath almost +gone. + +The fire was built against a huge dead pine, and the pine was blazing a +hundred feet in the air. He could feel its heat. The monster torch +illumined the barren cap of the rock from edge to edge, and he looked +about him for Jeanne. For a moment he did not see her, and her name +rose to his lips, to be stilled in the same breath by what he saw +beyond the burning pine. Through the blaze of the heat and fire fie +beheld Jeanne, standing close to the edge of the mountain, gazing into +the south and west. He called her name. Jeanne turned toward him with a +startled cry, and Philip was at her side. The girl's face was white and +strained. Her lips were twisted in pain at sight of him. She spoke no +word, but a strange sound rose in her throat, a welling-up of the +sudden despair which the fire-light revealed in her eyes. For one +moment they stood apart, and Philip tried to speak. And then, suddenly, +he reached out and drew her quickly into his arms--so quickly that +there was no time for her to escape, so closely that her sweet face lay +imprisoned upon his breast, as he had held it once before, under the +picture at Fort o' God. He felt her straining to free herself; he saw +the fear in her eyes, and he tried to speak calmly, while his heart +throbbed with the passion of love which he wished to pour into her ears. + +"Listen, Jeanne," he said. "Pierre has sent me to you. He has told me +everything--everything, my sweetheart. There is nothing to keep from me +now. I know. I understand. And I love you--love you--love you--my own +sweet Jeanne!" + +She trembled at his words. He felt her shuddering in his arms, and her +eyes gazed at him wonderingly, filled with a strange and incredulous +look, while her lips quivered and remained speechless. He drew her +nearer, until his face was against her own, and the warmth of her lips, +her eyes, and her hair entered into him, and near stifled his heart +with joy. + +"He has told me everything, my little Jeanne," he said again, in a +whisper that rose just above the crackling of the pine. "Everything. He +told me because he knew that I loved you, and because--" + +The words choked in his throat. At this hesitation Jeanne drew her head +back, and, with her hands pressing against his breast, looked into his +face. There were in her eyes the same struggling emotions, but with +them now there came also a sweet faltering, a piteous appeal to him, a +faith that rose above her terrors, and the tremble of her lips was like +that of a crying child. He drew her face back, and kissed the quivering +lips, and suddenly he felt the strain against him give way, and +Jeanne's head sobbed upon his breast. In that moment, looking where the +roaring pine sent its pinnacles of flame leaping up into the night, a +word of thanks, of prayer, rose mutely to his lips, and he held Jeanne +more closely, and whispered over and over again in his happiness, +"Jeanne--Jeanne--my sweetheart Jeanne." + +Jeanne's sobs grew less and less, and Philip strengthened himself to +tell her the terrible news of Pierre. He knew that in the selfishness +of his own joy he had already wasted precious minutes, and very gently +he took Jeanne's wet face between his two hands and turned it a little +toward his own. + +"Pierre has told me everything, Jeanne," he repeated. "Everything--from +the day he found you many years ago to the day your father returned to +torture you." He spoke calmly, even as he felt her shiver in pain +against him. "To-night there was a little trouble down in the camp, +dear. Pierre is wounded, and wants you to come to him. +Thorpe--is--dead." + +For an instant Philip was frightened at what happened. Jeanne's breath +ceased. There seemed to be not a quiver of life in her body, and she +lay in his arms as if dead. And then, suddenly, there came from her a +terrible cry, and she wrenched herself free, and stood a step from him, +her face as white as death. + +"He--is--dead--" + +"Yes, he is dead." + +"And Pierre--Pierre killed him?" + +Philip held out his arms, but Jeanne did not seem to see them. She saw +the answer in his face. + +"And--Pierre--is--hurt--" she went on, never taking her wide, luminous +eyes from his face. + +Before he answered Philip took her trembling hands in his own, as +though he would lighten the blow by the warmth and touch of his great +love. + +"Yes, he is hurt, Jeanne," he said. "We must hurry, for I am afraid +there is no time to lose." + +"He is--dying?" + +"I fear so, Jeanne." + +He turned before the look that came into her face, and led her about +the circle of fire to the side of the mountain that sloped down into +the plain. Suddenly Jeanne stopped for an instant. Her fingers +tightened about his. Her face was turned back into the endless +desolation of night and forest that lay to the south and west. Far +out--a mile--two miles--an answering fire was breaking the black +curtain that hid all things beyond them. Jeanne lifted her face to him. +Grief and love, pain and joy, shone in her eyes. + +"They are there!" she said, chokingly. "It is Sachigo, and they are +coming--coming--coming--" + +Once again before they began the descent of the mountain Philip drew +her close in his arms, and kissed her. And this time there was the +sweet surrender to him of all things in the tenderness of Jeanne's +lips. Silent in their grief, and yet communing in sympathy and love in +the firm clasp of their hands, they came down the mountain, through the +thin spruce forest, and to the lighted cabin where Pierre lay dying. +MacDougall was in the room when they entered, and rose softly, +tiptoeing into the little office. Philip led Jeanne to Pierre's side, +and as he bent over him, and spoke softly, the half-breed opened his +eyes. He saw Jeanne. Into his fading eyes there came a wonderful light. +His lips moved, and his hands strove to lift themselves above the +crumpled blanket. Jeanne dropped upon her knees beside him, and as she +clasped his chilled hands to her breast a glorious understanding +lighted up her face; and then she took Pierre's face between her hands, +and bowed her own close down to it, so that the two were hidden under +the beauteous halo of her hair. Philip gripped at his throat to hold +back a sob. A terrible stillness came into the room, and he dared not +move. It seemed a long time before Jeanne lifted her head, slowly, +tenderly, as if fearing to awaken a sleeping child. She turned to him, +and he read the truth in her face before she had spoken. Her voice was +low and calm, filled with the sweetness and tenderness and strength +that come only to a woman in the final moment of a great sorrow. + +"Leave us, Philip," she said. "Pierre is dead." + + + + + +XXIII + + +For a moment Philip bowed his head, and then he turned and went +noiselessly from the room, without speaking. As he closed the door +softly behind him he looked back, and from her attitude beside Pierre +he knew that Jeanne was whispering a prayer. A vision flashed before +him, so quick that it had come like a ray of light--a vision of another +hour, years and years ago, when Pierre had knelt beside HER, and when +he had lifted up his wild, half-thought prayer out in the death-chill +of the snowy barrens. And this was his reward, to have Jeanne kneel +beside him as the soul which had loved her so faithfully took its +flight. + +Philip could not see when he turned his face to the light of the +office. For the first time the grief which he had choked back escaped +in a gasping break in his voice, and he wiped his eyes with his +pocket-handkerchief. He knew that MacDougall was looking upon his +weakness, but he did not at first see that there was another person in +the room besides the engineer. This second person rose to meet him, +while MacDougall remained in his seat, and as he came out into the +clearer light of the room Philip could scarce believe his eyes. + +It was Gregson! + +"I am sorry that I came in just at this time, Phil," he greeted, in a +low voice. + +Philip stared, still incredulous. He had never seen Gregson as he +looked now. The artist advanced no farther. He did not hold out his +hand. There was none of the joy of meeting in his face. His eyes +shifted to the door that led into the death-chamber, and they were +filled with the gloom of a condemned man. With a low word Philip held +out his hand to meet his old comrade's. Gregson drew back. + +"No--not now," he said. "Wait--until you have heard me." + +Something in his cold, passionless voice stopped Philip. He saw Gregson +glance toward MacDougall, and understood what he meant. Going to the +engineer, he placed a hand on his shoulder, and spoke so that only he +could hear. + +"She is in there, Mac--with Pierre. She wanted to be alone with him for +a few minutes. Will you wait for her--outside--at the door, and take +her over to Cassidy's wife? Tell her that I will come to her in a +little while." + +He followed MacDougall to the door, speaking to him in a low voice, and +then turned to Gregson. The artist had seated himself at one side of +the small office table, and Philip sat down opposite him, holding out +his hand to him again. + +"What is the matter, Greggy?" + +"This is not a time for long explanations," said the artist, still +holding back his hand. "They can come later, Phil. But +to-night--now--you must understand why I cannot shake hands with you. +We have been friends for a good many years. In a few minutes we will be +enemies--or you will be mine. One thing, before I go on, I must ask of +you. I demand it. Whatever passes between us during the next ten +minutes, say no word against Eileen Brokaw. I will say what you might +say--that for a time her soul wandered, and was almost lost. But it has +come back to her, strong and pure. I love her. Some strange fate has +ordained that she should love me, worthless as I am. She is to be my +wife." + +Philip's hand was still across the table. + +"Greggy--Greggy--God bless you!" he cried, softly. "I know what it is +to love, and to be loved. Why should I be your enemy because Eileen +Brokaw's heart has turned to gold, and she has given it to you? Greggy, +shake!" + +"Wait," said Gregson, huskily. "Phil, you are breaking my heart. +Listen. You got my note? But I did not desert you so abominably. I made +a discovery that last night of yours in Churchill. I went to Eileen +Brokaw, and to-morrow--some time--if you care I will tell you of all +that happened. First you must know this. I have found the 'power' that +is fighting you down below. I have found the man who is behind the plot +to ruin your company, the man who is responsible for Thorpe's crimes, +the man who is responsible--for--that--in--there." + +He leaned across the table and pointed to the closed door. + +"And that man--" + +For a moment he seemed to choke. + +"Is Brokaw, the father of my affianced wife!" + +"Good God!" cried Philip. "Gregson, are you mad?" + +"I was almost mad, when I first made the discovery," said Gregson, as +cold as ice. "But I am sane now. His scheme was to have the government +annul your provisional license. Thorpe and his men were to destroy this +camp, and kill you. The money on hand from stock, over six hundred +thousand dollars, would have gone into Brokaw's pockets. There is no +need of further detail--now--for you can understand. He knew Thorpe, +and secured him as his agent. It was merely a whim of Thorpe's to take +the name of Lord Fitzhugh instead of something less conspicuous. Three +months before Brokaw came to Churchill he wished to get detailed +instructions to Thorpe which he dared not trust to a wilderness mail +service. He could find no messenger whom he dared trust. So he sent +Eileen. She was at Fort o' God for a week. Then she came to Churchill, +where we saw her. The scheme was that Brokaw should bribe the ship's +captain to run close into Blind Eskimo Point, at night, and signal to +Thorpe and Eileen, who would be waiting. It worked, and Eileen and +Thorpe came on with the ship. At the landing--you remember--Eileen was +met by the girl from Fort o' God. In order not to betray herself to you +she refused to recognize her. Later she told her father, and Thorpe and +Brokaw saw in it an opportunity to strike a first blow. Brokaw had +brought two men whom he could trust, and Thorpe had four or five others +at Churchill. The attack on the cliff followed, the object being to +kill the man, but take the girl unharmed, A messenger was to take the +news of what happened to Fort o' God, and lay the crime to men who had +run up to Churchill from your camp. Chance favored you that night, and +you spoiled their plan. Chance favored me, and I found Eileen. It is +useless for me to go into detail as to what happened after that, except +to say this--that Eileen knew nothing of the proposed attack, that she +was ignorant of the heinousness of the plot against you, and that she +was almost as much a tool of her father as you. Phil--" + +For the first time there came a pleading light into Gregson's eyes as +he leaned across the table. + +"Phil, if it wasn't for Eileen I would not be here. I thought that she +would kill herself when I told her as much of the story as I knew. She +told me what she had done; she confessed for her father. In that hour +of her agony I could not keep back my love. We plotted. I forged a +letter, and made it possible to accompany Brokaw and Eileen up the +Churchill. It was not my purpose to join you, and so Eileen professed +to be taken ill. We camped, back from the river, and I sent our two +Indians back to Churchill, for Eileen and I wished to be alone with +Brokaw in the terrible hour that was coming. That is all. Everything is +revealed. I have come to you as quickly as I could, to find that Thorpe +is dead. In my own selfishness I would have shielded Brokaw, arguing +that he could pay Thorpe, and work honorably henceforth. You would +never have known. It is Eileen who makes this confession, not I. Phil, +her last words to me were these: 'You love me. Then you will tell him +all this. Only after this, if he shows us a mercy which we do not +deserve, can I be your wife.' + +"There is only one other thing to add. I have shown Brokaw a ray of +hope. He will hand over to you all his rights in the company and the +six hundred thousand in the treasury. He will sign over to you, as +repurchase money for whatever stock you wish to call in, practically +his whole fortune--five hundred thousand. He will disappear, completely +and forever. Eileen and I will hunt out our own little corner in a new +world, and you will never hear of us again. This is what we have +planned to do, if you show us mercy." + +Philip had not spoken during Gregson's terrible recital. He sat like +one turned to stone. Rage, wonder, and horror burned so fiercely in his +heart that they consumed all evidence of emotion. And to arouse him now +there came an interruption that sent the blood flushing back into his +face--a low knock at the closed door, a slow lifting of the latch, the +appearance of Jeanne. Through her tears she saw only the man she loved, +and sobbing aloud now, like a child, she stretched out her arms to him; +and when he sprang to her and caught her to his breast, she whispered +his name again and again, and stroked his face with her hands. Love, +overpowering, breathing of heaven, was in her touch, and as she lifted +her face to him of her own sweet will now, entreating him to kiss her +and to comfort her for what she had lost, he saw Gregson moving with +bowed head, like a stricken thing, toward the outer door. In that +moment the things that had been in his heart melted away, and raising a +hand above his head, he called, softly: + +"Tom Gregson, my old chum, if you have found a love like this, thank +your God. My own love I would lose if I destroyed yours. Go back to +Eileen. Tell Brokaw that I accept his offers. And when you come back in +a few days, bring Eileen. My Jeanne will love her." + +And Jeanne, looking from Philip's face, saw Gregson, for the first +time, as he passed through the door. + + + + +XXIV + + +Both Philip and Jeanne were silent for some moments after Gregson had +gone; their only movement was the gentle stroking of Philip's hand over +the girl's soft hair. Their hearts were full, too full for speech. And +yet he knew that upon his strength depended everything now. The +revelations of Gregson, which virtually ended the fight against him +personally, were but trivial in his thoughts compared with the ordeal +which was ahead of Jeanne. Both Pierre and her father were dead, and, +with the exception of Jeanne, no one but he knew of the secret that had +died with them. He could feel against him the throbbing of the storm +that was passing in the girl's heart, and in answer to it he said +nothing in words, but held her to him with a gentleness that lifted her +face, quiet and beautiful, so that her eyes looked steadily and +questioningly into his own. + +"You love me," she said, simply, and yet with a calmness that sent a +curious thrill through him. + +"Beyond all else in the world," he replied. + +She still looked at him, without speaking, as though through his eyes +she was searching to the bottom of his soul. + +"And you know," she whispered, after a moment. + +He drew her so close she could not move, and crushed his face down +against her own. + +"Jeanne--Jeanne--everything is as it should be," he said. "I am glad +that you were found out in the snows. I am glad that the woman in the +picture was your mother. I would have nothing different than it is, for +if things were different you would not be the Jeanne that I know, and I +would not love you so. You have suffered, sweetheart. And I, too, have +had my share of sorrow. God has brought us together, and all is right +in the end. Jeanne--my sweet Jeanne--" + +Gregson had left the outer door slightly ajar. A gust of wind opened it +wider. Through it there came now a sound that interrupted the words on +Philip's lips, and sent a sudden quiver through Jeanne. In an instant +both recognized the sound. It was the firing of rifles, the shots +coming to them faintly from far beyond the mountain at the end of the +lake. Moved by the same impulse, they ran to the door, hand in hand. + +"It is Sachigo!" panted Jeanne. She could hardly speak. She seemed to +struggle to get breath, "I had forgotten. They are fighting--" + +MacDougall strode up from his post beside the door, where he had been +waiting for the appearance of Jeanne. + +"Firing--off there," he said. "What does it mean?" + +"We must wait and see," replied Philip. "Send two of your men to +investigate, Mac. I will rejoin you after I have taken Miss d'Arcambal +over to Cassidy's wife." + +He moved away quickly with Jeanne. On a sudden rise of the wind from +the south the firing came to them more distinctly. Then it died away, +and ended in three or four intermittent shots. For the space of a dozen +seconds a strange stillness followed, and then over the mountain top, +where there was still a faint glow in the sky, there came the low, +quavering, triumphal cry of the Crees: a cry born of the forest itself, +mournful even in its joy, only half human--almost like a far-away burst +of tongue from a wolf pack on the hunt trail. And after that there was +an unbroken silence. + +"It is over," breathed Philip. + +He felt Jeanne's fingers tighten about his own. + +"No one will ever know," he continued. "Even MacDougall will not guess +what has happened out there--to-night." + +He stopped a dozen paces from Cassidy's cabin. The windows were aglow, +and they could hear the laughter and play of Cassidy's two children +within. Gently he drew Jeanne to him. + +"You will stay here to-night, dear," he said. "To-morrow we will go to +Fort o' God." + +"You must take me home to-night," whispered Jeanne, looking up into his +face. "I must go, Philip. Send some one with me, and you can come--in +the morning--with Pierre--" + +She put her hand to his face again, in the sweet touch that told more +of her love than a thousand words. + +"You understand, dear," she went on, seeing the anxiety in his eyes. "I +have the strength--to-night. I must return to father, and he will know +everything--when you come to Fort o' God." + +"I will send MacDougall with you," said Philip, after a moment. "And +then I will follow--" + +"With Pierre." + +"Yes, with Pierre." + +For a brief space longer they stood outside of Cassidy's cabin, and +then Philip, lifting her face, said gently: + +"Will you kiss me, dear? It is the first time." + +He bent down, and Jeanne's lips reached his own. + +"No, it is not the first time," she confessed, in a whisper. "Not since +that day--when I thought you were dying--after we came through the +rapids--" + +Five minutes later Philip returned to MacDougall. Roberts, Henshaw, +Cassidy, and Lecault were with the engineer. + +"I've sent the St. Pierres to find out about the firing," he said. +"Look at the crowd over at the store. Every one heard it, and they've +seen the fire on the mountain. They think the Indians have cornered a +moose or two and are shooting them by the blaze." + +"They're probably right," said Philip. "I want a word with you, Mac." + +He walked a little aside with the engineer, leaving the others in a +group, and in a low voice told him as much as he cared to reveal about +the identity of Thorpe and Gregson's mission in camp. Then he spoke of +Jeanne. + +"I believe that the death of Thorpe practically ends all danger to us," +he concluded. "I'm going to offer you a pleasanter job than fighting, +Mac. It is imperative that Miss d'Arcambal should return to D'Arcambal +House before morning, and I want you to take her, if you will. I'm +choosing the best man I've got because--well, because she's going to be +my wife, Mac. I'm the happiest man on earth to-night!" + +MacDougall did not show surprise. + +"Guessed it," he said, shortly, thrusting out a hand and grinning +broadly into Philip's face "Couldn't help from seeing, Phil. And the +firing, and Thorpe, and that half-breed in there--" + +Understanding was slowly illuminating his face. + +"You'll know all about them a little later, Mac," said Philip softly. +"To-night we must investigate nothing--very far. Miss d'Arcambal must +be taken home immediately. Will you go?" + +"With pleasure." + +"She can ride one of the horses as far as the Little Churchill," +continued Philip. "And there she will show you a canoe. I will follow +in the morning with the body of Pierre, the half-breed." + +A quarter of an hour later MacDougall and Jeanne set out over the river +trail, leaving Philip standing behind, watching them until they were +hidden in the night. It was fully an hour later before the St. Pierres +returned. Philip was uneasy until the two dark-faced hunters came into +the little office and leaned their rifles against the wall. He had +feared that Sachigo might have left some trace of his ambush behind. +But the St. Pierres had discovered nothing, and could give only one +reason for the burning pine on the summit of the mountain. They agreed +that Indians had fired it to frighten moose from a thick cover to the +south and west, and that their hunt had been a failure. + +It was midnight before Philip relaxed his caution, which he maintained +until then in spite of his belief that Thorpe's men, under Blake, had +met a quick finish at the hands of Sachigo and his ambushed braves. His +men left for their cabins, with the exception of Cassidy, whom he asked +to spend the remainder of the night in one of the office bunks. Alone +he went in to prepare Pierre for his last journey to Fort o' God. + +A lamp was burning low beside the bunk in which Pierre lay. Philip +approached and turned the wick higher, and then he gazed in wonder upon +the transfiguration in the half-breed's face. Pierre had died with a +smile on his lips; and with a curious thickening in his throat Philip +thought that those lips, even in death, were craved in the act of +whispering Jeanne's name. It seemed to him, as he stood in silence for +many moments, that Pierre was not dead, but that he was sleeping a +quiet, unbreathing sleep, in which there came to him visions of the +great love for which he had offered up his life and his soul. Jeanne's +hands, in his last moments, had stilled all pain. Peace slumbered in +the pale shadows of his closed eyes. The Great God of his faith had +come to him in his hour of greatest need on earth, and he had passed +away into the Valley of Silent Men on the sweet breath of Jeanne's +prayers. The girl had crossed his hands upon his breast. She had +brushed back his long hair. Philip knew that she had imprinted a kiss +upon the silent lips before the soul had fled, and in the warmth and +knowledge of that kiss Pierre had died happy. + +And Philip, brokenly, said aloud: + +"God bless you, Pierre, old man!" + +He lifted the cold hands back, and gently drew the covers which had +hidden the telltale stains of death from Jeanne's eyes. He turned down +Pierre's shirt, and in the lamp-glow there glistened the golden locket. +For the first time he noticed it closely. It was half as large as the +palm of his hand, and very thin, and he saw that it was bent and +twisted. A shudder ran through him when he understood what had +happened. The bullet that had killed Pierre had first struck the +locket, and had burst it partly open. He took it in his hand. And then +he saw that through the broken side there protruded the end of a bit of +paper. For a brief space the discovery made him almost forget the +presence of death. Pierre had never opened the locket, because it was +of the old-fashioned kind that locked with a key, and the key was gone. +And the locket had been about Jeanne's neck when he found her out in +the snows! Was it possible that this bit of paper had something to do +with the girl he loved? + +Carefully, so that it would not tear, he drew it forth. There was +writing on the paper, as he had expected, and he read it, bent low +beside the lamp. The date was nearly eighteen years old. The lines were +faint. The words were these: + +MY HUSBAND,--God can never undo what I have done. I have dragged myself +back, repentant, loving you more than I have ever loved you in my life, +to leave our little girl with you. She is your daughter, and mine. She +was born on the eighth day of September, the seventh month after I left +Fort o' God, She is yours, and so I bring her back to you, with the +prayer that she will help to fill the true and noble heart that I have +broken. I cannot ask your forgiveness, for I do not deserve it. I +cannot let you see me, for I should kill myself at your feet. I have +lived this long only for the baby. I will leave her where you cannot +fail to find her, and by the time you have read this I will have +answered for my sin--my madness, if you can have charity regard it so. +And if God is kind I will hover about you always, and you will know +that in death the old sweetheart, and the mother, has found what she +could never again hope for in life. + +YOUR WIFE. + +Philip rose slowly erect and gazed down into the still, tranquil face +of Pierre, the half-breed. + +"Why didn't you open it?" he whispered. "Why didn't you open it? My +God, what it would have saved--" + +For a full minute he looked down at Pierre, as though he expected that +the white lips would move and answer him. And then he thought of Jeanne +hurrying to Fort o' God, and of the terrible things which she was to +reveal to her father that night. She was D'Arcambal's own daughter. +What pain--what agony of father and child he might have saved if he had +examined the locket a little sooner! He looked at his watch and found +that Jeanne had been gone three hours. It would be impossible to +overtake MacDougall and the girl unless something had occurred to delay +them somewhere along the trail. He hurried back into the little room, +where he had left Cassidy. In a few words he explained that it was +necessary for him to follow Jeanne and the engineer to D'Arcambal House +without a moment's delay, and he directed Cassidy to take charge of +camp affairs, and to send Pierre's body with a suitable escort the next +day. + +"It isn't necessary for me to tell you what to do," he finished, "You +understand." + +Cassidy nodded. Six months before he had buried his youngest child +under a big spruce back of his cabin. + +Philip hastened to the stables, and, choosing one of the lighter +animals, was soon galloping over the trail toward the Little Churchill. +In his face there blew a cold wind from Hudson's Bay, and now and then +he felt the sting of fine particles in his eyes. They were the presage +of storm. A shifting of the wind a little to the east and south, and +the fine particles would thicken, and turn into snow. By morning the +world would be white. He came into the forests beyond the plain, and in +the spruce and the cedar tops the wind was half a gale, filling the +night with wailing and moaning sounds that sent strange shivers through +him as he thought of Pierre in the cabin. In such a way, he imagined, +had the north wind swept across the cold barrens on the night that +Pierre had found the woman and the babe; and now it seemed, in his +fancies, as though above and about him the great hand that had guided +the half-breed then was bringing back the old night, as if Pierre, in +dying, had wished it so. For the wind changed. The fine particles +thickened, and changed to snow. And then there was no longer the +wailing and the moaning in the tree-tops, but the soft murmur of a +white deluge that smothered him in a strange gloom and hid the trail. +There were two canoes concealed at the end of the trail on the Little +Churchill, and Philip chose the smallest. He followed swiftly after +MacDougall and Jeanne. He could no longer see either side of the +stream, and he was filled with a fear that he might pass the little +creek that led to Fort o' God. He timed himself by his watch, and when +he had paddled for two hours he ran in close to the west shore, +traveling so slowly that he did not progress a mile in half an hour. +And then suddenly, from close ahead, there rose through the snow-gloom +the dismal howl of a dog, which told him that he was near to Fort o' +God. He found the black opening that marked the entrance to the creek, +and when he ran upon the sand-bar a hundred yards beyond he saw lights +burning in the great room where he had first seen D'Arcambal. He went +now where Pierre had led him that night, and found the door unlocked. +He entered silently, and passed down the dark hall until, on the left, +he saw a glow of light that came from the big room. Something in the +silence that was ahead of him made his own approach without sound, and +softly he entered through the door. + +In the great chair sat the master of Fort o' God, his gray head bent; +at his feet knelt Jeanne, and so close were they that D'Arcambal's face +was hidden in Jeanne's shining, disheveled hair. No sooner had Philip +entered the room than his presence seemed to arouse the older man. He +lifted his head slowly, looking toward the door, and when he saw who +stood there he raised one of his arms from about the girl and held it +out to Philip. + +"My son!" he said. + +In a moment Philip was upon his knees beside Jeanne, and one of +D'Arcambal's heavy hands fell upon his shoulder in a touch that told +him he had come too late to keep back any part of the terrible story +which Jeanne had bared to him. The girl did not speak when she saw him +beside her. It was as if she had expected him to come, and her hand +found his and nestled in it, as cold as ice. + +"I have hurried from the camp," he said. "I tried to overtake Jeanne. +About Pierre's neck I found a locket, and in the locket--was this--" + +He looked into D'Arcambal's haggard face as he gave him the +blood-stained note, and he knew that in the moment that was to come the +master of Fort o' God and his daughter should be alone. + +"I will wait in the portrait-room," he said, in a low voice, and as he +rose to his feet he pressed Jeanne's hand to his lips. + +The old room was as he had left it weeks before. The picture of +Jeanne's mother still hung with its face to the wall. There was the +same elusive movement of the portrait over the volume of warm air that +rose from the floor. In this room he seemed to breathe again the +presence of a warm spirit of life, as he had felt it on the first +night--a spirit that seemed to him to be a part of Jeanne herself, and +he thought of the last words of the wife and mother--of her promise to +remain always near those whom she loved, to regain after death the +companionship which she could never hope for in life. And then there +came to him a thought of the vast and wonderful mystery of death, and +he wondered if it was her spirit that had been with him more than one +lonely night, when his camp-fire was low; if it was her presence that +had filled him with transcendent dreams of hope and love, coming to him +that night beside the rock at Churchill, and leading him at last to +Jeanne, for whom she had given up her life. He heard again the rising +of the wind outside and the beating of the storm against the window, +and he went softly to see if his vision could penetrate into the white, +twisting gloom beyond the glass. For many minutes he stood, seeing +nothing. And then he heard a sound, and turned to see Jeanne and her +father standing in the door. Glory was in the face of the master of +Fort o' God. He seemed not to see Philip--he seemed to see nothing but +the picture that was turned against the wall. He strode across the +room, his great shoulders straightened, his shaggy head erect, and with +the pride of one revealing first to human eyes the masterpiece of his +soul and life he turned the picture so that the radiant face of the +wife and mother looked down upon him. And was it fancy that for a +fleeting moment the smile left the beautiful lips, and a light, soft +and luminous, pleading for love and forgiveness, filled the eyes of +Jeanne's mother? Philip trembled. Jeanne came across to him silently, +and crept into his arms. And then, slowly, the master of Fort o' God +turned toward them and stretched out both of his great arms. + +"My children!" he said. + + + + +XXV + + +All that night the storm came out of the north and east. Hours after +Jeanne and her father had left him Philip went quietly from his room, +passed down the hall, and opened the outer door. He could hear the gale +whistling over the top of the great rock, and moaning in the spruce and +cedar forest, and he closed the door after him, and buried himself in +the darkness and wind. He bowed his head to the stinging snow, which +came like blasts of steeled shot, and hurried into the shelter of the +Sun Rock, and stood there after that listening to the wildness of the +storm and the strange whistling of the wind cutting itself to pieces +far over his head. Since man had first beheld that rock such storms as +this had come and gone for countless generations. Two hundred years and +more had passed since Grosellier first looked out upon a wondrous world +from its summit. And yet this storm--to-night--whistling and moaning +about him, filling all space with its grief, its triumph, and its +madness, seemed to be for him--and for him alone. His heart answered to +it. His soul trembled to the marvelous meaning of it. To-night this +storm was his own. He was a part of a world which he would never leave. +Here, beside the great Sun Rock of the Crees, he had found home, life, +happiness, his God. Here, henceforth through all time, he would live +with his beloved Jeanne, dreaming no dreams that went beyond the peace +of the mountains and the forests. He lifted his face to where the storm +swept above him, and for an instant he fancied that high up on the +ragged edge of the rock there might have stood Pierre, with his great, +gaping, hungry heart, filled with pain and yearning, staring off into +the face of the Almighty. And he fancied, too, that beside him there +hovered the wife and mother. And then he looked to Fort o' God. The +lights were out. Quiet, if not sleep, had fallen upon all life within. +And it seemed to Philip, as he went back again through the storm, that +in the moaning tumult of the night there was music instead of sadness. + +He did not sleep until nearly morning. And when he awoke he found that +the storm had passed, and that over a world of spotless white there had +risen a brilliant sun. He looked out from his window, and saw the top +of the Sun Rock glistening in a golden fire, and where the forest trees +had twisted and moaned there were now unending canopies of snow, so +that it seemed as though the storm, in passing, had left behind only +light, and beauty, and happiness for all living things. + +Trembling with the joy of this, Philip went to his door, and from the +door down the hall, and where the light of the sun blazed through a +window near to the great room where he expected to find the master of +Fort o' God, there stood Jeanne. And as she heard him coming, and +turned toward him, all the glory and beauty of the wondrous day was in +her face and hair. Like an angel she stood waiting for him, pale and +yet flushing a little, her eyes shining and yearning for him, her soul +in the tremble of the single word on her sweet lips. + +"Philip--" + +"Jeanne--" + +No more--and yet against each other their hearts told what it was +futile for their lips to attempt. They looked out through the window. +Beyond that window, as far as the vision could reach, swept the +barrens, over which Pierre had brought the little Jeanne. Something +sobbing rose in the girl's throat. She lifted her eyes, swimming with +love and tears, to Philip, and from his breast she reached up both +hands gently to his face. + +"They will bring Pierre--to-day---" she whispered. + +"Yes--to-day." + +"We will bury him out yonder," she said, stroking his face, and he knew +that she meant out in the barren, where the mother lay. + +He bowed his face close down against hers to hide the woman's weakness +that was bringing a misty film into his eyes. + +"You love me," she whispered. "You love me--love me--and you will never +take me away, but will stay with me always. You will stay +here--dear--in my beautiful world--we two--alone--" + +"For ever and for ever," he murmured. + +They heard a step, firm and vibrant with the strength of a new life, +and they knew that it was the master of Fort o' God. + +"Always--we two--forever," whispered Philip again. + + + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Flower of the North, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLOWER OF THE NORTH *** + +***** This file should be named 4703.txt or 4703.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/7/0/4703/ + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. 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We need your donations. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) +organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541 +Find out about how to make a donation at the bottom of this file. + + + +Title: Flower of the North + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Release Date: December, 2003 [Etext #4703] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on March 3, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Flower of the North, by James Oliver Curwood +***********This file should be named flwnt10.txt or flwnt10.zip*********** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, flwnt11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, flwnt10a.txt + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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. + + + + + + + + + + +FLOWER OF THE NORTH + +A MODERN ROMANCE + +BY JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD + +AUTHOR OF THE DANGER TRAIL, PHILIP STEELS, ETC. + + + + + +TO MY COMRADES OF THE GREAT NORTHERN WILDERNESS, THOSE FAITHFUL +COMPANIONS WITH WHOM I HAVE SHARED THE JOYS AND HARDSHIPS OF THE +"LONG SILENT TRAIL," AND ESPECIALLY TO THAT "JEANNE D'ARCAMBAL." +WHO WILL FIND IN HERSELF THE HEROINE OF THIS STORY, THE WRITER +GRATEFULLY DEDICATES THIS VOLUME. + +DETROIT. MICHIGAN + +JANUARY, 1912 + + + + + +FLOWER OF THE NORTH + + + + + +I + + +"Such hair! Such eyes! Such color! Laugh if you will, Whittemore, +but I swear that she was the handsomest girl I've ever laid my +eyes upon!" + +There was an artist's enthusiasm in Gregson's girlishly sensitive +face as he looked across the table at Whittemore and lighted a +cigarette. + +"She wouldn't so much as give me a look when I stared," he added. +"I couldn't help it. Gad, I'm going to make a full-page 'cover' of +her to-morrow for Burke's. Burke dotes on pretty women for the +cover of his magazine. Why, demmit, man, what the deuce are you +laughing at?" + +"Not at this particular case, Tom," apologized Whittemore. "But-- +I'm wondering--" + +His eyes wandered ruminatively about the rough interior of the +little cabin, lighted by a single oil-lamp hanging from a cross- +beam in the ceiling, and he whistled softly. + +"I'm wondering," he went on, "if you'll ever strike a place where +you won't see 'one of the most beautiful things on earth.' The +last one was at Rio Piedras, wasn't it, Tom? A Spanish girl, or +was she a Creole? I believe I've got your letter yet, and I'll +read it to you to-morrow. I wasn't surprised. There are pretty +women down in Porto Rico. But I didn't think you'd have the nerve +to discover one up here--in the wilderness." + +"She's got them all beat," retorted the artist, flecking the ash +from the tip of his cigarette. + +"Even the Valencia girl, eh?" + +There was a chuckling note of pleasure in Philip Whittemore's +voice as he leaned half across the table, his handsome face, +bronzed by snow and wind, illumined in the lamp-glow. Gregson, in +strong contrast, with his round, smooth cheeks, slim hands, and +build that was almost womanish, leaned over his side to meet him. +For the twentieth time that evening the two men shook hands. + +"Haven't forgotten Valencia, eh?" chuckled the artist, gloatingly. +"Lord, but I'm glad to see you again, Phil. Seems like a century +since we were out raising the Old Ned together, and yet it's less +than three years since we came back from South America. Valencia! +Will we ever forget it? When Burke handed me his first turn-down a +month ago and said, 'Tom, your work begins to show you want a +rest,' I thought of Valencia, and was so confoundedly homesick for +those old days when you and I pretty nearly started a revolution, +and came within an ace of getting our scalps lifted, that I moped +for a week. Gad, do I remember it? You got out by fighting, and I +through a pretty girl." + +"And your nerve," chuckled Whittemore, crushing the other's hand. +"That was when I made up my mind you were the nerviest man alive, +Greggy. Did you ever learn what became of Donna Isobel?" + +"She appeared twice in Burke's, once as the 'Goddess of the +Southern Republics' and again as 'The Girl of Valencia.' She +married that reprobate of a Carabobo planter, and I believe +they're happy." + +"It seems to me there were others," continued Whittemore, +pondering for a moment in mock seriousness. "There was one at Rio +whom you swore would make your fortune if you could get her to sit +for you, and whose husband was on the point of putting six inches +of steel into you for telling her so, when I explained that you +were young and harmless, and a little out of your head--" + +"With your fist," cried Gregson, joyously. "Gad, but that was a +mighty blow! I can see that knife now. I was just beginning my +paternoster when--chug!--and down he went! And he deserved it. I +said nothing wrong. In my very best Spanish I asked her if she +would sit for me, and why the devil did he take that as an insult? +And she was beautiful." + +"Of course," agreed Whittemore. "If I remember, she was 'the +loveliest creature you had ever seen.' And after that there were +others--a score of them at least, each lovelier than the one +before." + +"They make up my life," said Gregson, more seriously than he had +yet spoken. "They're the only thing I can draw and do well. I'd +think an editor was mad if he asked me to do something without a +pretty woman in it. God bless 'em, I hope I'll go on seeing them +forever. When I can't see beauty in woman I want to die." + +"And you always want to see it in the superlative degree." + +"I insist upon it. If she lacks something, as Donna Isobel wanted +color, I imagine that it is there, and she is perfect! But this +one that I saw to-night is perfect! Now what I want to know is +this, Who the deuce is she!" + +--"where can she be found, and will she sit for a 'Burke,' two or +three miscellaneous, and a 'study' for the annual sale," struck in +Whittemore. "Is that it?" + +"Exactly. You've a natural ability for hitting the nail on the +head, Phil." + +"And Burke told you to take a rest." + +Gregson offered his cigarettes. + +"Yes, Burke is a good-natured, poetic old soul who has a horror of +spiders, snakes, and sky-scrapers. He said to me: 'Greggy, go and +seek nature in some quiet, secluded place, and forget everything +for a fortnight or two except your clothes and half a dozen cases +of beer.' Rest! Nature! Beer! Think of those cheerful suggestions, +Phil, while I was dreaming of Valencia, of Donna Isobels, and +places where Nature cuts up as though she had been taking +champagne all her life. Gad, your letter came just in time!" + +"And I told you little enough in that," said Philip, quickly, +rising and pacing uneasily back and forth across the cabin floor. +"I gave you promise of excitement, and urged you to join me if you +could. And why? Because--" + +He turned sharply, and faced Gregson across the table. + +"I wanted you to come because the thing that happened down in +Valencia, and that other at Rio, isn't a circumstance to the hell +that's going to cut loose pretty soon up here--and I'm in need of +help. Understand? It's not fun--this time. I'm playing a single +hand in what looks like a losing game. If I ever needed a fighter +in my life I need one now. That's why I sent for you." + +Gregson shoved back his chair and rose to his feet. He was a head +shorter than his companion, of almost delicate physique. Yet there +was something in the cold gray-blue of his eyes, a peculiar +hardness of his chin, that compelled one to look at him twice and +rendered first judgment unsafe. His slim fingers closed like steel +about Philip's. + +"Now you're coming down to business, Phil," he exclaimed. "I've +been waiting with the patience of Job--or of little Bobby Tuckett, +if you remember him, who began courting Minnie Sheldon seven years +ago--and married her the day after I got your letter. I was too +busy figuring out what you hadn't written to go to the wedding. I +tried to read between the lines, and fell down completely. I've +been thinking all the way up from Le Pas, and I'm still at sea. +You called. I came. What's up?" + +"It's going to sound a little mad--at first, Greggy," chuckled +Whittemore, lighting his pipe. "It's going to give your esthetic +tastes a jar. Look here!" + +He seized Gregson by the arm and led him to the door. + +The cold northern sky was brilliant with stars. The cabin, its +logs half smothered in dying masses of verdure which had climbed +about it during the summer, was built on the summit of one of the +wind-cropped ridges which are called mountains in the far north. +Into that north swept infinite wilderness, white and gray where +the starlit tops of the spruce rose up at their feet, black in the +distance. From somewhere out of it there came the low, weeping +monotone of surf beating on a shore. Philip, with one hand on +Gregson's shoulder, pointed with the other into the lonely +desolation which they were facing. + +"There isn't much between us and the Arctic Ocean, Greggy," he +said. "See that light off there, like a great fire that has half a +mind to die out one minute and flares up the next? Doesn't it +remind you of the night we got away from Carabobo, when Donna +Isobel pointed out our way to us, with the moon coming up over the +mountains as a guide? That isn't the moon. It's the aurora +borealis. You can hear the wash of the Bay down there, and if +you're keen you can catch the smell of icebergs. There's Fort +Churchill--a rifle-shot beyond the ridge, asleep. There's nothing +but Hudson's Bay Company's posts, Indian camps, and trappers +between here and civilization, which is four hundred miles down +there. Seems like a quiet and peaceful country, doesn't it? +There's something about it that makes you thrill and wonder if +this isn't the biggest part of the universe after all. Listen! +Hear the Indian dogs wailing down at Churchill! That's the primal +voice in this world, the voice of the wild. Even that beating of +the surf is filled with the same thing, for it's rolling up +mystery instead of history. It is telling what man doesn't know, +and in a language which he cannot understand. You're a beauty +scientist, Greggy. This must sink deep." + +"It does," said Gregson. "What the deuce are you getting at, +Phil?" + +"I'm arriving gradually and without undue haste to the point, +Greggy. I'm about to tell you why I induced you to join me up +here. I hesitate at the last word. It seems almost brutal, taking +into consideration your philosophy of beauty, to drop from all +this--from that blackness and mystery out there, from Donna +Isobels and pretty eyes, down to--fish." + +"Fish!" + +"Yes, fish." + +Gregson, lighting a fresh cigarette, held the match so that the +tiny flame lighted up his companion's face for a moment. + +"Look here," he expostulated, "you haven't got me up here to go-- +fishing?" + +"Yes--and no," said Philip. "But even if I have--" + +He caught Gregson by the arm again, and there was a tightness in +the grip of his fingers which convinced the other that he was +speaking seriously now. + +"Do you remember what started the revolution down in Honduras the +second week after we struck Puerto Barrios, Greggy? It was a girl, +wasn't it?" + +"Yes, and she wasn't half pretty at that." + +"It was less than a girl," went on Philip. "Scene: the palm plaza +at Ceiba. President Belize is drinking wine with his cousin, the +fiancee of General O'Kelly Bonilla, the half Irish, half Latin- +American leader of his forces, and his warmest friend. At a moment +when their corner of the plaza is empty Belize helps himself to a +cousinly kiss. O'Kelly, unperceived, arrives in time to witness +the act. From that moment his friendship for Belize turns to +hatred and jealousy. Within three weeks he has started a +revolution, beats the government forces at Ceiba, chases Belize +from the capital, gets Nicaragua mixed up in the trouble, and +draws three French, two German, and two American war-ships to the +scene. Six weeks after the wine-drinking he is President of the +Republic, en facto. And all of this, Greggy, because of a kiss. +Now, if a kiss can start a revolution, unseat a President, send a +government to smash, what must be the possibilities of a fish?" + +"I'm getting interested," said Gregson. "If there's a climax, come +to it, Phil. I admit that there must be enormous possibilities in +--a fish. Go on!" + + + + + +II + + +For a moment the two men stood in silence, listening to the sullen +beat of surf beyond the black edge of forest. Then Philip led the +way back into the cabin. + +Gregson followed. In the light of the big oil-lamp which hung +suspended from the ceiling he noticed something in Whittemore's +face he had not observed before, a tenseness about the muscles of +his mouth, a restlessness in his eyes, rigidity of jaw, an air of +suppressed emotion which puzzled him. He was keenly observant of +details, and knew that these things had been missing a short time +before. The pleasure of their meeting that afternoon, after a +separation of nearly two years, had dispelled for a time the +trouble which he now saw revealing itself in his companion's face +and attitude, and the lightness of Whittemore's manner in +beginning his explanation for inducing him to come into the north +had helped to complete the mask. There occurred to him, for an +instant, a picture which he had once drawn of Whittemore as he had +known him in certain stirring times still fresh in the memory of +each--a picture of the old, cool, irresistible Whittemore, smiling +in the face of danger, laughing outright at perplexities, always +ready to fight with a good-natured word on his lips. He had drawn +that picture for Burke's, and had called it "The Fighter." Burke +himself had criticized it because of the smile. But Gregson knew +his man. It was Whittemore. + +There was a change now. He had grown older, surprisingly older. +There were deeper lines about his eyes. His face was thinner. He +saw, now, that Philip's lightness had been but a passing flash of +his old buoyancy, that the old life and sparkle had gone from him. +Two years, he judged, had woven things into Philip's life which he +could not understand, and he wondered if this was why in all that +time he had received no word from his old college chum. + +They had seated themselves at opposite sides of the table, and +from an inside pocket Philip produced a small bundle of papers. +From these he drew forth a map, which he smoothed out under his +hands. + +"Yes, there are possibilities--and more, Greggy," he said. "I +didn't ask you up here to help me fight air and moonshine. And +I've promised you a fight. Have you ever seen a rat in a trap with +a blood-thirsty terrier guarding the little door that is about to +be opened? Thrilling sport for the prisoner, isn't it? But when +the rat happens to be human--" + +"I thought it was a fish," protested Gregson, mildly. "Pretty soon +you'll be having it a girl in a trap--or at the end of a fish- +line--" + +"And if I should?" interrupted Philip, looking steadily at him. +"What if I should say there is a girl--a woman--in this trap--not +only one, but a score, a hundred of them? What then, Greggy?" + +"I'd say there was going to be a glorious scrap." + +"And so there is, the biggest and most unusual scrap of its kind +you ever heard of, Greggy. It's going to be a queer kind of fight +--and queer fighting. And it's possible--very probable--that you +and I will get lost in the shuffle somewhere. We're two, no more. +And we're going up against forces which would make a dozen South +American revolutions look like thirty cents. More than that, it's +likely we'll be in the wrong locality when certain people rise in +a wrath which a Helen of Troy aroused in another people some +centuries ago. See here--" + +He turned the map to Gregson, pointing with his finger. + +"See that red line? That's the new railroad to Hudson's Bay. It is +well above Le Pas now, and its builders plan to complete it by +next spring. It is the most wonderful piece of railroad building +on the American continent, Greggy--wonderful because it has been +neglected so long. Something like a hundred million people have +been asleep to its enormous value, and they're just waking up now. +That road, cutting across four hundred miles of wilderness, is +opening up a country half as big as the United States, in which +more mineral wealth will be dug during the next fifty years than +will ever be taken from Yukon or Alaska. It is shortening the +route from Montreal, Duluth, Chicago, and the Middle West to +Liverpool and other European ports by a thousand miles. It means +the making of a navigable sea out of Hudson's Bay, cities on its +shores, and great steel-foundries close to the Arctic Circle-- +where there is coal and iron enough to supply the world for +hundreds of years. That's only a small part of what this road +means, Greggy. Two years ago--you remember I asked you to join me +in the adventure--I came up seeking opportunity. I didn't dream +then--" + +Whittemore paused, and a flash of his old smile passed over his +face. + +"I didn't dream that fate had decreed me to stir up what I'm going +to tell you about, Greggy. I followed the line of the proposed +railroad, looking for chances. All Canada was asleep, or too much +interested in its west, and gave me no competition. I was alone +west of the surveyed line; east of it steel-corporation men had +optioned mountains of iron and another interest had a grip on +coal-fields. Six months I spent among the Indians, French, and +half-breeds. I lived with them, trapped and hunted with them, and +picked up a little Cree and French. The life suited me. I became a +northerner in heart and soul, if not quite yet in full experience. +Clubs and balls and cities grew to be only memories. You know how +I have always hated that hothouse sort of existence, and you know +that same world of clubs and balls and cities has gripped at my +throat, downing me again and again, as though it returned my +sentiment with interest. Up here I learned to hate it more than +ever. I was completely happy. And then--" + +He had refolded the map, and drew another from the bundle of +papers. It was drawn in pencil. + +"And then, Greggy," he went on, smoothing out this map where the +other had been, "I struck my chance. It fairly clubbed me into +recognizing it. It came in the middle of the night, and I sat up +with a camp-fire laughing at me through the flap in my tent, +stunned by the knockout it had given me. It seemed, at first, as +though a gold-mine had walked up and laid itself down at my feet, +and I wondered how there could be so many silly fools in this +world of ours. Take a look at that map, Greggy. What do you see?" + +Gregson had listened like one under a spell. It was one of his +careless boasts that situations could not faze him, that he was +immune to outward betrayals of sensation. This seeming +indifference--his light-toned attitude in the face of most serious +affairs would have made a failure of him in many things. But his +tense interest did not hide itself now. A cigarette remained +unlighted between his fingers. His eyes never took themselves for +an instant from his companion's face. Something that Whittemore +had not yet said thrilled him. He looked at the map. + +"There's not much to see," he said, "but lakes and rivers." + +"You're right," exclaimed Philip, jumping suddenly from his chair +and beginning to walk back and forth across the cabin. "Lakes and +rivers--hundreds of them--thousands of them! Greggy, there are +more than three thousand lakes between here and civilization and +within forty miles of the new railroad. And nine out of ten of +those lakes are so full of fish that the bears along 'em smell +fishy. Whitefish, Gregson--whitefish and trout. There is a fresh- +water area represented on that map three times as large as the +whole of the five Great Lakes, and yet the Canadians and the +government have never wakened up to what it means. There's a fish +supply in this northland large enough to feed the world, and that +little rim of lakes that I've mapped out along the edge of the +coming railroad represents a money value of millions. That was the +idea that came to me in the middle of the night, and then I +thought--if I could get a corner on a few of these lakes, secure +fishing privileges before the road came--" + +"You'd be a millionaire," said Gregson. + +"Not only that," replied Philip, pausing for a moment in his +restless pacing. "I didn't think of money, at first; at least, it +was a secondary consideration after that night beside the camp- +fire. I saw how this big vacant north could be made to strike a +mighty blow at those interests which make a profession of +cornering meatstuffs on the other side, how it could be made to +fight the fight of the people by sending down an unlimited supply +of fish that could be sold at a profit in New York, Boston, or +Chicago for a half of what the trust demands. My scheme wasn't +aroused entirely by philanthropy, mind you. I saw in it a chance +to get back at the very people who brought about my father's ruin, +and who kept pounding him after he was in a corner until he broke +down and died. They killed him. They robbed me a few years later. +They made me hate what I was once, a moving, joyous part of--life +down there. I went from the north, first to Ottawa, then to +Toronto and Winnipeg. After that I went to Brokaw, my father's old +partner, with the scheme. I've told you of Brokaw--one of the +deepest, shrewdest old fighters in the Middle West. It was only a +year after my father's death that he was on his feet again, as +strong as ever. Brokaw drew in two or three others as strong as +himself, and we went after the privileges. It was a fight from the +beginning. Hardly were our plans made public before we were met by +powerful opposition. A combination of Canadian capital quickly +organized and petitioned for the same privileges. Old Brokaw knew +what it meant. It was the hand of the trust--disguised under a +veneer of Canadian promoters. They called us 'aliens'--American +'money-grabbers' robbing Canadians of what justly belonged to +them. They aroused two-thirds of the press against us, and yet--" + +The lines in Whittemore's face softened. He chuckled as he pulled +out his pipe and began filling it. + +"They had to go some to beat the old man, Greggy. I don't know +just how Brokaw pulled the thing off, but I do know that when we +won out three members of parliament and half a dozen other +politicians were honorary members of our organization, and that it +cost Brokaw a hundred thousand dollars! Our opponents had raised +such a howl, calling upon the patriotism of the country and +pointing out that the people of the north would resent this +invasion of foreigners, that we succeeded in getting only a +provisional license, subject to withdrawal by the government at +any time conditions seemed to warrant it. I saw in this no blow to +my scheme, for I was certain that we could carry the thing along +on such a square basis that within a year the whole country would +be in sympathy with us. I expressed my views with enthusiasm at +our final meeting, when the seven of us met to complete our plans. +Brokaw and the other five were to direct matters in the south; I +was to have full command of affairs in the north. A month later I +was at work. Over here"--he leaned over Gregson's shoulder and +placed a forefinger on the map--"I established our headquarters, +with MacDougall, a Scotch engineer, to help me. Within six months +we had a hundred and fifty men at Blind Indian Lake, fifty +canoemen bringing in supplies, and another gang putting in +stations over a stretch of more than a hundred miles of lake +country. Everything was working smoothly, better than I had +expected. At Blind Indian Lake we had a shipyard, two warehouses, +ice-houses, a company store, and a population of three hundred, +and had nearly completed a ten-mile roadbed for narrow-gauge +steel, which would connect us with the main line when it came up +to us. I was completely lost in my work. At times I almost forgot +Brokaw and the others. I was particularly careful of the funds +sent up to me, and had accomplished my work at a cost of a little +under a hundred thousand. At the end of the six months, when I was +about to make a visit into the south, one of our warehouses and +ten thousand dollars' worth of supplies went up in smoke. It was +our first misfortune, and it was a big one. It was about the first +matter that I brought up after I had shaken hands with Brokaw." + +Philip's face was set and white as he stood in the middle of the +room looking at Gregson. + +"And what do you think was his reply, Greggy? He looked at me for +a moment, a peculiar twitching around the corners of his mouth, +and then said, 'Don't allow a trivial matter like that to worry +you, Philip. Why--we've already cleaned up a million on this +little fish deal!'" + +Gregson sat up with a jerk. + +"A million! Great Scott--" + +"Yes, a million, Greggy," said Philip, softly, with his old +fighting smile. "There was a hundred thousand dollars to my credit +in a First National Bank. Pleasant surprise, eh?" + +Gregson had dropped his cigarette. His slim hands gripped the +edges of the table. He made no reply as he waited for Whittemore +to continue. + + + + + +III + + +For a full minute Philip paced back and forth without speaking. +Then he stopped, and faced Gregson, who was staring at him. + +"A million, Greggy," he repeated, in the same soft voice. "A +hundred thousand dollars to my credit--in a First National Bank! +While I was up here hustling to get affairs on a working basis, +eager to show the government and the people what we could do and +would do, triumphing in our victory over the trust, and figuring +each day on my scheme of making this big, rich north deal a +staggering blow to those accursed combinations down there, they +were at work, too. While I was dreaming and doing these things, +Brokaw and the others had formed the Great Northern Fish and +Development Company, had incorporated it under the laws of New +Jersey, and had already sold over a million dollars' worth of +stock! The thing was in full swing when I reached headquarters. I +had authorized Brokaw to act for me, and I found that I was vice- +president of one of the biggest legalized robbery combinations of +recent years. More money had been spent in advertising than in +development work. Hundreds of thousands of copies of my letters +from the north, filled to the brim with the enthusiasm I had felt +for my work and projects, had been sent out broadcast, luring +buyers of stock. In one of these letters I had said that if a half +of the lakes I had mapped out were fished the north could be made +to produce a million tons of fish a year. Two hundred thousand +copies of this letter were sent out, but Brokaw and his associates +had omitted the words, 'If a half of the lakes mapped out were +fished.' It would take fifteen thousand men, a thousand +refrigerator cars, and a capital of five million to bring this +about. I was stunned by the enormity of their fraud, and yet when +I threatened to bring the whole thing to smash Brokaw only laughed +and pointed out that not a single caution had been omitted. In all +of the advertising it was frankly stated that our license was +provisional, subject to withdrawal if the company did not keep +within laws. That very frankness was an advertisement. It was +something different. It struck home where it was meant to strike-- +among small and unfledged investors. It roped them in by +thousands. The shares were ten dollars each, and non-assessable. +Five out of six orders were from one to five shares; ninety-nine +out of every hundred were not above ten shares. It was damnable. +The very people for whom I wanted the north to fight had been +humbugged to the tune of a million and a quarter dollars. Within a +year Brokaw and the others had floated a scheme which was worse +than any trust, for the trusts pay back a part of their steals in +dividends. And _I_ was responsible! Do you realize that, Greggy? +It was I who started the project. It was my reports from the north +which chiefly induced people to buy. And this company--a company +of robbers licensed under the law--I am its founder and its vice- +president!" + +Philip dropped back into his chair. The face that he turned to +Gregson was damp with perspiration, though the room was chilly. + +"You stayed in," said Gregson. + +"I had to. There wasn't a loophole left open to me. There wasn't a +single point at which I could bring attack against Brokaw and the +others. They were six veritable Bismarcks of deviltry and +shrewdness. They hadn't over-stepped the law. They had sold a +million and a quarter of stock on a hundred-thousand-dollar +investment, but Brokaw only laughed when I raged at this. 'Why, +Philip,' he said, 'we value our license alone at over a million!' +And there was no law which could prevent them from placing that +value upon it, or more. There was one thing that I could do--and +only one. I could resign, decline to accept my stock and the +hundred thousand, and publicly announce why I had broken off my +connections with the company. I was about to do this when cooler +judgment prevailed. It occurred to me that there would have to be +an accounting. The company might sell a million and a quarter of +stock--but in the end there would have to be an accounting. If I +was out of the game it would be easily made. If I was in--well, do +you see, Greggy? There was still a chance of making the company +win out as a legitimate enterprise, even though it began under the +black flag of piratical finance and fraud. Brokaw and the others +were astonished at the stand I took. It was like throwing a big, +ripe plum into the fire Brokaw was the first to hedge. He came +over to my side in a private interview which we had, and for the +first time I convinced him completely of the tremendous +possibilities before us. To my surprise he began to show actual +enthusiasm in my favor. We figured out how the company, if +properly developed, could be made to pay a dividend of fifty cents +a share on the stock issued within two years. This, I thought, +would be at least a partial return of the original steal. Brokaw +worked the thing through in his own way. He was authorized to vote +for one of the directors, who was in Europe, and he won over two +of the others. As a consequence we voted all of the money in the +treasury, nearly six hundred thousand dollars, and the remainder +of the stock that was on the market, for development purposes. +Brokaw then made the proposition that the company buy up any +interest that wished to withdraw. The two M. P.'s and a +professional promoter from Toronto immediately sold out at fifty +thousand each. With their original hundred thousand these three +retired with an aggregate steal of nearly half a million. Pretty +good work for yours truly, eh, Greggy! Good Heaven, think of it! I +started out to strike a blow, to launch a gigantic project for the +people, and this was what I had hatched! Robbery, bribery, fraud-- +" + +He paused, his hands clenched until the blue veins stood out on +them like whipcords. + +"And--" + +Gregson spoke, uneasily. + +"And what?" + +Philip's fingers relaxed their grip on the table. + +"If that had been all, I wouldn't have called you up here," he +continued. "I've taken a long time in coming down to the real hell +of the affair, because I wanted you to understand the situation +from the beginning. After I left Brokaw I came north again. I +possessed all the funds necessary to make an honest working +organization out of the Northern Fish and Development Company. I +hired two hundred additional men, added twenty new fishing- +stations, began a second road-bed to the main line, and started a +huge dam at Blind Indian Lake. We had thirty horses, driven up +through the wilderness from Le Pas, and twenty teams on the way. +There didn't appear to be an important obstacle in the path of our +success, and I had recovered most of my old enthusiasm when Brokaw +sprung a new mine under my feet. + +"He had written a long letter almost immediately after I left him, +which had been delayed at several places. In it he told me that he +had discovered a plot to wreck our enterprise, that some powerful +force was about to be pitted against us in the very country we +were holding. I could see that Brokaw was tremendously worked up +when he wrote the letter, and that for once he felt himself +outwitted by a rival faction, and realized to the full a danger +which it took me some time to comprehend. He had discovered +absolute evidence, he said, that the bunch of trust capitalists +whom he had beaten were about to attack us in another way. Their +forces were already moving into the north country. Their object +was to stir up the country against us, to bring about that +condition of unrest and antagonism between the people of the north +and ourselves which would compel the government to take away our +license. Remember, this license was only provisional. It was, in +fact, left to the people of the north to decide whether we should +remain among them or not. If they turned against us there would be +only one thing for the government to do. + +"At first Brokaw's letter caused me no very great uneasiness. I +knew the people up here. I knew that the Indian, the Breed, the +Frenchman, and the White of this God's country were as +invulnerable to bribery as Brokaw himself is to the pangs of +conscience. I loved them. I had faith in them. I knew them to +possess an honor which is not known down there, where we have a +church on every four corners, and where the Word of God is +preached day and night on the open streets. I felt myself warming +with indignation as I replied to Brokaw, resenting his +insinuations as to the crimes which a 'half-savage' people might +be induced to commit for a little whisky and a little money. And +then--" + +Whittemore wiped his face. The lines settled deeper about his +mouth. + +"Greggy, a week after I received this letter two warehouses were +burned on the same night at Blind Indian Lake. They were three +hundred yards apart. There is absolutely no doubt that it was +incendiarism." + +He waited in silence, but Gregson still sat watching him in +silence. + +"That was the beginning--three months ago. Since then some +mysterious force has been fighting us at every step. A week after +the warehouses burned, a dredge and boat-building yard, which we +had constructed at considerable expense at the mouth of the Gray +Beaver, was destroyed by fire. A little later a 'premature' +explosion of dynamite cost us ten thousand dollars and two weeks' +labor of fifty men. I organized a special guard service, composed +of fifty of my best men, but it seemed to do no good. Since then +we have lost three miles of road-bed, destroyed by a washout. A +terrific charge of dynamite had been used to let down upon us the +water of a lake which was situated at the top of a ridge near our +right of way. Whoever our enemies are, they seem to know our most +secret movements, and attack us whenever we leave a vulnerable +point open. The most surprising part of the whole affair is this: +in spite of my own efforts to keep our losses quiet the rumor has +spread for hundreds of miles around us, even reaching Churchill, +that the northerners have declared war against our enterprise and +are determined to drive us out. Two-thirds of my men believe this. +MacDougall, my engineer, believes it. Between my working forces +and the Indians, French, and half-breeds about us there has slowly +developed a feeling of suspicion and resentment. It is growing-- +every day, every hour. If it continues it can result in but two +things--ruin for ourselves, triumph for those who are getting at +us in this dastardly manner. If something is not done very soon-- +within a month--perhaps less--the country will run with the blood +of vengeance from Churchill to the Barrens. If what I expect to +happen does happen there will be no government road built to the +Bay, the new buildings at Churchill will turn gray with disuse, +the treasures of the north will remain undisturbed, the country +itself will slip back a hundred years. The forest people will be +filled with hatred and suspicion so long as the story of great +wrong travels down from father to son. And this wrong, this crime--" + +Philip's face was white, cold, almost passionless in the grim +hardness that had settled in it. He unfolded a long typewritten +letter, and handed it to Gregson. + +"That letter is the final word," he explained. "It will tell you +what I have not told you. In some way it was mixed in my mail and +I did not discover the error until I had opened it. It is from the +headquarters of our enemies, addressed to the man who is in charge +of their plot up here." + +"He waited, scarce breathing, while Gregson bent over the +typewritten pages. He noted the slow tightening of the other's +fingers as he turned from the first sheet to the second; he +watched Gregson's face, the slow ebbing of color, the gray white +that followed it, the stiffening of his arms and shoulders as he +finished. Then Gregson looked up. + +"Good God!" he breathed. + +For a full half-minute the two men gazed at each other across the +table, without speaking. + + + + + +IV + + +Philip broke the silence. + +"Now--you understand." + +"It is impossible!" gasped Gregson. "I cannot believe this! It--it +might have happened a thousand--two thousand years ago--but not +now. My God, man!" he cried, more excitedly. "You do not mean to +tell me that you believe this will be done?" + +"Yes," replied Philip. + +"It is impossible!" exclaimed Gregson again, crushing the letter +in his hand. "A man doesn't live--a combination doesn't exist-- +that would start such a hell loose as this--in this way!" + +Philip smiled grimly. + +"The man does live, and the combination does exist," he said, +slowly. "Greggy, I have known of men, and of combinations who have +spent millions, who have sacrificed everything of honor and truth, +who have driven thousands of men, women, and children to +starvation--and worse--to achieve a victory in high finance. I +have known of men and combinations who have broken almost every +law of man and God in the fight for money and power. And so have +you! You have associated with some of these men. You have laughed +and talked with them, smoked with them, and have dined at their +tables. You spent a week at Selden's summer borne, and it was +Selden who cornered wheat three years ago and raised the price of +bread two cents a loaf. It was Selden who brought about the bread +riots in New York, Chicago, and a score of other cities, who swung +wide the prison doors for thousands, whose millions were gained at +a cost of misery, crime, and even death. And Selden is only one +out of thousands who live to-day, watching for their +opportunities, giving no heed to those who may fall under the +juggernaut of their capital. This isn't the age of petty +discrimination, Greggy. It's the age of the almighty dollar, and +of the fight for it. And there's no chivalry, no quarter shown in +this fight. Men of Selden's stamp don't stop at women and +children. The scrubwoman's dollar is just as big as yours or mine, +and if a scheme could be promoted whereby every scrubwoman in +America could be safely robbed of a dollar you'd find thousands of +men down there in our cities ready to go into it to-morrow. And to +such men as these what is the sacrifice of a few women up here?" + +Gregson dropped the letter, crumpled and twisted, upon the table. + +"I wonder--if I understand," he said, looking into Philip's white +face. "There has undoubtedly been previous correspondence, and +this letter contains the final word. It shows that your enemies +have already succeeded in working up the forest people against +you, and have filled them with suspicion. Their last blow is to +be--" + +He stopped, and Philip nodded at the horrified question in his +eyes. + +"Greggy, up here there is one law which reigns above all other +law. When I was in Prince Albert a year ago I was sitting on the +veranda of the little old Windsor Hotel. About me were a dozen +wild men of the north, who had come down for a day or two to the +edge of civilization. Most of those men had not been out of the +forests for a year. Two of them were from the Barrens, and this +was their first glimpse of civilized life in five years. As we sat +there a woman came up the street. She turned in at the hotel. +About me there was a sudden lowering of voices, a shuffling of +feet. As she passed, every one of those twelve rose from their +seats and stood with bowed heads and their caps in their hands +until she had gone. I was the only one who remained sitting! That, +Greggy, is the one great law of life up here, the worship of woman +because she is woman. A man may steal, he may kill, but he must +not break this law. If he steals or kills, the mounted police may +bring the offender to justice; but if he breaks this other law +there is but one punishment, and that is the punishment of the +people. That is what this letter purposes to do--to break this law +in order that its penalty may fall upon us. And if they succeed, +God help us!" + +It was Gregson who jumped to his feet now. He took half a dozen +nervous steps, paused, lighted a cigarette, and looked down into +Philip's upturned face. + +"I understand now where the fight is coming in," he said. "If this +thing goes through, these people will rise and wipe you off the +map. They'll lay it to you and your men, of course. And I fancy it +won't be a job half done if they feel about it as I'd feel. But," +he demanded, sharply, "why don't you put the affair into the hands +of the proper authorities--the police or the government? You've +got--By George, you must have the name of the man to whom that +letter was addressed!" + +Philip handed him a soiled white envelope, of the kind in which +official documents are usually mailed. + +"That's the man." + +Gregson gave a low whistle. + +"Lord--Fitzhugh--Lee!" he read, slowly, as though scarce believing +his eyes. "Great Scott! A British peer!" + +The cynical smile on Philip's lips cut his words short. + +"Perhaps," he said. "But if there is a British lord up here he +isn't very well known, Greggy. No one knows of him. No one has +heard a rumor of him. That is why we can't go to the police or the +government. They'd give small credence to what we've got to show. +This letter wouldn't count the weight of a feather without further +evidence, and a lot of it. Besides, we haven't time to go to the +government. It is too far away and too slow. And as for the +police--I know of three in this territory, and there are fifteen +thousand square miles of mountains and plains and forest in their +'beat.' It's up to you and me to find this Lord Fitzhugh. If we +can do that we will be in a position to put a kibosh on this plot +in a hurry. If we fail to run him down--" + +"What then?" + +"We'll have to watch our chances. I've told you all that I know, +and you're on an even working basis with me. At first I thought +that I understood the object of those who are planning to ruin us +in this cowardly manner. But I don't now. If they ruin us they +also destroy the chances of any other company that may be scheming +to usurp our place. For that reason I--" + +"There must still be other factors in the game," said Gregson, as +Philip hesitated. + +"There are. I want you to work out your own suspicions, Greggy, +and then we'll compare notes. Lord Fitzhugh is the key to the +whole situation. No matter who is at the bottom of this plot, Lord +Fitzhugh is the man at the working end of it. We don't care so +much about the writer of this letter as the one to whom it was +written. It is evident that he had planned to be at Churchill, for +the letter is addressed to him here. But he hasn't shown up. He +has never been here, so far as I can discover." + +"I'd give a year's growth for a copy of the BRITISH PEERAGE or a +WHO'S WHO," mused Gregson, flecking the ashes from his cigarette. +"Who the deuce can this Lord Fitzhugh be? What sort of an +Englishman would mix up in a dirty job of this kind? You might +imagine him to be one of the men behind the guns, like Brokaw. +But, by George, he's working the dirty end of it himself, +according to that letter!" + +"You're beginning to use your head already, Greggy," said Philip, +a little more cheerfully. "I've asked myself that question a +hundred times during the last three days, and I'm more at sea than +ever. If it had been plain Tom Brown or Bill Jones, the name would +not have suggested anything beyond what you have read in the +letter. That's the question: Why should a Lord Fitzhugh Lee be +mixed up in this affair?" + +The two men looked at each other keenly for a few moments in +silence. + +"It suggests--" began Gregson. + +"What?" + +"That there may be a bigger scheme behind this affair than we +imagine. In fact, it suggests to me that the northerners are being +stirred up against you and your men for some other and more +powerful reason than to make you get out of the country and compel +the government to withdraw your license. So help me God, I believe +there's more behind it!" + +"So do I," said Philip, quietly. + +"Have you any suspicions of what might be the more powerful +motive?" + +"None. I know that British capital is heavily interested in +mineral lands east of the surveyed line. But there is none at +Churchill. All operations have been carried on from Montreal and +Toronto." + +"Have you written to Brokaw about this letter?" + +"You are the first to whom I have revealed its contents," said +Philip. "I have neglected to tell you that Brokaw is so worked up +over the affair that he is joining me in the north. The Hudson's +Bay Company's ship, which comes over twice a year, touches at +Halifax, and if Brokaw followed out his intentions he took passage +there. The ship should be in within a week or ten days. And, by +the way"--Philip stood up and thrust his hands deep in his pockets +as he spoke, half smiling at Gregson--"it gives me pleasure to +hand you a bit of cheerful information along with that," he added. +"Miss Brokaw is coming with him. She is very beautiful." + +Gregson held a lighted match until it burnt his finger-tips. + +"The deuce you say! I've heard--" + +"Yes, you have heard of her beauty, no doubt. I am not a special +enthusiast in your line, Greggy, but I will confirm your opinion +of Miss Brokaw. You will say that she is the most beautiful girl +you have ever seen, and you will want to make heads of her for +BURKE'S. I suppose you wonder why she is coming up here? So do I." + +There was a look of perplexity in Philip's eyes which Gregson +might have noticed if he had not gone to the door to look out into +the night. + +"What makes the stars so big and bright up in this country, Phil?" +he asked. + +"Because of the clearness of the atmosphere through which you are +looking," replied Philip, wondering what was passing through the +other's mind. "This air--compared with ours--is just like a piece +of glass that has been cleaned of a year's accumulation of dirt." + +Gregson whistled softly for a few moments. Then he said, without +turning: + +"She's got to go some if she beats the girl I saw this evening, +Phil." He turned at Philip's silence, and laughed. "I beg your +pardon, old man, I didn't mean to speak of her as if she were a +horse. I mean Miss Brokaw." + +"And I don't particularly like the idea of betting on the merits +of a pretty girl," replied Philip, "but I'll break the rule for +once, and wager you the best hat in New York that she does beat +her." + +"Done!" said Gregson. "A little gentle excitement of this sort +will relieve the tension of the other thing, Phil. I've heard +enough of business for to-night. I'm going to finish a sketch that +I have begun of her before I forget the fine points. Any +objection?" + +"None at all," said Philip. "Meanwhile I'll go out to breathe a +spell." + +He put on his coat and took down his cap from a peg in the wall. +Gregson had seated himself under the lamp and was sharpening a +pencil. As Philip went to go out Gregson drew an envelope from his +pocket and tossed it on the table. + +"If you should happen to see any one that looks like--her," he +said, nodding toward the envelope, "kindly put in a word for me, +will you? I did that in a hurry. It's not half flattering." + +Philip laughed as he picked up the envelope. + +"The most beau--" he began. + +He caught himself with a jerk. Gregson, looking up from his +pencil-sharpening, saw the smile leave his lips and a quick flush +leap into his bronzed cheeks. He stared at the face on the +envelope for a half a minute, then gazed speechlessly at Gregson. + +It was Gregson who laughed, softly and without suspicion. + +"How does your wager look now?" he taunted. + +"She--is--beautiful," murmured Philip, dropping the envelope and +turning to the door, "Don't wait for me, Greggy. Go to bed." + +He heard Gregson laugh behind him, and he wondered, as he went +out, what Gregson would say if he told him that he had drawn on +the back of the old envelope the beautiful face of Eileen Brokaw! + + + + + +V + + +A dozen steps beyond the door Philip paused in the shadow of a +dense spruce, half persuaded to return. From where he stood he +could see Gregson bending over the table, already at work on the +picture. He confessed that the sketch had startled him. He knew +that it had sent the hot blood rushing to his face, and that only +through a fortunate circumstance had Gregson ascribed its effect +upon him to something that was wide of the truth. Miss Brokaw was +a thousand or more miles away. At this moment she was somewhere in +the North Atlantic, if their ship had left Halifax. She had never +been in the north. More than that, he knew that Gregson had never +seen Miss Brokaw, and had heard of her only through himself and +the society columns of the newspapers. How could he explain his +possession of the sketch? + +He drew a step or two nearer to the open door, and stopped again. +If he returned to question Gregson it would draw him perilously +near to explanations which he did not care to make, to the one +secret which he wished to guard from his friend's knowledge. After +all, the picture was only a resemblance. It could be nothing but a +resemblance, even though it was so striking and unusual that it +had thrown him off his guard at first. When he returned later and +looked at it again he would no doubt be able to see his error. + +He walked on through the spruce shadows and up a narrow trail that +led to the bald knob of the ridge, feeling his way with his right +hand before him when the denseness of the forest shut out the +light of the stars and the moon, until at last he stood out strong +and clear under the glow of the skies, with the world sweeping out +in black and gray mystery around him. To the north was the Bay, +reaching away like a vast black plain. Half a mile distant two or +three lights were burning over Fort Churchill, red eyes peering up +out of the deep pool of darkness; to the south and west there +swept the gray, starlit distances which lay between him and +civilization. + +He leaned against a great rock, resting his elbows in a carpet of +moss, and his eyes turned into the mystery of those distances. The +sea of spruce-tops that rose out of the ragged valley at his feet +whispered softly in the night wind; from out of their depths +trembled the low hoot of an owl; over the vaster desolation beyond +hovered a weird and unbroken silence. More than once the spirit of +this world had come to him in the night and had roused him from +his slumber to sit alone out under the stars, imagining all that +it might tell him if he could read the voice of it in the +whispering of the trees, if he could but understand it as he +longed to understand it, and could find in it the peace which he +knew that it all but held for him. The spirit of it had never been +nearer to him than to-night. He felt it close to him, so near that +it seemed like the warm, vibrant touch of a presence at his side, +something which had come to him in a voiceless loneliness as great +as his own, watching and listening with him beside the rock. It +seemed nearer to him since he had seen and talked with Gregson. It +was much nearer to him since a few minutes ago, when he had looked +upon what he had first thought to be the face of Eileen Brokaw. + +And this was the world--the spirit--that had changed him. He +wondered if Gregson had seen the change which he tried so hard to +conceal. He wondered if Miss Brokaw would see it when she came, +and if her soft, gray eyes would read to the bottom of him as they +had fathomed him once before upon a time which seemed years and +years ago. Thoughts like these troubled him. Twice that day he had +found stealing over him a feeling that was almost physical pain, +and yet he knew that this pain was but the gnawing of a great +loneliness in his heart. In these moments he had been sorry that +he had brought Gregson back into his life. And with Gregson he was +bringing back Eileen Brokaw. He was more than sorry for that. The +thought of it made him grow warm and uncomfortable, though the +night air from off the Bay was filled with the chill tang of the +northern icebergs. Again his thoughts brought him face to face +with the old pictures, the old life. With them came haunting +memories of a Philip Whittemore who had once lived, and who had +died; and with these ghosts of the past there surged upon him the +loneliness which seemed to crush and stifle him. Like one in a +dream he was swept back. Over the black spruce at his feet, far +into the gray, misty distances beyond, over forests and mountains +and the vast, grim silences his vision reached out until he saw +life as it had begun for him, and as he had lived it for a time. +It had opened fair. It had given promise. It had filled him with +hope and ambition. And then it had changed. + +Unconsciously he clenched his hands as he thought of what had +followed, of the black days of ruin, of death, of the dissolution +of all that he had hoped and dreamed for. He had fought, because +he was born a fighter. He had risen again and again, only to find +misfortune still at his face. At first he had laughed, and had +called it bad luck. But the bad luck had followed him, dogging him +with a persistence which developed in him a new perspective of +things. He dropped away from his clubs. He began to measure men +and women as he had not measured them before, and there grew in +him slowly a revulsion for what those measurements revealed. The +spirit that was growing in him called out for bigger things, for +the wild freedom which he had tasted for a time with Gregson--for +a life which was not warped by the gilded amenities of the crowded +ballroom to-night, by the frenzied dollar-fight to-morrow. No one +could understand that change in him. He could find no spirit in +sympathy with him, no chord in another breast that he could reach +out and touch and thrill with understanding. Once he had hoped-- +and tried-- + +A deep breath, almost a sigh, fell from his lips as he thought of +that last night, at the Brokaw ball. He heard again the laughter +and chatter of men and women, the soft rustle of skirts--and then +the break, the silence, as the low, sweet music of his favorite +waltz began, while he stood screened behind a bank of palms +looking down into the clear gray eyes of Eileen Brokaw. He saw +himself as he had stood then, leaning over her slim white +shoulders, intoxicated by her beauty, his face pale with the fear +of what he was about to say; and he saw the girl, with her +beautiful head thrown a little back, so that her golden hair +almost touched his lips, waiting for him to speak. For months he +had fought against the fascination of her beauty. Again and again +he had almost surrendered to it, only to pull himself back in +time. He had seen this girl, as pure-looking as an angel, strike +deeply at the hearts of other men; he had heard her laugh and talk +lightly of the wounds she had made. Behind the eyes which gazed up +at him, dear and sweet as pools of sunlit water, he knew there lay +the consuming passion for power, for admiration, for the froth- +like pleasures of the life that was swirling about them. Sincerity +was but their mask. He knew that the beautiful gray eyes lied to +him when he saw in them all that he held glorious in womanhood. + +He laughed softly to himself as the picture grew in his mind, and +he saw Ransom come blundering in through the palms, mopping his +red face and chattering inane things to little Miss Meesen. Ransom +was always blundering. This time his blunder saved Philip. The +passionate words died on his lips; and when Ransom and Miss Meesen +turned about in a giggling flutter, he spoke no words of love, but +opened up his heart to this girl whom he would have loved if she +had been like her eyes. It was his last hope--that she would +understand him, see with him the emptiness of his life, sympathize +with him. + +And she had laughed at him! + +She had risen to her feet; there had come for an instant a flash +like that of fire in her eyes; her voice trembled a little when +she spoke. There was resentment in the poise of her white +shoulders as Ransom's voice came to them in a loud laugh from +behind the palms; her red lips showed disdain and anger. She hated +Ransom for breaking in; she despised Philip for allowing the +interruption to tear away her triumph. Her own betrayal of herself +was like tonic to Philip. He laughed joyously when he was alone +out in the cool night air. Ransom never knew why Philip hunted him +out and shook his fat hand so warmly at parting. + +Philip again felt himself in the fever of that night as he turned +from the rock and began picking his way down the side of the ridge +toward the Bay. He found himself wondering what had become of +good-natured, dense-headed Ransom, who had all he could do to +spend his father's allowance. From Ransom his thoughts turned to +little Harry Dell, Roscoe, big Dan Philips, and three or four +others who had sacrificed their hearts at Miss Brokaw's feet. He +grimaced as he thought of young Dell, who had worshiped the ground +she walked on, and who had gone straight to the devil when she +threw him over. He wondered, too, where Roscoe was. He knew that +Roscoe would have won out if it had not been for the financial +crash which took his brokerage firm off its feet and left him a +pauper. He had heard that Roscoe had gone up into British Columbia +to recuperate his fortune in Douglas fir. As for big Dan-- + +Philip stumbled over a rock, and rose with a bruised knee. The +shock brought him back to realities, and a few moments later he +stood upon the narrow boulder-strewn beach, rubbing his knee and +calling himself a fool for allowing the old thoughts to stir him +up. Out there, somewhere, Brokaw and his daughter were coming. +That Miss Brokaw was with her father was a circumstance which was +of no importance to him. At least he told himself so, and set his +face toward Churchill. + +To-night the stars and the moon seemed to be more than usually +brilliant. About him the great masses of rock, the tumbling surf, +the edge of the forest, and the Bay itself were illumined as if by +the light of a softly radiant day. He looked at his watch and +found that it was past midnight. He had been up since dawn, and +yet he felt no touch of fatigue, no need of sleep. He took off his +cap and walked bareheaded in the mellow light, his moccasined feet +falling lightly, his eyes alert to all that this wonderful night +world might hold for him. Ahead of him rose a giant mass of rock, +worn smooth and slippery by the water dashed against it in the +crashing storms of countless centuries, and this he climbed, +panting when he reached the top. His eyes turned to where he saw +Fort Churchill sleeping along the edge of the Bay. + +In that same spot, a great pool of night-glow between two forest- +crowned ridges, it had lain for hundreds of years. He passed the +ancient landing-place of rocks, built a hundred and fifty years +ago for the first ships that came over the strange sea; he stood +upon the tumbled foundations of the Fort, that was still older, +and saw the starlight glinting on one of the brass cannon that lay +where it had fallen amid the debris, untouched and unmoved since +the days, ages-gone, when it had last thundered its welcome or its +defiance through the solitudes; he walked slowly along the shore +where the sea had lashed wearily for many a year, to reach the +wilderness dead, and where now, triumphant, the frothing surf +bared gun-case coffins and tumbled the bones of men down into its +sullen depths. And such men! Men who had lived and died when the +world was unborn in a half of its knowledge and science, when red +blood was the great capital, strong hearts the winners of life. +And there were women, too, women who had come with these men, and +died with them, in the opening-up of a new world. It was such men +as these, and such women as these, that Philip loved, and he +walked with bared head and swiftly beating heart over the unmarked +jungle of the dead. + +And then he came to other things, the first low log buildings of +Churchill, to the silence of sleeping life. New buildings loomed +up--working quarters of men who were grubbing for dollars, the new +wharves, the skeletons of elevators, sullen, windowless +warehouses, the office-buildings of men who were already fighting +and quarreling and gripping at one another's throats in the +struggle for supremacy, for the biggest and ripest plums in this +new land of opportunity. The dollar-fight had begun, and the +things that already marked its presence loomed monstrous and +grotesque to Philip, as if jeering at the forgotten efforts of +those whom the sea was washing away. And suddenly it struck Philip +that the sea, working ceaselessly, digging away at its dead, was +not the enemy of the nameless creatures in the gun-case coffins, +but that it was a friend, stanch through centuries, rescuing them +now from the desecration that was to come; and for a moment he was +resistless to the spirit that moved him about and made him face +that sea with something that was almost a prayer in his heart. + +As he turned he saw that a light had appeared in one of the low +log buildings which contained the two offices of the Keewatin +Mines and Lands Company. The light, and the bulky shadow of old +Pearce, which appeared for a moment on one of the drawn curtains, +aroused Philip to other thoughts. Since his arrival at Churchill +he had made the acquaintance of Pearce, and it struck him now that +just such a man as this might be Lord Fitzhugh Lee. The Keewatin +Mines and Lands Company had no mines and few lands, and yet Pearce +had told him that they were doing a hustling business down south, +selling stock on mineral claims that couldn't be worked for years. +After all, was he any better than Pearce? + +The old bitterness rose in him. He was no better than Pearce, no +better than this Lord Fitzhugh himself, and it was fate--fate and +people, that had made him so. He walked swiftly now, following +close along the shore in the hard stretch kept bare by the tides, +until he came to the red coals of half a dozen Indian fires on the +edge of the forest beyond the company's buildings. A dog scented +him and howled. He heard a guttural voice break in a word of +command from one of the tepees, and there was silence again. + +He turned to the right, burying himself deeper and deeper into the +great silence of the north, his quick steps keeping pace with the +thoughts that were passing through his brain. Fate, bad luck, +circumstance--they had been against him. He had told himself this +a hundred times, had laughed at them with the confidence of one +who knew that some day he would rise above these things in +triumph. And yet what were these elements of fortune, as he had +called them, but people? A feeling of personal resentment began to +oppress him. People had downed him, and not circumstance and bad +luck. Men and women had made a failure of him, and not fate. For +the first time it occurred to him that the very men and women whom +Brokaw and his associates had duped, whom Pearce was duping, would +play the game in the same way if they had the opportunity. What if +he had played on the winning side, if he had enlisted his fighting +energies with men like Brokaw and Pearce, fought for money and +power in place of this other thing, which seemed to count so +little? Other men would have given much to have been in his favor +with Eileen Brokaw. He might have been in the front of this other +fight, the winning fight, the possessor of fortune, a beautiful +woman-- + +He stopped suddenly. It seemed to him that he had heard a voice. +He had climbed from out of the shadow of the forest until he stood +now on a gray cliff of rock that reached out into the Bay, like +the point of a great knife guarding Churchill. A block of +sandstone rose in his path, and he passed quietly around it. In +another instant he had flattened himself against it. + +A dozen feet away, full in the moonlight, three figures sat on the +edge of the cliff, as motionless as though hewn out of rock. +Instinctively Philip's hand slipped to his revolver holster, but +he drew it back when he saw that one of the three figures was that +of a woman. Beside her crouched a huge wolf-dog; on the other side +of the dog sat a man. The man was resting in the attitude of an +Indian, with his elbows on his knees, his chin in the palms of his +hands, gazing steadily and silently out over the Bay toward +Churchill. + +It was his companion that held Philip motionless against the face +of the rock. She, too, was leaning forward, gazing in that same +steady, silent way toward Churchill. She was bareheaded. Her hair +fell loose over her shoulders and streamed down her back until it +piled itself upon the rock, shining dark and lustrous in the light +of the moon. Philip knew that she was not an Indian. + +Suddenly the girl sat erect, and then sprang to her feet, partly +facing him, the breeze rippling her hair about her face and +shoulders, her eyes turned to the vast gray depths of the world +beyond the forests. For an instant she turned so that the light of +the moon fell full upon her, and in that moment Philip thought +that her eyes had searched him out in the shadow of the rock and +were looking straight into his own. Never had he seen such a +beautiful face among the forest people. He had dreamed of such +faces beside camp-fires, in the deep loneliness of long nights in +the forests, when he had awakened to bring before him visions of +what Eileen Brokaw might have been to him if he had found her one +of these people. He drew himself closer to the rock. The girl +turned again to the edge of the cliff, her slender form +silhouetted against the starlit sky. She leaned over the dog, and +he heard her voice, soft and caressing, but he could not +understand her words. The man lifted his head, and he recognized +the swarthy, clear-cut features of a French half-breed. He moved +away as quietly as he had come. + +The girl's voice stopped him. + +"And that is Churchill, Pierre--the Churchill you have told me of, +where the ships come in?" + +"Yes, that is Churchill, Jeanne." + +For a moment there was silence. Then, clear and low, with a wild, +sobbing note in her voice that thrilled Philip, the girl cried: + +"And I hate it, Pierre. I hate it--hate it--hate it!" + +Philip stepped out boldly from the rock. + +"And I hate it, too," he said. + + + + + +VI + + +Scarce had he spoken when he would have given much to have +recalled his words, wrung from his lips by that sobbing note of +loneliness, of defiance, of half pain in the girl's voice. It was +the same note, the same spirit crying out against his world that +he had listened to in the moaning of the surf as it labored to +carry away the dead, and in the wind that sighed in the spruce- +tops below the mountain, only now it was the spirit speaking +through a human voice. Every fiber in his body vibrated in +response to it, and he stood with bared head, filled with a wild +desire to make these people understand, and yet startled at the +effect which his appearance had produced. + +The girl faced him, her eyes shining with sudden fear. Quicker +than her own was the movement of the half-breed. In a flash he was +upon his feet, his dark face tense with action, his right hand +gripping at something in his belt as he bent toward the figure in +the center of the rock. His posture was that of an animal ready to +spring. Close beside him gleamed the white fangs of the wolf-dog. +The girl leaned over and twisted her fingers in the tawny hair +that bristled on the dog's neck. Philip heard her speak, but she +did not move her eyes from his face. It was the tableau of a +moment, tense, breathless. The only thing that moved was the +shimmer of steel. Philip caught the gleam of it under the half- +breed's hand. + +"Don't do that, M'sieur," he said, pointing at the other's belt. +"I am sorry that I disturbed you. Sometimes I come up here--alone +--to smoke my pipe and listen to the sea down there. I heard you +say that you hate Churchill, and I hate it. That is why I spoke." + +He turned to the girl. + +"I am sorry. I beg your pardon." + +He looked at her with new wonderment. She had tossed back her +loose hair, and stood tall and straight in the moonlight, her dark +eyes gazing at him now calmly and without affright. She was +dressed in rich yellow buckskin, as soft as chamois. Her throat +was bare. A deep collar of lace fell over her shoulders. One hand, +raised to her breast, revealed a wide gauntlet cuff of red or +purple plush, of a fashion two centuries old. Her lips were +parted, and he saw the faintest gleam of her white teeth, the +quick rising and falling of her bosom. He had spoken directly to +her, yet she gave no sign of having heard him. + +"You startled us, that is all, M'sieur," said Pierre, quietly. His +English was excellent, and as he spoke he bowed low to Philip. "It +is I whom you must pardon, M'sieur--for betraying so much +caution." + +Philip held out his hand. + +"My name is Whittemore--Philip Whittemore," he said. "I'm staying +at Churchill until the ship comes in and--and I hope you'll let me +sit here on the rock." + +For an instant Pierre's fingers gripped his hand, and he bowed low +again like a courtier. Philip saw that he, too, wore the same big, +old-fashioned cuffs, and that it was not a knife that hung at his +belt, but a short rapier. + +"And I am Pierre--Pierre Couchee," he said. "And this--is my +sister--Jeanne. We do not belong to Fort Churchill, but come from +Fort o' God. Good night, M'sieur!" + +The girl had taken a step back, and now she swept him a courtesy +so low that her fallen hair streamed over her shoulders. She spoke +no word, but passed quickly with Pierre up the rock, and while +Philip stood stunned and speechless they disappeared swiftly into +the white gloom of the night. + +Mutely he gazed after them. For a long time he stood staring +beyond the rocks, marveling at the strangeness of this thing that +had happened. An hour before he had stood with bared head over the +ancient dead at Churchill, and now, on the rock, he had seen the +resurrection of what he had dreamed those dead to be in life. He +had never seen people like Pierre and Jeanne. Their strange dress, +the rapier at Pierre's side, his courtly bow, the low, graceful +courtesy that the girl had made him, all carried him back to the +days of the old pictures that hung in the factor's room at +Churchill, when high-blooded gallants came into the wilderness +with their swords at their sides, wearing the favors of court +ladies next their hearts. Pierre, standing there on the rock, with +his hand on his rapier, might have been Grosellier himself, the +prince's favorite, and Jeanne-- + +Something white on the rock near where the girl had been sitting +caught Philip's eyes. In a moment he held in his fingers a small +handkerchief and a broad ribbon of finely knit lace. In her haste +to get away she had forgotten these things. He was about to run to +the crest of the cliff and call loudly for Pierre Couchee when he +held the handkerchief and the lace close to his face and the +delicate perfume of heliotrope stopped him. There was something +familiar about it, something that held him wondering and +mystified, until he knew that he had lost the opportunity to +recall Pierre and his companion. He looked at the handkerchief +more, closely. It was a dainty fabric, so soft that it gave barely +the sensation of touch when he crushed it in the palm of his hand. +For a few moments he was puzzled to account for the filmy strip of +lace. Then the truth came to him. Jeanne had used it to bind her +hair! + +He laughed softly, joyously, as he wound the bit of fabric about +his fingers and retraced his steps toward Churchill. Again and +again he pressed the tiny handkerchief to his face, breathing of +its sweetness; and the action suddenly stirred his memory to the +solution of its mystery. It was this same sweetness that had come +to him on the night that he had looked down into the beautiful +face of Eileen Brokaw at the Brokaw ball. He remembered now that +Eileen Brokaw loved heliotrope, and that she always wore a purple +heliotrope at her white throat or in the gold of her hair. For a +moment it struck him as singular that so many things had happened +this day to remind him of Brokaw's daughter. The thought hastened +his steps. He was anxious to look at the picture again, to +convince himself that he had been mistaken. Gregson was asleep +when he re-entered the cabin. The light was burning low, and +Philip turned up the wick. On the table was the picture as Gregson +had left it. This time there was no doubt. He had drawn the face +of Eileen Brokaw. In a spirit of jest he had written under it, +"The Wife of Lord Fitzhugh." + +In spite of their absurdity the words affected Philip curiously. +Was it possible that Miss Brokaw had reached Fort Churchill in +some other way than by ship? And, if not, was it possible that in +this remote corner of the earth there was another woman who +resembled her so closely? Philip took a step toward Gregson, half +determined to awaken him. And yet, on second thought, he knew that +Gregson could not explain. Even if the artist had learned of his +affair with Miss Brokaw and had secured a picture of her in some +way, he would not presume to go this far. He was convinced that +Gregson had drawn the picture of a face that he had seen that day. +Again he read the words at the bottom of the sketch, and once more +he experienced their curious effect upon him--an effect which it +was impossible for him to analyze even in his own mind. + +He replaced the picture upon the table and drew the handkerchief +and bit of lace from his pocket. In the light of the lamp he saw +that both were as unusual as had been the picturesque dress of the +girl and her companion. Even to his inexperienced eyes and touch +they gave evidence of a richness that puzzled him, of a fashion +that he had never seen. They were of exquisite workmanship. The +lace was of a delicate ivory color, faintly tinted with yellow. +The handkerchief was in the shape of a heart, and in one corner of +it, so finely wrought that he could barely make out the silken +letters, was the word "Camille." + +The scent of heliotrope rose more strongly in the closed room, and +from the handkerchief Philip's eyes turned to the face of Eileen +Brokaw looking at him from out of Gregson's sketch. It was a +curious coincidence. He reached over and placed the picture face +down. Then he loaded his pipe, and sat smoking, his vision +traveling beyond the table, beyond the closed door to the lonely +black rock where he had come upon Jeanne and Pierre. Clouds of +smoke rose about him, and he half closed his eyes. He saw the girl +again, as she stood there; he saw the moonlight shining in her +hair, the dark, startled beauty of her eyes as she turned upon +him; he heard again the low sobbing note in her voice as she cried +out her hatred against Churchill. He forgot Eileen Brokaw now, +forgot in these moments all that he and Gregson had talked of that +day. His schemes, his fears, his feverish eagerness to begin the +fight against his enemies died away in thoughts of the beautiful +girl who had come into his life this night. It seemed to him now +that he had known her for a long time, that she had been a part of +him always, and that it was her spirit that he had been groping +and searching for, and could never find. For the space of those +few moments on the cliff she had driven out the emptiness and the +loneliness from his heart, and there filled him a wild desire to +make her understand, to talk with her, to stand shoulder to +shoulder with Pierre out there in the night, a comrade. + +Suddenly his fingers closed tightly over the handkerchief. He +turned and looked steadily at Gregson. His friend was sleeping, +with his face to the wall. + +Would not Pierre return to the rock in search of these articles +which his sister had left behind? The thought set his blood +tingling. He would go back--and wait for Pierre. But if Pierre did +not return--until to-morrow? + +He laughed softly to himself as he drew paper toward him and +picked up the pencil which Gregson had used. For many minutes he +wrote steadily. When he had done, he folded what he had written +and tied it in the handkerchief. The strip of lace with which +Jeanne had bound her hair he folded gently and placed in his +breast pocket. There was a guilty flush in his face as he stole +silently to the door. What would Gregson say if he knew that he-- +Phil Whittemore, the man whom he had once idealized as "The +Fighter," and whom he believed to be proof against all love of +woman--was doing this thing? He opened and closed the door softly. + +At least he would send his message to these strange people of the +wilderness. They would know that he was not a part of that +Churchill which they hated, that in his heart he had ceased to be +a thing of its breed. He apologized again for his sudden +appearance on the rock, but the apology was only an excuse for +other things which he wrote, in which for a few brief moments he +bared himself to those whom he knew would understand, and asked +that their acquaintance might be continued. He felt that there was +something almost boyish in what he was doing; and yet, as he +hurried over the ridge and down into Churchill again, he was +thrilled as no other adventure had ever thrilled him before. As he +approached the cliff he began to fear that the half-breed would +not return for the things which Jeanne had left, or that he had +already re-visited the rock. The latter thought urged him on until +he was half running. The crest of the cliff was bare when he +reached it. He looked at his watch. He had been gone an hour. + +Where the moonlight seemed to fall brightest he dropped the +handkerchief, and then slipped back into the rocky trail that led +to the edge of the Bay. He had scarcely reached the strip of level +beach that lay between him and Churchill when from far behind him +there came the long howl of a dog. It was the wolf-dog. He knew it +by the slow, dismal rising of the cry and the infinite sadness +with which it as slowly died away until lost in the whisperings of +the forest and the gentle wash of the sea. Pierre was returning. +He was coming back through the forest. Perhaps Jeanne would be +with him. + +For the third time Philip climbed back to the great moonlit rock +at the top of the cliff. Eagerly he faced the north, whence the +wailing cry of the wolf-dog had come. Then he turned to the spot +where he had dropped the handkerchief, and his heart gave a sudden +jump. + +There was nothing on the rock. The handkerchief was gone! + + + + + +VII + + +Philip stood undecided, his ears strained to catch the slightest +sound. Ten minutes had not elapsed since he had dropped the +handkerchief. Pierre could not have gone far among the rocks. It +was possible that he was concealed somewhere near him now. Softly +he called his name. + +"Pierre--ho, Pierre Couchee!" + +There was no answer, and in the next breath he was sorry that he +had called. He went silently down the trail. He had come to the +edge of Churchill when once more he heard the howl of the dog far +back in the forest. He stopped to locate as nearly as he could the +point whence the sound came, for he was certain now that the dog +had not returned with Pierre, but had remained with Jeanne, and +was howling from their camp. + +Gregson was awake and sitting on the edge of his bunk when Philip +entered the cabin. + +"Where the deuce have you been?" he demanded. "I was just trying +to make up my mind to go out and hunt for you. Stolen--lost--or +something like that?" + +"I've been thinking," said Philip, truthfully. + +"So have I," said Gregson. "Ever since you came back, wrote that +letter, and went out again--" + +"You were asleep," corrected Philip. "I looked at you." + +"Perhaps I was--when you looked. But I have a hazy recollection of +you sitting there at the table, writing like a fiend. Anyway, I've +been thinking ever since you went out of the door, and--I'd like +to read that Lord Fitzhugh letter again." + +Philip handed him the letter. He was quite sure from his friend's +manner of speaking that he had seen nothing of the handkerchief +and the lace. + +Gregson seized the paper lazily, yawned, and slipped it under the +blanket which he had doubled up for a pillow. + +"Do you mind if I keep it for a few days. Phil?" he asked. + +"Not in the least, if you'll tell me why you want it," said +Philip. + +"I will--when I discover a reason myself," replied his friend, +coolly, stretching himself out again in the bunk. "Remember when I +dreamed that Carabobo planter was sticking a knife into you, +Phil?--and the next day he tried it? Well, I've had a funny dream, +I want to sleep on this letter. I may want to sleep on it for a +week. Better turn in if you expect to get a wink between now and +morning." + +For half an hour after he had undressed and extinguished the light +Philip lay awake reviewing the incidents of his night's adventure. +He was certain that his letter was in the hands of Pierre and +Jeanne, but he was not so sure that they would respond to it. He +half expected that they would not, and yet he felt a deep sense of +satisfaction in what he had done. If he met them again he would +not be quite a stranger. And that he would meet them he was not +only confident, but determined. If they did not appear in Fort +Churchill he would hunt out their camp. + +He found himself asking a dozen questions, none of which he could +answer. Who was this girl who had come like a queen from out of +the wilderness, and this man who bore with him the manner of a +courtier? Was it possible, after all, that they were of the +forests? And where was Fort o' God? He had never heard of it +before, and as he thought of Jeanne's strange, rich dress, of the +heliotrope-scented handkerchief, of the old-fashioned rapier at +Pierre's side, and of the exquisite grace with which the girl had +left him he wondered if such a place as this Fort o' God must be +could exist in the heart of the desolate northland. Pierre had +said that they had come from Fort o' God. But were they a part of +it? + +He fell asleep, the resolution formed in his mind to investigate +as soon as he found the opportunity. There would surely be those +at Churchill who would know these people; if not, they would know +of Fort o' God. + +Philip found Gregson awake and dressed when he rolled out of his +bunk a few hours later. Gregson had breakfast ready. + +"You're a good one to have company," growled the artist. "When you +go out mooning again please take me along, will you? Chuck your +head in that pail of water and let's eat. I'm starved." + +Philip noticed that his companion had tacked the sketch against +one of the logs above the table. + +"Pretty good for imagination, Greggy," he said, nodding. "Burke +will jump at that if you do it in colors." + +"Burke won't get it," replied Gregson, soberly, seating himself at +the table. "It won't be for sale." + +"Why?" + +Gregson waited until Philip had seated himself before he answered. + +"Look here, old man--get ready to laugh. Split your sides, if you +want to. But it's God's truth that the girl I saw yesterday is the +only girl I've ever seen that I'd be willing to die for!" + +"To be sure," agreed Philip. "I understand." + +Gregson stared at him in surprise. "Why don't you laugh?" he +asked. + +"It is not a laughing matter," said Philip. "I say that I +understand. And I do." + +Gregson looked from Philip's face to the picture. + +"Does it--does it hit you that way, Phil?" + +"She is very beautiful." + +"She is more than that," declared Gregson, warmly. "If I ever +looked into an angel's face it was yesterday, Phil. For just a +moment I met her eyes--" + +"And they were--" + +"Wonderful!" + +"I mean--the color," said Philip, engaging himself with the food. + +"They were blue or gray. It is the first time I ever looked into a +woman's eyes without being sure of the color of them. It was her +hair, Phil--not this tinsel sort of gold that makes you wonder if +it's real, but the kind you dream about. You may think me a loon, +but I'm going to find out who she is and where she is as soon as I +have done with this breakfast." + +"And Lord Fitzhugh?" + +A shadow passed over Gregson's face. For a few moments he ate in +silence. Then he said: + +"That's what kept me awake after you had gone--thinking of Lord +Fitzhugh and this girl. See here, Phil. She isn't one of the kind +up here. There was breeding and blood in every inch of her, and +what I am wondering is if these two could be associated in any +way. I don't want it to be so. But--it's possible. Beautiful young +women like her don't come, traveling up to this knob-end of the +earth alone, do they?" + +Philip did not pursue the subject. A quarter of an hour later the +two young men left the cabin, crossed the ridge, and walked +together down into Churchill. Gregson went to the Company's store, +while Philip entered the building occupied by Pearce. Pearce was +at his desk. He looked up with tired, puffy eyes, and his fat +hands lay limply before him. Philip knew that he had not been to +bed. His oily face strove to put on an appearance of animation and +business as Philip entered. + +Philip produced a couple of cigars and took a chair opposite him. + +"You look bushed, Pearce," he began. "Business must be rushing. I +saw a light in your window after midnight, and I came within an +ace of calling. Thought you wouldn't like to be interrupted, so I +put off my business until this morning." + +"Insomnia," said Pearce, huskily. "I can't sleep. Suppose you saw +me at work through the window?" There was almost an eager haste in +his question. + +"Saw nothing but the light," replied Philip, carelessly. "You know +this country pretty well, don't you, Pearce?" + +"Been 'squatting' on prospects for eight years, waiting for this +damned railroad," said Pearce, interlacing his thick fingers. "I +guess I know it!" + +"Then you can undoubtedly tell me the location of Fort o' God?" + +"Fort o' What?" + +"Fort o' God." + +Pearce looked blank. + +"It's a new one on me," he said, finally. "Never heard of it." He +rose from his chair and went over to a big map hanging against the +wall. Studiously he went over it with the point of his stubby +forefinger. "This is the latest from the government," he +continued, with his back to Philip, "but it ain't here. There's a +God's Lake down south of Nelson House, but that's the only thing +with a God about it north of fifty-three." + +"It's not so far south as that," said Philip, rising. + +Pearce's little eyes were fixed on him shrewdly. + +"Never heard of it," he repeated. "What sort of a place is it, a +post--" + +"I have no idea," replied Philip. "I came for information more out +of curiosity than anything else. Perhaps I misunderstood the name. +I'm much obliged." + +He left Pearce in his chair and went directly to the factor's +quarters. Bludsoe, chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Company in the +far north, could give him no more information than had Pearce. He +had never heard of Fort o' God. He could not remember the name of +Couchee. During the next two hours Philip talked with French, +Indian, and half-breed trappers, and questioned the mail runner, +who had come in that morning from the south. No one could tell him +of Fort o' God. + +Had Pierre lied to him? His face flushed with anger as this +thought came to him. In the next breath he assured himself that +Pierre was not a man who would lie. He had measured him as a man +who would fight, and not one who would lie. Besides, he had +voluntarily given the information that he and Jeanne were from +Fort o' God. There had been no excuse for falsehood. + +He purposely directed his movements so that he would not come into +contact with Gregson, little dreaming that his artist friend was +working under the same formula. He lunched with the factor, and a +little later went boldly back to the cliff where he had met Jeanne +and Pierre the preceding night. Although he had now come to expect +no response to what he had written, he carefully examined the +rocks about him. Then he set out through the forest in the +direction from which had come the howling of the wolf-dog. + +He searched until late in the afternoon, but found no signs of a +recent camp. For several miles he followed the main trail that led +northward from Fort Churchill. He crossed three times through the +country between this trail and the edge of the Bay, searching for +smoke from the top of every ridge that he climbed, listening for +any sound that might give him a clue. He visited the shack of an +old half-breed deep in the forest beyond the cliff, but its aged +tenant could give him no information. He had not seen Pierre and +Jeanne, nor had he heard the howling of their dog. + +Tired and disappointed, Philip returned to Churchill. He went +directly to his cabin and found Gregson waiting for him. There was +a curious look in the artist's face as he gazed questioningly at +his friend. His immaculate appearance was gone. He looked like one +who had passed through an uncomfortable hour or two. Perspiration +had dried in dirty streaks on his face, and his hands were buried +dejectedly in his trousers pockets. He rose to his feet and stood +before his companion. + +"Look at me, Phil--take a good long look," he urged. + +Philip stared. + +"Am I awake?" demanded the artist. "Do I look like a man in his +right senses? Eh, tell me!" + +He turned and pointed to the sketch hanging against the wall. + +"Did I see that girl, or didn't I?" he went on, not waiting for +Philip to answer. "Did I dream of seeing her? Eh? By thunder, +Phil--" He whirled upon his companion, a glow of excitement taking +the place of the fatigue in his eyes. "I couldn't find her to-day. +I've hunted in every shack and brush heap in and around Churchill. +I've hunted until I'm so tired I can hardly stand up. And the +devil of it is, I can find no one else who got more than a glimpse +of her, and then they did not see her as I did. She had nothing on +her head when I saw her, but I remember now that something like a +heavy veil fell about her shoulders, and that she was lifting it +when she passed. Anyway, no one saw her like--that." He pointed to +the sketch. "And she's gone--gone as completely as though she came +in a flying-machine and went away in one. She's gone--unless--" + +"What?" + +"Unless she is in concealment right here in Churchill. She's gone +--or hiding." + +"You have reason to suspect that she would be hiding," said +Philip, concealing the effect of the other's words upon him. + +Gregson was uneasy. He lighted a cigarette, puffed at it once or +twice, and tossed it through the open door. Suddenly he reached in +his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. + +"Deuce take it, if I know whether I have or not!" he cried. "But-- +look here, Phil. I saw the mail come in to-day, and I walked up as +bold as you please and asked if there was anything for Lord +Fitzhugh. I showed the other letter, and said I was Fitzhugh's +agent. It went. And I got--this!" + +Philip snatched at the letter which Gregson held out to him. His +fingers trembled as he unfolded the single sheet of paper which he +drew forth. Across it was written a single line: + +Don't lose an hour. Strike now. + +There was nothing more, except a large ink blot under the words. +The envelope was addressed in the same hand as the one he had +previously received. The men stared into each other's face. + +"It's singular, that's all," pursued Gregson. "Those words are +important. The writer expects that they will reach Lord Fitzhugh +immediately, and as soon as he gets them you can look for war. +Isn't that their significance? I repeat that it is singular this +girl should come here so mysteriously, and disappear still more +so, just at this psychological moment; and it is still more +puzzling when you take into consideration the fact that two hours +before the runner came in from the south another person inquired +for Lord Fitzhugh's mail!" + +Philip started. + +"And they told you this?" + +"Yes. It was a man who asked--a stranger. He gave no name and left +no word. Now, if it should happen to be the man who was with the +girl when I saw her--and we can find him--we've as good as got +this Lord Fitzhugh. If we don't find him--and mighty soon--it's up +to us to start for your camps and put them into fighting shape. +See the point?" + +"But we've got the letter," said Philip. "Fitzhugh won't receive +the final word, and that will delay whatever plot he has ready to +spring." + +"My dear Phil," said Gregson, softly. "I always said that you were +the fighter and I the diplomat, yours the brawn and mine the +brain. Don't you see what this means? I'll gamble my right hand +that these very words have been sent to Lord Fitzhugh at two or +three different points, so that they would be sure of reaching +him. I'm just as positive that he has already received a copy of +the letter which we have. Mark my words, it's catch Lord Fitzhugh +within the next few days--or fight!" + +Philip sat down, breathing heavily. + +"I'll send word to MacDougall," he said. "But I--I must wait for +the ship!" + +"Why not leave word for Brokaw and join MacDougall?" + +"Because when the ship comes in I believe that a large part of +this mystery will be cleared up," replied Philip. "It is necessary +that I remain here. That will give us a few days in which to make +a further search for these people." + +Gregson did not urge the point, but replaced the second letter in +his pocket with the first. During the evening he remained at the +cabin. Philip returned to Churchill. For an hour he sat among the +ruins of the old fort, striving to bring some sort of order out of +the chaos of events that had occurred during the past few days. He +was almost convinced that he ought to reveal all that he knew to +Gregson, and yet several reasons kept him from doing so. If Miss +Brokaw was on the London ship when it arrived at Churchill, there +would be no necessity of disclosing that part of his own history +which he was keeping secret within himself. If Eileen was not on +the ship her absence would be sufficient proof to him that she was +in or near Churchill, and in this event he knew that it would be +impossible for him to keep from associating with her movements not +only those of Lord Fitzhugh, but also those of Jeanne and Pierre +and of Brokaw himself. He could see but two things to do at +present, wait and watch. If Miss Brokaw was not with her father, +he would take Gregson fully into his confidence. + +The next morning he despatched a messenger with a letter for +MacDougall, at Blind Indian Lake, warning him to be on his guard +and to prepare the long line of sub-stations for possible attack. +All this day Gregson remained in the cabin. + +"It won't do for me to make myself too evident," he explained. +"I've called for Lord Fitzhugh's mail, and I'd better lie as low +as possible until the corn begins to pop." + +Philip again searched the forests to the north and west with the +hope of finding some trace of Pierre and Jeanne. The forest people +were beginning to come into Churchill from all directions to be +present at the big event of the year--the arrival of the London +ship--and Philip made inquiries on every trail. No one had seen +those whom he described. The fourth and fifth days passed without +any developments. So far as he could discover there was no Fort o' +God, no Jeanne and Pierre Couchee. He was completely baffled. The +sixth day he spent in the cabin with Gregson. On the morning of +the seventh there came from far out over the Bay the hollow +booming of a cannon. + +It was the signal which for two hundred years the ships from over +the sea had given to the people of Churchill. + +By the time the two young men had finished their breakfasts and +climbed to the top of the ridge overlooking the Bay, the vessel +had dropped anchor half a mile off shore, where she rode safe from +the rocks at low tide. Along the shore below them, where Churchill +lay, the forest people were gathered in silent, waiting groups. +Philip pointed to the factor's big York boat, already two-thirds +of the way to the ship. + +"We should have gone with Bludsoe," he said. "Brokaw will think +this a shabby reception on our part, and Miss Brokaw won't be half +flattered. We'll go down and get a good position on the pier." + +Fifteen minutes later they were thrusting themselves through the +crowd of men, women, children, and dogs congregated at the foot of +the long stone pier alongside which the ship would lie for two or +three hours at each high tide. Philip stopped among a number of +Crees and half-breeds, and laid a detaining hand upon Gregson's +arm. + +"This is near enough, if you don't want to make yourself +conspicuous," he said. + +The York boat was returning. Philip pulled a cigar from his pocket +and lighted it. He felt his heart throbbing excitedly as the boat +drew nearer. He looked at Gregson. The artist was taking short, +quick puffs on his cigarette, and Philip wondered at the evident +eagerness with which he was watching the approaching craft. + +Until the boat ran close up under the pier its sail hid the +occupants. While the canvas still fluttered in the light wind +Bludsoe sprang from the bow out upon the rocks with a rope. Three +or four of his men followed. With a rattle of blocks and rings the +sheet dropped like a huge white curtain, and Philip took a step +forward, scarce restraining the exclamation that forced itself to +his lips at the picture which it revealed. Standing on the broad +rail, her slender form poised for the quick upward step, one hand +extended to Bludsoe, was Eileen Brokaw! In another instant she was +upon the pier, facing the strange people before her, while her +father clambered out of the boat behind. There was a smile of +expectancy on her lips as she scanned the dark, silent faces of +the forest people. Philip knew that she was looking for him. His +pulse quickened. He turned for a moment to see the effect of the +girl's appearance upon Gregson. + +The artist's two hands had gripped his arm. They closed now until +his fingers were like cords of steel. His face was white, his lips +set into thin lines. For a breath he stood thus, while Miss +Brokaw's scrutiny traveled nearer to them. Then, suddenly, he +released his hold and darted back among the half-breeds and +Indians, his face turning to Philip's in one quick, warning +appeal. + +He was not a moment too soon, for scarce had he gone when Miss +Brokaw caught sight of Philip's tall form at the foot of the pier. +Philip did not see the signal which she gave him. He was staring +at the line of faces ahead of him. Two people had worked their way +through that line, and suddenly every muscle in his body became +tense with excitement and joy. They were Pierre and Jeanne! + +He caught his breath at what happened then. He saw Jeanne falter +for a moment. He noticed that she was now dressed like the others +about her, and that Pierre, who stood at her shoulder, was no +longer the fine gentleman of the rock. The half-breed bent over +her, as if whispering to her, and then Jeanne ran out from those +about her to Eileen, her beautiful face flushed with joy and +welcome as she reached out her arms to the other woman. Philip saw +a sudden startled look leap into Miss Brokaw's face, but it was +gone as quickly as it appeared. She stared at the forest girl, +drew herself haughtily erect, and, with a word which he could not +hear, turned to Bludsoe and her father. For an instant Jeanne +stood as if some one had struck her a blow. Then, slowly, she +turned. The flush was gone from her face. Her beautiful mouth was +quivering, and Philip fancied that he could hear the low sobbing +of her breath. With a cry in which he uttered no name, but which +was meant for her, he sprang forward into the clear space of the +pier. She saw him, and darted back among her people. He would have +followed, but Miss Brokaw was coming to him now, her hand held out +to him, and a step behind were Brokaw and the factor. + +"Philip!" she cried. + +He spoke no word as he crushed her hand. The hot grip of his +fingers, the deep flush in his face, was interpreted by her as a +welcome which it did not require speech to strengthen. He shook +hands with Brokaw, and as the three followed after the factor his +eyes sought vainly for Pierre and Jeanne. + +They were gone, and he felt suddenly a thrill of repugnance at the +gentle pressure of Eileen Brokaw's hand upon his arm. + + + + + +VIII + + +Philip did not see the hundred staring eyes that followed in +wonderment the tall, beautiful girl who walked at his side. He +knew that Miss Brokaw was talking and laughing, and that he was +nodding his head and answering her, while his brain raged for an +idea that would give him an excuse for leaving her to follow +Jeanne and Pierre. The facts that Gregson had left him so +strangely, that Eileen had come with her father, and that, instead +of clearing up the mystery in which they were so deeply involved, +the arrival of the London ship had even more hopelessly entangled +them, were forgotten for the moment in the desire to intercept +Jeanne and Pierre before they could leave Churchill. Miss Brokaw +herself unconsciously gave him the opportunity for which he was +seeking. + +"You don't look very happy, Philip," she exclaimed, in a chiding +voice, meant only for his ears. "I thought--perhaps--my coming +would make you glad." + +Philip caught eagerly at the half question in her voice. + +"I feared you would notice it," he said, quickly. "I was afraid +you would think me indifferent because I did not go out to meet +you in the boat, and because I stood hidden at the end of the pier +when you landed. But I was looking for a man. I have been hunting +for him for a long time. And I saw his face just as we came +through the crowd. That is why I am--am rattled," he laughed. +"Will you excuse me if I go back? Can you find some excuse for the +others? I will return in a few minutes, and then you will not say +that I am unhappy." + +Miss Brokaw drew her hand from his arm. + +"Surely I will excuse you," she cried. "Hurry, or you may lose +him. I would like to go with you if it is going to be exciting." + +Philip turned to Brokaw and the factor, who were close behind +them. + +"I am compelled to leave you here," he explained. "I have excused +myself to Miss Brokaw, and will rejoin you almost immediately." + +He lost no time in hurrying back to the shore of the Bay. As he +had expected, Jeanne and her companion were no longer in sight. +There was only one direction in which they could have disappeared +so quickly, and this was toward the cliff. Once hidden by the +fringe of forest, he hastened his steps until he was almost +running. He had reached the base of the huge mass of rock that +rose up from the sea, when down the narrow trail that led to the +cliff there came a figure to meet him. It was an Indian boy, and +he advanced to question him. If Jeanne and Pierre had passed that +way the boy must surely have seen them. + +Before he had spoken the lad ran toward him, holding out something +in his hand. The question on Philip's lips changed to an +exclamation of joy when he recognized the handkerchief which he +had dropped upon the rock a few nights before, or one so near like +it that he could not have told them apart. It was tied into a +knot, and he felt the crumpling of paper under the pressure of his +fingers. He almost tore the bit of lace and linen in his eagerness +to rescue the paper, which a moment later he held in his fingers. +Three short lines, written in a fine, old-fashioned hand, were all +that it held for him. But they were sufficient to set his heart, +beating wildly. + + Will Monsieur come to the top of the rock to-night, some time +between the hours of nine and ten. + + There was no signature to the note, but Philip knew that only +Jeanne could have written it, for the letters were almost of +miscroscopic smallness, as delicate as the bit of lace in which +they had been delivered, and of a quaintness of style which added +still more to the bewildering mystery which already surrounded +these people. He read the lines half a dozen times, and then +turned to find that the Indian boy was slipping sway through the +rocks. + +"Here--you," he commanded, in English. "Come back!" + +The boy's white teeth gleamed in a laugh as he waved his hand and +leaped farther away. From Philip his eyes shifted in a quick, +searching glance to the top of the cliff. In a flash Philip +followed its direction. He understood the meaning of the look. +From the cliff Jeanne and Pierre had seen his approach, and their +meeting with the Indian boy had made it possible for them to +intercept him in this manner. They were probably looking down upon +him now, and in the gladness of the moment Philip laughed up at +the bare rocks and waved his cap above his head as a signal of his +acceptance of the strange invitation he had received. + +Vaguely he wondered why they had set the meeting for that night, +when in three or four minutes he could have joined them up there +in broad day. But the central tangle of the mystery that had grown +up about him during the past few days was too perplexing to +embroider with such a minor detail as this, and he turned back +toward Churchill with the feeling that everything was working in +his favor. During the next few hours he would clear up the tangle, +and in addition to that he would meet Jeanne and Pierre. It was +the thought of Jeanne, and not of the surprises which he was about +to explain, that stirred his blood as he hurried back to the Fort. + +It was his intention to return to Eileen and her father. But he +changed this. He would first hunt up Gregson and begin his work +there. He knew that the artist would be expecting him, and he went +directly to the cabin, escaping notice by following along the +fringe of the forest. + +Gregson was pacing back and forth across the cabin floor when +Philip arrived. His steps were quick and excited. His hands were +thrust deep in his trousers pockets. The butts of innumerable +half-smoked cigarettes lay scattered under his feet. He ceased his +restless movement upon his companion's interruption, and for a +moment or two gazed at Philip in blank silence. + +"Well," he said, at last, "have you got anything to say?" + +"Nothing," said Philip. "It's beyond me, Greggy. For Heaven's sake +give me an explanation!" + +There was nothing womanish in the hard lines of Gregson's face +now. He spoke with the suggestion of a sneer. + +"You knew--all the time," he said, coldly. "You knew that Miss +Brokaw and the girl whom I drew were one and the same person. What +was the object of your little sensation?" + +Philip ignored his question. He stepped quickly up to Gregson and +seized him by the arm. + +"It is impossible!" he cried, in a low voice. "They cannot be the +same person. That ship out there has not touched land since she +left Halifax. Until she hove in sight off Churchill she hasn't +been within two hundred miles of a coast this side of Hudson's +Strait. Miss Brokaw is as new to this country as you. It is beyond +all reason to suppose anything else." + +"Nevertheless," said Gregson, quietly, "it was Miss Brokaw whom I +saw the other day, and that is Miss Brokaw's picture." + +He pointed to the sketch, and freed his arm to light another +cigarette. There was a peculiar tone of finality in his voice +which warned Philip that no amount of logic or arguing on his part +would change his friend's belief. Gregson looked at him over his +lighted match. + +"It was Miss Brokaw," he said again. "Perhaps it is within reason +to suppose that she came to Churchill in a balloon, dropped into +town for luncheon, and departed in a balloon, descending by some +miraculous chance aboard the ship that was bringing her father. +However it may have happened, she was in Churchill a few days ago. +On that hypothesis I am going to work, and as a consequence I am +going to ask you for the indefinite loan of the Lord Fitzhugh +letter. Will you give me your word to say nothing of that letter-- +for a few days?" + +"It is almost necessary to show it to Brokaw," hesitated Philip. + +"Almost--but not quite," Gregson caught him up. "Brokaw knows the +seriousness of the situation without that letter. See here, Phil-- +you go out and fight, and let me handle this end of the business. +Don't reveal me to the Brokaws. I don't want to meet--her--yet, +though God knows if it wasn't for my confounded friendship for you +I'd go over there with you this minute. She was even more +beautiful than when I saw her--before." + +"Then there is a difference," laughed Philip, meaningly. + +"Not a difference, but a little better view," corrected the +artist. + +"Now, if we could only find the other girl, what a mess you'd be +in, Greggy! By George, but this is beginning to have its humorous +as well as its tragic side. I'd give a thousand dollars to have +this other golden-haired beauty appear upon the scene!" + +"I'll give a thousand if you produce her," retorted Gregson. + +"Good!" laughed Philip, holding out a hand. "I'll report again +this afternoon or to-night." + +Inwardly he felt himself in no humorous mood as he retraced his +steps to Churchill. He had thought to begin his work of clearing +up the puzzling situation with Gregson, and Gregson had failed him +completely by his persistence in the belief that Miss Brokaw was +the girl whose face he had seen more than a week before. Was it +possible, after all, that the ship had touched at some point up +the coast? The supposition was preposterous. Yet before rejoining +the Brokaws he sought out the captain and found that the company's +vessel had come directly from Halifax without a change or stop in +her regular course. The word of the company's captain cleared up +his doubts in one direction; it mystified him more than ever in +another. He was convinced that Gregson had not seen Miss Brokaw +until that morning. But who was Eileen's double? Where was she at +this moment? What peculiar combination of circumstance had drawn +them both to Churchill at this particularly significant time? It +was impossible for him not to associate the girl whom Gregson had +encountered, and who so closely resembled Eileen, with Lord +Fitzhugh and the plot against his company. And it struck him with +a certain feeling of dread that, if his suspicions were true, +Jeanne and Pierre must also be mixed up in the affair. For had not +Jeanne, in her error, greeted Eileen as though she were a dear +friend? + +He went directly to the factor's house, and knocked at the door +opening into the rooms occupied by Brokaw and his daughter. Brokaw +admitted him, and at Philip's searching glance about the room he +nodded toward a closed inner door and said: + +"Eileen is resting. It's been a hard trip on her, Phil, and she +hasn't slept for two consecutive nights since we left Halifax." + +Philip's keen glance told him that Brokaw himself had not slept +much. The promoter's eyes were heavy, with little puffy bags under +them. But otherwise he betrayed no signs of unrest or lack of +rest. He motioned Philip to a chair close to a huge fireplace in +which a pile of birch was leaping into flame, offered him a cigar, +and plunged immediately into business. + +"It's hell, Philip," he said, in a hard, quiet voice, as though he +were restraining an outburst of passion with effort. "In another +three months we'd have been on a working basis, earning dividends. +I've even gone to the point of making contracts that show us five +hundred per cent, profit. And now--this!" + +He dashed his half-burned cigar into the fire, and viciously bit +the end from another. + +Philip was lighting his own, and there was a moment's silence, +broken sharply by the financier. + +"Are your men prepared to fight?" + +"If it's necessary," replied Philip. "We can at least depend upon +a part of them, especially the men at Blind Indian Lake. But--this +fighting--Why do you think it will come to that? If there is +fighting we are ruined." + +"If the people rise against us in a body--yes, we are ruined. That +is what we must not permit. It is our one chance. I have done +everything in my power to beat this movement against us down +south, and have failed. Our enemies are completely masked. They +have won popular sentiment through the newspapers. Their next move +is to strike directly at us. Whatever is to happen will happen +soon. The plan is to attack us, to destroy our property, and the +movement is to be advertised as a retaliation for heinous outrages +perpetrated by our men. It is possible that the attack will not be +by northerners alone, but by men brought in for the purpose. The +result will be the same--if it succeeds. The attack is planned to +be a surprise. Our one chance is to meet it, to completely +frustrate it--to strike an overwhelming blow, and to capture +enough of our assailants to give us the evidence we must have." + +Brokaw was excited. He emphasized his words with angry sweeps of +his arms. He clenched his fists, and his face grew red. He was not +like the old, shrewd, indomitable Brokaw, completely master of +himself, never revealing himself beyond the unruffled veil of his +self-possession, and Philip was surprised. He had expected that +Brokaw's wily brain would bring with it half a dozen schemes for +the quiet undoing of their enemies. And now here was Brokaw, the +man who always hedged himself in with legal breast-works--who +never revealed himself to the shot of his enemies--enlisting +himself for a fight in the open! Philip had told Gregson that +there would be a fight. He was firmly convinced that there would +be a fight. But he had never believed that Brokaw would come to +join in it. He leaned toward the financier, his face flushed a +little by the warmth of the fire and by the knowledge that Brokaw +was relinquishing the situation entirely into his hands. If it +came to fighting, he would win. He was confident of himself there. +But-- + +"What will be the result if we win?" he asked. + +"If we secure those who will give the evidence we need--evidence +that the movement against us is a plot to destroy our company, the +government will stand by us," replied Brokaw. "I have sounded the +situation there. I have filed a formal declaration to the effect +that such a movement is on foot, and have received a promise that +the commissioner of police will investigate the matter. But before +that happens our enemies will strike. There is no time for red +tape or investigations. We must achieve our own salvation. And to +achieve that we must fight." + +"And if we lose?" + +Brokaw lifted his hands and shoulders with a significant gesture. + +"The moral effect will be tremendous," he said. "It will be shown +that the entire north is inimical to our company, and the +government will withdraw our option. We will be ruined. Our +stockholders will lose every cent invested." + +In moments of mental energy Philip was restless. He rose from his +chair now and moved softly back and forth across the carpeted +floor of the big room, shrouded in tobacco smoke. Should he break +his word to Gregson and tell Brokaw of Lord Fitzhugh? But, on +second thought, what good would come of it? Brokaw was already +aware of the seriousness of the situation. In some one of his +unaccountable ways he had learned that their enemies were to +strike almost immediately, and his own revelation of the Fitzhugh +letters would but strengthen this evidence. He would keep his +faith with Gregson for the promised day or two. For an hour the +two men were alone in the room. At the end of that time their +plans were settled. The next morning Philip would leave for Blind +Indian Lake and prepare for war. Brokaw would follow two or three +days later. + +A heavy weight seemed lifted from Philip's shoulders when he left +Brokaw. After months of worry and weeks of physical inaction he +saw his way clear for the first time. And for the first time, too, +something seemed to have come into his life that filled him with a +strange exhilaration, and made him forgetful of the gloom that had +settled over him during these last months. That night he would see +Jeanne. His body thrilled at the thought, until for a time he +forgot that he would also see and talk with Eileen. A few days +before he had told Gregson that it would be suicidal to fight the +northerners; now he was eager for action, eager to begin and end +the affair--to win or lose. If he had stopped to analyze the +change in himself he would have found that the beautiful girl whom +he had first seen on the moonlit rock was at the bottom of it. And +yet Jeanne was a northerner, one of those against whom his actions +must be directed. But he had confidence in himself, confidence in +what that night would bring forth. He was like one freed from a +bondage that had oppressed him for a long time, and the fact that +he might be compelled to fight Jeanne's own people did not destroy +his hopefulness, the new joy and excitement that he had found in +life. As he hurried back to his cabin he told himself that both +Jeanne and Pierre had read what he had sent to them in the +handkerchief; their response was a proof that they understood him, +and deep down a voice kept telling him that if it came to fighting +they three, Pierre, Jeanne, and himself, would rise or fall +together. A few hours had transformed him into Gregson's old +appreciation of the fighting man. Long and tedious months of +diplomacy, of political intrigue, of bribery and dishonest +financiering, in which he had played but the part of a helpless +machine, were gone. Now he held the whip-hand; Brokaw had +acknowledged his own surrender. He was to fight--a clean, fair +fight on his part, and his blood leaped in every vein like +marshaling armies. That nights on the rock, he would reveal +himself frankly to Pierre and Jeanne. He would tell them of the +plot to disrupt the company, and of the work ahead of him. And +after that-- + +He thrust open the door of his cabin, eager to enlist Gregson in +his enthusiasm. The artist was not in. Philip noticed that the +cartridge-belt and the revolver which usually hung over Gregson's +bunk were gone. He never entered the cabin without looking at the +sketch of Eileen Brokaw. Something about it seemed to fascinate +him, to challenge his presence. Now it was missing from the wall. + +He threw off his coat and hat, filled his pipe, and began +gathering up his few possessions, ready for packing. It was noon +before he was through, and Gregson had not returned. He boiled +himself some coffee and sat down to wait. At five o'clock he was +to eat supper with the Brokaws and the factor; Eileen, through her +father, had asked him to join her an hour or two earlier in the +big room. He waited until four, and then left a brief note for +Gregson upon the table. + +It was growing dusk in the forest. From the top of the ridge +Philip caught the last red glow of the sun, sinking far to the +south and west. A faint radiance of it still swept over his head +and mingled with the thickening gray gloom of the northern sea. +Across the dip in the Bay the huge, white-capped cliff seemed to +loom nearer and more gigantic in the whimsical light. For a few +moments a red bar shot across it, and as the golden fire faded and +died away Philip could not but think it was like a torch beckoning +to him. A few hours more, and where that light had been he would +see Jeanne. And now, down there, Eileen was waiting for him. + +His pulse quickened as he passed beyond the ancient fort, over the +burial-place of the dead, and into Churchill. He met no one at the +factor's, and the door leading into Miss Brokaw's room was partly +ajar. A great fire was burning in the fireplace, and he saw Eileen +seated in the rich glow of it, smiling at him as he entered. He +closed the door, and when he turned she had risen and was holding +out her hands to him. She had dressed for him, almost as on that +night of the Brokaw ball. In the flashing play of the fire her +exquisite arms and shoulders shone with dazzling beauty; her eyes +laughed at him; her hair rippled in a golden flood. Faintly there +came to him, filling the room slowly, tingling his nerves, the +sweet scent of heliotrope--the perfume that had filled his +nostrils on that other night, a long time ago, the sweet scent +that had come to him in the handkerchief dropped on the rock, the +breath of the bit of lace that had bound Jeanne's hair! + +Eileen moved toward him. "Philip," she said, "now are you glad to +see me?" + + + + + +IX + + +Her voice broke the spell that had held him for a moment. + +"I am glad to see you," he cried, quickly, seizing both her hands. +"Only I haven't quite yet awakened from my dream. It seems too +wonderful, almost unreal. Are you the old Eileen who used to +shudder when I told you of a bit of jungle and wild beasts, and +who laughed at me because I loved to sleep out-of-doors and tramp +mountains, instead of decently behaving myself at home? I demand +an explanation. It must be a wonderful change--" + +"There has been a change," she interrupted him. "Sit down, Philip +--there!" She nestled herself on a stool, close to his feet, and +looked up at him, her hands clasped under her chin, radiantly +lovely. "You told me once that girls like me simply fluttered over +the top of life like butterflies; that we couldn't understand +life, or live it, until somewhere--at some time--we came into +touch with nature. Do you remember? I was consumed with rage then +--at your frankness, at what I considered your impertinence. I +couldn't get what you said out of my mind. And I'm trying it." + +"And you like it?" He put the question almost eagerly. + +"Yes." She was looking at him steadily, her beautiful gray eyes +meeting his own in a silence that stirred him deeply. He had never +seen her more beautiful. Was it the firelight on her face, the +crimson leapings of the flames, that gave her skin a richer hue? +Was it the mingling of fire and shadow that darkened her cheeks? +An impulse made him utter the words which passed through his mind. + +"You have already tried it," he said. "I can see the effects of it +in your face. It would take weeks in the forests to do that." + +The gray eyes faltered; the flush deepened. + +"Yes, I have tried it. I spent a half of the summer at our cottage +on the lake." + +"But it is not tan," he persisted, thrilled for a moment by the +discoveries he was making. "It is the wind; it is the open; it is +the smoke of camp-fires; it is the elixir of balsam and cedar and +pine. That is what I see in your face--unless it is the fire." + +"It is the fire, partly," she said. "And the rest is the wind and +the open of the seas we have come across, and the sting of +icebergs. Ugh: my face feels like nettles!" + +She rubbed her cheeks with her two hands, and then held up one +hand to Philip. + +"Look," she said. "It's as rough as sand-paper. Isn't that a +change? I didn't even wear gloves on the ship. I'm an enthusiast. +I'm going down there with you, and I'm going to fight. Now have +you got anything to say against me, Mr. Philip?" + +There was a lightness in her words, and yet not in her voice. In +her manner was an uneasiness, mingled with an almost childish +eagerness for him to answer, which Philip could not understand. He +fancied that once or twice he had caught the faintest sign of a +break in her voice. + +"You really mean to hazard this adventure?" he cried, softly, in +his astonishment. "You, whom wild horses couldn't drag into the +wilderness, as you once told me!" + +"Yes," she affirmed, drawing her stool back out of the increasing +heat of the fire. Her face was almost entirely in shadow now, and +she did not look at Philip. "I am beginning to--to love +adventure," she went on, in an even voice. "It was an adventure +coming up. And when we landed down there something curious +happened. Did you see a girl who thought that she knew me--" + +She stopped, and a sudden flash of the fire lit up her eyes, fixed +on him intently from between her shielding hands. + +"I saw her run out and speak to you," said Philip, his heart +beating at double-quick. He leaned over so that he was looking +squarely into Miss Brokaw's face. + +"Did you know her?" she asked. + +"I have seen her only twice--once before she spoke to you." + +"If I meet her again I shall apologize," said Eileen. "It was her +mistake, and she startled me. When she ran out to me like that, +and held out her hands I--I thought of beggars." + +"Beggars!" almost shouted Philip. "A beggar!" He caught himself +with a laugh, and to cover his sudden emotion turned to lay a +fresh piece of birch on the fire. "We don't have beggars up here." + +The door opened behind them and Brokaw entered. Philip's face was +red when he greeted him. For half an hour after that he cursed +himself for not being as clever as Gregson. He knew that there was +a change in Eileen Brokaw, a change which nature had not worked +alone, as she wished him to believe. Then, and at supper, he tried +to fathom her. At times he detected the metallic ring of what was +unreal and make-believe in what she said; at other times she +seemed stirred by emotions which added immeasurably to the +sweetness and truthfulness of her voice. She was nervous. He found +her eyes frequently seeking her father's face, and more than once +they were filled with a mysterious questioning, as if within +Brokaw's brain there lurked hidden things which were new to her, +and which she was struggling to understand. She no longer held the +old fascination for Philip, and yet he conceded that she was more +beautiful than ever. Until to-night he had never seen the shadow +of sadness in her eyes; he had never seen them darken as they +darkened now, when she listened with almost feverish interest to +the words which passed between himself and Brokaw. He was certain +that it was not a whim that had brought her into the north. It was +impossible for him to believe that he had piqued at her vanity +until she had leaped into action, as she had suggested to him +while they were sitting before the fire. Could it be that she had +accompanied her father because he--Philip Whittemore--was in the +north? + +The thought drew a slow flush into his face, and his uneasiness +increased when he knew that she was looking at him. He was glad +when it came time for cigars, and Eileen excused herself. He +opened the door for her, and told her that he probably would not +see her again until morning, as he had an important engagement for +the evening. She gave him her hand, and for a moment he felt the +clinging of her fingers about his own. + +"Good night," she whispered. + +"Good night." + +She drew her hand half away, and then, suddenly, raised her eyes +straight to his own. They were calm, quiet, beautiful, and yet +there came a quick little catch in her throat as she leaned so +close to him that she touched his breast, and said: + +"It will be best--best for everything--everybody--if you can +influence father to stay at Fort Churchill." + +She did not wait for him to reply, but hurried toward her room. +For a moment Philip stared after her in amazement. Then he took a +step as if to follow her, to call her back. The impulse left him +as quickly as it came, and he rejoined Brokaw and the factor. + +He looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. At half-past seven +he shook hands with the two men, lighted a fresh cigar, and passed +out into the night. It was early for his meeting with Pierre and +Jeanne, but he went down to the shore and walked slowly in the +direction of the cliff. He was still an hour early when he arrived +at the great rock, and sat down, with his face turned to the sea. + +It was a white, radiant night, such as he had seen in the tropics. +Only here, in the north, his vision reached to greater distances. +Churchill lay lifeless in its pool of light; the ship hung like a +black silhouette in the distance, with a cloud of jet-black smoke +rising straight up from its funnels, and spreading out high up +against the sky, a huge, ebon monster that cast its shadow for +half a mile over the Bay. The shadow held Philip's eyes. Now it +was like a gigantic face, now like a monster beast--now it reached +out in the form of a great threatening hand, as though somewhere +in the mystery of the north it sought a spirit-victim as potent as +itself. + +Then the spell of it was broken. From the end of the shadow, which +reached almost to the base of the cliff on which Philip sat, there +came a sound. It was a clear, metallic sound that left the +vibration of steel in the air, and Philip leaned over the edge of +the rock. Below him the shadow was broken into a pool of rippling +starlight. He heard the faint dip of paddles, and suddenly a canoe +shot from the shadow out into the clear light of the moon and +stars. + +It was a large canoe. In it he could make out four figures. Three +of them were paddling; the fourth sat motionless in the bow. They +passed under him swiftly, guiding their canoe so that it was soon +hidden in the shelter of the cliff. By the faint reflections cast +by the disturbed water, Philip saw that the occupants of the canoe +had made an effort to conceal themselves by following the course +of the dense shadow. Only the chance sound had led him to observe +them. + +Under ordinary circumstances the passing of a strange canoe at +night would have had no significance for him. But at the present +time it troubled him. The manner of its approach through the +shadow, the strange quiet of its occupants, the stealth with which +they had shot the canoe under the cliff, were all unusual. Could +the incident have anything to do with Jeanne and Pierre? + +He waited until he heard the tiny bell in his watch tinkle the +half-hour, and then he set out slowly over the moonlit rocks to +the north. Jeanne and Pierre would surely come from that +direction. It was impossible to miss them. He walked without sound +in his moccasins, keeping close to the edge of the cliff so that +he could look out over the Bay. Two or three hundred yards beyond +the big rock the sea-wall swung in sharply, disclosing the open +water, like a still, silvery sheet, for a mile or more. Philip +scanned it for the canoe, but as far as he could see there was not +a shadow. + +For a quarter of a mile he walked over the rocks, then returned. +It was nine o'clock. The moment had arrived for the appearance of +Jeanne and Pierre. He resumed his patrol of the cliff, and with +each moment his nervousness increased. What if Jeanne failed him? +What if she did not come to the rock? The mere thought made his +heart sink with a sudden painful throb. Until now the fear that +Jeanne might disappoint him, that she might not keep the tryst, +had not entered his head. His faith in this girl, whom he had seen +but twice, was supreme. + +A second and a third time he patrolled the quarter mile of cliff. +Again his watch tinkled the half-hour, and he knew that the last +minutes of the appointed time had come. + +The third and last time he went beyond the quarter-mile limit, +searching in the white distances beyond. A low wind was rising +from the Bay; it rustled in the spruce and balsam tops of the +forest that reached up to the barren whiteness of the rock plateau +on which he stood; under him he heard, growing more and more +distinct, the moaning wash of the swelling tide. A moment of +despair possessed him, and he felt that he had lost. + +Suddenly the wind brought to him a different sound--a shout far +down the cliff, a second cry, and then the scream of a woman, +deadened by the wash of the sea and the increasing sweep of the +wind among the trees. + +He stood for a moment powerless, listening. The wind lulled, and +the woman's cry now came to him again--a voice that was filled +with terror rising in a wild appeal for help. With an answering +shout he ran like a swift-footed animal along the cliff. It was +Jeanne who was calling! Who else but Jeanne would be out there in +the gray night--Jeanne and Pierre? He listened as he ran, but +there came no other sound. At last he stopped, and drew in a great +breath, to send out a shout that would reach their ears. + +Above the fierce beating of his heart, the throbbing intake of his +breath, he heard sounds which were not of the wind or the sea. He +ran on, and suddenly the cliff dropped from under his feet, and he +found himself on the edge of a great rift in the wall of rock, +looking across upon a strange scene. In the brilliant moonlight, +with his back against a rock, stood Pierre, his glistening rapier +in his hand, his thin, lithe body bent for the attack of three men +who faced him. It was but a moment's tableau. The men rushed in. +Muffled cries, blows, a single clash of steel, and Pierre's voice +rose above the sound of conflict. "For the love of God, give me +help, M'sieur!" He had seen Philip rush up to the edge of the +break in the cliff, and as he fought he cried out again. + +"Shoot, M'sieur! In a moment it will be too late!" + +Philip had drawn his heavy revolver. He watched for an +opportunity. The men were fighting now so that Pierre had been +forced between his assailants and the breach in the wall. There +was no chance to fire without hitting him. + +"Run, Pierre!" shouted Philip. "Run--" + +He fired once, over the heads of the fighters, and as Pierre +suddenly darted to one side in obedience to his command there came +for the first time a shot from the other side. The bullet whistled +close to his ears. A second shot, and Pierre fell down like one +dead among the rocks. Again Philip fired--a third and a fourth +time, and one of the three who were disappearing in the white +gloom stumbled over a rock, and fell as Pierre had fallen. His +companions stopped, picked him up, and staggered on with him. +Philip's last shot missed, and before he could reload they were +lost among the upheaved masses of the cliff. + +"Pierre!" he called. "Ho! Pierre Couchee!" + +There was no answer from the other side. + +He ran along the edge of the break, and in the direction of the +forest he found a place where he could descend. In his haste he +fell; his hands were scratched, blood flowed from a cut in his +forehead when he dragged himself up to the face of the cliff +again. He tried to shout when he saw a figure drag itself up from +among the rocks, but his almost superhuman exertions had left him +voiceless. His wind whistled from between his parted lips when he +came to Pierre. + +Pierre was supporting himself against a rock. His face was +streaming with blood. In his hand he held what remained of the +rapier, which had broken off close to the hilt. His eyes were +blazing like a madman's, and his face was twisted with an agony +that sent a thrill of horror through Philip. + +"My hurt is nothing--nothing-M'sieur!" he gasped, understanding +the look in Philip's face. "It is Jeanne! They have gone--gone +with Jeanne!" The rapier slipped from his hand and he slid weakly +down against the rock. Philip dropped upon his knees, and with his +handkerchief began wiping the blood from the half-breed's face. +For a few moments Pierre's head hung limp against his shoulder. + +"What is it, Pierre?" he urged. "Tell me--quick! They have gone +with Jeanne!" + +Pierre's body grew rigid. With one great effort he seemed to +marshal all of his strength, and straightened himself. + +"Listen, M'sieur," he said, speaking calmly. "They set upon us as +we were going to meet you at the rock. There were four. One of +them is dead--back there. The others--with Jeanne--have gone in +the canoe. It is death--worse than death--for her--" + +His body writhed. In a passion he strove to rise to his feet. Then +with a groan he sank back, and for a moment Philip thought he was +dying. + +"I will go, Pierre," he cried. "I will bring her back. I swear +it." + +Pierre's hand detained him as he went to rise. + +"You swear--" + +"Yes." + +"At the next break--there is a canoe. They have gone for the +Churchill--" + +Pierre's voice was growing weaker. In a spasm of sudden fear at +the dizziness which was turning the night black for him he +clutched at Philip's arm. + +"If you save her, M'sieur, do not bring her back," he whispered, +hoarsely. "Take her to Fort o' God. Lose not an hour--not a +minute. Trust no one. Hide yourselves. Fight--kill--but take her +to Fort o' God! You will do this--M'sieur--you promise--" + +He fell back limp. Philip lowered him gently, holding his head so +that he could look into the staring eyes that were still open and +understanding. + +"I will go, Pierre," he said. "I will take her to Fort o' God. And +you--" + +A shadow was creeping over Pierre's eyes. He was still fighting to +understand, fighting to hold for another breath or two the +consciousness that was fast slipping from him. + +"Listen," cried Philip, striving to rouse him. "You will not die. +The bullet grazed your head, and the wound has already stopped +bleeding. To-morrow you must go to Churchill and hunt up a man +named Gregson--the man I was with when you and Jeanne came to see +the ship. Tell him that an important thing has happened, and that +he must tell the others I have gone to the camps. He will +understand. Tell him--tell him--" + +He struggled to find some final word for Gregson. Pierre still +looked at him, his eyes half closed now. + +Philip bent close down. + +"Tell him," he said, "that I am on the trail of Lord Fitzhugh!" + +Scarcely had he uttered the name when Pierre's closing eyes shot +open. A groaning cry burst from his lips, and, as if that name had +aroused the last spark of life and strength within him into +action, he wrenched himself from Philip's arms, striving to speak. +A trickle of fresh blood ran over his face. Incoherent sounds +rattled in his throat, and then, overcome by his effort, he +dropped back unconscious. Philip wound his handkerchief about the +wounded man's head and straightened out his limbs. Then he rose to +his feet and reloaded his revolver. His hands were steady now. His +brain was clear; the enervating thrill of excitement had gone from +his body. Only his heart beat like a racing engine. + +He turned and ran in the direction which Pierre's assailants had +taken, his head lowered, his revolver held in front of him, on a +level with his breast. He had not gone a hundred yards when +something stopped him. In his path, with its face turned straight +up to the moonlit sky, lay the body of a man. For an instant +Philip bent over it. The broken blade of Pierre's rapier glistened +under the man's throat. One lifeless hand clutched at it, as +though in the last moment of life he had tried to draw it forth. +The face was distorted, the eyes were still open, the lips parted. +Death had come with terrible suddenness. + +Philip bent lower, and stared into the face of the dead man. Where +had he seen that face before? + +Suddenly he remembered. He drew back, and a cold sweat seemed to +break out all at once over his face and body. This man who lay +with the broken blade of Pierre Couchee's rapier in his breast had +come ashore from the London ship that day in company with Eileen +and her father! + +For a space he was overwhelmed by the discovery. Everything that +had happened--the scene upon the rock when he first met Jeanne, +the arrival of the ship, the moment's tableau on the pier when +Jeanne and Eileen stood face to face--rushed upon him now as he +gazed down into the staring eyes at his feet. What did it all +mean? Why had Lord Fitzhugh's name been sufficient to drag the +half-breed back from the brink of unconsciousness? What +significance was there in this strange combination of +circumstances that persisted in drawing Pierre and Jeanne into the +plot that threatened himself? Had there been truth, after all, in +those last words that he impressed upon the fainting senses of +Pierre Couchee's message to Gregson? + +He waited to answer none of the questions that leaped through his +brain. To-morrow some one would find Pierre, or Pierre would crawl +down into Churchill. And then there would be the dead man to +account for. He shuddered as he returned his revolver into his +holster and braced his limbs. It was an unpleasant task, but he +knew that it must be done--to save Pierre. He lifted the body +clear of the rocks, and bending under its weight carried it to the +edge of the cliff. Far below sounded the wash of the sea. He +shoved his burden over the edge, and listened. After a moment +there came a dull splash. + +Then he hastened on, as Pierre had guided him. + + + + + +X + + +Soon Philip slackened his pace, and looked anxiously ahead of him. +From where he stood the cliff sloped down to a white strip of +beach that reached out into the night as far as he could see, +hemmed close in by the black gloom of the forest. Half-way down +the slope the moonlight was cut by a dark streak, and he found +this to be the second break. He had no difficulty in descending. +Its sides were smooth, as though worn by water. At the bottom +white, dry sand slipped under his feet. He made his way between +the walls, and darkness shut him in. The trail grew rougher. Near +the shore he stumbled blindly among huge rocks and piles of +crumbling slate, wondering why Jeanne and Pierre had come this way +when they might have taken a smoother road. Close to the stony +beach, where the light was a little better, he made out the canoe +which Pierre had drawn into the shadows. + +Not until he had dragged it into the moonlight at the edge of the +water did he see that it was equipped as if for a long journey. +Close to the stern was a bulging pack, with a rifle strapped +across it. Two or three smaller caribou-skin bags lay in the +center of the canoe. In the bow was a thick nest of bearskin, and +he knew that this was for Jeanne. + +Cautiously Philip launched himself, and with silent sweeps of the +paddle that made scarcely the sound of a ripple in the water set +out in the direction of Churchill. Jeanne's captors had a +considerable start of him, but he felt confident of his ability to +overtake them shortly if Pierre had spoken with truth when he said +that they would head for the Churchill River. He had observed the +caution with which Pierre's assailants had approached the cliff, +and he was sure that they would double that caution in their +return, especially as their attack had been interrupted at the +last moment. For this reason he paddled without great haste, +keeping well within the concealment of the precipitous shore, with +his ears and eyes keenly alive to discover a sign of those who +were ahead of him. + +Opposite the rock where Pierre and Jeanne were to have met him he +stopped and stood up in the canoe. The wind had dispelled the +smoke shadow. Between him and the distant ship lay an unclouded +sea. Two-thirds of the distance to the vessel he made out the +larger canoe, rising and falling with the smooth undulations of +the tide. He sank upon his knees again and unstrapped Pierre's +rifle. There was a cartridge in the chamber. He made sure that the +magazine was loaded, and resumed his paddling. + +His mind worked rapidly. Within half an hour, if he desired, he +could overtake the other canoe. And what then? There were three to +one, if it came to a fight--and how could he rescue Jeanne without +a fight? His blood was pounding eagerly, almost with pleasure at +the promise of what was ahead of him, and he laughed softly to +himself as he thought of the odds. + +The ship loomed nearer; the canoe vanished behind it. A brief +stop, a dozen words of explanation, and Philip knew that he could +secure assistance from the vessel. After all, would that not be +the wisest course for him to pursue? For a moment he hesitated, +and paddled more slowly. If others joined with him in the rescue +of Jeanne what excuse could he offer for not bringing her back to +Churchill? What would happen if he returned with her? Why had +Pierre roused himself from something that was almost death to +entreat him to take Jeanne to Fort o' God? + +At the thought of Fort o' God a new strength leaped into his arms +and body, urging him on to cope with the situation single-handed. +If he rescued Jeanne alone, and went on with her as he had +promised Pierre, many things that were puzzling him would be +explained. It occurred to him again that Jeanne and Pierre might +be the key to the mysterious plot that promised to crash out the +life of the enterprise he had founded in the north. He found +reasons for this belief. Why had Lord Fitzhugh's name had such a +startling effect upon Pierre? Why was one of his assailants a man +fresh from the London ship that had borne Eileen Brokaw and her +father as passengers? He felt that Jeanne could explain these +things, as well as her brother. She could explain the strange +scene on the pier, when for a moment she had stood crushed and +startled before Eileen. She could clear up the mystery of +Gregson's sketch, for if there were two Eileen Brokaws, Jeanne +would know. With these arguments he convinced himself that he +should go on alone. Yet, behind them there was another and more +powerful motive. He confessed to himself that he would willingly +accept double the chances against him to achieve Jeanne's rescue +without assistance and to accompany her to Fort o' God. The +thought of their being together, of the girl's companionship-- +perhaps for days--thrilled him with exquisite anticipation. An +hour or so ago he had been satisfied in the assurance that he +would see her for a few minutes on the cliff. Since then fate had +played his way. Jeanne was his own, to save, to defend, to carry +on to Fort o' God. + +Not for a moment did he hesitate at the danger ahead of him, and +yet his pursuit was filled with caution. Gregson, the diplomat, +would have seen the necessity of halting at the ship for help; +Philip was confident in himself. He knew that he would have at +least three against him, for he was satisfied that the man whom he +had wounded on the cliff was still in fighting trim. There might +be others whom he had not taken into account. + +He passed so close under the stern of the ship that his canoe +scraped against her side. For a few minutes the vessel had +obstructed his view, but now he saw again, a quarter of a mile +distant, the craft which he was pursuing. Jeanne's captors were +heading straight for the river, and as the canoe was now partly +broadside to him he could easily make out the figures in her, but +not distinctly enough to make sure of their number. He shoved out +boldly into the moonlight, and, instead of following in his former +course, he turned at a sharp angle in the direction of the shore. +If the others saw him, which was probable, they would think that +he was making a landing from the ship. Once he was in the deep +fringe of shadow along the shore he could redouble his exertions +and draw nearer to them without being observed. + +No sooner had he readied the sheltering gloom than he bent to his +paddle and the light birch-bark fairly hissed through the water. +Not until he found himself abreast of the pursued did it occur to +him that he could beat them out to the mouth of the Churchill and +lie in wait for them. Every stroke of his paddle widened the +distant between him and the larger canoe. Fifteen minutes later he +reached the edge of the huge delta of wild rice and reeds through +which the sluggish volume of the river emptied into the Bay. The +chances were that the approaching canoe would take the nearest +channel into the main stream, and Philip concealed himself so that +it would have to pass within twenty yards of him. + +From his ambuscade he looked out upon the approaching canoe. He +was puzzled by the slowness of its progress. At times it seemed to +stand still, and he could distinguish no movement at all among its +occupants. At first he thought they were undecided as to which +course to pursue, but a few minutes more sufficed to show that +this was not the reason for their desultory advance. The canoe was +headed for the first channel. The solution came when a low but +clear whistle signaled over the water. Almost instantly there came +a responsive whistle from up the channel. + +Philip drew a quick breath, and a new sensation brought his teeth +together in sudden perplexity. It looked as though he had a bigger +fight before him than he had anticipated. + +At the signal from up-stream he heard the quick dip of paddles, +and the canoe cut swiftly toward him. He drew back the hammer of +Pierre's rule, and cleared a little space through the reeds and +grass so that his view into the channel was unobstructed. Three or +four well-directed shots, a quick dash out into the stream, and +he would possess Jeanne. This was his first thought. It was +followed by others, rapid as lightning, that restrained his +eagerness. The night-glow was treacherous to shoot by. What if he +should miss, or hit Jeanne--or in the sudden commotion and +destruction of his shots the canoe should be overturned? A single +error, the slightest mishap to himself, would mean the +annihilation of his hopes. Even if he succeeded in directing his +shots with accuracy, both himself and Jeanne would almost +immediately be under fire from those above. + +He dropped back again behind the screen of reeds. The canoe drew +nearer. A moment more and it was almost abreast of him, and his +heart pounded like a swiftly beating hammer when he saw Jeanne in +the stern. She was leaning back as though unconscious. He could +see nothing of her face, but as the canoe passed within ten yards +of his hiding-place he saw the dark glow of her disheveled hair, +which fell thickly over the object against which she was resting. +It was but a moment's view, and they were gone. He had not looked +at the three men in the canoe. His whole being was centered upon +Jeanne. He had seen no sign of life--no movement in her body, not +the flutter of a hand, and all his fears leaped like brands of +burning fire into his brain. He thought of the inhuman plot which +Lord Fitzhugh's letter had revealed; in the same breath Pierre +Couchee's words rang in his ears--"It is death--worse than death +--for her--" + +Was Jeanne the first victim of that diabolical scheme to awaken +the wrath of the northland? In the madness which possessed him now +Philip shoved out his canoe while there was still danger of +discovery. Fortunately none of the pursued glanced back, and a +turn in the channel soon hid them from view. Philip had recovered +his self-possession by the time he reached the turn. He assured +himself that Jeanne was unharmed as yet, and that when he saw her +she had probably fainted from excitement and terror. Her fate +still lay before her, somewhere in the deep and undisturbed +forests up the Churchill. His one hope was to remain undiscovered +and to rescue her at the last moment when she was taken ashore by +her captors. + +He followed, close up against the reeds, never trusting himself +out of the shadows. After a little he heard voices, and a second +canoe appeared. There was a short pause, and the two canoes +continued side by side up the channel. A quarter of an hour +brought both the pursuers and the pursued into the main stream, +which lay in black gloom between forest walls that cut out all +light but the shimmer of the stars. + +No longer could Philip see those ahead of him, but he guided +himself by occasional voices and the dip of paddles. At times, +when the stream narrowed and the forest walls gave him deeper +shelter, he drew perilously near with the hope of overhearing what +was said, but he caught only an occasional word or two. He +listened in vain for Jeanne's voice. Once he heard her name +spoken, and it was followed by a low laugh from some one in the +canoe that had waited at the mouth of the Churchill. A dozen times +during the first half-hour after they entered the main stream +Philip heard this same laughing voice. + +After a time there fell a silence upon those ahead. No sound rose +above the steady dip of paddles, and the speed of the two canoes +increased. Suddenly, from far up the river, there came a voice, +faintly at first, but growing steadily louder, singing one of the +wild half-breed songs of the forest. The voice broke the silence +of those in the canoes. They ceased paddling, and Philip stopped. +He heard low words, and after a few moments the paddling was +resumed, and the canoes turned in toward the shore. Philip +followed their movement, dropping fifty yards farther down the +stream, and thrust big birch-bark alongside a thick balsam that +had fallen into the river. + +The singing voice approached rapidly. Five minutes later a long +company canoe floated down out of the gloom. It passed so near +that Philip could see the picturesque figure in the stern paddling +and singing. In the bow kneeled an Indian working in stoic +silence. Between them, in the body of the canoe, sat two men whom +he knew at a glance were white men. The strangers and their craft +slipped by with the quickness of a shadow. + +Again Philip heard movements above him, and once more he took up +the pursuit. He wondered why Jeanne had not called for help when +the company canoe passed. If she was not hurt or unconscious, her +captors had been forced to hold a handkerchief or a brutal hand +over her mouth, perhaps at her throat! His blood grew hot with +rage at the thought. + +For three-quarters of an hour longer the swift paddling up-stream +continued without interruption. Then the river widened into a +small lake, and Philip was compelled to hold back until the two +canoes, which he could see clearly now, had passed over the +exposed area. + +By the time he dared to follow, Jeanne's captors were a quarter of +a mile ahead of him. He no longer heard their paddles when he +entered the stream at the upper end of the lake, and he bent to +his work with greater energy and less caution. Five minutes--ten +minutes passed, and he saw nothing, heard nothing. His strokes +grew more powerful and the canoe shot through the water with the +swift cleavage of a knife. A perspiration began to gather on his +face, and a sudden chilling fear entered him. Another five minutes +and he stopped. The river swept out ahead of him, broad and clear, +for a quarter of a mile. There was no sign of the canoes! + +For a few moments he remained motionless, drifting back with the +slow current of the stream, stunned by the thought that he had +allowed Jeanne's captors to escape him. Had they heard him and +dropped in to shore to let him pass? He swung his canoe about and +headed down-stream. In that case he could not miss them, if he +used caution. But if they had turned into some creek hidden in the +gloom--were even now picking their way through a secret channel +that led back from the river-- + +A groan burst from his lips as he thought of Jeanne. In that half +mile of river he could surely find where the canoes had gone, but +it might be too late. He went down in mid-stream, searching the +shadows of both shores. His heart sank like lead when he came to +the lake. There was but one thing to do now, and he ran his canoe +close along the right-hand shore, looking for an opening. His +progress was slow. A dozen times he entangled himself in masses of +reeds and rice, or thrust himself under over-hanging tree-tops +and vines to investigate the deeper gloom beyond. He had returned +two-thirds of the distance to the straight-water where he had +given up the pursuit when the bow of his canoe ran upon a smooth, +sandy bar that shelved out thirty or forty feet from the shore. +Scarcely had he felt the grate of sand when with a powerful shove +he sent his canoe back, and almost in the same instant Pierre's +rifle leveled menacingly shoreward. Drawn up high and dry on the +sand-bar were the two canoes. + +For a space Philip expected that his appearance would be the +signal for some movement ashore; but as he drifted slowly away, +his rifle still leveled, he was filled more and more with the +belief that he had not been discovered. He allowed himself to +drift until he knew that he was hidden in the shadows, and then +quietly worked himself in to shore. Making no sound, he pulled +himself up the bank and crept among the trees toward the bar. +There was no one guarding the canoes. He heard no sound of voice, +no crackling of brush or movement of reeds. For a full minute he +crouched and listened. Then he crept nearer and found where both +reeds and brush were trampled down into a path that led away from +the river. + +His heart gave a bound of joy, and he darted along the path, +holding his rifle ready for instant use. The trail wound through +the tall grass of a dry swamp meadow and, two hundred yards beyond +the river, plunged into a forest. He had barely entered this when +he saw the glow of a fire. It was only a short distance ahead, +hidden in a deep hollow that completely concealed its existence +from the keenest eyes that might pass along the river. Stealing +cautiously to the crest of the little knoll between him and the +light, Philip found himself within fifty feet of a camp. + +A big canvas tent was the first thing to come within his vision. +The fire was built against this face of a rock in front of this, +and over the fire hovered a man dragging out beds of coals with a +forked stick. Almost at the same moment a second man appeared from +the tent, bearing two huge skillets in one hand and a big pot in +the other. At a glance Philip knew that they were preparing to +cook a meal, and that it was for many instead of two. Wildly he +searched the firelit spaces and the shadows for a sign of Jeanne. +He saw nothing. She was not in the camp. The five or six men who +had fled up the river with her were not there. His fingers dug +deep in the earth under him at the discovery, and once more +appalling fears overwhelmed him. Perhaps she had already met her +fate a little deeper in the forest. + +He crept over the edge of the knoll and worked himself down +through the low bush on the opposite side, which would bring him +within a dozen feet of the man over the fire. There he would have +them at his mercy, and at the point of his revolver would compel +them to tell him where Jeanne had been taken. The advantage was +all in his favor. It would not be difficult to make them prisoners +and leave them secured while he followed after their companions. + +He was intent only upon his plan, and did not take his eyes from +the men over the fire. He came to the end of the bush, and +crouched with head and shoulders exposed, his revolver in his +hand. Suddenly a sound close to the tent startled him. It was a +low cough. The men over the fire made no movement to look behind +them, but Philip turned. + +In the shadow of a tree, which had concealed her until now, sat +Jeanne. She was tense and straight. Her white face was turned to +him. Her beautiful eyes glowed like stars. Her lips were parted; +he could see her quick, excited breathing. She saw him! She knew +him! He could see the joy of hope in her face and that she was +crushing back an impulse to cry out to him, even as he was +restraining his own mad desire to shout out his defiance and joy. +And there in the firelight, his face illumined, and oblivious for +the moment of the presence of the two men, Philip straightened +himself and held out his arms with a glad smile to Jeanne. + +Hardly had he turned to the men, ready to spring out upon them, +when there came a terrific interruption. There was a sudden crash +in the brush behind him, a menacing snarl, and a huge wolfish +brute launched itself at his throat. The swift instinct of self- +preservation turned the weapon intended for the men over the fire +upon this unexpected assailant. The snarling fangs of the husky +were gleaming in his face and the animal's body was against the +muzzle of his revolver when Philip fired. Though he escaped the +fangs, he could not ward off the impact of the dog's body, and in +another moment he was sprawling upon his back in the light of the +camp. Before Philip could recover himself Jeanne's startled guards +were upon him. Flung back, he still possessed his pistol, and +pulled the trigger blindly. The report was muffled and sickening. +At the same moment a heavy blow fell upon his head, and a furious +weight crushed him back to the ground. He dropped his revolver. +His brain reeled; his muscles relaxed. He felt his assailant's +fingers at his throat, and their menace brought back every ounce +of fighting strength in his body. For a moment he lay still, his +eyes closed, the warm blood flowing over his face. He had worked +this game once before, years ago. He even thought of that time +now, as he lay upon his back. It had worked then, and it worked +now. The choking fingers at his throat loosened; the weight lifted +itself a little from his chest. The lone guard thought that he was +unconscious, and Jeanne, who had staggered to her feet, thought +that he was dead. + +It was her cry, terrible, filled with agony and despair, that +urged him into action an instant too soon. His foe was still +partly on his guard, rising with a caution born of more than one +wilderness episode, when with a quick movement Philip closed with +him. Locked in a deadly grip, they rolled upon the ground; and, +with a feeling of despair which had never entered into his soul +before, the terrible truth came to Philip that the old strength +was gone from his arms and that with each added exertion he was +growing weaker. For a moment he saw Jeanne. She stood almost above +them, her hands clutched at her breast. And as he looked, she +suddenly turned and ran to the fire. An instant more and she was +back, a red-hot brand in her hand. Philip saw it flash close to +his eyes, felt the heat of it; and then a scream, animal-like in +its ferocity and pain, burst from the lips of his antagonist. The +man reeled backward, clutching at his thick neck, where Jeanne had +thrust the burning stick. Philip rose to his knees. His fist shot +out like lightning against the other's jaw, and the second guard +fell back in a limp heap. + +Even as the blow fell, a loud shout came from close back in the +forest, followed by the crashing of many feet tearing through the +underbrush. + + + + + +XI + + +Philip and Jeanne stood face to face in the firelight. + +"Quick!" he cried. "We must hurry!" + +He bent over to pick up his revolver from the ground. His movement +was followed by a low sob of pain. Jeanne was swaying as though +about to faint. She fell in a crumpled heap before he could reach +her side. + +"You are hurt!" he exclaimed. "Jeanne! Jeanne!" + +He was upon his knees beside her, crying out her name, half +holding her in his arms. + +"No, no! I am not hurt--much," she replied, trying to recover +herself. "It is my ankle. I sprained it--on the cliff. Now--" + +She became heavier against his arm. Her eyes were limpid with +pain. + +Rising, Philip caught her in his arms. The crashing of brush was +within pistol-shot distance of them, but in that moment he felt no +fear. Life leaped back into his veins. He wanted to shout back his +defiance as he ran with Jeanne along the path to the river. He +could feel her pulsing against him. His lips were in her hair. Her +heart was beating wildly against his own. One of her arms was +about his shoulder, her hand against his neck. Life, love, the joy +of possession swept through him in burning floods, and it seemed +in these first moments of his contact with Jeanne, in the first +sound of her voice speaking to him, that the passionate language +of his soul must escape through his lips. For this moment he had +risked his life, had taken a hundred chances; he had anticipated, +and yet he had not dreamed beyond a hundredth part of what it +would mean for him. He looked down into the white face of the girl +as he ran. Her beautiful eyes were open to him. Her lips were +parted; her cheek lay against his breast. He did not realize how +close he was holding her until, at last, he stopped where he had +hidden the canoe. Then he felt her beating and throbbing against +him, as he had felt the quivering life of a frightened bird +imprisoned in his hands. She drew a deep breath when he opened his +arms, and lifted her head. Her loose hair swept over his breast +and hands. + +He spoke no word as he placed her in the canoe. Not a whisper +passed between them as the canoe sped swiftly from the shore. A +hundred yards down the stream Philip headed straight across the +river and plunged into the shadows along the opposite bank. + +Jeanne was close to him. He could hear her breathing. Suddenly he +felt the touch of her hand. + +"M'sieur, I must ask--about Pierre!" + +There was the thrill of fear in the low words. She leaned back, +her face a pale shadow in the deep gloom; and Philip bent over +until he felt her breath, and the sweetness of her hair filled his +nostrils. Quickly he whispered what had happened. He told her that +Pierre was hurt, but not badly, and that he had promised to take +her on to Fort o' God. + +"It is up the Churchill?" he questioned. + +"Yes," she whispered. + +They heard voices now, and almost opposite them they saw shadowy +figures running out to the canoes upon the sand-bar. + +"They will think that we are escaping toward Churchill," said +Philip, gloatingly. "It is the nearest refuge. See--" + +One of the canoes was launched, and shot swiftly down the river. A +moment later the second followed. The dip of paddles died away, +and Philip laughed softly and joyously. + +"They will hunt for us from now until morning between here and the +Bay. And then they will look for you again in Churchill." + +Philip was conscious, almost without seeing, that Jeanne had bowed +her head in her arms and that she was giving way now to the +terrific strain which she had been under. Not until he heard a low +sob, which she strove hard to choke back in her throat, did he +dare to lean over again and touch her. Whatever was throbbing in +his heart, he knew that he must hide it now. + +"You read the letter?" he asked, softly. + +"Yes, M'sieur." + +"Then you know--that you are safe with me!" + +There was pride and strength, the ring of triumph in his voice. It +was the voice of a man thrilled by his own strength, by the warmth +of a great love, by the knowledge that he was the protector of a +creature dearer to him than all else on earth. The truth of it set +Jeanne quivering. She reached out until in the darkness her two +hands found one of Philip's, and for a moment she held his paddle +motionless in midair. + +"Thank you, M'sieur," she whispered. "I trust you, as I would +trust Pierre." + +All the words that women had ever spoken to him were as nothing to +those few that fell softly from Jeanne's lips; in the clinging +pressure of her fingers as she uttered them were the concentrated +joys of all that he had dreamed of in the touch of women. He knelt +silent, motionless, until her hands left his own. + +"I am to take you to Fort o' God," he said, fighting to keep the +tremble of joy out of his voice. "And you--you must guide me." + +"It is far up the Churchill," she replied, understanding the +question he intended. "It is two hundred miles from the Bay." + +He put his strength into his paddle for ten minutes, and then ran +the canoe into shore fully half a mile above the sand-bar. He +stepped out into water up to his knees. + +"We must risk a little time here to attend to your injured ankle," +he explained. "Then you can arrange yourself comfortably among +these robes in the bow. Shall I carry you?" + +"You can--help," said Jeanne. She gave him her hand and made an +effort to rise. Instantly she sank back with a sob of pain. + +It was strange that her pain should fill him with a wonderful joy. +He knew that she was suffering, that she could not walk or stand +alone. And yet, back at the camp, she had risen in her torture and +had come to his rescue. She could not bear her own weight now, but +then she had run to him and had fought for him. The knowledge that +she had done this, and for him, filled him with an exquisite +sensation. + +"I must carry you," he said, speaking to her with the calm +decision that he might have voiced to a little child. His tone +reassured her, and she made no remonstrance when he lifted her in +his arms. For a brief moment she lay against him again, and when +he lowered her upon the bank his hand accidentally touched the +soft warmth of her face. + +"My specialty is sprains," he said, speaking a little lightly to +raise her spirits for the instant's ordeal through which she must +pass. "I have doctored half a dozen during the last three months. +You must take off your moccasin and your stocking, and I will make +a bandage." + +He drew a big handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it in the +water. Then he searched along the shore for a dozen paces, until +he found an Indian willow. With his knife he scraped off a handful +of bark, soaked it in water, crushed it between his hands, and +returned to her. Jeanne's little foot lay naked in the starlight. + +"It will hurt just a moment," he said, gently. "But it is the only +cure. To-morrow it will be strong enough for you to stand upon. +Can you bear a little hurt?" + +He knelt before her and looked up, scarce daring to touch her foot +before she spoke. + +"I may cry," she said. + +Her voice fluttered, but it gave him permission. He folded the wet +handkerchief in the form of a bandage, with the willow bark spread +over it. Then, very gently, he seized her foot in one hand and her +ankle in the other. + +"It will hurt just a little," he soothed. "Only a moment." + +His fingers tightened. He put into them the whole strength of his +grip, pulling downward on the foot and upward on the ankle until, +with a low cry, Jeanne flung her hands over his. + +"There, it is done," he laughed, nervously. He wrapped the bandage +around so tightly that Jeanne could not move her foot, and tied it +with strips of cloth. Then he turned to the canoe while she drew +on her stocking and moccasin. + +He was trembling. A maddening joy pounded in his brain. Jeanne's +voice came to him sweetly, with a shyness in it that made him feel +like a boy. He was glad that the night concealed his face. He +would have given worlds to have seen Jeanne's. + +"I am ready," she said. + +He carried her to the bow of the canoe and fixed her among the +robes, arranging a place for her head so that she might sleep if +she wished. For the first time the light was so that he could see +her plainly as she nestled back in the place made for her. Their +eyes met for a moment. + +"You must sleep," he urged. "I shall paddle all night." + +"You are sure that Pierre is not badly hurt?" she asked, +tremulously. "You--you would not--keep the truth from me?" + +"He was not more than stunned," assured Philip. "It is impossible +that his wound should prove serious. Only there was no time to +lose, and I came without him. He will follow us soon." + +He took his position in the stern, and Jeanne lay back among the +bearskins. For a long time after that Philip paddled in silence. +He had hoped that Jeanne would give him an opportunity to continue +their conversation, in spite of his advice to her to secure what +rest she could. But there came no promise from the bow of the +canoe. After half an hour he guessed that Jeanne had taken him at +his word, and was asleep. + +It was disappointing, and yet there came a pleasurable throb with +his disappointment. Jeanne trusted him. She was sleeping under his +protection as sweetly as a child. Fear of her enemies no longer +kept her awake or filled her with terror. This night, under these +stars, with the wilderness all about them, she had given herself +into his keeping. His cheeks burned. He dipped his paddle +noiselessly, so that he might not interrupt her slumber. Each +moment added to the fullness of his joy, and he wished that he +might only see her face, hidden in the darkness of her hair and +the bear-robes. + +The silence no longer seemed a silence to him. It was filled with +the beating of his heart, the singing of his love, a gentle sigh +now and then that came like a deeper breath between Jeanne's sweet +lips. It was a silence that pulsated with a voiceless and +intoxicating life for him, and he was happy. In these moments, +when even their voices were stilled, Jeanne belonged to him, and +to him alone. He could feel the warmth of her presence. He felt +still the thrill of her breast against his own, the touch of her +hair upon his lips, the gentle clinging of her arms. The spirit of +her moved, and sat awake, and talked with him, just as the old +spirit of his dreams had communed with him a thousand times in his +loneliness. Dreams were at an end. Now had come reality. + +He looked up into the sky. The moon had dropped below the +southwestern forests, and there were only the stars above him, +filling a gray-blue vault in which there was not even the +lingering mist of a cloud. It was a beautifully clear night, and +he wondered how the light fell so that it did not reveal Jeanne in +her nest. The thought that came to him then set his heart tingling +and made his face radiant. Even the stars were guarding Jeanne, +and refused to disclose the mystery of her slumber. He laughed +within himself. His being throbbed, and suddenly a voice seemed to +cry softly, trembling in its joy: + +"Jeanne! Jeanne! My beloved Jeanne!" + +With horror Philip caught himself too late. He had spoken the +words aloud. For an instant reality had transformed itself into +the old dream, and his dream-spirit had called to its mate for the +first time in words. Appalled at what he had said, Philip bent +over and listened. He heard Jeanne's breathing. It was deeper than +before. She was surely asleep! + +He straightened himself and resumed his paddling. He was glad now +that he had spoken. Jeanne seemed nearer to him after those words. + +Before this night he never realized how beautiful the wilderness +was, how complete it could be. It had offered him visions of new +life, but these visions had never quite shut out the memories of +old pain. He watched and listened. The water rippled behind his +canoe; it trickled in a soothing cadence after each dip of his +paddle; he heard the gentle murmur of it among the reeds and +grasses, and now and then the gurgling laughter of it, like the +faintest tinkling of dainty bells. He had never understood it +before; he had never joined in its happiness. The night sounds +came to him with a different meaning, filled him with different +sensations. As he slipped quietly around a bend in the river he +heard a splashing ahead of him, and knew that a moose was feeding, +belly-deep, in the water. At other times the sound would have set +his fingers itching for a rifle, but now it was a part of the +music of the night. Later he heard the crashing of a heavy body +along the shore and in the distance the lonely howl of a wolf. He +listened to the sounds with a quiet pleasure instead of creeping +thrills which they once sent through him. Every sound spoke of +Jeanne--of Jeanne and her world, into which each stroke of his +paddle carried them a little deeper. + +And yet the truth could not but come to him that Jeanne was but a +stranger. She was a creature of mystery, as she lay there asleep +in the bow of the canoe; he loved her, and yet he did not know +her. He confessed to himself, as the night lengthened, that he +would be glad when morning came. Jeanne would clear up a half of +his perplexities then, perhaps all of them. He would at least +learn more about herself and the reason for the attack at Fort +Churchill. + +He paddled for another hour, and then looked at his watch by the +light of a match. It was three o'clock. + +Jeanne had not moved, but as the match burned out between his +fingers she startled him by speaking. + +"Is it nearly morning, M'sieur?" + +"An hour until dawn," said Philip. "You have been sleeping a long +time--" Her name was on his lips, but he found it a little more +difficult to speak now. And yet there was a gentleness in Jeanne's +"M'SIEUR" which encouraged him. "Are you getting hungry?" he +asked. + +"Pierre and my father always ask me that when THEY are starving," +replied Jeanne, sitting erect in her nest so that Philip saw her +face and the shimmer of her hair. "There is everything to eat in +the pack, M'sieur Philip, even to a bottle of olives." + +"Good!" cried Philip, delighted, "But won't you please cut out +that 'm'sieur?' My greatest weakness is a desire to be called by +my first name. Will you?" + +"If it pleases you," said Jeanne. "There is everything there to +eat, and I will make you a cup of coffee, M'sieur--" + +"What?" + +"Philip." + +There was a ripple of laughter in the girl's voice. Philip fairly +trembled. + +"You were prepared for this journey," he said. "You were going to +leave after you saw me on the rock. I have been wondering why--why +you took enough interest in me--" + +He knew that he was blundering, and in the darkness his face +turned red. Jeanne's tact was delightful. + +"We were curious about you," she said, with bewitching candor. +"Pierre is the most inquisitive creature in the world, and I +wanted to thank you for returning my handkerchief. I'm sorry you +didn't find a bit of lace which I lost at the same time!" + +"I did!" exclaimed Philip. + +He bit his tongue, and cursed himself at this fresh break. Jeanne +was silent. After a moment she said: + +"Shall I make you some coffee?" + +"Will you be able to do it? Your foot--" + +"I had forgotten that," she said. "It doesn't hurt any more. But I +can show you how." + +Her unaffected ingenuousness, the sweetness of her voice, the +simplicity and ease of her manner delighted Philip, and at the +same time filled him with amazement. He had never met a forest +girl like Jeanne. Her beauty, her queen-like bearing, when she had +stood with Pierre on the rock, had puzzled him and filled him with +admiration. But now her voice, the music of her words, her +quickness of perception added tenfold to those impressions. It +might have been Miss Brokaw who was sitting there in the bow +talking to him, only Jeanne's voice was sweeter than Miss +Brokaw's; and even in the lightest of the words she had spoken +there was a tone of sincerity and truth. It flashed upon Philip +that Jeanne might have stepped from a convent school, where gentle +voices had taught her and language was formed in the ripe fullness +of music. In a moment he believed that something like this had +happened. + +"We will go ashore," he said, searching for an open space. "This +must be tedious to you, if you are not accustomed to it." + +"Accustomed to it, M'sieur--Philip!" exclaimed Jeanne, catching +herself. "I was born here!" + +"In the wilderness?" + +"At Fort o' God." + +"You have not always lived there?" + +For a brief space Jeanne was silent. + +"Yes, always, M'sieur. I am eighteen years old, and this is the +first time that I have ever seen what you people call +civilization. It is my first visit to Fort Churchill. It is the +first time I have ever been away from Fort o' God." + +Jeanne's voice was low and subdued. It rang with truth. In it +there was something that was almost tragedy. For a breath or two +Philip's heart seemed to stop its beating, and he leaned far over, +looking straight and questioningly into the beautiful face that +met his own. In that moment the world had opened and engulfed him +in a wonder which at first his mind could not comprehend. + + + + + +XII + + +The canoe ran among the reeds, with its bow to the shore. Philip's +astonishment still held him motionless. + +"A little while ago you asked me if I would tell you anything but +--but--the truth," he stammered, trying to find words to express +himself, "and this--" + +"Is the truth," interrupted Jeanne, a little coolly. "Why should I +tell you an untruth, M'sieur?" + +Philip had asked himself that same question shortly after their +first meeting on the cliff. And now in the girl's question there +was sounded a warning for him to be more discreet. + +"I did not mean that," he cried, quickly. "Please forgive me. +Only--it is so wonderful, so almost IMPOSSIBLE to believe. Do you +know what I thought of for three-quarters of the night after I +left you and Pierre on the rock? It was of years--centuries ago. I +put you and Pierre back there. It seemed as though you had come to +me from out of another world, that you had strayed from the +chivalry and beauty of some royal court, that a queen's painter +might have known and made a picture of you, as I saw you there, +but that to me you were only the vision of a dream. And now you +say that you have always lived here!" + +He saw Jeanne's eyes glowing. She had lifted herself from among +the bearskins and was leaning toward him. Her face was quivering +with emotion; her whole being seemed concentrated on his words. + +"M'sieur--Philip--did we seem--like that?" she asked, tremulously. + +"Yes, or I would not have written the letter," replied Philip. He +leaned forward over the pack, and his face was close to Jeanne's. +"I had just passed over the place where men and women of a century +or two ago were buried, and when I saw you and Pierre I thought of +them; of Mademoiselle D'Arcon, who left a prince to follow her +lover to a grave back there at Churchill, and I wondered if +Grosellier--" + +"Grosellier!" cried the girl. + +She was breathing quickly, excitedly. Suddenly she drew back with +a little, nervous laugh. + +"I am glad you thought of us like THAT," she added. "It was +Grosellier, le grand chevalier, who first lived at Fort o' God!" + +Philip could no longer restrain himself. He forgot that the canoe +was lying motionless among the reeds and that they were to go +ashore. In a voice that trembled with his eagerness to be +understood, to win her confidence, he told her fully of what had +happened that night on the cliff. He repeated Pierre's +instructions to him, described his terrible fear for her, and in +it all withheld but one thing--the name of Lord Fitzhugh Lee. +Jeanne listened to him without a word. She sat as erect as one of +the slender reeds among which the canoe was hidden. Her dark eyes +never left his face. They seemed to have grown darker when he +finished. + +"May the great God reward you for what you have done," she said, +in a low voice, quivering with a suppressed passion. "You are +brave, M'sieur Philip--as brave as I have dreamed of men being." + +Philip's heart throbbed with delight, and yet he said quickly: + +"It isn't THAT. I have done nothing--nothing more than Pierre +would have done for me. But don't you understand? If there is to +be a reward for the little I have given--I could ask for nothing +greater than your confidence and Pierre's. There are reasons, and +perhaps if I told you those you would understand." + +"I do understand, without further explanation," answered Jeanne, +in the same low, strained voice. "You fought for Pierre on the +cliff, and you have saved--me. We owe you everything, even our +lives. I understand, M'sieur Philip," she said, more softly, +leaning still nearer to him; "but I can tell you nothing." + +"You prefer to leave that to Pierre," he said a little hurt. "I +beg your pardon." + +"No, no! I don't mean that!" she cried, quickly. "You +misunderstand me. I mean that you know as much of this whole +affair as I do, that you know what I know, and perhaps more." + +The emotion which she had suppressed burst forth now in a choking +sob. She recovered herself in an instant, her eyes still upon +Philip. + +"It was only a whim of mine that took us to Churchill," she went +on, before he could find words to say. "It is Pierre's secret why +we lived in our own camp and went down into Churchill but once-- +when the ship came in. I do not know the reason for the attack. I +can only guess--" + +"And your guess--" + +Jeanne drew back. For a moment she did not speak. Then she said, +without a note of harshness in her voice, but with the finality of +a queen: + +"Father may tell you that when we reach Fort o' God!" + +And then she suddenly leaned toward him again and held out both +her hands. + +"If you only could know how I thank you!" she exclaimed, +impulsively. + +For a moment Philip held her hands. He felt them trembling. In +Jeanne's eyes he saw the glisten of tears. + +"Circumstances have come about so strangely," he said, his heart +palpitating at the warm pressure of her fingers, "that I half +believed you and Pierre could help me in--in an affair of my own. +I would give a great deal to find a certain person, and after the +attack on the cliff, and what Pierre said, I thought--" + +He hesitated, and Jeanne gently drew her hands from him. + +"I thought that you might know him," he finished. "His name is +Lord Fitzhugh Lee." + +Jeanne gave no sign that she had heard the name before. The +question in her eyes remained unchanged. + +"We have never heard of him at Fort o' God," she said. + +Philip shoved the canoe more firmly upon the shore and stepped +over the side. + +"This Fort o' God must be a wonderful place," he said, as he bent +over to help her. "You have aroused something in me I never +thought I possessed before--a tremendous curiosity." + +"It is a wonderful place, M'sieur Philip," replied the girl, +holding up her hands to him. "But why should you guess it?" + +"Because of you," laughed Philip. "I am half convinced that you +take a wicked delight in bewildering me." + +He found Jeanne a comfortable spot on the bank, brought her one of +the bearskins, and began collecting a pile of dry reeds and wood. + +"I am sure of it," he went on. He struck a match, and the reeds +flared into flame, lighting up his face, + +Jeanne gave a startled cry. + +"You are hurt!" she exclaimed. "Your face is red with blood." + +Philip jumped back. + +"I had forgotten that. I'll wash my face." + +He waded into the edge of the water and began scrubbing himself. +When he returned, Jeanne looked at him closely. The fire illumined +her pale face. She had gathered her beautiful hair in a thick +braid, which fell over her shoulder. She appeared lovelier to him +now than when he had first seen her in the night-glow on the +cliff. She was dressed the same. He observed that the filmy bit of +lace about her slender throat was torn, and that one side of her +short buckskin skirt was covered with half-dried splashes of mud. +His blood rose at these signs of the rough treatment of those who +had attacked her. It reached fever-heat when, coming nearer, he +saw a livid bruise on her forehead close up under her hair. + +"They struck you?" he demanded. + +He stood with his hands clenched. She smiled up at him. + +"It was my fault," she explained. "I'm afraid I gave them a good +deal of trouble on the cliff." + +She laughed outright at the fierceness in Philip's face, and so +sweet was the sound of it to him that his hands relaxed and he +laughed with her. + +"So help me, you're a brick!" he cried. + +"There are pots and kettles and coffee and things to eat in the +pack, M'sieur Philip," reminded Jeanne, softly, as he still +remained staring down upon her. + +Philip turned to the canoe, with a laugh that was like a boy's. He +threw the pack at Jeanne's feet and unstrapped it. Together they +sorted out the things they wanted, and Philip cut crotched sticks +on which he suspended two pots of water over the fire. He found +himself whistling as he gathered an armful of wood along the +shore. When he came back Jeanne had opened a bottle of olives and +was nibbling at one, while she held out another to him on the end +of a fork. + +"I love olives," she said. "Won't you have one?" + +He accepted the thing, and ate it joyously, though he hated +olives. + +"Where did you acquire the taste?" he asked. "I thought it took a +course at college to make one like 'em." + +"I've been to college," answered Jeanne, quietly. There was a glow +in her cheeks now, a swift flash of tantalizing fun in her eyes, +as she fished after another olive. "I have been a student--a +TENERIS ANNIS," she added, and he stood stupefied. + +"That's Latin!" he gasped. + +"Oui, M'sieur. Wollen Sie noch eine Olive haben?" + +Laughter rippled in her throat. She held out another olive to him, +her face aglow. Firelight danced in her hair, flooding its darker +shadows with lights of red and gold. + +"I was sure of it," he exclaimed, convinced. "That's post-graduate +Latin and senior German, or I'm as mad as a March hare! Where-- +where did you go to school?" + +"At Fort o' God. Quick, M'sieur Philip, the water is boiling +over!" + +Philip sprang to the fire. Jeanne handed him coffee, and set out +cold meat and bread. For the first time that night he pulled out +his pipe and filled it with tobacco. + +"You don't mind if I smoke, do you, Miss Jeanne?" he groaned. +"Under some circumstances tobacco is the only thing that will hold +me up. Do you know that you are shaking my confidence in you?" + +"I have told you nothing but the truth," retorted Jeanne, +innocently. She was still busying herself over the pack, but +Philip caught the slightest gleam of her laughing teeth. + +"You are making fun of me," he remonstrated. "Tell me--where is +this Fort o' God, and what is it?" + +"It is far up the Churchill, M'sieur Philip. It is a log chateau, +built hundreds and hundreds of years ago, I guess. My father, +Pierre, and I, with one other, live there alone among the savages. +I have never been so far away from home before." + +"I suppose," said Philip, "that the savages up your way converse +in Latin, Greek, and German--" + +"Latin, FRENCH, and German," corrected Jeanne. "We haven't added a +Greek course yet." + +"I know of a girl," mused Philip, as though speaking to himself, +"who spent five years in a girls' college, and she can talk +nothing but light English. Her name is Eileen Brokaw." + +Jeanne looked up, but only to point to the coffee. + +"It is done," she advised, "unless you like it bitter." + + + + + +XIII + + +Philip knew that Jeanne was watching him as he lifted the coffee +from the fire and placed the pot on the ground to cool. His mind +was in a hopeless tangle--a riot of things he would like to say, +throbbing with a hundred questions he would like to ask, one after +another. And yet Jeanne seemed bewitchingly unconscious of his +uneasiness. Not one of his references to names and events so vital +to himself had in any way produced a change in her. Was she, after +all, innocent of all knowledge in the things he wished to know? +Was it possible that she was entirely ignorant as to the identity +of the men who had attacked Pierre and herself on the cliff? Was +it true that she did not know Eileen Brokaw, that she had never +heard of Lord Fitzhugh Lee, and that she had always lived among +the wild people of the north? By what miracle performed here in +the heart of a savage world could this girl talk to him in German +and Latin? Was she making fun of him? He turned to look at her and +found her dark, clear eyes upon him. She smiled at him in a tired +little way, and he saw nothing but sweetness and truth in her +face. In an instant every suspicion was swept away. He felt like a +criminal for having doubted her; and for a moment he was on the +point of confessing to her what had been in his thoughts. He +restrained himself, and went to the river to wash the pot-black +from his hands. Jeanne was a mystery to him, a mystery that +delighted him and filled him each moment with a deeper love. He +saw the life and freedom of the forests in her every movement--in +the gesture of her hands, the bird-like poise of her pretty head, +the lithe grace of her slender body. She breathed the forests. It +glowed in her eyes, in the rich red of her lips, and revealed its +beauty and strength in the unconfined wealth of her gold-brown +hair. In a dozen ways he could see her primitiveness, her kinship +to the wilderness. She had told him the truth. Her eyes smiled +truth at him as he came up the bank. No other woman's eyes had +ever looked at him like hers; none had he seen so beautiful. And +yet in them he saw nothing that she would not have expressed in +words--companionship, trust, thankfulness that he was there to +care for her. Such eyes as those belonged only to the wilderness, +brimming with the flawless beauty of an undefiled nature. He had +seen them, but not so beautiful, in Cree women. He thought of +Eileen Brokaw's eyes as he looked at Jeanne's. They were very +beautiful, but they were DIFFERENT. Jeanne's could not lie. + +On a white napkin Jeanne had spread out cold meat, bread, pickles, +and cheese, and Philip brought her the coffee. He noticed that she +was resting a little of her weight upon her injured ankle. + +"Better?" he asked, indicating the bandaged ankle with a nod of +his head. + +"Much," replied Jeanne, as tersely. "I'm going to try standing +upon it in a few minutes. But not now. I'm starved." + +She gave him his coffee and began eating with a relish that made +him want to sit back and watch her. Instead, he joined her; and +they ate like two hungry children. It was when she turned him out +a second cup of coffee that Philip noticed her hand tremble a +little. + +"If Pierre was here we would be quite happy, M'sieur Philip," she +said, uneasily. "I can't understand why he asked you to run away +with me to Fort o' God. If he is not badly hurt, as you have told +me, why do we not hide and wait for him? He would overtake us +to-morrow." + +"There--there was no time to talk over plans," answered Philip, +inwardly embarrassed for a moment by the unexpectedness of +Jeanne's question. A vision of Pierre, bleeding and unconscious on +the cliff, leaped into his mind, and the thought that he had lied +to Jeanne and must still make her believe what was half false +sickened him. There was, after all, a chance that Pierre would +never again come up the Churchill. "Perhaps Pierre thought we +would be hotly pursued," he went on, seeing no escape from the +demand in the girl's eyes. "In that event it would be best for me +to get you to Fort o' God as quickly as possible. You must +remember that Pierre was thinking of you. He can care for himself. +It may take him two or three days to get back the strength of--of +his arm," he finished, blindly. + +"He was wounded in the arm?" + +"And on the head," said Philip. "It was only a scalp wound, +however--nothing at all, except that it dazed him a little at the +time." + +Jeanne pointed to the reflection of the fire on the river. + +"If we should be pursued?" she suggested. + +"There is no danger," assured Philip, though he had left the flap +of his revolver holster unbuttoned. "They will search for us +between their camp and Churchill." + +"Citius venit periculum cum contemnitur," remonstrated Jeanne, +half smiling. + +She was pale, but Philip saw that she was making a tremendous +effort to appear brave and cheerful. + +"Perhaps you are right," laughed Philip, "but I swear that I don't +know what you mean. I suppose you picked that lingo up among the +Indians." + +He caught the faintest gleam of Jeanne's white teeth again as she +bent her head. + +"I have a tutor at home," she explained, softly. "You shall meet +him when we reach Fort o' God. He is the most wonderful man in the +world." + +Her words sent a strange chill through Philip. They were filled +with an exquisite tenderness, a pride that sent her eyes back to +his, glowing. The questions that he had meant to ask died and +faded away. He thought of her words of a few minutes before, when +he had asked about Fort o' God. She had said, "My father, Pierre, +and I, WITH ONE OTHER, live there alone." The OTHER was the tutor, +the man who had come from civilization to teach this beautiful +girl those things which had amazed him, and this man was THE MOST +WONDERFUL MAN IN THE WORLD. He had no excuse for the feelings +which were aroused in him. Only he knew, as he rose to his feet, +that a part of his old burden seemed suddenly to have returned to +his shoulders, and the old loneliness was beating at the door of +his heart. He rearranged the pack in silence, and the strength and +joy of life were gone from his arms when he helped Jeanne back to +her place among the bear-skins. He did not notice that her eyes +were watching him curiously, or that her lips trembled once or +twice, as if about to speak words which never came. Jeanne, as +well as he, seemed to have discovered something which neither +dared to reveal in that last five minutes on the shore. + +"There is one thing that I must know," said Philip, when they were +about to start, "and that is where to find Fort o' God? Is it on +the Churchill?" + +"It is on the Little Churchill, M'sieur, near Waskiaowaka Lake." + +Darkness concealed the effect of her words upon Philip. For a +moment he stared like one struck dumb. He stifled the exclamation +that rose to his lips. He felt himself trembling. He knew that if +he spoke his voice would betray him. + +NEAR WASKIAOWAKA LAKE! And Waskiaowaka was within thirty miles of +his own camp on the Blind Indian! If a bomb had burst under his +feet he could not have been more amazed than at this information, +given to him in Jeanne's quiet voice. Fort o' God--within thirty +miles of the scene where very soon he was to fight the great +battle of his life! He dug his paddle into the water and sent the +canoe hissing up the river. His blood pounded like that of a +racehorse on the home-stretch. Of all the things that had +happened, of all he had learned, this was the most significant. +Every thought ran like a separate powder-flash to a single idea, +to one great, overpowering question. Were Fort o' God and its +people the key to the plot against himself and his company? Was it +the rendezvous of those who were striving to work his ruin? Doubt, +suspicion, almost belief came to him in those few moments, in +spite of himself. + +He looked at Jeanne. The gray dawn was breaking, and now light +followed swiftly and dissolved the last mist. In the chill of +early morning, when with the approach of the sun a cold, +uncomfortable sweat rises heavily from the earth and water, Jeanne +had drawn one of the bearskins closely about her. Her head was +bare. Her hair, glistening with damp, clung in heavy masses about +her face. There was a bewitching childishness about her, a +pathetic appeal to him in the forlorn little picture she made--so +helpless, and yet so confident in him. Every energy in him leaped +up in defiance of the revolution which for a few moments had +stirred within him. And Jeanne, as though she had read the working +of his mind, looked straight at him and smiled, with a little +purring note in her throat that took the place of a thousand +words. It was such a smile, and yet not one of love, which puts +the strength of ten men in one man's arms; and Philip laughed back +at her, every chord in his body responding in joyous vibration to +the delicate note that had come with it. No matter what events +might find their birth at Fort o' God, Jeanne was innocent of all +knowledge of plot or wrong-doing. Once for all Philip convinced +himself of this. + +The thought that came to him, as he looked at Jeanne, found voice +through his lips. + +"Do you know," he said, "if I never saw you again I would always +have three pictures of you in my memory. I would never forget how +you looked when I first saw you on the cliff--or as I see you now, +wrapped in your bearskins. Only--I would think of you--as you +smiled." + +"And the third picture?" questioned Jeanne, little guessing what +was in his mind. "Would that be at the fire, when I burned the bad +man's neck--or--or when--" + +She stopped herself, and pouted her mouth in sudden vexation, +while a flush which Philip could easily see rose in her cheeks. + +"When I doctored your foot?" he finished, rather unchivalrously, +chuckling in his delight at her pretty discomfiture. "No, that +wouldn't be the third, Miss Jeanne. The other scene which I shall +never forget was that on the stone pier at Churchill, when you met +a beautiful girl who was coming off the ship." + +The blood leaped to Jeanne's face. Her soft lips tightened. A +sudden movement, and the bearskin slipped from her shoulders, +leaving her leaning a little forward, her eyes blazing. A dozen +words had transformed her from the child he had fancied her to a +woman quivering with some powerful emotion, her beautiful head +proud and erect, her nostrils dilating with the quickness of her +breath. + +"That was a mistake," she said. There was no sign of passion in +her voice. It trembled a little, but that was all. "It was a +mistake, M'sieur Philip. I thought that I knew her, and--and I +was wrong. You--you must not remember THAT!" + +"I am no better than a wild beast," groaned Philip, hating +himself. "I'm the biggest idiot in the world when it comes to +saying the wrong thing, I never miss a chance. I didn't mean to +say anything--that would hurt--" + +"You haven't," interrupted the girl, quickly, seeing the distress +in his face. "You haven't said a thing that's wrong. Only I don't +want you to remember THAT picture. I want you to think of me as-- +as--I burned the bad man's neck." + +She was laughing now, though her breast was rising and falling a +little excitedly and the deep color was still in her cheeks. + +"Will you?" she entreated. + +"Until I die," he exclaimed. + +She was fumbling under the luggage, and dragged forth a second +paddle. + +"I've had an easy time with you, M'sieur Philip," she said, +turning so that she was kneeling with her back to him. "Pierre +makes me work. Always I kneel here, in the bow, and paddle. I am +ashamed of myself. You have worked all night." + +"And I feel as fresh as though I had slept for a week," declared +Philip, his eyes devouring the slim figure a paddle's length in +front of him. + +For an hour they continued up the river, with scarcely a word +between them to break the silence. Their paddles rose and fell +with a rhythmic motion; the water rippled like low music under +their canoe; the spell of the silent shores, of voiceless beauty, +of the wilderness awakening into day appealed to them both and +held them quiet. The sun broke faintly through the drawn mists +behind. Its first rays lighted up Jeanne's rumpled hair, so that +her heavy braid, partly undone and falling upon the luggage behind +her, shone in rich and changing colors that fascinated Philip. He +had thought that Jeanne's hair was very dark, but he saw now that +it was filled with the rare life of a Titian head, running from +red to gold and dark brown, with changing shadows and flashes of +light. It was beautiful. And Jeanne, as he looked at her, he +thought to be the most beautiful thing on earth. The movement of +her arms, the graceful, sinuous twists of her slender body as she +put her strength upon the paddle, the poise of her head, the +piquant tilt to her chin whenever she turned so that he caught a +half profile of her flushed, eager face all filled his cup of +admiration to overflowing. And he found himself wondering, +suddenly, how this girl could be a sister to Pierre Couchee. He +saw in her no sign of French or half-breed blood. Her hair was +fine and soft, and waved about her ears and where it fell loose +upon the back. The color in her cheeks was as delicate as the +tints of the bakneesh flower. She had rolled up her broad cuffs to +give her greater freedom in paddling, and her arms shone white and +firm, glistening with the wet drip of the paddle. He was marveling +at her relationship to Pierre when she looked back at him, her +face aglow with exercise and the spice of the morning, and he saw +the sunlight as blue as the sky above him in her eyes. If he had +not known, he would have sworn that there was not a drop of +Pierre's blood in her veins. + +"We are coming to the first rapids, M'sieur Philip," she +announced. "It is just beyond that ugly mountain of rock ahead of +us, and we will have a quarter-mile portage. It is filled with +great stones and so swift that Pierre and I nearly wrecked +ourselves coming down." + +It was the most that had been said since the beginning of that +wonderful hour that had come before the first gleam of sunrise, +and Philip, laying his paddle athwart the canoe, stretched himself +and yawned, as though he had just awakened. + +"Poor boy," said Jeanne; and it struck him that her words were +strangely like those which Eileen might have spoken had she been +there, only an artless comradeship replaced what would have been +Miss Brokaw's tone of intimacy. She added, with genuine sympathy +in her face and voice: "You must be exhausted, M'sieur Philip. If +you were Pierre I should insist upon going ashore for a number of +hours. Pierre obeys me when we are together. He calls me his +captain. Won't you let me command you?" + +"If you will let me call you--my captain," replied Philip. "Only +there is one thing--one reservation. We must go on. Command me in +everything else, but we must go on--for a time. To-night I will +sleep. I will sleep like the dead. So, My Captain," he laughed, +"may I have your permission to work to-day?" + +Jeanne was turning the bow shoreward. Her back was turned to him +again. + +"You have no pity on me," she pouted. "Pierre would be good to me, +and we would fish all day in that pretty pool over there. I'll bet +it's full of trout." + +Her words, her manner of speaking them, was a new revelation to +Philip. She was delightful. He laughed, and his voice rang out in +the clear morning like a school-boy's. Jeanne pretended that she +saw nothing to laugh at, and no sooner had the canoe touched shore +than she sprang lightly out, not waiting for his assistance. With +a laughing cry, she stumbled and fell. Philip was at her side in +an instant. + +"You shouldn't have done that," he objected. "I am your doctor, +and I insist that your foot is not well." + +"But it is!" cried Jeanne, and he saw that there was laughter +instead of pain in her eyes. "It's the bandage. My right foot +feels like that of a Chinese debutante. Ugh! I'm going to undo +it." + +"You've been to China, too," mused Philip, half to himself. + +"I know that it's filled with yellow girls, and that they squeeze +their feet like this," said Jeanne, unlacing her moccasin. "My +tutor and I have just finished a delightful trip along the Great +Wall. We'd go to Peking, in an automobile, if I wasn't afraid." + +Philip's groan was audible. He went to the canoe, and Jeanne's red +lips curled in a merriment which it was hard for her too suppress. +Philip did not see. When he had unloaded the canoe and turned, +Jeanne was walking slowly back and forth, limping a little. + +"It's all right," she said, answering the question on his lips. "I +don't feel any pain at all, but my foot's asleep. Won't you please +unstrap the small pack? I'm going to make my toilet while you are +gone with the canoe." + +Half an hour later Philip unshouldered the canoe at the upper end +of the rapids. His own toilet articles were back in the cabin with +Gregson, but he took a wash in the river and combed his hair with +his fingers. When he returned, there was a transformation in +Jeanne. Her beautiful hair was done up in shining coils. She had +changed her bedraggled skirt for another of soft, yellow buckskin. +At her throat she wore a fluffy mass of crimson stuff which seemed +to reflect a richer rose-flush in her cheeks. A curious thought +came to Philip as he looked at her. Like a flash the memory of a +certain night came to him--when it had taken Miss Brokaw and her +maid two hours to make a toilet for a ball. And Jeanne, in the +heart of a wilderness, had made herself more beautiful than +Eileen. He imagined, as she stood before him, a little embarrassed +by the admiration in his eyes, the sensation Jeanne would create +in a ballroom at home. And then he laughed--laughed joyously at +thoughts which he could not reveal to Jeanne, and which she, by +some quick intuition, knew that she should not ask him to express. + +Twice again Philip made the portage, accompanied the second time +by Jeanne, who insisted on carrying a small pack and two paddles. +In spite of his determination and splendid physique, Philip began +to feel the effects of the tremendous strain which he had been +under for so long. He counted back and found that he had slept but +six hours in the last forty-eight. There was a warning ache in his +shoulders and a gnawing pain in the bones of his forearms. But he +knew that he had not yet made sufficient headway up the Churchill. +It would not be difficult for him to make a camp far enough back +in the bush to avoid discovery; but, at the same time, if he and +Jeanne were pursued, the stop would give their enemies a chance to +get ahead of them. This danger he wished to escape. + +He flattered himself that Jeanne saw no signs of his weakening. He +did not know that Jeanne put more and more effort into her paddle, +until her arms and body ached, because she saw the truth. + +The Churchill narrowed and its current became swifter as they +progressed. Five portages were made between sunrise and eleven +o'clock. They ate dinner at the fifth, and rested for two hours. +Then the journey was resumed. It was three o'clock when Jeanne +dropped her paddle and turned to Philip. There were deep lines in +his face. He smiled, but there was more of haggard misery than +cheer in the smile. There was an unnatural flush in his cheeks, +and he began to feel a burning pain where the blow had fallen upon +his head before. For a full half-minute Jeanne looked at him +without speaking. "Philip," she said--and it was the first time +she had spoken his name in this way, "I insist upon going ashore +immediately. If you do not land--now--in that opening ahead, I +shall jump out, and you can go on alone." + +"As you say--my Captain Jeanne," surrendered Philip, a little +dizzily. + +Jeanne guided the canoe to the shore, and was the first to spring +out, while Philip steadied the light craft with his paddle. She +pointed to the luggage. + +"We will want the tent--everything," she said, "because we are +going to camp here until to-morrow." + +Once on shore, Philip's dizziness left him. He pulled the canoe +high up on the bank, and then Jeanne and he set off, side by side, +to explore the high, wooded ground back from the river. They +followed a well-worn moose trail, and two or three hundred yards +from the stream came upon a small opening cluttered by great rocks +and surrounded by clumps of birch, spruce, and banskian pine. The +moose trail crossed this rough open space; and, following it to +the opposite side, Philip and Jeanne came upon a clear, rippling +little stream, scarcely two yards in width, hidden in places under +thick caribou moss and jungles of seedling pines. It was an ideal +camping spot, and Jeanne gave a little cry of delight when they +found the cold water of the creek. + +Philip then returned to the river, concealed the canoe, covered up +all traces of their landing, and began to carry the camping outfit +back to the open. The small silk tent for Jeanne's use he set up +in a little grassy corner of the clearing, and built their fire a +dozen paces from it. With a sort of thrilling pleasure he began +cutting balsam boughs for Jeanne's bed. He cut armful after +armful, and it was growing dusk in the forest by the time he was +done. In the glow and the heat of the fire Jeanne's cheeks were as +pink as an apple. She had turned a big flat rock into a table, and +as she busied herself about this she burst suddenly into a soft +ripple of song; then, remembering that it was not Pierre who was +near her, she stopped. Philip, with his last armful of bedding, +was directly behind her, and he laughed happily at her over the +green mass of balsam when she turned and saw him looking at her. + +"You like this?" he asked. + +"It is glorious!" cried Jeanne, her eyes flashing. She seemed to +grow taller before him, and stood with her head thrown back, lips +parted, gazing upon the wilderness about her. "It is glorious!" +she repeated, breathing deeply. "There is nothing in the whole +world that could make me give this up, M'sieur Philip. I was born +in it. I want to die in it. Only--" + +Her face clouded for a moment as her eyes rested upon his. + +"Your civilization is coming north to spoil it all," she added, +and turned to the rock table. + +Philip dropped his load. + +"Supper is ready," she said, and the cloud had passed. + +It was Jeanne's first reference to his own people, to the invasion +of civilization into the north, and there recurred to Philip the +words in which she had cried out her hatred against Churchill. But +Jeanne did not betray herself again. She was quiet while they were +eating, and Philip saw that she was very tired. When they had +finished, they sat for a few minutes watching the lowering flames +of the fire. Darkness had gathered about them. Their faces and the +rock were illumined more and more faintly as the embers died down. +A silence fell upon them. In the banskians close behind them an +owl hooted softly, a cautious, drumming note, as though the night- +bird possessed still a fear of the newly dead day. The brush gave +out sound--voices infinitesimally small, strange quiverings, +rustlings that might have been made by wind, by breath, by +shadows, almost. Overhead the tips of the spruce and tall pines +whispered among themselves, as they never commune by day. Spirits +seemed to move among them, sending down to Jeanne's and Philip's +listening ears a restful, sleepy murmur. Farther back there +sounded a deep sniff, where a moose, traveling the well-worn +trail, stopped in sudden fear and wonder at the strange man-scent +which came to its nostrils. And still farther, from some little +lake nameless and undiscovered in the black depths of the forest +to the south, a great northern loon sent out its cowardly cry of +defiance to all night things, and then plunged deep under water, +as though frightened into the depths by its own mad jargon. The +fire died lower. Philip moved a little nearer to the girl, whose +breathing he could hear. + +"Jeanne," he said, softly, fighting to keep himself from touching +her hand, "I know what you mean--I understand. Two years ago I +gave up civilization for this. I am glad that I wrote to you as I +did, for now you will believe me and know that I understand. I +love this world up here as you love it. I am never going back +again." + +Jeanne was silent. + +"But there is one thing, at least one--which I cannot understand +in you," he went on, nerving himself for what might come a moment +later. "You are of this world--you hate civilization--and yet you +have brought a man into the north to teach you its ways. I mean +this man who you say is the most wonderful man in the world." + +He waited, trembling. It seemed an eternity before Jeanne +answered. And then she said: + +"He is my father, M'sieur Philip." + +Philip could not speak. Darkness hid him from Jeanne. She did not +see that which leaped into his face, and that for a moment he was +on the point of flinging himself at her feet. + +"You spoke of yourself, of Pierre, of your father, and of one +other at Fort o' God," said Philip. "I thought that he--the other +--was your tutor." + +"No, it is Pierre's sister," replied Jeanne. + +"Your sister! You have a sister?" + +He could hear Jeanne catch her breath. + +"Listen, M'sieur,'" she said, after a moment. "I must tell you a +little about Pierre, a story of something that happened a long, +long time ago. It was in the middle of a terrible winter, and +Pierre was then a boy. One day he was out hunting and he came upon +a trail--the trail of a woman who had dragged herself through the +snow in her moccasined feet. It was far out upon a barren, where +there was no life, and he followed. He found her, M'sieur, and she +was dead. She had died from cold and starvation. An hour sooner he +might have saved her, for, wrapped up close against her breast, he +found a little child--a baby girl, and she was alive. He brought +her to Fort o' God, M'sieur--to a noble man who lived there almost +alone; and there, through all these years, she has lived and grown +up. And no one knows who her mother was, or who her father was, +and so it happens that Pierre, who found her, is her brother, and +the man who has loved her and cared for her is her father." + +"And she is the other at Fort o' God--Pierre's sister," said +Philip. + +Jeanne rose from the rock and moved toward the tent, glimmering +indistinctly in the night. Her voice came back chokingly. + +"No, M'sieur. Pierre's real sister is at Fort o' God. I am the one +whom he found out on the barren." + +To the night sounds there was added a heart-broken sob, and Jeanne +disappeared in the tent. + + + + + +XIV + + +Philip sat where Jeanne had left him. He was powerless to move or +to say a word that might have recalled her. Her own grief, +quivering in that one piteous sob, overwhelmed him. It held him +mute and listening, with the hope that each instant the tent-flap +might open and Jeanne reappear. And yet if she came he had no +words to say. Unwittingly he had probed deep into one of those +wounds that never heal, and he realized that to ask forgiveness +would be but another blunder. He almost groaned as he thought of +what he had done. In his desire to understand, to know more about +Jeanne, he had driven her into a corner. What he had forced from +her he might have learned a little later from Pierre or from the +father at Fort o' God. He thought that Jeanne must despise him +now, for he had taken advantage of her helplessness and his own +position. He had saved her from her enemies; and in return she had +opened her heart, naked and bleeding, to his eyes. What she had +told him was not a voluntary confidence; it was a confession wrung +from her by the rack of his questionings--the confession that she +was a waif-child, that Pierre was not her brother, and that the +man at Fort o' God was not her father. He had gone to the very +depths of that which was sacred to herself and those whom she +loved. + +He rose and stirred the fire, and stray ends of birch leaped into +flame, lighting his pale face. He wanted to go to the tent, kneel +there where Jeanne could hear him, and tell her that it was all a +mistake. Yet he knew that this could not be, neither the next day +nor the next, for to plead extenuation for himself would be to +reveal his love. Two or three times he had been on the point of +revealing that love. Only now, after what had happened, did it +occur to him that to disclose his heart to Jeanne would be the +greatest crime he could commit. She was alone with him in the +heart of a wilderness, dependent upon him, upon his honor. He +shivered when he thought how narrow had been his escape, how short +a time he had known her, and how in that brief spell he had given +himself up to an almost insane hope. To him Jeanne was not a +stranger. She was the embodiment, in flesh and blood, of the +spirit which had been his companion for so long. He loved her more +than ever now, for Jeanne the lost child of the snows was more the +earthly revelation of his beloved spirit than Jeanne the sister of +Pierre. But--what was he to Jeanne? + +He left the fire and went to the pile of balsam which he had +spread out between two rocks for his bed. He lay down and pulled +Pierre's blanket over him, but his fatigue and his desire for +sleep seemed to have left him, and it was a long time before +slumber finally drove from him the thought of what he had done. +After that he did not move. He heard none of the sounds of the +night. A little owl, the devil-witch, screamed horribly overhead +and awakened Jeanne, who sat up for a few moments in her balsam +bed, white-faced and shivering. But Philip slept. Long afterward +something warm awakened him, and he opened his eyes, thinking that +it was the glow of the fire in his face. It was the sun. He heard +a sound which brought him quickly into consciousness of day. It +was Jeanne singing softly over beyond the rocks. + +He had dreaded the coming of morning, when he would have to face +Jeanne. His guilt hung heavily upon him. But the sound of her +voice, low and sweet, filled with the carroling happiness of a +bird, brought a glad smile to his lips. After all, Jeanne had +understood him. She had forgiven him, if she had not forgotten. + +For the first time he noticed the height of the sun, and he sat +bolt upright. Jeanne saw his head and shoulders pop over the top +of the rocks, and she laughed at him from their stone table. + +"I've been keeping breakfast for over an hour, M'sieur Philip," +she cried. "Hurry down to the creek and wash yourself, or I shall +eat all alone!" + +Philip rose stupidly and looked at his watch. + +"Eight o'clock!" he gasped. "We should have been ten miles on the +way by this time!" + +Jeanne was still laughing at him. Like sunlight she dispelled his +gloom of the night before. A glance around the camp showed him +that she must have been awake for at least two hours. The packs +were filled and strapped. The silken tent was down and folded. She +had gathered wood, built the fire, and cooked breakfast while he +slept. And now she stood a dozen paces from him, blushing a little +at his amazed stare, waiting for him. + +"It's deuced good of you, Miss Jeanne!" he exclaimed. "I don't +deserve such kindness from you." + +"Oh!" said Jeanne, and that was all. She bent over the fire, and +Philip went to the creek. + +He was determined now to maintain a more certain hold upon +himself. As he doused his face in the cold water his resolutions +formed themselves. For the next few days he would forget +everything but the one fact that Jeanne was in his care; he would +not hurt her again or compel her confidence. + +It was after nine o'clock before they were upon the river. They +paddled without a rest until twelve. After lunch Philip +confiscated Jeanne's paddle and made her sit facing him in the +canoe. + +The afternoon passed like a dream to Philip, He did not refer +again to Fort o' God or the people there; he did not speak again +of Eileen Brokaw, of Lord Fitzhugh, or of Pierre. He talked of +himself and of those things which had once been his life. He told +of his mother and his father, who had died, and of the little +sister, whom he had worshiped, but who had gone with the others. +He bared his loneliness to her as he would have told them to the +sister, had she lived; and Jeanne's soft blue eyes were filled +with tenderness and sympathy. And then he talked of Gregson's +world. Within himself he called it no longer his own. + +It was Jeanne who questioned now. She asked about cities and great +people, about books and WOMEN. Her knowledge amazed Philip. She +might have visited the Louvre. One would have guessed that she had +walked in the streets of Paris, Berlin, and London. She spoke of +Johnson, of Dickens, and of Balzac as though they had died but +yesterday. She was like one who had been everywhere and yet saw +everything through a veil that bewildered her. In her simplicity +she unfolded herself to Philip, leaf by leaf, petal by petal, like +the morning apios that surrenders its mysteries to the sun. She +knew the world which he had come from, its people, its cities, its +greatness; and yet her knowledge was like that of the blind. She +knew, but she had never seen; and in her wistfulness to see as HE +could see there was a sweetness and a pathos which made every +fiber in his body sing with a quiet and thrilling joy. He knew, +now, that the man who was at Fort o' God must, indeed, be the most +wonderful man in the world. For out of a child of the snows, of +the forest, of a savage desolation, he had made Jeanne. And Jeanne +was glorious! + +The afternoon passed, and they made thirty miles before they +camped for the night. They traveled the next day, and the one that +followed. On the afternoon of the fourth they were approaching Big +Thunder Rapids, close to the influx of the Little Churchill, sixty +miles from Fort o' God. + +These days, too, passed for Philip with joyous swiftness; swiftly +because they were too short for him. His life, now, was Jeanne. +Each day she became a more vital part of him. She crept into his +soul until there was no longer left room for any other thought +than of her. And yet his happiness was tampered by a thing which, +if not grief, depressed and saddened him at times. Two days more +and they would be at Fort o' God, and there Jeanne would be no +longer his own, as she was now. Even the wilderness has its +conventionality, and at Fort o' God their comradeship would end. A +day of rest, two at the most, and he would leave for the camp on +Blind Indian Lake. As the time drew nearer when they would be but +friends and no longer comrades, Philip could not always hide the +signs of gloom which weighed upon him. He revealed nothing in +words; but now and then Jeanne had caught him when the fears at +his heart betrayed themselves in his face. Jeanne became happier +as their journey approached its end. She was alive every moment, +joyous, expectant, looking ahead to Fort o' God; and this in +itself was a bitterness to Philip, though he knew that he was a +fool for allowing it to be so. He reasoned, with dull, masculine +wit, that if Jeanne cared for him at all she would not be so +anxious for their comradeship to end. But these moods, when they +came, passed quickly. And on this afternoon of the fourth day they +passed away entirely, for in an instant there came a solution to +it all. They had known each other but four days, yet that brief +time had encompassed what might not have been in as many years. +Life, smooth, uneventful, develops friendship slowly; an hour of +the unusual may lay bare a soul. Philip thought of Eileen Brokaw, +whose heart was still a closed mystery to him; who was a stranger, +in spite of the years he had known her. In four days he had known +Jeanne a lifetime; in those four days Jeanne had learned more of +him than Eileen Brokaw could ever know. So he arrived at the +resolution which made him, too, look eagerly ahead to the end of +the journey. At Fort o' God he would tell Jeanne of his love. + +Jeanne was looking at him when the determination came. She saw the +gloom pass, a flush mount into his face; and when he saw her eyes +upon him he laughed, without knowing why. + +"If it is so funny," she said, "please tell me." + +It was a temptation, but he resisted it. + +"It is a secret," he said, "which I shall keep until we reach Fort +o' God." + +Jeanne turned her face up-stream to listen. A dozen times she had +done this during the last half-hour, and Philip had listened with +her. At first they had heard a distant murmur, rising as they +advanced, like an autumn wind that grows stronger each moment in +the tree-tops. The murmur was steady now, without the variations +of a wind. It was the distant roaring of the rocks and rushing +floods of Big Thunder Rapids. It grew steadily from a murmur to a +moan, from a moan to rumbling thunder. The current became so swift +that Philip was compelled to use all his strength to force the +canoe ahead. A few moments later he turned into shore. + +From where they landed, a worn trail led up to one of the +precipitous walls of rock and shut in the Big Thunder Rapids. +Everything about them was rock. The trail was over rock, worn +smooth by the countless feet of centuries--clawed feet, naked +feet, moccasined feet, the feet of white men. It was the Great +Portage, for animal as well as man. Philip went up with the pack, +and Jeanne followed behind him. The thunder increased. It roared +in their ears until they could no longer hear their own voices. +Directly above the rapids the trail was narrow, scarcely eight +feet in width, shut in on the land side by a mountain wall, on the +other by the precipice. Philip looked behind, and saw Jeanne +hugging close to the wall. Her face was white, her eyes shone with +terror and awe. He spoke to her, but she saw only the movement of +his lips. Then he put down his pack and went close to the edge of +the precipice. + +Sixty feet below him was the Big Thunder, a chaos of lashing foam, +of slippery, black-capped rocks bobbing and grimacing amid the +rushing torrents like monsters playing at hide-and-seek. Now one +rose high, as though thrust up out of chaos by giant hands; then +it sank back, and milk-white foam swirled softly over the place +where it had been. There seemed to be life in the chaos--a grim, +terrible life whose voice was a thunder that never died. For a few +moments Philip stood fascinated by the scene below him. Then he +felt a touch upon his arm. It was Jeanne. She stood beside him +quivering, dead-white, Almost daring to take the final step. +Philip caught her hands firmly in his own, and Jeanne looked over. +Then she darted back and hovered, shuddering, near the wall. + +The portage was a short one, scarce two hundred yards in length, +and at the upper end was a small green meadow in which river +voyagers camped. It still lacked two hours of dusk when Philip +carried over the last of the luggage. + +"We will not camp here," he said to Jeanne pointing to the remains +of numerous fires and remembering Pierre's exhortation. "It is too +public, as you might say. Besides, that noise makes me deaf." + +Jeanne shuddered. + +"Let us hurry," she said. "I'm--I'm afraid of THAT!" + +Philip carried the canoe down to the river, and Jeanne followed +with the bearskins. The current was soft and sluggish, with tiny +maelstroms gurgling up here and there, like air-bubbles in boiling +syrup. He only half launched the canoe, and Jeanne remained while +he went for another load. The dip, kept green by the water of a +spring, was a pistol-shot from the river. Philip looked back from +the crest and saw Jeanne leaning over the canoe. Then he descended +into the meadow, whistling. He had reached the packs when to his +ears there seemed to come a sound that rose faintly above the roar +of the water in the chasm. He straightened himself and listened. + +"Philip! Philip!" + +The cry came twice--his own name, piercing, agonizing, rising +above the thunder of the floods. He heard no more, but raced up +the slope of the dip. From the crest he stared down to where +Jeanne had been. She was gone. The canoe was gone. A terrible fear +swept upon him, and for an instant he turned faint. Jeanne's cry +came to him again. + +"Philip! Philip!" + +Like a madman he dashed up the rocky trail to the chasm, calling +to Jeanne, shrieking to her, telling her that he was coming. He +reached the edge of the precipice and looked down. Below him was +the canoe and Jeanne. She was fighting futilely against the +resistless flood; he saw her paddle wrenched suddenly from her +hands, and as it went swirling beyond her reach she cried out his +name again. Philip shouted, and the girl's white face was turned +up to him. Fifty yards ahead of her were the first of the rocks. +In another minute, even less, Jeanne would be dashed to pieces +before his eyes. Thoughts, swifter than light, flashed through his +mind. He could do nothing for her, for it seemed impossible that +any living creature could exist amid the maelstroms and rocks +ahead. And yet she was calling to him. She was reaching up her +arms to him. She had faith in him, even in the face of death. + +"Philip! Philip!" + +There was no M'SIEUR to that cry now, only a moaning, sobbing +prayer filled with his name. + +"I'm coming, Jeanne!" he shouted. "I'm coming! Hold fast to the +canoe!" + +He ran ahead, stripping off his coat. A little below the first +rocks a stunted banskian grew out of an earthy fissure in the +cliff, with its lower branches dipping within a dozen feet of the +stream. He climbed out on this with the quickness of a squirrel, +and hung to a limb with both hands, ready to drop alongside the +canoe. There was one chance, and only one, of saving Jeanne. It +was a chance out of a thousand--ten thousand. If he could drop at +the right moment, seize the stern of the canoe, and make a rudder +of himself, he could keep the craft from turning broadside and +might possibly guide it between the rocks below. This one hope was +destroyed as quickly as it was born. The canoe crashed against the +first rock. A smother of foam rose about it and he saw Jeanne +suddenly engulfed and lost. Then she reappeared, almost under him, +and he launched himself downward, clutching at her dress with his +hands. By a supreme effort he caught her around the waist with his +left arm, so that his right was free. + +Ahead of them was a boiling sea of white, even more terrible than +when they had looked down upon it from above. The rocks were +hidden by mist and foam; their roar was deafening. Between Philip +and the awful maelstrom of death there was a quieter space of +water, black, sullen, and swift--the power itself, rushing on to +whip itself into ribbons among the taunting rocks that barred its +way to the sea. In that space Philip looked at Jeanne. Her face +was against his breast. Her eyes met his own, and In that last +moment, face to face with death, love leaped above all fear. They +were about to die, and Jeanne would die in his arms. She was his +now--forever. His hold tightened. Her face came nearer. He wanted +to shout, to let her know what he had meant to say at Fort o' God. +But his voice would have been like a whisper in a hurricane. Could +Jeanne understand? The wall of foam was almost in their faces. +Suddenly he bent down, crushed his face to hers, and kissed her +again and again. Then, as the maelstrom engulfed them, he swung +his own body to take the brunt of the shock. + +He no longer reasoned beyond one thing. He must keep his body +between Jeanne and the rocks. He would be crushed, beaten to +pieces, made unrecognizable, but Jeanne would be only drowned. He +fought to keep himself half under her, with his head and shoulders +in advance. When he felt the floods sucking him under, he thrust +her upward. He fought, and did not know what happened. Only there +was the crashing of a thousand cannon in his ears, and he seemed +to live through an eternity. They thundered about him, against +him, ahead of him, and then more and more behind. He felt no pain, +no shock. It was the SOUND that he seemed to be fighting; in the +buffeting of his body against the rocks there was the painlessness +of a knife-thrust delivered amid the roar of battle. And the sound +receded. It was thundering in retreat, and a curious thought came +to him. Providence had delivered him through the maelstrom. He had +not struck the rocks. He was saved. And in his arms he held +Jeanne. + +It was day when he began the fight, broad day. And now it was +night. He felt earth, under his feet, and he knew that he had +brought Jeanne ashore. He heard her voice speaking his name; and +he was so glad that he laughed and sobbed like a babbling idiot. +It was dark, and he was tired. He sank down, and he could feel +Jeanne's arms striving to hold him up, and he could still hear her +voice. But nothing could keep him from sleeping. And during that +sleep he had visions. Now it was day, and he saw Jeanne's face +over him; again it was night, and he heard only the roaring of the +flood. Again he heard voices, Jeanne's voice and a man's, and he +wondered who the man could be. It was a strange sleep filled with +strange dreams. But at last the dreams seemed to go. He lost +himself. He awoke, and the night had turned into day. He was in a +tent, and the sun was gleaming on the outside. It had been a +curious dream, and he sat up astonished. + +There was a man sitting beside him. It was Pierre. + +"Thank God, M'sieur!" he heard. "We have been waiting for this. +You are saved!" + +"Pierre!" he gasped. + +Memory returned to him. He was awake. He felt weak, but he knew +that what he saw was not the vision of a dream. + +"I came the day after you went through the rapids," explained +Pierre, seeing his amazement. "You saved Jeanne. She was not hurt. +But you were badly bruised, M'sieur, and you have been in a +fever." + +"Jeanne--was not--hurt?" + +"No. She cared for you until I came. She is sleeping now." + +"I have not been this way--very long, have I, Pierre?" + +"I came yesterday," said Pierre. He bent over Philip, and added: +"You must remain quiet for a little longer, M'sieur. I have +brought you a letter from M'sieur Gregson, and when you read that +I will have some broth made for you." + +Philip took the letter and opened it as Pierre went quietly out of +the tent. Gregson had written him but a few lines. He wrote: + +MY DEAR PHIL,--I hope you'll forgive me. But I'm tired of this +mess. I was never cut out for the woods, and so I'm going to +dismiss myself, leaving all best wishes behind for you. Go in and +fight. You're a devil for fighting, and will surely win. I'll only +be in the way. So I'm going back with the ship, which leaves in +three or four days. Was going to tell you this on the night you +disappeared. Am sorry I couldn't shake hands with you before I +left. Write and let me know how things come out. As ever, + +TOM. + +Stunned, Philip dropped the letter. He lifted his eyes, and a +strange cry burst from his lips. Nothing that Gregson had written +could have wrung that cry from him. It was Jeanne. She stood in +the open door of the tent. But it was not the Jeanne he had known. +A terrible grief was written in her face. Her lips were bloodless, +her eyes lusterless; deep suffering seemed to have put hollows in +her cheeks. In a moment she had fallen upon her knees beside him +and clasped one of his hands in both of her own. + +"I am so glad," she whispered, chokingly. + +For an instant she pressed his hands to her face. + +"I am so glad--" + +She rose to her feet, swaying slightly. She turned to the door, +and Philip could hear her sobbing as she left him. + + + + + +XV + + +Not until the silken flap of the tent had fallen behind Jeanne did +power of movement and speech return to Philip. He called her name +and straggled to a sitting posture. Then he staggered to his feet. +He could scarcely stand. Shooting pains passed like flashes of +electricity through his body. His right arm was numb and stiff, +and he found that it was thickly bandaged. His head ached, his +legs could hardly support him. He went to raise his left hand to +his head, but stopped it in front of him, while a slow smile of +understanding crept over his face. It was swollen and covered with +livid bruises. He wondered if his body looked that way, and sank +down exhausted upon his balsam bed. A minute later Pierre returned +with a cup of broth in his hand. + +Philip looked at him with less feverish eyes now. There was an +unaccountable change in the half-breed's appearance, as there had +been in Jeanne's. His face seemed thinner. There was a deep gloom +in his eyes, a dejected droop to his shoulders. Philip accepted +the broth, and drank it slowly, without speaking. He felt +strengthened. Then he looked steadily at Pierre. The old pride had +fallen from Pierre like a mask. His eyes dropped under Philip's +gaze. + +Philip held up a hand. + +"Pierre!" + +The half-breed grasped it and waited. His lips tightened. + +"What is the matter?" demanded Philip. "What has happened to +Jeanne? You say she was not hurt--" + +"By the rocks, M'sieur," interrupted Pierre, quickly, kneeling +beside Philip. "Listen. It is best that I tell you. You are a man, +you will understand, without being told all. From Churchill I +brought news which it was necessary for me to tell Jeanne. It was +terrible news, and she is distressed under its weight. Your honor +will not allow you to inquire further, M'sieur. I can tell you no +more than this--that it is a grief which belongs to but one person +on earth--herself. I ask you to help me. Be blind to her +unhappiness, M'sieur. Believe that it is the distress of the peril +through which she has passed. A little later I will tell you all, +and you will understand. But it is impossible now. I confide this +much in you--I ask you this--because--" + +Pierre's eyes were half closed, and he looked as though unseeing +over Philip's head. + +"I ask you this," he repeated, softly, "because I have guessed-- +that you love her." + +A cry of joy burst from Philip's lips. + +"I do, Pierre--I do--I do--" + +"I have guessed it," said Pierre. "You will help me--to save her!" + +"Until death!" + +"Then you will go with us to Fort o' God, and from there you will +go at once to your camp on Blind Indian Lake." + +Philip felt the sweat breaking out over his face. He was still +weak. His voice was unnatural, and trembled. + +"You know--" he gasped. + +"Yes, I know, M'sieur," replied Pierre. "I know that you are in +charge there, and Jeanne knows. We knew who you were before we +appointed to meet you on the cliff. You must return to your men." + +Philip was silent. For the moment every hope was crushed within +him. + +He looked at Pierre. The half-breed's eyes were glowing, his +haggard cheeks were flushed. + +"And this is necessary?" + +"It is absolutely necessary, M'sieur." + +"Then I will go. But first, Pierre, I must know a little more. I +cannot go entirely blind. Do they fear my men--at Fort o' God?" + +"No, M'sieur." + +"One more question, Pierre. Who is Lord Fitzhugh Lee?" + +For an instant Pierre's eyes widened. They grew black, and burned +with a strange, threatening fire. He rose slowly to his feet, and +placed both hands upon Philip's shoulders. For a full minute the +two men stared into each other's face. Then Pierre spoke. His +voice was soft and low, scarcely above a murmur, but it was filled +with something that struck a chill to Philip's heart. + +"I would kill you before I would answer that question, M'sieur," +he said. "No other person has ever done for Jeanne and I what you +have done. We owe you more than we can ever repay. Yet if you +insist upon an answer to that question you make of me an enemy; if +you breathe that name to Jeanne, you turn her away from you +forever." + +Without another word he left the tent. + +For many minutes Philip sat motionless where Pierre had left him. +The earth seemed suddenly to have dropped from under his feet, +leaving him in an illimitable chaos of mind. Gregson had deserted +him, with almost no word of explanation, and he would have staked +his life upon Gregson's loyalty. Under other circumstances his +unaccountable action would have been a serious blow. But now it +was overshadowed by the mysterious change that had come over +Jeanne. A few hours before she had been happy, laughing and +singing as they drew nearer to Fort o' God; each hour had added to +the brightness of her eyes, the gladness in her voice. The change +had come with Pierre. and at the bottom of it all was Lord +Fitzhugh Lee. Pierre had warned him not to mention Lord Fitzhugh's +name to Jeanne, and yet only a short time before he had spoken the +name boldly before Jeanne, and she had betrayed no sign of +recognition or of fear. More than that, she had assured him that +she had never heard the name before, that it was not known at Fort +o' God. + +Philip bowed his head in his hands, and his fingers clutched in +his hair. What did it all mean? He went back to the scene on the +cliff, when Pierre had roused himself at the sound of the name; he +thought of all that had happened since Gregson had come to +Churchill, and the result was a delirium of thought that made his +temples throb. He was sure--now--of but few things. He loved +Jeanne--loved her more than he had ever dreamed that he could love +a woman, and he believed that it would be impossible for her to +tell him a falsehood. He was confident that she had never heard of +Lord Fitzhugh until Pierre overtook them in their flight from +Churchill. He could see but one thing to do, and that was to +follow Pierre's advice, accepting his promise that in the end +everything would come out right. He had faith in Pierre. + +He rose to his feet and went to the tent-flap. An embarrassing +thought came to him, and he stopped, a flush of feverish color +suddenly mounting into his pale cheeks. He had kissed Jeanne in +the chasm, when death thundered in their faces. He had kissed her +again and again, and in those kisses he had declared his love. He +was glad, and yet sorry; the knowledge that she must know of his +love filled him with happiness, and yet with it there was the +feeling that it would place a distance between him and Jeanne. + +Jeanne was the first to see him when he came out of the tent. She +was sitting beside a small balsam shelter, and Pierre was busy +over a fire, with his back turned to them. For a moment the two +looked at each other in silence, and then Jeanne came toward him, +holding out one of her hands. He saw that she was making a strong +effort to appear natural, but there was something in his own face +that made her attempt a poor one. The hand that she gave him +trembled. Her lips quivered. For the first time her eyes failed to +meet his own in their limpid frankness. + +"Pierre has told you what happened," she said. "It was a miracle, +and I owe you my life. I have had my punishment for being so +careless." She tried to laugh at him now, and drew her hand away. +"I wasn't beaten against the rocks, like you, but--" + +"It was terrible," interrupted Philip, remembering Pierre's words, +and eager to put her at ease. "You have stood up under it +beautifully. I am afraid of after effects. You must not collapse +under the strain now." + +Pierre heard his last words and a smile flashed over his dark face +as he encountered Philip's glance. + +"It is true, M'sieur," he said. "I know of no other woman who +would have stood up under such a thing as Jeanne has done. MON +DIEU, when I found a part of the canoe wreckage far below I +thought that both of you were dead!" + +Philip began to feel that he had foolishly overestimated his +strength. There was a weakness in his limbs that surprised him, +and a sudden chill replaced the fever in his blood. Jeanne placed +her hand upon his arm and thrust him gently toward the tent. + +"You must not exert yourself," she said, watching the pallor in +his face. "You must be quiet, until after dinner." + +He obeyed the pressure of her hand. Pierre followed into the tent, +and for a moment he was compelled to lean heavily upon the half- +breed. + +"It is the reaction, M'sieur," said Pierre. "You are weak after +the fever. If you could sleep--" + +"I can," murmured Philip, dizzily, dropping upon his balsam. "But, +Pierre--" + +"Yes, M'sieur." + +"I have something--to say to you--no questions--" + +"Not now, M'sieur." + +Philip heard the rustling of the flap, and Pierre was gone. He +felt more comfortable lying down. Dizziness and nausea left him, +and he slept. It was the deep, refreshing sleep that always +follows the awakening from fever. When he awoke he felt like his +old self, and went outside. Pierre was alone; a blanket was drawn +across the front of the balsam shelter, and the half-breed nodded +toward it in response to Philip's inquiring glance. + +Philip ate lightly of the food which Pierre had ready for him. +When he had finished he leaned close to him, and said: + +"You have warned me to ask no questions, and I am going to ask +none. But you have not forbidden me to tell you things which I +know. I am going to talk to you about Lord Fitzhugh Lee." + +Pierre's dark eyes flashed. + +"M'sieur--" + +"Listen!" demanded Philip. "I seek your confidence no further. But +I shall tell you what I know of Lord Fitzhugh Lee, if it makes us +fight. Do you understand? I insist upon this because you have as +good as told me that this man is your enemy, and that he is at the +bottom of Jeanne's trouble. He is also my enemy. And after I have +told you why--you may change your determination to keep me a +stranger to your trouble. If not--well, you can hold your tongue +then as well as now." + +Quickly, without moving his eyes from Pierre's face, Philip told +his own story of Lord Fitzhugh Lee. And as he continued a strange +change came over the half-breed. When he came to the letters +revealing the plot to turn the northerners against his company a +low cry escaped Pierre's lips. His eyes seemed starting from his +head. Drops of sweat burst out upon his face. His fingers worked +convulsively, something rose in his throat and choked him. When +Philip had done he buried his face in his hands. For a few moments +he remained thus, and then suddenly looked up. Livid spots burned +in his cheeks, and he fairly hissed at Philip. + +"M'sieur, if this is not the truth--if this is a lie--" + +He stopped. Something in Philip's eyes told him to go no further. +He was fearless, and he saw more than fearlessness in Philip's +face. Such men believe, when they come together. + +"It is the truth," said Philip. + +With a low, strained laugh Pierre held out his hand as a pledge of +his faith. + +"I believe in you, M'sieur," he said, and it seemed an effort for +him to speak. "Do you know what I would have thought, if you had +told this to Jeanne before I came?" + +"No." + +"I would have thought, M'sieur, that she threw herself purposely +into the death of the Big Thunder rocks." + +"My God, you mean--" + +"That is all, M'sieur. I can say no more. Ah, there is Jeanne!" he +cried, more loudly. "Now we will take down the tent, and go." + +Jeanne stood a dozen steps behind them when Philip turned. She +greeted him with a smile, and hastened to assist Pierre in +gathering up the things about the camp. Philip was not blind to +her efforts to evade him. He could see that it was a relief to her +when they were at last in Pierre's canoe, and headed up the river. +They traveled till late in the evening, and set up Jeanne's tent +by starlight. The journey was continued at dawn. Late the +following afternoon the Little Churchill swept through a low, +woodless country, called the White Fox Barren. It was a narrow +barren and across it lay the forest and the ridge mountains. +Behind these mountains and the forest the sun was setting. Above +all else there rose out of the gathering gloom of evening a single +ridge, a towering mass of rock which caught the last glow of the +sun, and blazed like a signal-fire. + +The canoe stopped. Jeanne and Pierre both gazed toward the great +rock. + +Then Jeanne, who was in the bow, turned her face to Philip, and +the glow of the rock itself suffused her cheeks as she pointed +over the barren. + +"M'sieur Philip," she said, "there is Fort o' God!" + + + + + +XVI + + +There was a low tremble in Jeanne's voice. The canoe swung +broadside to the slow current, and Philip looked in astonishment +at the change in Pierre. The tired half-breed had uncovered his +head, and knelt with his face turned to that last crimson glow in +the sky, like one in prayer. But his eyes were open, there was a +smile on his lips, and he was breathing quickly. Pride and joy +came where there had been the lines of grief and exhaustion. His +shoulders were thrown back, his head erect, and the fire of the +distant rock reflected itself in his eyes. From him Philip turned, +so that he could look into Jeanne's face. The girl, too, had +changed. Again these two were the Pierre and Jeanne whom he had +seen that first night on the moonlit cliff. Pierre seemed no +longer the half-breed, but the prince of the rapier and broad +cuffs; and Jeanne, smiling proudly at Philip, made him an +exquisite little courtesy from her cramped seat in the bow, and +said: + +"M'sieur Philip, welcome to Fort o' God!" + +"Thank you," he said, and stared toward the sun-capped rock. + +He could see nothing but the rock, the black forests, and the +desolate barren stretching between. Fort o' God, unless it was the +rock itself, was still a mystery hidden in the gathering gloom. +The canoe began moving slowly onward, and Jeanne turned so that +her eyes searched the stream ahead. A thick wall of stunted forest +shut out the barren from their view; the stream grew narrower, and +on the opposite side a barren ridge, threatening them with torn +and upheaved masses of rock, flung the heavy shadows of evening +down upon them. No one spoke. Philip could hear Pierre breathing +behind him: something in the intense quiet--in the awesome effect +which their approach to Fort o' God had upon these two--sent +strange little thrills shooting through his body. He listened, and +heard nothing, not even the howl of a dog. The stillness was +oppressive, and the darkness thickened about them. For half an +hour they continued, and then Pierre headed the canoe into a +narrow creek, thrusting it through a thick growth of wild rice and +reeds, + +Balsam and cedar and swamp hazel shut them in. Overhead the tall +cedars interlaced, and hid the pale light of the sky. Philip could +just make out Jeanne ahead of him. + +And then, suddenly, there came a wonderful change. They shot out +of the darkness, as if from a tunnel, but so quietly that one a +dozen feet away could not have heard the ripple of Pierre's +paddle. Almost in their faces rose a huge black bulk, and in that +blackness three or four yellow lights gleamed like mellow stars. +The canoe touched noiselessly upon sand. Pierre sprang out, still +without sound. Jeanne followed, with a whispered word. Philip was +last. + +Pierre pulled the canoe up, and Jeanne came to Philip. She held +out her two hands. Her face shone white in the gloom, and there +was a look in her beautiful eyes, as she stood for a moment almost +touching him, that set his heart jumping. She let her hands lie in +his while she spoke. + +"We have not even alarmed the dogs, M'sieur Philip," she +whispered. "Is not that splendid? I am going to surprise father, +and you will go with Pierre. I will see you a little later, and--" + +She rose on tiptoe, and her face was dangerously close to his own. + +"And you are very, very welcome to Fort o' God, M'sieur." + +She slipped away into the darkness, and Pierre stood beside +Philip. His white teeth were gleaming strangely, and he said in a +soft voice: + +"M'sieur, that is the first time that I have ever heard those +words spoken at Fort o' God. We welcome no man here who has your +blood and your civilization in his veins. You are greater than a +king!" + +With a sudden exclamation Philip turned upon Pierre. + +"And that is the reason for Jeanne's surprise?" he said. "She +wishes to pave a way for me. I begin to understand!" + +"It is true that you might not have received that welcome which +you are certain to receive now from the master of Fort o' God," +replied Pierre, frankly. "So we will go in quietly, and make no +disturbance, while your way is being paved, as you call it." + +He walked ahead, with Philip following so closely that he could +have touched him. He made out more distinctly now the lines of the +huge black edifice from which the lights shone. It was a massive +structure of logs, two stories high, a half of it almost +completely hidden in the impenetrable shadow of a great wall of +rock. Philip's eyes traveled up this wall, and he was convinced +that he stood under the rock upon whose towering crest he had seen +the last reflection of the evening sun. About him there were no +signs of life or of other habitation. Pierre moved swiftly. They +passed under a small lighted window that was a foot above Philip's +head, and turned around the corner of the building. Here all was +blackness. + +Pierre went straight to a door, and uttered at low word of +satisfaction when he found that it was not barred. He opened it, +and reached out a guiding hand to Philip's arm. Philip entered, +and the door closed softly behind him. He felt the flow of warm +air in his face, and his moccasined feet trod upon something soft +and velvety. Faintly, as though coming from a great distance, he +heard a voice singing. It was a woman's voice, but he knew that it +was not Jeanne's. + +In spite of himself his heart was beating excitedly. The mystery +of Fort o' God was about him, warm and subtle, like a strange +spirit, sending through him the thrill of anticipation, a hundred +fancies, little fears. Pierre advanced, still guiding him; then he +stopped, and chuckled softly in the darkness. The distant voice +had stopped singing, and there came in place of it the loud +barking of a dog, an unintelligible sound of a voice, and then +quiet. Jeanne had sprung her surprise. + +Pierre led the way to another room. + +"This is to be your room, M'sieur," he explained. "Make yourself +comfortable. I have no doubt that the master of Fort o' God will +wish to see you very soon." + +He struck a match as he spoke, and lighted a lamp. A moment more +and he was gone. + +Philip looked about him. He was in a room fully twenty feet +square, furnished in a manner that drew from him an audible gasp +of astonishment. At one end of the room was a massive mahogany +bed, screened by heavy curtains which were looped back by silken +cords. Near the bed was an old-fashioned mahogany dresser, with a +diamond-shaped mirror, and in front of it a straight-backed chair +adorned with the grotesque carving of an ancient and long-dead +fashion. About him, everywhere, were the evidences of luxury and +of age. The big lamp, which gave a brilliant light, was of +hammered brass; the base of its square pedestal was partly hidden +in the rumples of a heavy damask spread which covered the table on +which it rested. The table itself was old, spindle-legged, glowing +with the mellow luster endowed by many passing generations--a +relic of the days when the originator of its fashion became the +favorite of a capricious and beautiful queen. Soft rugs were upon +the floor; from the walls, papered and hung with odd bits of +tapestry, strange faces looked down upon Philip from out of heavy +gilded frames; faces grim, pale, shadowed; men with plaited +ruffles and curls; women with powdered hair, who gazed down upon +him haughtily, as if they wondered at his intrusion. + +One picture was turned with its face to the wall. + +Philip sank into a huge arm-chair, cushioned with velvet, and +dropped his cap upon the floor. And this was Fort o' God! He +scarcely breathed. He was back two centuries, and he stared, as if +each moment he expected some manifestation of life in what he saw. +He had dreamed his dream over the dead at Churchill; here it was +reality--almost; it lacked but a breath, a movement, a flutter of +life in the dead faces that looked down upon him. He gazed up at +them again, and laughed a little nervously. Then he fixed his eyes +on the opposite wall. One of the pictures was moving. The thought +in his brain had given birth to the movement he had imagined. It +was a woman's face in the picture, young and beautiful, and it +nodded to him, one moment radiant with light, the next caught in +shadows that cast over it a gloom. He jumped from his chair and +went so that he stood directly under it. + +A current of warm air shot up into his face from the floor. It was +this air that was causing movement in the picture, and he looked +down. What he discovered broke the spell he was under. About him +were the relics of age, of a life long dead. Rubens might have sat +in that room, and mourned over his handiwork, lost in a +wilderness. The stingy Louis might have recognized in the spindle- +legged table a bit of his predecessor's extravagance, which he had +sold for the good of the exchequer of France; a Gobelin might have +reclaimed one of the woven landscapes on the wall, a Grosellier +himself have issued from behind the curtained bed. Philip himself, +in that environment, was the stranger. It was the current of warm +air which brought him back from the eighteenth to the twentieth +century. Under his feet was a furnace! + +Even the master of Fort o' God, stern and forbidding as Philip +began to imagine him, might have laughed at the look which came +into his face. Grosellier, the cavalier, had he appeared, Philip +would have accepted with the same confidence that he had accepted +Jeanne and Pierre. But--a furnace! He thrust his hands deep in his +pockets, a trick which was always the last convincing evidence of +his perplexity, and walked slowly around the room. There were two +books on the table. One, bound in faded red vellum, was a Greek +Anthology, the other Drummond's Ascent of Man. There were other +books on a quaintly carved shelf, under the picture which had been +turned to the wall. He ran over the titles. There were a number of +French novels, Ely's Socialism, Sir Thomas More's Utopia, St. +Pierre's Paul and Virginia, and a dozen other volumes; there were +Balzac and Hugo, and Dante's Divine Comedy. Amid this array, like +a black sheep lost among the angels, was a finger-worn and faded +little volume bearing the name Camille. Something about this one +book, so strangely out of place in its present company, aroused +Philip's curiosity. It bore the name, too, which he had found +worked in the corner of Jeanne's handkerchief. In a way, the +presence of this book gave him a sort of shock, and he took it in +his hands, and opened the cover. Under his fingers were pages +yellow and frayed with age, and in an ancient type, once black, +the title, The Meaning of God. In a large masculine hand some one +had written under this title the accompanying words; "A black skin +often contains a white soul; a woman's beauty, hell." + +Philip replaced the book with a feeling of awe. Something in those +words, brutal in their truth--something in the strange whim that +had placed a pearl of purity within the faded and worn mask of the +condemned, seemed to speak to him of a tragedy that might be a key +to the mystery of Fort o' God. From the books he looked up at the +picture which had been turned to the wall. The temptation to see +what was hidden overcame him, and he turned the frame over. Then +he stepped back with a low cry of pleasure. + +From out of the proscribed canvas there smiled down upon him a +face of bewildering beauty. It was the face of a young woman, a +stranger among its companions, because it was of the present. +Philip stepped to one side, so that the light from the lamp shone +from behind him, and he wondered if the picture had been condemned +to hang with its face to the wall because it typified the existent +rather than the past. He looked more closely, and drew back step +by step, until he was in the proper focus to bring out every +expression in the lovely face. In the picture he saw each moment a +greater resemblance to Jeanne. The eyes, the hair, the sweetness +of the mouth, the smile, brought to him a vision of Jeanne +herself. The woman in the picture was older than Jeanne, and his +first thought was that it must be a sister, or her mother. It came +to him in the next breath that this would be impossible, for +Jeanne had been found by Pierre in the deep snows, on her dead +mother's breast. And this was a painting of life, of youth, of +beauty, and not of death and starvation. + +He returned the forbidden picture to the position in which he had +found it against the wall, half ashamed of the act and thoughts +into which his curiosity had led him. And yet, after all, it was +not curiosity. He told himself that as he washed himself and +groomed his disheveled clothes. + +An hour had passed when he heard a low tap at the door, and Pierre +came in. In that time the half-breed had undergone a +transformation. He was dressed in an exquisite coat of yellow +buckskin, with the same old-fashioned cuffs he had worn when +Philip first saw him, trousers of the same material, buckled below +the knees, and boot-moccasins with flaring tops. He wore a new +rapier at his waist, and his glossy black hair was brushed +smoothly back, and fell loose upon his shoulders. It was the +courtier, and not Pierre the half-breed, who bowed to Philip. + +"M'sieur, are you ready?" he asked. + +"Yes," replied Philip. + +"Then we will go to M'sieur d'Arcambal, the master of Fort o' +God." + +They passed out into the hall, which was faintly illumined now, so +that Philip caught glimpses of deep shadows and massive doors as +he followed behind Pierre. They turned into a second hall, at the +end of which was an open door through which came a flood of light. +At this door Pierre stopped, and with a bow allowed his companion +to pass in ahead of him. The next moment Philip stood in a room +twice as large as the one he had left. It was brilliantly lighted +by three or four lamps; he had only an instant's vision of +numberless shelves loaded with books, of walls covered with +pictures, of a ponderous table in front of him, and then he heard +a voice. + +A man stepped out from beside the door, and he stood face to face +with the master of Fort o' God. + + + + + +XVII + + +He was an old man. Beard and hair were white. He was as tall as +Philip; his shoulders were broader; his chest massive; and as he +stood under the light of one of the hanging lamps, his face +shining with a pale glow, one hand upon his breast, the other +extended, it seemed to Philip that all of the greatness and past +glory of Fort o' God, whatever they may have been, were +personified in the man he beheld. He was dressed in soft buckskin, +like Pierre. His hair and beard grew in wild disorder, and from +under shaggy eyebrows there burned a pair of deep-set eyes of the +color of blue steel. He was a man to inspire awe; old, and yet +young; white-haired, gray-faced, and yet a giant. One might have +expected from between his bearded lips a voice as thrilling as his +appearance; a rumbling voice, deep-chested, sonorous--and it would +have caused no surprise. It was the voice that surprised Philip +more than the man. It was low, and trembling with an agitation +which even strength and pride could not control. + +"Philip Whittemore, I am Henry d'Arcambal. May God bless you for +what you have done!" + +A hand of iron gripped his own. And then, before Philip had found +words to say, the master of Fort o' God suddenly placed his arms +about his shoulders and embraced him. Their shoulders touched. +Their faces were close. The two men who loved Jeanne d'Arcambal +above all else on earth gazed for a silent moment into each +other's eyes. + +"They have told me," said D'Arcambal, softly. "You have brought my +Jeanne home through death. Accept a father's blessing, and with +it--this!" + +He stepped back, and swept his arms about the great room. + +"Everything--everything--would have gone with her," he said. "If +you had let her die, I should have died. My God, what peril she +was in! In saving her you saved me. So you are welcome here, as a +son. For the first time since my Jeanne was a babe Fort o' God +offers itself to a man who is a stranger and its hospitality is +yours so long as its walls hang together. And as they have done +this for upward of two hundred years, M'sieur Philip, we may +conclude that our friendship is to be without end." + +He clasped Philip's hands again, and two tears coursed down his +gray cheeks. It was difficult for Philip to restrain the joy his +words produced, which, coming from the lips of Jeanne's father, +lifted him suddenly into a paradise of hope. For many reasons he +had come to expect a none too warm reception at Fort o' God; he +had looked ahead to the place with a grim sort of fear, scarcely +definable; and here Jeanne's father was opening his arms to him. +Pierre was unapproachable; Jeanne herself was a mystery, filling +him alternately with hope and despair; D'Arcambal had accepted him +as a son. He could find no words adequate to his emotion; none +that could describe his own happiness, unless it was in a bold +avowal of his love for the girl he had saved. And this his good +sense told him not to make, at the present moment. + +"Any man would have done as much for your daughter," he said at +last, "and I am happy that I was the fortunate one to render her +assistance." + +"You are wrong," said D'Arcambal, taking him by the arm. "You are +one out of a thousand. It takes a MAN to go through the Big +Thunder and come out at the other end alive. I know of only one +other who has done that in the last twenty years, and that other +is Henry d'Arcambal himself. We three, you, Jeanne, and I, have +alone triumphed over those monsters of death. All others have +died. It seems like a strange pointing of the hand of God." + +Philip trembled. + +"We three!" he exclaimed. + +"We three," said the old man, "and for that reason you are a part +of Fort o' God." + +He led Philip deeper into the great room, and Philip saw that +almost all the space along the walls of the huge room was occupied +by shelves upon shelves of books, masses of papers, piles of +magazines shoulder-high, scores of maps and paintings. The massive +table was covered with books; there were piles on smaller tables; +chairs, and the floor itself, covered with the skins of a score of +wild beasts, were littered with them. At the far end of the room +he saw deeper and darker shelves, where gleamed faintly in the +lamplight row upon row of vials and bottles and strange +instruments of steel and glass. A scientist in the wilderness--a +student exiled in a desolation! These were the thoughts that +leaped into his mind, and he knew that in this room Jeanne had +been created; that here, between these centuries-old walls, amid +an environment of strange silence, of whispering age, her visions +of the world had come. Here, separated from all her kind, God, +Nature, and a father had made her of their handiwork. + +The old man pointed Philip to a chair near the large table, and +sat down close to him. At his feet was a stool covered with +silvery lynx-skin, and D'Arcambal looked at this, his strong, grim +face relaxing into a gentle smile of happiness. + +"There is where Jeanne sits--at my feet," he said. "It has been +her place for many years. When she is not there I am lost. Life +ceases. This room has been our world. To-night you are in Fort o' +God; to-morrow you will see D'Arcambal House. You have heard of +that, perhaps, but never of Fort o' God. That belongs to Jeanne +and me, to Pierre--and you. Fort o' God is the heart, the soul, +the life's blood of D'Arcambal House. It is this room and two or +three others. D'Arcambal House is our barrier. When strangers +come, they see D'Arcambal House; plain rooms, of rough wood; +quarters such as you have seen at posts and stations; the mask +which gives no hint of what is hidden within. It is there that we +live to the world; it is here that we live to ourselves. Jeanne +has my permission to tell you whatever she wishes, a little later. +But I am curious, and being an old man must be humored first. I am +still trembling. You must tell me what happened to Jeanne." + +For an hour they talked, and Philip went over one by one the +events as they had occurred since the fight on the cliff, omitting +only such things as he thought that Jeanne and Pierre might wish +to keep secret to themselves. At the end of that hour he was +certain that D'Arcambal was unaware of the dark cloud that had +suddenly come into Jeanne's life. The old man's brow was knitted +with deep lines, and his powerful jaws were set hard, as Philip +told of the ambush, of the wounding of Pierre, and the flight of +his assailants with his daughter. It was to get money, the old man +thought. The half-breed had suggested that, and Jeanne herself had +given it as her opinion. Why else should they have been attacked +at Churchill? Such things had occurred before, he told Philip. The +little daughter of the factor at Nelson House had been stolen, and +held for ransom. With a hundred questions he wrung from Philip +every detail of the second fight and of the struggle for life in +the rapids. He betrayed no physical excitement, even in those +moments of Philip's description when Jeanne hung between life and +death; but in his eyes there was the glow of red-hot fires. At +last there came to interrupt them the low, musical tinkling of a +bell under the table. + +D'Arcambal's face lighted up suddenly. + +"Ah, I had forgotten," he exclaimed. "Pardon me, Philip. Dinner +has been awaiting us this last half-hour; and besides--" + +He reached out and touched a tiny button, which Philip had not +observed before. + +"I am selfish." + +He had hardly ceased speaking when footsteps sounded in the hall, +and in spite of every resolution he had made to guard himself +against any betrayal of the emotions burning in his breast, Philip +sprang to his feet. Jeanne had come in under the glow of the lamps +and stood now a dozen feet from him, a vision so exquisitely +lovely that he saw nothing of those who entered behind her, nor +heard D'Arcambal's low, happy laugh at his side. It seemed to him +for a moment as if there had suddenly appeared before him the face +of the picture that was turned against the wall, only more +beautiful now, radiant with the glow of living flesh and blood. +But there was something even more startling than this resemblance. +In this moment Jeanne was the fulfilment of his dream; she had +come to him from out of another world. She was dressed in an old- +fashioned gown of pure white, a fabric so delicate that it seemed +to float about her slender form, responsive to every breath she +drew. Her white shoulders revealed themselves above masses of +filmy lace that fell upon her bosom; her slender arms, girlish +rather than womanly in their beauty, were bare. Her hair was bound +up in shining coils about her head, with a single flower nestling +amid a little cluster of curls that fell upon her neck. After his +first movement, Philip recovered himself by a strong effort. He +bowed low to conceal the flush in his face. Jeanne swept him a +little courtesy, and then ran past him, with the eagerness of any +modern child, into the outstretched arms of her father. + +Laughter and joy rumbled in the beard of the master of Fort o' God +as he looked over Jeanne's head at Philip. + +"And this is what you have saved for me," he said. + +Then he looked beyond, and for the first time Philip realized +there were others in the room. One was Pierre; the other a pretty, +dark-faced girl, with hair that glistened like a raven's wing in +the lamp-glow. + +Jeanne left her father's arms and gave her hand to Philip. + +"M'sieur Philip, this is my sister, Mademoiselle Couchee," she +cried. + +Pierre's sister gave Philip her hand, and behind them D'Arcambal +laughed softly in his beard again, and said: + +"To-morrow, in D'Arcambal House, you may call her Otille, Philip. +But to-night we are in Fort o' God. Oh, Jeanne, Jeanne, what a +witch you are!" + +"An angel!" breathed Philip, but no one heard him. + +"And this witch," added the old man, "you are to take in to +supper, M'sieur Philip. To night I suppose that I must call you +m'sieur, but to-morrow, when I have on my leather leggings and my +skin cap, I will call you Phil, or Tom, Dick, or Harry, just as I +please. This is the first time, sir, that my Jeanne has ever gone +in to dinner on another arm than mine or Pierre's. And so I may be +a little jealous. Proceed." + +As Jeanne's hand rested in his arm, and they went into the hall, +Philip could not restrain himself from whispering: + +"I am glad--of that." + +"And the dress, M'sieur Philip!" exclaimed D'Arcambal behind them, +in the voice of a happy boy. "It is an honor to escort that, to +say nothing of the silly girl that's in it. That dress, sir, +belonged to a beautiful lady who was called Camille, and who died +over a century ago." + +"Father, please do be good!" protested Jeanne. "Remember!" + +"Ah, so I will," said her father. "I had forgotten that you were +to tell M'sieur Philip these things." + +They entered another room illuminated by a single huge lamp +suspended above a table spread with silver and fine linen. The +room was as great a surprise as the other two had been. It +contained no chairs. What Philip mentally designated as benches, +with deep cushion seats of greenish leather, were arranged about +the table. These same curious seats furnished other parts of the +room. From the pictures on the walls to the ancient helmet and +cuirass that stood up like a legless sentinel in one corner, this +room, like the others, breathed of extreme age. Over a big open +fireplace, in which half a dozen birch logs were burning, hung a +number of old-fashioned weapons; a flintlock, a pair of obsolete +French dueling pistols, a short rapier similar to that which +Pierre wore, and two long swords. Philip noticed that about each +of the dueling pistols was tied a bow of ribbon, dull and faded, +as though the passing of generations had robbed them of beauty and +color, to be replaced by the somberness of age. + +During the meal Philip could not but observe that Jeanne was +laboring under some mysterious strain. Her cheeks were brilliantly +flushed, and her eyes were filled with a lustrous brightness that +he had never seen in them before. Their beauty was almost +feverish. Several times he caught a strange little tremor of her +white shoulders, as though a sudden chill had passed through her. +He discovered, too, that Pierre was observing these things, and +that there was something forced in the half-breed's cheerfulness. +But D'Arcambal and Otille seemed completely oblivious of any +change. Their happiness overflowed. Philip thought of his last +supper at Churchill, with Eileen Brokaw and her father. Miss +Brokaw had acted strangely then, and had struggled to hide some +secret grief or excitement, as Jeanne was struggling now. + +He was glad when the meal was finished, and the master of Fort o' +God rose from his seat. At D'Arcambal's movement his eyes caught +Jeanne's, and then he saw that Pierre was looking sharply at him. + +"Jeanne owes you an apology--and an explanation, M'sieur Philip," +said D'Arcambal, resting a hand upon Jeanne's head. "We are going +to retire, and she will initiate you into the fold of Fort o' +God." + +Pierre and Otille followed him from the room. For the first time +in an hour Jeanne laughed frankly at Philip. + +"There isn't much to explain, M'sieur Philip," she said, rising +from her seat. "You know pretty nearly all there is to know about +Fort o' God now. Only I am sure that I did not appear to value +your confidence very much--a little while ago. It must have seemed +ungrateful in me, indeed, to have told you so little about myself +and my home, after what you did for Pierre and me. But I have +father's permission now. It is the second time that he has ever +given it to me." + +"And I don't want to hear," exclaimed Philip, bluntly. "I have +been more or less of a brute, Miss Jeanne. I know enough about +Fort o' God. It is a glorious place. You owe me nothing, and for +that reason--" + +"But I insist," interrupted the girl. "Do you mean to say that you +do not care to listen, when this is the second time in my life +that I have had the opportunity of talking about my home? And the +first--didn't give me any pleasure. This will." + +A shadow came into Jeanne's eyes. She motioned him to a seat +beside her in front of the fire. Her nearness, the touch of her +dress, the sweet perfume of her presence, thrilled him. He felt +that the moment was near when the whole world as he knew it was to +slip away from him, leaving him in a paradise, or a chaos of +despair. Jeanne looked up at the dueling pistols. The firelight +trembled in the soft folds of lace over her bosom; it glistened in +her hair, and lighted her face with a gentle glow. + +"There isn't much to explain," she said again, in a voice so low +that it was hardly more than a whisper. "But what little there is +I want you to know, so that when you go away you will understand. +More than two hundred years ago a band of gentlemen adventurers +were sent over into this country by Prince Rupert to form the +Hudson's Bay Company. That is history, and you know more of it, +probably, than I. One of these men was Le Chevalier Grosellier. +One summer he came up the Churchill, and stopped at the great rock +on which we saw the sun setting to-night, and which was called the +Sun Rock by the Indians. He was struck by the beauty of the place, +and when he went back to France it was with the plan of returning +to build himself a chateau in the wilderness. Two or three years +later he did this, and called the place Fort o' God. For more than +a century, M'sieur, Fort o' God was a place of revel and pleasure +in the heart of this desolation. Early in the nineteenth century +it passed into the hands of a man by the name of D'Arcy, and it is +said that at one time it housed twenty gentlemen and as many +ladies of France for one whole season. Its history is obscure, and +mostly lost. But for a long time after D'Arcy came it was a place +of adventure, of pleasure, and of mystery, very little of which +remains to-day. Those are his pistols above the fire. He was +killed by one of them out there beside the big rock, in a quarrel +with one of his guests over a woman. We think--here--from letters +that we have found, that her name was Camille. There is a chest in +my room filled with linen that bears her name. This dress came +from that chest. I have to be careful of them, as they tear very +easily. After D'Arcy the place was almost forgotten and remained +so until nearly forty years ago when my father came into +possession of it. That, M'sieur, is the very simple story of Fort +o' God. Its old name is forgotten. It lives only with us. Others +know it as D'Arcambal House." + +"Yes, I have heard of that," said Philip. + +He waited for Jeanne, and saw that her fingers were nervously +twisting a bit of ribbon in her lap. + +"Of course, that is uninteresting," she continued. "You can almost +guess the rest. We have lived here--alone. Not one of us has ever +felt the desire to leave this little world of ours. It is curious +--you may scarcely believe what I say--but it is true that we look +out upon your big world and laugh at it and dislike it. I guess-- +that I have been taught to hate it--since I can remember." + +There was a little tremble in Jeanne's voice, an instant's +quivering of her chin. Philip looked from her face into the fire, +and stared hard, choking back words which were ready to burst from +his lips. In place of them he said, with a touch of bitterness in +his voice: + +"And I have grown to hate my world, Jeanne. It has compelled me to +hate it. That is why I spoke to you that night on the cliff at +Churchill." + +"I have sometimes thought that I have been very wrong," said the +girl. "I have never seen this other world. I know nothing of it, +except as I have been taught. I have no right to hate it, and yet +I do. I have never wanted to see it. I have never cared to know +the people who lived in it. I wish that I could understand, but I +cannot; except that father has made for us, for Pierre and Otille +and me, this little world at Fort o' God, and has taught us to +fear the other. I know that there is no other man in the whole +world like my father, and that what he has done must be best. It +is his pride that we bring your world to our doors, but that we +never go to it; he says that we know more about that world than +the people who live there, which of course cannot be so. And so we +have grown up amid the old memories, the pictures, and the dead +romances of Fort o' God. We have taken pleasure in living as we +do--in making for ourselves our own little social codes, our +childish aristocracy, our make-believe world. It is the spirit of +Fort o' God that lives with us, and makes us content; the shadow- +faces of men and women who once filled these rooms with life and +pleasure, and whose memory seems to have passed into our keeping +alone. I know them all; many of their names, all of their faces. I +have a daguerreotype of Camille Poitiers, and she must have been +very beautiful. There are the tiniest slippers in the world in her +chest, and ribbons like those which are tied about the pistols. +There is a painting of D'Arcy in your room. It is the picture next +to the one that has its face turned to the wall." + +She rose to her feet, and Philip stood beside her. There was a +mist in her eyes as she held out her hand to him. + +"I--I--would like to have you--see that picture," she whispered. + +Philip could not speak. He held the hand Jeanne had given him as +they passed through the long, dimly lighted halls. At the open +door to his room they stopped, and he could feel Jeanne trembling. + +"You will tell me--the truth?" she begged, like a child. "You will +tell me what you think--of the picture?" + +"Yes." + +She went in ahead of him and turned the frame so that the face in +the picture smiled down upon them in all of its luring loveliness. +There was something pathetic in the girl's attitude now. She stood +under the picture, facing Philip, and there was a tense eagerness +in her eyes, a light that was almost supplication, a crying out of +her soul to him in a breathless moment that seemed hovering +between pain and joy. It was Jeanne, an older Jeanne, that looked +from out of the picture, smiling, inviting admiration, bewildering +hi her beauty; it was Jeanne, the child, waiting for him in flesh +and blood to speak, her eyes big and dark, her breath coming +quickly, her hands buried in the deep lace on her bosom. A low +word came to Philip's lips, and then he laughed softly. It was a +laugh, almost under his breath, which sweeps up now and then from +a soul in a joy--an emotion--which is unutterable in words. But to +Jeanne it was different. Her dark eyes grew hurt and wounded, two +great tears ran down her paling cheeks, and suddenly she buried +her face in her hands and with a sobbing cry turned from him, with +her head bowed under the smiling face above. + +"And you--you hate it, too!" she sobbed. "They all hate it-- +Pierre--father--all--all hate it. It must--it must be bad. They +hate her--every one--but me. And--I love her so!" + +Her slender form shook with sobs. For a moment Philip stood like +one struck dumb. Then he sprang to her and caught her close in his +arms. + +"Jeanne--Jeanne--listen," he cried. "To-night I looked at that +picture before I went to see your father, and I loved it because +it is like you. Jeanne, my darling, I love you--I love you--" + +She was panting against his breast. He covered her face with +kisses. Her sweet lips were not turned from him, and there filled +her eyes a sudden light that made him almost sob in his happiness. + +"I love you, I love you," he repeated, again and again, and he +could find no other words than those. + +For an instant her arms clung about his shoulders, and then, +suddenly, they strained against him, and she tore herself free, +and, with a cry so pathetic that it seemed as though her heart had +broken in that moment, she fled from him, and out of the room. + + + + + +XVIII + + +Philip stood where Jeanne had left him, his arms half reaching out +to the vacant door through which she had fled, his lips parted as +if to call her name, and yet motionless, dumb. A moment before he +was intoxicated by a joy that was almost madness. He had held +Jeanne in his arms; he had looked into her eyes, filled with +surrender under his caresses and his avowal of love. For a moment +he had possessed her, and now he was alone. The cry that had wrung +itself from her lips, breaking in upon his happiness like a blow, +still rang in his ears, and there was something in the exquisite +pain of it that left him in torment. Heart and soul, every drop of +blood in him, had leaped in the joy of that glorious moment, when +Jeanne's eyes and sweet lips had accepted his love, and her arms +had clung about his shoulders. Now these things had been struck +dead within him. He felt again the fierce pressure of Jeanne's +arms as she had thrust him away, he saw the fright and torture +that had leaped into her eyes as she sprang from him, as though +his touch had suddenly become a sacrilege. He lowered his arms +slowly, and went to the hall. It was empty. He heard no sound, and +closed the door. + +It was so still that he could hear the excited throbbing of his +own heart. He looked at the picture again, and a strange fancy +impressed him with the idea that it was no longer smiling at him, +but that its eyes were turned to the door through which Jeanne had +disappeared. He moved his position, and the illusion was gone. It +was Jeanne looking down upon him again, an older and happier +Jeanne than the one whom he loved. For the first time he examined +it closely. In one corner of the canvas he found the artist's +name, Bourret, and after it the date, 1888. Could it be the +picture of Jeanne's mother? He told himself that it was +impossible, for Jeanne's mother had been found dead in the snow, +five years later than the date of the canvas, and Pierre, the +half-breed, had buried her somewhere out on the barren, so that +she was a mystery to all but him. Even the master of Fort o' God, +to whom he had brought the child, had never seen the woman upon +whose cold breast Pierre had found the little Jeanne. + +With nervous hands he replaced the picture with its face to the +wall, and began to pace up and down the room, wondering if +D'Arcambal would send for him. He had hope of seeing Jeanne again +that night. He felt sure that she had gone to her room, and that +even D'Arcambal might not know that he was alone. In that event he +had a long night ahead of him, filled with hours of sleeplessness +and torment. He waited for three-quarters of an hour, and then the +idea came to him that he might discover some plausible excuse for +seeking out his host. He was about to act upon this mental +suggestion when he heard a low rustling in the hall, followed by a +distinct and yet timid knock. It was not a man's knock, and filled +with the hope that Jeanne had returned, Philip hastened to the +door and opened it. + +He heard soft footsteps retreating rapidly down the hall, but the +lights were out, and he could see nothing. Something had fallen at +his feet, and he bent down to pick it up. The object was a small, +square envelope; and re-entering his room he saw his own name +written across it in Jeanne's delicate hand. His heart beat with +hope as he opened the note. What he read brought a gray pallor +into his face: + +MONSIEUR PHILIP,--If you cannot forget what I have done, please at +least try to forgive me. No woman in the world could value your +love more than I, for circumstances have proven to me the strength +and honor of the man who gives it. And yet it is as impossible for +me to accept it as it would be for me to give up Fort o' God, my +father, or my life, though I cannot tell you why. And this, I +know, you will not ask. After what has happened to-night it will +be impossible for me to see you again, and I must ask you, as one +who values your friendship among the highest things in my life, to +leave Fort o' God. No one must know what has passed between us. +You will go--in the morning. And with you there will always be my +prayers. + +JEANNE. + +The paper dropped from between Philip's fingers and fell to the +floor. Three or four times in his life Philip had received blows +that had made him sick--physical blows. He felt now as though one +of these blows had descended upon him, turning things black before +his eyes. He staggered to the big chair and dropped into it, +staring at the bit of white paper on the floor. If one had spoken +to him he would not have heard. Gregson, in these moments, might +have laughed a little nervously, smoked innumerable cigarettes, +and laid plans for a continuance of the battle to-morrow. But +Philip was a fighter of men, and not of women. He had declared his +love, he had laid open his soul to Jeanne, and to a heart like his +own, simple in its language, boundless in its sincerity, this was +all that could be done. Jeanne's refusal of his love was the end-- +for him. He accepted his fate without argument. In an instant he +would have fought ten men--a hundred, naked-handed, if such a +fight would have given him a chance of winning Jeanne; he would +have died, laughing, happy, if it had been in a struggle for her. +But Jeanne herself had dealt him the blow. + +For a long time he sat motionless in the chair facing the picture +on the wall. Then he rose to his feet, picked up the note, and +went to one of the little square windows that looked out into the +night. The moon had risen, and the sky was full of stars. He knew +that he was looking into the north, for the pale shimmer of the +aurora was in his face. He saw the black edge of the spruce +forest; the barren stretched out, pale and ghostly, into the night +shadows. + +He made an effort to open the window, but it was wedged tightly in +its heavy sill. He crossed the room, opened the door, and went +silently down the hall to the door through which Pierre had led +him a few hours before. It was not locked, and he passed out into +the night. The fresh air was like a tonic, and he walked swiftly +out into the moonlit spaces, until he found himself in the deep +shadow of the Sun Rock that towered like a sentinel giant above +his head. He made his way around its huge base, and then stopped, +close to where they had landed in the canoe. There was another +canoe drawn up beside Pierre's, and two figures stood out clear in +the moonlight. + +One of these was a man, the other a woman, and as Philip stopped, +wondering at the scene, the man advanced to the woman and caught +her in his embrace. He heard a voice, low and expostulating, which +sounded like Otille's, and in spite of his own misery Philip +smiled at this other love which had found its way to Fort o' God. +He turned back softly, leaving the lovers as he had found them; +but he had scarce taken half a dozen steps when he heard other +steps, and saw that the girl had left her companion and was +hurrying toward him. He drew back close into the shadow of the +rock to avoid possible discovery, and the girl passed through the +moonlight almost within arm's reach of him. At that moment his +heart ceased to beat. He choked back the groaning cry that rose to +his lips. It was not Otille who passed him. It was Jeanne. + +In another moment she was gone. The man had shoved his canoe into +the narrow stream, and was already lost in the gloom. Then, and +not until then, did the cry of torture fall from Philip. And as if +in echo to it he heard the sobbing break of another voice, and +stepping out into the moonlight he stood face to face with Pierre +Couchee. + +It was Pierre who spoke first. + +"I am sorry, M'sieur," he whispered, hoarsely. "I know that it has +broken your heart. And mine, too, is crushed." + +Something in the half-breed's face, in the choking utterance of +his voice, struck Philip as new and strange. He had seen the eyes +of dying animals filled with the wild pain that glowed in +Pierre's, and suddenly he reached out and gripped the other's +hand, and they stood staring into each other's face. In that look, +the cold grip of their hands, the strife in their eyes, the bare +truth revealed itself. + +"And you, too--you love her, Pierre," said Philip. + +"Yes, I love her, M'sieur," replied Pierre, softly. "I love her, +not as a brother, but as a man whose heart is broken." + +"Now--I understand," said Philip. + +He dropped Pierre's hand, and his voice was cold and lifeless. + +"I received a note--from her, asking me to leave Fort o' God in +the morning," he went on, looking from Pierre out beyond the rock +into the white barren. "I will go to-night." + +"It is best," said Pierre. + +"I have left nothing in Fort o' God, so there is no need of even +returning to my room," continued Philip. "Jeanne will understand, +but you must tell her father that a messenger came suddenly from +Blind Indian Lake, and that I thought it best to leave without +awakening him. "Will you guide me for a part of the distance, +Pierre?" + +"I will go with you the whole way, M'sieur. It is only twenty +miles, ten by canoe, ten by land." + +They said no more, but both went to the canoe, and were quickly +lost in the gloom into which the other canoe had disappeared a few +minutes ahead of them. They saw nothing of this canoe, and when +they came to the Churchill Pierre headed the birch-bark down- +stream. For two hours not a word passed between them. At the end +of that time the half-breed turned in to shore. + +"We take the trail here, M'sieur," he explained. + +He went on ahead, walking swiftly, and now and then when Philip +caught a glimpse of his face he saw in it a despair as great as +his own. The trail led along the backbone of a huge ridge, and +then twisted down into a broad plain; and across this they +traveled, one after the other, two moving, silent shadows in a +desolation that seemed without end. Beyond the plain there rose +another ridge, and half an hour after they had struck the top of +it Pierre halted, and pointed off into the ghostly world of light +and shadow that lay at their feet. + +"Your camp is on the other side of this plain, M'sieur," he said. +"Do you recognize the country?" + +"I have hunted along this ridge," replied Philip. "It is only +three miles from here, and I will strike a beaten trail half a +mile out yonder. A thousand thanks, Pierre." + +He held out his hand. + +"Good-by, M'sieur." + +"Good-by, Pierre." + +Their voices trembled. Their hands gripped hard. A choking lump +rose in Philip's throat, and Pierre turned away. He disappeared +slowly in the gray gloom, and Philip went down the side of the +mountain. From the plain below he looked back. For an instant he +saw Pierre drawn like a silhouette against the sky. + +"Good-by, Pierre," he shouted. + +"Good-by, M'sieur" came back faintly. + +Light and silence dropped about them. + + + + + +XIX + + +To be alone, even after the painful parting with Pierre, was in +one way a relief to Philip, for with the disappearance of the +lonely half-breed over the mountain there had gone from him the +last physical association that bound him to Jeanne and her people. +With Pierre at his side, Jeanne was still with him; but now that +Pierre was gone there came a change in him--one of those +unaccountable transmutations of the mind which make the passing of +yesterdays more like a short dream than a long and full reality. +He walked slowly over the plain, and, when he came to the trail +beaten by the hoofs of his own teams he followed it mechanically. +In his measurement of things now, it seemed only a few hours since +he had traveled over this trail on his way to Fort Churchill; it +might, have been that morning, or the morning before. The weeks of +his absence had passed with marvelous swiftness, now that he +looked back upon them. They seemed short and trivial. And yet he +knew that in those weeks he had lived more of his life than he had +ever lived before, or would ever live again. For a brief spell +life had been, filled with joy and hope--a promise of happiness +which a single moment in the shadow of the Sun Rock had destroyed +forever. He had seen Jeanne in another man's arms; he had read the +confirmation of his fears in Pierre's grief-distorted face, in the +strange tremble of his voice, in the words that he had spoken. He +was sorry for Pierre. He would have been glad if that other man +had been the lovable half-breed; if Jeanne, in the poetry of life +and love, had given herself to the one who had saved the spark of +life in her chilled little body years and years ago. And yet in +his own grief he unconsciously rejoiced that it was a man like +Pierre who suffered with him. + +This thought of Pierre strengthened him, and he walked faster, and +breathed more deeply of the clear night air. He had lost in the +fight for Jeanne as he had lost in many other fights; but, after +all, there was another and bigger fight ahead of him, which he +would begin to-morrow. Thoughts of his men, of his camps, and of +this struggle through which he must pass to achieve success raised +him above his depression, and stirred his blood with a growing +exhilaration. And Jeanne--was she hopelessly lost to him? He dared +to ask himself the question half an hour after he had separated +from Pierre, and his mind flew back to the portrait-room where he +had told Jeanne of his love, and where for a moment he had seen in +her eyes and face the sweet surrender that had given him a glimpse +of his paradise. But what did the sudden change mean? And after +that--the scene in the starlight? + +A quickening of his pulse was the answer to these questions. +Jeanne had told him there were only two men at Fort o' God, Pierre +and her father. Then who could be this third? A lover, whom she +met clandestinely? He shivered, and began loading his pipe as he +walked. He was certain that the master of Fort o' God did not know +of the tryst beyond the rock, and he was equally certain that the +girl was unaware of Pierre's knowledge of the meeting. Pierre had +remained hidden, like himself, and he had given Philip to +understand that it was not the first time he had looked upon the +meetings of Jeanne and the man they had seen from the shadow of +the rock. And yet, in spite of all evidence, he could not lose +faith in Jeanne. + +Suddenly he saw something ahead of him which changed for a moment +the uncomfortable trend of his thoughts. It was a pale streak, +rising above the level of the trail, and stretching diagonally +across the plain to the east. With an exclamation of surprise +Philip hastened his steps, and a moment later stood among the +fresh workings of his men. When he had left for Churchill this +streak, which was the last stretch of road-bed between them and +the surveyed line of the Hudson's Bay Railway, had ended two miles +to the south and west. In a little over a month MacDougall had +pushed it on the trail, and well across it in the direction of +Gray Beaver Lake. In that time he had accomplished a work which +Philip had not thought possible to achieve that autumn. He had +figured that the heavy snows of winter would cut them off at the +trail. And MacDougall was beyond the trail, with three weeks to +spare! + +Something rose up in his blood, warming him with an elation which +sent him walking swiftly toward the end of the road-bed. A quarter +of a mile out on the plain he came to the working end. About him +were scattered half a dozen big scoop shovels and piles of working +tools. The embers of a huge log fire still glowed where dinner had +been cooked for the men. Philip stood for a few moments, looking +off into the distance. Another mile and a half out there was the +Gray Beaver, and from the Gray Beaver there lay the unbroken +waterway to the point of their conjunction with the railway coming +up from the south. A sudden idea occurred to Philip. If MacDougall +had built two and a quarter miles of road-bed in five weeks they +could surely complete this other mile and a half before winter +stopped them. In that event, they would have fifteen miles of +road, linking seven lakes, which would give them a splendid winter +trail for men, teams, and dogs to the Gray Beaver. And from the +Gray Beaver they would have smooth ice for twenty miles, to the +new road. He had not planned to begin fishing operations until +spring, but he could see no reason now why they should not +commence that winter, setting their nets through the ice. At +Lobstick Creek, where the new road would reach them sometime in +April or May, they could freeze their fish and keep them in +storage. Five hundred tons in stock, and perhaps a thousand, would +not be a bad beginning. It would mean from forty to eighty +thousand dollars, a half of which could be paid out in dividends. + +He turned back, whistling softly. There was new life in him, +burning for action. He was eager to see MacDougall, and he hoped +that Brokaw would not be long in reaching Blind Indian Lake. +Before he reached the trail he was planning the accommodation +stations, where men and animals could find shelter. There would be +one on the shore of the Gray Beaver, and from there he would build +them at regular intervals of five miles on the ice. + +He had come to the trail, and was about to turn in the direction +of the camp, when he saw a shadowy figure making its way slowly +across the plain which he had traversed half an hour before. The +manner in which this person was following in his footsteps, +apparently with extreme caution, caused Philip to move quickly +behind the embankment of the road-bed. Two or three minutes later +a man crossed into view. Philip could not see his face distinctly, +but by the tired droop of the stranger's shoulders and his +shuffling walk he guessed that what he had first taken for caution +was in reality the tedious progress of a man nearing exhaustion. +He wondered how he had missed him in his own journey over the +trail from the ridge mountains, for he had made twice the progress +of the stranger, and must surely have passed him somewhere within +the last mile or so. The fact that the man had come from the +direction of Fort o' God, that he was exhausted, and that he had +evidently concealed himself a little way back to avoid discovery, +led Philip to cut out diagonally across the plain so that he could +follow him and keep him in sight without being observed. Twice in +the next mile the nocturnal traveler stopped to rest, but no +sooner had he reached the first scattered shacks of the camp than +he quickened his steps, darting quickly among the shadows, and +then stopped at last before the door of a small log cabin within a +pistol-shot of Philip's own headquarters. The cabin was newly +built, and Philip gave a low whistle of surprise as he noted its +location. He had, to a certain degree, isolated his own camp home, +building it a couple of hundred yards back from the shore of the +lake, where most of the other cabins were erected. This new cabin +was still a hundred yards farther back, half hidden in a growth of +spruce. He heard the click of a key in a lock and the opening and +closing of a door. A moment later a light flared dimly against a +curtained window. + +Philip hurried across the open to the cabin occupied by himself +and MacDougall, the engineer. He tried the door, but it was +barred. Then he knocked loudly, and continued knocking until a +light appeared within. He heard the Scotchman's voice, close to +the door. + +"Who's there?" it demanded. + +"None of your business!" retorted Philip, falling into the error +of a joke at the welcome sound of MacDougall's voice. "Open up!" + +A bar slipped within. The door opened slowly. Philip thrust +himself against it and entered. In the pale light of the lamp he +was confronted by the red face of MacDougall, and a pair of little +eyes that gleamed menacingly. And on a line with MacDougall's face +was an ugly-looking revolver. + +Philip stopped with a sudden uncomfortable thrill. MacDougall +lowered his gun. + +"Lord preserve us, but that's the time you almost drew a +perforation!" he exclaimed. "It isn't safe to cut-up in these +diggings any more--not with Sandy MacDougall!" + +He held out a hand with a relieved laugh, and the two men shook in +a grip that made their fingers ache. + +"Is this the way you welcome all of your friends, Mac?" + +MacDougall shrugged his shoulders and laid his gun on a table in +the center of the room. + +"Can't say that I've got a friend left in camp," he said, with a +curious grimace. "What in thunder do you mean, Phil? I've tried to +reason something out of it, but I can't!" + +Philip was hanging up his cap and coat on one of a number of +wooden pegs driven into the long wall. He turned quickly. + +"Reason something out of what?" he said. + +"Your instructions from Churchill," replied MacDougall, picking up +a big, black-bowled pipe from the table. + +Philip sat down with a restful sigh, crossed his legs, loaded his +pipe, and lighted it. + +"Thought I made myself lucid enough, even for a Scotchman, Sandy," +he said. "I learned at Churchill that the big fight is going to be +pulled off mighty soon. It's about time for the fireworks. So I +told you to put the sub-camps in fighting shape, and arm every +responsible man in this camp. There's going to be a whole lot of +gun-work before you're many days older. Great Scott, man, don't +you understand NOW? What's the matter?" + +MacDougall was staring at him as if struck dumb. + +"You told me--to arm--the camps?" he gasped. + +"Yes, I sent you full instructions two weeks ago." + +"MacDougall tapped his forehead suspiciously with a stubby +forefinger. + +"You're mad--or trying to pull off a poor brand of joke!" he +exclaimed. "If you're dreaming, come out of it. Look here, Phil," +he cried, a little heatedly, "I've been having a hell of a time +since you left the camp, and I want to talk seriously." + +It was Philip who stared now. He fairly thrust himself upon the +engineer. + +"Do you mean to say you didn't get my letter telling you to put +the camps in fighting shape?" + +"No, I didn't get it," said MacDougall. "But I got the other." + +"There was no other!" + +MacDougall jumped to his feet, darted to his bunk, and came back a +moment later with a letter. He thrust it almost fiercely into +Philip's hands. A sweat broke out upon his face as he saw its +effect upon his companion. Philip's face was deadly pale when he +looked up from the letter. + +"My God! you haven't done this?" he gasped. + +"What else could I do?" demanded MacDougall. "It's down there in +black and white, isn't it? It charges me to outfit six prospecting +parties of ten men each, arm every man with a rifle and revolver, +victual them for two months, and send them to the points named +there. That letter came ten days ago, and the last party, under +Tom Billinger, has been gone a week. You told me to send your very +best men, and I have. It has fairly stripped the camp of the men +we depended upon, and there are hardly enough guns left to kill +meat with." + +"I didn't write this letter," said Philip, looking hard at +MacDougall. "The signature is a fraud. The letter which I sent to +you, revealing my discoveries at Churchill, has been intercepted +and replaced by this. Do you know what it means?" + +MacDougall was speechless. His square jaw was set like an iron +clamp, his heavy hands doubled into knots on his knees. + +"It means--fight," continued Philip. "To-night--to-morrow--at any +moment now. I can't guess why the blow hasn't fallen before this." + +He quickly related to MacDougall the chief facts he had gathered +at Fort Churchill. When he had finished, the young Scotchman +reached over to the table, seized his revolver, and held the butt +end of it out to Philip. + +"Pump me full of lead--for God's sake, do, Phil," he pleaded. + +Philip laughed, and gripped his hand. + +"Not while I need a few fighters like yourself, Sandy," he +objected. "We're on to the game in time. By to-morrow morning +we'll be prepared for the war. We haven't an hour--perhaps not a +minute--to lose. How many men can you get hold of to-night whom we +can depend upon to fight?" + +"Ten or a dozen, no more. The road gang that we were expecting up +from the Grand Trunk Pacific came three days after you started for +Churchill--twenty-eight of 'em. They're a tough-looking outfit, +but devilish good workers. I believe you could HIRE that gang to +do anything. They won't take a word from me. It's all up to +Thorpe, the foreman who brought 'em up, and they won't obey an +order unless it comes through him. Thorpe could get them to fight, +but they haven't anything to fight with, except a few knives. I've +got eight guns left, and I can scrape up eight men who'll handle +them for the glory of it. Thorpe's gang would be mighty handy in +close quarters, if it came to that." + +MacDougall moved restlessly, and ran a hand through his tawny +hair. + +"I almost wish we hadn't invited that bunch up here," he added. +"They look to me like a lot of dollar thugs, but they work like +horses. Never saw such men with the shovel and pick. And fight? +They've cleaned up on a half of the men in camp. If we can get +Thorpe--" + +"We'll see him to-night," interrupted Philip. "Or to be correct, +this morning. It's one o'clock. How long will it take to round up +our best men?" + +"Half an hour," said MacDougall, promptly, jumping to his feet. +"There are Roberts, Henshaw, Tom Cassidy, Lecault, the Frenchman, +and the two St. Pierre brothers. They're all crack gun-men. Give +'em each an automatic and they're worth twenty ordinary men." + +A few moments later MacDougall extinguished the light, and the two +men left the cabin. Philip drew his companion's attention to the +dimly lighted window of the cabin to which he had followed the +stranger a short time before, + +"That's Thorpe's," said the young engineer. "I haven't seen him +since morning. Guess he must be up." + +"We'll sound him first," said Philip, starting off. + +At MacDougall's knock there was a moment's silence inside, then +heavy footsteps, and the door was flung open. Sandy entered, +followed by Philip. Thorpe stepped back. He was of medium height, +yet so athletically built that he gave the impression of being two +inches taller than he actually was. He was smooth-shaven, and his +hair and eyes were black. His whole appearance was that of a +person infinitely superior to what Philip had expected to find in +the gang-foreman. His first words, and the manner in which they +were spoken, added to this impression. + +"Good evening, gentlemen." + +"Good morning," replied MacDougall, nodding toward Philip. "This +is Mr. Whittemore, Thorpe. We saw your light, and thought you +wouldn't mind a call." + +Philip and Thorpe shook hands. + +"Just in time to have a cup of coffee," invited Thorpe, +pleasantly, motioning toward a steaming pot on the stove. "I just +got in from a long hike out over the new road-bed. Been looking +the ground over along the north shore of the Gray Beaver, and was +so interested that I didn't start for home until dark. Won't you +draw up, gentlemen? There are mighty few who can beat me at making +coffee." + +MacDougall had noted a sudden change in Philip's face, and as +Thorpe hastened to lift the over-boiling pot from the stove he saw +his chief make a quick movement toward a small table, and pick up +an object which looked like a bit of cloth. In an instant Philip +had hidden it in the palm of his hand. A flush leaped into his +cheeks. A strange fire burned in his eyes when Thorpe turned. + +"I'm afraid we can't accept your hospitality," he said. "I'm +tired, and want to get to bed. In passing, however, I couldn't +refrain from dropping in to compliment you on the remarkable work +your men are doing out on the plain. It's splendid." + +"They're good men," said Thorpe, quietly. "Pretty wild, but good +workers." + +He followed them to the door. Outside, Philip's voice trembled +when he spoke to MacDougall. + +"You go for the others, and bring them to the office, Sandy," he +said. "I said nothing to Thorpe because I have no confidence in +liars, and Thorpe is a liar. He was not out to the Gray Beaver to- +day; for I saw him when he came in--from the opposite direction. +He is a liar, and he will bear watching. Mind that, Sandy. Keep +your eyes on this man Thorpe. And keep your eyes on his gang. +Hustle the others over to the office as soon as you can." + +They separated, and Philip returned to the cabin which they had +left a few minutes before. He relighted the lamp, and with a sharp +gasp in his breath held out before his eyes the object which he +had taken from Thorpe's table. He knew now why Thorpe had come +from over the mountains that night, why he was exhausted, and why +he had lied. He clasped his head between his hands, scarcely +believing the evidence of his eyes. A deeper breath, almost a +moan, fell from his twisted lips. For he had discovered that +Thorpe, the gang-foreman, was Jeanne's lover. In his hand he held +the dainty handkerchief, embroidered in blue, which he had seen in +Jeanne's possession earlier that evening--crumpled and discolored, +still damp with her tears! + + + + + +XX + + +For many minutes Philip did not move, or look from the bit of damp +fabric which be held between his fingers. His heart was chilled. +He felt sick. Each moment added to the emotion which was growing +in him, an emotion which was a composite of disgust and of +anguish. Jeanne--Thorpe! An eternity of difference seemed to lie +between those two--Jeanne, with her tender beauty, her sweet life, +her idyllic dreams, and Thorpe, the gang-driver! In his own soul +he had made a shrine for Jeanne, and from his knees he had looked +up at her, filled with the knowledge of his own unworthiness. He +had worshiped her, as Dante might have worshiped Beatrice. To him +she was the culmination of all that was sweet and lovable in +woman, transcendently above him. And from this love, this worship +of his, she had gone that very night to Thorpe, the gang-man. He +shivered. Going to the stove he thrust in a handful of paper, +dropped the handkerchief in with it, and set the whole on fire. + +A few moments later the door opened and MacDougall came in. He was +followed by the two swarthy-faced St. Pierres, the camp huntsmen. +Philip shook hands with them, and they passed after the engineer +through a narrow door leading into a room which was known as the +camp office, Cassidy, Henshaw, and the others followed within the +next ten minutes. There was not a man among them whose eyes +faltered when Philip put up his proposition to them. As briefly as +possible he told them a part of what he had previously revealed to +MacDougall, and frankly conceded that the preservation of property +and life in the camp depended almost entirely upon them. + +"You're not the sort of men to demand pay in a pinch like this," +he finished, "and that's just the reason I've confidence enough in +you to ask for your support. There are fifty men in camp whom we +could hire to fight, but I don't want hired fighters. I don't want +men who will run at the crack of a few rifles, but men who are +willing to die with their boots on. I won't offer you money for +this, because I know you too well. But from this hour on you're +going to be a part of the Great Northern Fish and Development +Company, and as soon as the certificates can be signed I'm going +to turn over a hundred shares of stock to each of you. Remember +that this isn't pay. It's simply a selfish scheme of mine to make +you a part of the company. There are eight of us. Give us each an +automatic and I'll wager that there isn't a combination in this +neck of the woods strong enough to do us up." + +In the pale light of the two oil-lamps the men's faces glowed with +enthusiasm. Cassidy was the first to grip Philip's hand in a +pledge of fealty. + +"When hell freezes over, we're licked," he said. "Where's me +automatic?" + +MacDougall brought in the guns and ammunition. + +"In the morning we will begin the erection of a new building close +to this one," said Philip. "There is no reason for the building, +but that will give me an excuse for keeping you men together on +one job, within fifty feet of your guns, which we can keep in this +room. Only four men need work at a shift, and I'll put Cassidy in +charge of the operations, if that is satisfactory to the others. +We'll have a couple of new bunks put in here so that four men can +stay with MacDougall and me every night. The other four, who are +not on the working shift, can hunt not far from the camp, and keep +their eyes peeled. Does that look good?" + +"Can't be beat," said Henshaw, throwing open the breech of his +gun. "Shall we load?" + +"Yes." + +The room became ominous with the metallic click of loaded +cartridge clips and the hard snap of released chambers. + +Five minutes later Philip stood alone with MacDougall. The loaded +rifles, each with a filled cartridge belt hanging over the muzzle, +were arranged in a row along one of the walls. + +"I'll stake everything I've got on those men," he exclaimed. "Mac, +did it ever strike you that when you want REAL men you ought to +come north for them? Every one of those fellows is a northerner, +except Cassidy, and he's a fighter by birth. They'll die before +they go back on their word." + +MacDougall rubbed his hands and laughed softly. + +"What next, Phil?" + +"We must send the swiftest man you've got in camp after Billinger, +and get word to the other parties you sent out as quickly as we +can. They'll probably get in too late. Billinger may arrive in +time." + +"He's been gone a week. It's doubtful if we can get him back +within three," said MacDougall. "I'll send St. Pierre's cousin, +that young Crow Feather, after him as soon as he can get a pack +ready. You'd better go to bed, Phil. You look like a dead man." + +Philip was not sure that he could sleep, notwithstanding the +physical strain he had been under during the past twenty-four +hours. He was filled with a nervous desire for continued action. +Only action kept him from thinking of Jeanne and Thorpe. After +MacDougall had gone to stir up young Crow Feather he undressed and +stretched out in his bunk, hoping that the Scotchman would soon +return. Not until he closed his eyes did he realize how tired he +was. MacDougall came in an hour later, and Philip was asleep. It +was nine o'clock when he awoke. He went to the cook's shanty, ate +a hot breakfast of griddle-cakes and bacon, drank a pint of strong +coffee, and hunted up MacDougall. Sandy was just coming from +Thorpe's house. + +"He's a queer guinea, that Thorpe," said the engineer, after their +first greeting. "He doesn't pretend to do a pound's work. Notice +his hands when you see him again, Phil. They look as though he had +been drumming a piano all his life. But love o' mighty, how he +does make the OTHERS work. You want to go over and see his gang +throw dirt." + +"That's where I'm going," said Philip. "Is Thorpe at home?" + +"Just leaving. There he is now!" + +At MacDougall's whistle Thorpe turned and waited for Philip. + +"Goin' over?" he asked, pleasantly, when Philip came up. + +"Yes. I want to see how your men work without a leader," replied +Philip. He paused for a moment to light his pipe, and pointed to a +group of men down on the lake shore. "See that gang?" he asked. +"They're building a scow. Take away their foreman and they +wouldn't be worth their grub. They're men we brought up from +Winnipeg." + +Thorpe was rolling a cigarette. Under his arm he held a pair of +light gloves. + +"Mine are different," he laughed, quietly. + +"I know that," rejoined Philip, watching the skill of his long +white fingers. "That's why I want to see them in action, when +you're away." + +"My policy is to know to a cubic foot what a certain number of men +are capable of doing in a certain time," explained Thorpe, as they +walked toward the plain. "My next move is to secure the men who +will achieve the result, whether I am present or not. That done, +my work is done. Simple, isn't it?" + +There was something likable about Thorpe. Even in his present mood +Philip could not but concede that. He was surprised in Thorpe, in +more ways than one. His voice was low, and filled with a certain +companionable quality that gave one confidence in him immediately. +He was apparently a man of education and of some little culture, +in spite of his vocation, which usually possesses a vocabulary of +its own as hard as rock. But Philip's greatest surprise came when +he regarded Thorpe's personal appearance. He judged that he was +past forty, perhaps forty-five, and the thought made him shudder +inwardly. He was twice--almost three times--as old as Jeanne. And +yet there was about him something irresistibly attractive, a +fascination which had its influence upon Philip himself. His nails +dug into tie flesh of his hands when he thought of this man--and +Jeanne. + +Thorpe's gang was hard at work when they came to the end of the +rock-bed. Scarcely a man seemed to take notice when he appeared. +There was one exception, a wiry, red-faced little man who raised a +hand to his cap when he saw the foreman. + +"That's the sub-foreman," explained Thorpe. "He answers to me." +The little man had given a signal, and Thorpe added, "Excuse me +for a moment. He's got something on his mind." + +He drew a few steps aside, and Philip walked along the line of +laboring-men. He grinned and nodded to them, one after another. +MacDougall was right. They were the toughest lot of men he had +ever seen in one gang. + +Loud voices turned him about, and he saw that Thorpe and the sub- +foreman had approached a huge, heavy-shouldered man, with whom +they seemed to be in serious altercation. Two or three of the +workmen had drawn near, and Thorpe's voice rang out clear and +vibrant. + +"You'll do that, Blake, or you'll shoulder your kit back home. And +what goes with you goes with your clique. I know your kind, and +you can't worry me. Take that pick and dig--or hike. There's no +two ways about it." + +Philip could not hear what the big man said, but suddenly Thorpe's +fist shot out and struck him fairly on the jaw. In another instant +Thorpe had jumped back, and was facing half a dozen angry, +threatening men. He had drawn a revolver, and his white teeth +gleamed in a cool and menacing smile. + +"Think it over, boys," he said, quietly. "And if you're not +satisfied come in and draw your pay this noon. We'll furnish you +with outfits and plenty of grub if you don't like the work up +here. I don't care to hold men like you to your contracts." + +He came to meet Philip, as though nothing unusual had happened. + +"That will delay the completion of our work for a week at least," +he said, as he thrust his revolver into a holster hidden under his +coat. "I've been expecting trouble with Blake and four or five of +his pals for some time. I'm glad it's over. Blake threatens a +strike unless I give him a sub-foremanship and increase the men's +wages from six to ten dollars a day. Think of it. A strike--up +here! It would be the beginning of history, wouldn't it?" + +He laughed softly, and Philip laughed from sheer admiration of the +man's courage. + +"You think they'll go?" he asked, anxiously. + +"I'm sure of it," replied Thorpe. "It's the best thing that can +happen." + +An hour later Philip was back in camp. He did not see Thorpe again +until after dinner, and then the gang-foreman hunted him up. His +face wore a worried look. + +"It's a little worse than I expected," he said. "Blake and eight +others came in for their pay and outfits this noon. I didn't think +that more than three or four would have the nerve to quit." + +"I'll furnish you with men to take their places," said Philip. + +"There's the hitch," replied Thorpe, rolling a cigarette. "I want +my men to work by themselves. Put half a dozen of your amateur +road-men among them and it will mean twenty per cent. less work +done, and perhaps trouble. They're a tough lot. I concede that. +I've thought of a way to offset the loss of Blake and the others. +We can set a gang of your men at work over at Gray Beaver Lake, +and they can build up to meet us." + +Philip saw MacDougall soon after his short talk with Thorpe. The +engineer did not disguise his pleasure at the turn which affairs +had taken. + +"I'm glad they're going," he declared. "If there's to be trouble +I'll feel easier with that bunch out of camp. I'd give my next +month's salary if Thorpe would take his whole outfit back where +they came from. They're doing business with the road-bed all +right, but I don't like the idea of having 'em around when there +are throats to be cut, one side or t'other." + +Philip did not see Thorpe again that day. He selected his men for +the Gray Beaver work, and in the afternoon despatched a messenger +over the Fort Churchill route to meet Brokaw. He was confident +that Brokaw and his daughter would show up during the next few +days, but at the same time he instructed the messenger to go to +Churchill if he should not meet them on the way. Other men he sent +to recall the prospecting parties outfitted by MacDougall. Early +in the evening the St. Pierres, Lecault, and Henshaw joined him +for a few minutes in the office. During the day the four had done +scout work five miles on all sides of the camp. Lecault had shot a +moose three miles to the south, and had hung up the meat. One of +the St. Pierres saw Blake and his gang on the way to the +Churchill. Beyond these two incidents they brought in no news. A +little later MacDougall brought in two other men whom he could +trust, and armed them with muzzle-loaders. They were the two last +guns in the camp. + +With ten men constantly prepared for attack, Philip began to feel +that he had the situation well in hand. It would be practically +impossible for his enemies to surprise the camp, and after their +first day's scout duty the men on the trail would always be within +sound of rifle-shots, even if they did not discover the advance of +an attacking force in time to beat them to camp. In the event of +one making such a discovery he was to signal the others by a +series of shots, such as one might fire at a running moose. + +Philip found it almost impossible to fight back his thoughts of +Jeanne. During the two or three days that followed the departure +of Blake he did not allow himself an hour's rest from early dawn +until late at night. Each night he went to bed exhausted, with the +hope that sleep would bury his grief. The struggle wore upon him, +and the faithful MacDougall began to note the change in his +comrade's face. The fourth day Thorpe disappeared and did not show +up again until the following morning. Every hour of his absence +was like the stab of a knife in Philip's heart, for he knew that +the gang-foreman had gone to see Jeanne. Three days later the +visit was repeated, and that night MacDougall found Philip in a +fever. + +"You're overdoing," he told him. "You're not in bed five hours out +of the twenty-four. Cut it out, or you'll be in the hospital +instead of in the fighting line when the big show comes to town." + +Days of mental agony and of physical pain followed. Neither Philip +nor MacDougall could understand the mysterious lack of +developments. They had expected attack before this, and yet +ceaseless scout work brought in no evidence of an approaching +crisis. Neither could they understand the growing disaffection +among Thorpe's men. The numerical strength of the gang dwindled +from nineteen down to fifteen, from fifteen to twelve. At last +Thorpe voluntarily asked Philip to cut his salary in two, because +he could not hold his men. On that same day the little sub-foreman +and two others left him, leaving only nine men at work. The delay +in Brokaw's arrival was another puzzle to Philip. Two weeks +passed, and in that time Thorpe left camp three times. On the +fifteenth day the Fort Churchill messenger returned. He was +astounded when he found that Brokaw was not in camp, and brought +amazing news. Brokaw and his daughter had departed from Fort +Churchill two days after Pierre had followed Jeanne and Philip. +They had gone in two canoes, up the Churchill. He had seen no +signs of them anywhere along the route. + +No sooner had he received the news than Philip sent the messenger +after MacDougall. The Scotchman's red face stared at him blankly +when he told him what had happened. + +"That's their first move in the real fight," said Philip, with a +hard ring in his voice. "They've got Brokaw. Keep your men close +from this hour on, Sandy. Hereafter let five of them sleep in our +bunks during the day, and keep them awake during the night." + +Five days passed without a sign of an enemy. + +About eight o'clock on the night of the sixth MacDougall came into +the office, where Philip was alone. The young Scotchman's usually +florid face was white. He dropped a curse as he grasped the back +of a chair with both hands. It was the third or fourth time that +Philip had heard MacDougall swear. + +"Damn that Thorpe!" he cried, in a low voice. + +"What's up?" asked Philip, his muscles tightening. + +MacDougall viciously beat the ash from the bowl of his pipe. + +"I didn't want to worry you about Thorpe, so I've kept quiet about +some things," he growled. "Thorpe brought up a load of whisky with +him. I knew it was against the law you've set down for this camp, +but I figured you were having trouble enough without getting you +into a mix-up with him, so I didn't say anything. But this other-- +is damnable! Twice he's had a woman sneak in to visit him. She's +there again to-night!" + +A choking, gripping sensation rose in Philip's throat. MacDougall +was not looking, and did not see the convulsive twitching of the +other's face, or the terrible light that shot for an instant into +his eyes. + +"A woman--Mac--" + +"A YOUNG woman," said MacDougall, with emphasis. "I don't know who +she is, but I do know that she hasn't a right there or she +wouldn't sneak in like a thief. I'm going to be blunt--damned +blunt. I think she's one of the other men's wives. There are half +a dozen in camp." + +"Haven't you ever looked--to see if you could recognize her?" + +"Haven't had the chance," said MacDougall. "She's been wrapped up +both times, and as it was none of my business I didn't lay in +wait. But now--it's up to you!" + +Philip rose slowly. He felt cold. He put on his coat and cap, and +buckled on his revolver. His face was deadly white when he turned +to MacDougall. + +"She is over there to-night?" + +"Sneaked in not half an hour ago, I saw her come out of the edge +of the spruce." + +"From the trail that leads out over the plain?" + +"Yes." + +Philip walked to the door. + +"I'm going over to call on Thorpe," he said, quietly. "I may not +be back for some time, Sandy." + +In the deep shadows outside he stood gazing at the light in +Thorpe's cabin. Then he walked slowly toward the spruce. He did +not go to the door, but leaned with his back against the building, +near one of the windows. The first shuddering sickness had gone +from him. His temples throbbed. At the sound of a voice inside +which was Thorpe's the chill in his blood turned to fire. The +terrible fear that had fallen upon him at MacDougall's words held +him motionless, and his brain worked upon but one idea--one +determination. If it was Jeanne who came in this way, he would +kill Thorpe. If it was another woman, he would give Thorpe that +night to get out of the country. He waited. He heard the gang- +man's voice frequently, once in a loud, half-mocking laugh. Twice +he heard a lower voice--a woman's. For an hour he watched. He +walked back and forth in the gloom of the spruce, and waited +another hour. Then the light went out, and he slipped back to the +corner of the cabin. + +After a moment the door opened, and a hooded figure came out, and +walked rapidly toward the trail that buried itself amid the +spruce. Philip ran around the cabin and followed. There was a +little open beyond the first fringe of spruce, and in this he ran +up silently from behind and overtook the one he was pursuing. As +his hand fell upon her arm the woman turned upon him with a +frightened cry. Philip's hand dropped. He took a step back. + +"My God! Jeanne--it is you!" + +His voice was husky, like a choking man's. For an instant Jeanne's +white, terrified face met his own. And then, without a word to +him, she fled swiftly down the trail. + +Philip made no effort to follow. For two or three minutes he stood +like a man turned suddenly into hewn rock, staring with unseeing +eyes into the gloom where Jeanne had disappeared. Then he walked +back to the edge of the spruce. There he drew his revolver, and +cocked it. The starlight revealed a madness in his face as he +approached Thorpe's cabin. He was smiling, but it was such a smile +as presages death; a smile as implacable as fate itself. + + + + + +XXI + + +As Philip approached the cabin he saw a figure stealing away +through the gloom. His first thought was that he had returned a +minute too late to wreak his vengeance upon the gang-foreman in +his own home, and he quickened his steps in pursuit. The man ahead +of him was cutting direct for the camp supply-house, which was the +nightly rendezvous of those who wished to play cards or exchange +camp gossip. The supply-house, aglow with light, was not more than +two hundred yards from Thorpe's, and Philip saw that if he dealt +out the justice he contemplated he had not a moment to lose. He +began to run, so quickly that he approached within a dozen paces +of the man he was pursuing without being heard. It was not until +then that he made a discovery which stopped him. The man ahead was +not Thorpe. Suddenly, looking beyond him, he saw a second figure +pass slowly through the lighted door of the supply-house. Even at +that distance he recognized the gang-foreman. He thrust his +revolver under his coat and fell a little farther behind the man +he had mistaken for Thorpe so that when the latter passed within +the small circle of light that came from the supply-house windows +he was fifty instead of a dozen paces away. Something in the +other's manner, something strangely and potently familiar in his +slim, lithe form, in the quick, half-running movement of his body, +drew a sharp breath from Philip. He was on the point of calling a +name, but it died on his lips. A moment more and the man passed +through the door. Philip was certain that it was Pierre Couchee +who had followed Thorpe. + +He was filled with a sudden fear as he ran toward the store. He +had scarcely crossed the threshold when a glance showed him Thorpe +leaning upon a narrow counter, and Pierre close beside him. He saw +that the half-breed was speaking, and Thorpe drew himself erect. +Then, as quick as a flash, two things happened. Thorpe's hand went +to his belt, Pierre's sent a lightning gleam of steel back over +his shoulder. The terrible drive of the knife and the explosion of +Thorpe's revolver came in the same instant. Thorpe crumpled back +over the counter, clutching at his breast. Pierre turned about, +staggering, and saw Philip. His eyes lighted up, and with a +moaning cry he stretched out his arms as Philip sprang to him. +Above the sudden tumult of men's feet and excited voices he gasped +out Jeanne's name. Half a dozen men had crowded about them. +Through the ring burst MacDougall, a revolver in his hand. Pierce +had become a dead weight in Philip's arms. + +"Help me over to the cabin with him, Mac," he said. He looked +around among the men. It struck him as curious, even then, that he +saw none of Thorpe's gang. "Is Thorpe done for?" he asked. + +"He's dead," replied some one. + +With an effort Pierre opened his eyes. + +"Dead!" he breathed, and in that one word there was a tremble of +joy and triumph. + +"Take Thorpe over to his cabin," commanded Philip, as he and +MacDougall lifted Pierre between them. "I will answer for this +man." + +They could hear Pierre's sobbing breath as they hurried across the +open. They laid him on Philip's bunk and Pierre opened his eyes +again. He looked at Philip. + +"M'sieur," he whispered, "tell me--quick--if I must die!" + +MacDougall had studied medicine and surgery before engineering, +and took the place of camp physician. Philip drew back while he +ripped open the half-breed's garments and bared his breast. Then +he darted to his bunk for the satchel in which he kept his +bandages and medicines, throwing off his coat as he went. Philip +bent over Pierre. Blood was oozing slowly from the wounded man's +right breast. Over his heart Philip noticed a blood-stained +locket, fastened by a babiche string about his neck. + +Pierre's hands groped eagerly for Philip's. + +"M'sieur--you will tell me--if I must die?" he pleaded. "There are +things you must know--about Jeanne--if I go. It will not hurt. I +am not afraid. You will tell me--" + +"Yes," said Philip. + +He could scarcely speak, and while MacDougall was at work stood so +that Pierre could not see his face. There was a sobbing note in +Pierre's breath, and he knew what it meant. He had heard that same +sound more than once when he had shot moose and caribou through +the lungs. Five minutes later MacDougall straightened himself. He +had done all that he could. Philip followed him to the back part +of the room. Almost without sound his lips framed the words, "Will +he die?" + +"Yes," said MacDougall. "There is no hope. He may last until +morning." + +Philip took a stool and sat down beside Pierre. There was no fear +in the wounded man's face. His eyes were clear. His voice was a +little stronger. + +"I will die, M'sieur," he said, calmly. + +"I am afraid so, Pierre." + +Pierre's damp fingers closed about his own. His eyes shone softly, +and he smiled. + +"It is best," he said, "and I am glad. I feel quite well. I will +live for some time?" + +"Perhaps for a few hours, Pierre." + +"God is good to me," breathed Pierre, devoutly. "I thank Him. Are +we alone?" + +"Do you wish to be alone?" + +"Yes." + +Philip motioned to MacDougall, who went into the little office +room. + +"I will die," whispered Pierre, softly, as though he were +achieving a triumph. "And everything would die with me, M'sieur, +if I did not know that you love Jeanne, and that you will care for +her when I am gone. M'sieur, I have told you that I love her. I +have worshiped her, next to my God. I die happy, knowing that I am +dying for her. If I had lived I would have suffered, for I love +alone. She does not dream that my love is different from hers, for +I have never told her. It would have given her pain. And you will +never let her know. As Our Dear Lady is my witness, M'sieur, she +has loved but one man, and that man is you." + +Pierre gave a great breath. A warm flood seemed suddenly to engulf +Philip. Did he hear right? Could he believe? He fell upon his +knees beside Pierre and brushed his dark hair back from his face. + +"Yes, I love her," he said, softly. "But I did not know that she +loved me." + +"It is not strange," said Pierre, looking straight into his eyes. +"But you will understand--now--M'sieur. I seem to have strength, +and I will tell you all--from the beginning. Perhaps I have done +wrong. You will know--soon. You remember Jeanne told you the story +of the baby--of the woman frozen in the snow. That was the +beginning of the long fight--for me. This--what I am about to tell +you--will be sacred to you, M'sieur?" + +"As my life," said Philip. + +Pierre was silent for a few moments. He seemed to be gathering his +thoughts, so that he could tell in few words the tragedy of years. +Two brilliant spots burned in his cheeks, and the hand which +Philip held was hot. + +"Years ago--twenty, almost--there came a man to Fort o' God," he +began. "He was very young, and from the south. D'Arcambal was then +middle-aged, but his wife was young and beautiful. Jeanne says +that you saw her picture--against the wall. D'Arcambal worshiped +her. She was his life. You understand what happened. The man from +the south--the young wife--they went away together." + +Pierre coughed. A bit of blood reddened his lips. Philip wiped it +away gently with his handkerchief, hiding the stain from Pierre's +eyes. + +"Yes," he said, "I understand." + +"It broke D'Arcambal's heart," resumed Pierre. "He destroyed +everything that had belonged to the woman. He turned her picture +to the wall. His love turned slowly to hate. It was two years +later that I came over the barrens one night and found Jeanne and +her dead mother. The woman, M'sieur--Jeanne's mother--was +D'Arcambal's wife. She was returning to Fort o' God, and God's +justice overtook her almost at its doors. I carried little Jeanne +to my Indian mother, and then made ready to carry the woman to her +husband. It was then that a terrible thought came to me. Jeanne +was not D'Arcambal's daughter. She was a part of the man who had +stolen his wife. I worshiped the little Jeanne even then, and for +her sake my mother and I swore secrecy, and buried the woman. Then +we took the babe to Fort o' God as a stranger. We saved her. We +saved D'Arcambal. No one ever knew." + +Pierre stopped for breath. + +"Was it best?" + +"It was glorious," said Philip, trembling. + +"It would have come out right--in the end--if the father had not +returned," said Pierre. "I must hurry, M'sieur, for it hurts me +now to talk. He came first a year ago, and revealed himself to +Jeanne. He told her everything. D'Arcambal was rich; Jeanne and I +both had money. He threatened--we bought him off. We fought to +keep the terrible thing from D'Arcambal. Our money sent him away +for a time. Then he returned. It was news of him I brought up the +river to Jeanne--from Churchill. I offered to kill him--but Jeanne +would not listen to that. But the Great God willed that I should. +I killed him to-night--over there!" + +A great joy surged above the grief in Philip's heart. He could not +speak, but pressed Pierre's hand harder, and looked into his +glistening eyes. + +Pierre's next words broke his silence, and wrung a low cry from +his lips. + +"M'sieur, this man Thorpe--Jeanne's father--is the man whom you +know as Lord Fitzhugh Lee." + +He coughed violently, and with sudden fear Philip lifted his head +so that it rested against his shoulder. After a moment he lowered +it again. His face was as white as Pierre's after that sudden fit +of coughing. + +"I talked with him--alone--on the afternoon of the fight on the +rock," continued Pierre, huskily. "He was hiding in the woods near +Churchill, and left for Fort o' God on that same day. I did not +tell Jeanne--until after what happened, and I came up with you on +the river. Thorpe was waiting for us at Fort o' God. It was he +whom Jeanne saw that night beside the rock, but I could not tell +you the truth--then. He came often after that--two, three times a +week. He tortured Jeanne. My God! he taunted her, M'sieur, and +made her let him kiss her, because he was her father. We gave him +money--all that we could get; we promised him more, if he would +leave--five thousand dollars--in three years. He agreed to go-- +after he had finished his work here. And that work--M'sieur--was +to destroy you. He told Jeanne, because it made her fear him more. +He compelled her to come to his cabin. He thought she was his +slave, that she would do anything to be free of him. He told her +of his plot--how he had fooled you in the sham fight with one of +his men--how those men were going to attack you a little later, +and how he had intercepted your letter from Churchill and sent in +its place the other letter which made your camp defenseless. He +was not afraid of her. She was in his power, and he laughed at her +horror, and tortured her as a cat will a bird. But Jeanne--" + +A spasm of pain shot over Pierre's face. Fresh blood dyed his +lips, and a shiver ran through his body. + +"My God!--water--something--M'sieur," he gasped. "I must go on!" + +Philip raised him again in his arms. He saw MacDougall's head +appear through the door. + +"You will rest easier this way, Pierre," he said. + +After a few moments Pierre spoke in a gasping whisper. + +"You must understand. I must be quick," he said. "We could not +warn you of what Jeanne had discovered. That would have revealed +her father. D'Arcambal would have known--every one. Thorpe plans +to dress his men--like Indians. They are to attack your camp to- +morrow night. Ten days ago we went to the camp of old Sachigo, the +Cree, who loves Jeanne as his own daughter. It was Jeanne's idea-- +to save you. Jeanne told him of Thorpe's plot to destroy you, and +to lay the blame on Sachigo's people. Sachigo is out there--in the +mountains--hiding with thirty of his tribe. Two days ago Jeanne +learned where her father's men were hiding. We had planned +everything. To-morrow night--when they move to attack--we were to +start a signal-fire on the big rock mountain at the end of the +lake. Sachigo starts at the signal, and lays in ambush for the +others in the ravine between the two mountains. None of Thorpe's +men will come out alive. Sachigo and his people will destroy them, +and none will ever know how it happened, for the Crees keep their +secrets. But now--it is too late--for me. When it happens--I will +be gone. The signal-pile is built--birch-bark--at the very top of +the rock. Jeanne will wait for me out on the plain--and I will +not come. You must fire the signal, M'sieur--as soon as it is +dark. None will ever know. Jeanne's father is dead. You will keep +the secret--of her mother--always--" + +"Forever," said Philip. + +MacDougall came into the room, He brought a glass, partly filled +with a colored liquid, and placed it to Pierre's lips. Pierre +swallowed with an effort, and with a significant hunch of his +shoulders for Philip's eyes alone the engineer returned to the +little room. + +"Mon Dieu, how it burns!" said Pierre, as if to himself. "May I +lie down again, M'sieur?" + +Philip lowered him gently. He made no effort to speak in these +moments. Pierre's eyes were dark and luminous as they sought his +own. The draught he had taken gave him a passing strength. + +"I saw Thorpe again this afternoon," he said, more calmly. +"D'Arcambal thought I had taken Jeanne to visit a trapper's wife +down the Churchill. I saw Thorpe--alone. He had been drinking. He +laughed at me, and said that Jeanne and I were fools--that he +would not leave as he had said he would--but that he would remain +--always. I told Jeanne, and asked her again to let me kill him. +But she said no--and I had taken my oath to her. Jeanne saw him +again to-night. I was near the cabin, and saw you. I told him I +would kill him if he did not go. He laughed again, and struck me. +When I came to my feet he was half across the open; I followed. I +forgot my oath. Rage filled my heart. You know what happened. You +will tell Jeanne--so that she will understand--" + +"Can we not send for her?" asked Philip. "She must be near." + +"No, M'sieur," he replied, softly. "It would only give her great +pain to see me--like this. She was to meet me to-night--at twelve +o'clock--on the trail where the road-bed crosses. You will meet +her in my place. When she understands all that has happened you +may bring her here, if she wishes to come. Then--to-morrow night-- +you will go together to fire the signal." + +"But Thorpe is dead," said Philip. "Will they attack without him?" + +"There is another, besides him," said Pierre. "That is one secret +which Thorpe has kept from Jeanne--who the other is--the one who +is paying to have you destroyed. Yes--they will attack." + +Philip bent low over Pierre. + +"I have known of this plot for a long time, Pierre," he said, +tensely. "I know that this Thorpe, who for some reason has passed +as Lord Fitzhugh Lee, is but the agent of a more powerful force +behind him. Have you told me all, Pierre? Do you know nothing +more?" + +"Nothing, M'sieur." + +"Was it Thorpe who attacked you on the cliff at Churchill?" + +"No, I am sure that it was not he. If the attack had not failed-- +it would have meant loss--for him. I have laid it to the ruffians +who wanted to kill me--and secure Jeanne. You understand--" + +"Yes, but I do not believe that was the motive for the attack, +Pierre," said Philip. "Did Thorpe go to see any one in Churchill?" + +"I don't know. He was concealing himself in the forest." + +A convulsive shudder ran through Pierre's body. He gave a low cry +of pain, and his hand clutched at the babiche cord which held the +locket about his neck. + +"M'sieur," he whispered, quickly, "this locket--was on the little +Jeanne--when I found her in the snow. I kept it because it bears +the woman's initials. I am foolish, M'sieur. I am weak. But I +would like to have it buried with me--under the old tree--where +Jeanne's mother lies. And if you could, M'sieur--if you only +could--place something of Jeanne's in my hand--I would rest +easier." + +Philip bowed his head in silence, while his eyes grew blinding +hot. Pierre pressed his hand. + +"She loves you--as I love her," he whispered, so low that Philip +could scarcely hear. "You will love her--always. If you do not-- +the Great God will let the curse of Pierre Couchee fall upon you!" + +Choking back the great sobs that rose in his breast, Philip sank +upon his knees beside Pierre, and buried his face in his arms like +a heartbroken boy. For several moments there was a silence, +punctuated by the rasping breath of the wounded man. Suddenly this +sound ceased, and Philip felt a cold fear leap through him. He +listened, neither breathing nor lifting his head. In that interval +of pulseless quiet a terrible cry came from Pierre's lips, and +when Philip looked up the dying half-breed had struggled to a +sitting posture, blood staining his lips again, his eyes blazing, +his white face damp with the clammy touch of death, and was +staring through the cabin window. It was the window that looked +out over the lake, toward the rock mountain half a mile away. +Philip turned, horrified and wondering. Through the window he saw +a glow in the sky--the glow of a fire, leaping up in a crimson +flood from the top of the mountain! + +Again that terrible, moaning cry fell from Pierre's lips, and he +reached out his arms toward the signal that was blazing forth its +warning in the night. + +"Jeanne--Jeanne--" he sobbed. "My Jeanne--" + +He swayed, and fell back. His words came in choking gasps. + +"The signal!" he struggled, fighting to make Philip understand +him. "Jeanne--saw--Thorpe--to-night. He--must--changed--plans. +Attack--to-night. Jeanne--Jeanne--my Jeanne--has lighted--the +signal--fire!" + +A tremor ran through his body, and he lay still. MacDougall ran +across from the half-open door, and put his head to Pierre's +breast. + +"Is he dead?" asked Philip. + +"Not yet." + +"Will he become conscious again?" + +"Possibly." + +Philip gripped MacDougall by the arm. + +"The attack is to be made to-night, Mac," he exclaimed. "Warn the +men. Have them ready. But you--YOU, MacDougall, attend to this +man, AND KEEP HIM ALIVE!" + +Without another word he ran to the door and out into the night. +The signal-fire was leaping to the sky. It lighted up the black +cap of the mountain, and sent a thousand aurora fires flashing +across the lake. And Philip, as he ran swiftly through the camp +toward the narrow trail that led to that mountain-top, repeated +over and over again the dying words of Pierre-- + +"Jeanne--my Jeanne--my Jeanne--" + + + + + +XXII + + +News of the double tragedy had swept through the camp, and there +was a crowd in front of the supply-house. Philip passed close to +Thorpe's house to avoid discovery, ran a hundred yards up the +trail over which Jeanne had fled a short time before, and then cut +straight across through the thin timber for the head of the lake. +He felt no effort in his running. Low bush whipped him in the face +and left no sting. He was not conscious that he was panting for +breath when he came out in the black shadow of the mountain. This +night in itself had been a creation for him, for out of grief and +pain it had lifted him into a new life, and into a happiness that +seemed to fill him with the strength and the endurance of five +men. Jeanne loved him! The wonderful truth cried itself out in his +soul at every step he took, and he murmured it aloud to himself, +over and over again, as he ran. + +The glow of the signal-fire lighted up the sky above him, and he +climbed up, higher and higher, scrambling swiftly from rock to +rock, until he saw the tips of the flames licking up into the sky. +He had come up the steepest and shortest side of the ridge, and +when he reached the top he lay upon his face for a moment, his +breath almost gone. + +The fire was built against a huge dead pine, and the pine was +blazing a hundred feet in the air. He could feel its heat. The +monster torch illumined the barren cap of the rock from edge to +edge, and he looked about him for Jeanne. For a moment he did not +see her, and her name rose to his lips, to be stilled in the same +breath by what he saw beyond the burning pine. Through the blaze +of the heat and fire fie beheld Jeanne, standing close to the edge +of the mountain, gazing into the south and west. He called her +name. Jeanne turned toward him with a startled cry, and Philip was +at her side. The girl's face was white and strained. Her lips were +twisted in pain at sight of him. She spoke no word, but a strange +sound rose in her throat, a welling-up of the sudden despair which +the fire-light revealed in her eyes. For one moment they stood +apart, and Philip tried to speak. And then, suddenly, he reached +out and drew her quickly into his arms--so quickly that there was +no time for her to escape, so closely that her sweet face lay +imprisoned upon his breast, as he had held it once before, under +the picture at Fort o' God. He felt her straining to free herself; +he saw the fear in her eyes, and he tried to speak calmly, while +his heart throbbed with the passion of love which he wished to +pour into her ears. + +"Listen, Jeanne," he said. "Pierre has sent me to you. He has told +me everything--everything, my sweetheart. There is nothing to +keep from me now. I know. I understand. And I love you--love you-- +love you--my own sweet Jeanne!" + +She trembled at his words. He felt her shuddering in his arms, and +her eyes gazed at him wonderingly, filled with a strange and +incredulous look, while her lips quivered and remained speechless. +He drew her nearer, until his face was against her own, and the +warmth of her lips, her eyes, and her hair entered into him, and +near stifled his heart with joy. + +"He has told me everything, my little Jeanne," he said again, in a +whisper that rose just above the crackling of the pine. +"Everything. He told me because he knew that I loved you, and +because--" + +The words choked in his throat. At this hesitation Jeanne drew her +head back, and, with her hands pressing against his breast, looked +into his face. There were in her eyes the same struggling +emotions, but with them now there came also a sweet faltering, a +piteous appeal to him, a faith that rose above her terrors, and +the tremble of her lips was like that of a crying child. He drew +her face back, and kissed the quivering lips, and suddenly he felt +the strain against him give way, and Jeanne's head sobbed upon his +breast. In that moment, looking where the roaring pine sent its +pinnacles of flame leaping up into the night, a word of thanks, of +prayer, rose mutely to his lips, and he held Jeanne more closely, +and whispered over and over again in his happiness, "Jeanne-- +Jeanne--my sweetheart Jeanne." + +Jeanne's sobs grew less and less, and Philip strengthened himself +to tell her the terrible news of Pierre. He knew that in the +selfishness of his own joy he had already wasted precious minutes, +and very gently he took Jeanne's wet face between his two hands +and turned it a little toward his own. + +"Pierre has told me everything, Jeanne," he repeated. "Everything +--from the day he found you many years ago to the day your father +returned to torture you." He spoke calmly, even as he felt her +shiver in pain against him. "To-night there was a little trouble +down in the camp, dear. Pierre is wounded, and wants you to come +to him. Thorpe--is--dead." + +For an instant Philip was frightened at what happened. Jeanne's +breath ceased. There seemed to be not a quiver of life in her +body, and she lay in his arms as if dead. And then, suddenly, +there came from her a terrible cry, and she wrenched herself free, +and stood a step from him, her face as white as death. + +"He--is--dead--" + +"Yes, he is dead." + +"And Pierre--Pierre killed him?" + +Philip held out his arms, but Jeanne did not seem to see them. She +saw the answer in his face. + +"And--Pierre--is--hurt--" she went on, never taking her wide, +luminous eyes from his face. + +Before he answered Philip took her trembling hands in his own, as +though he would lighten the blow by the warmth and touch of his +great love. + +"Yes, he is hurt, Jeanne," he said. "We must hurry, for I am +afraid there is no time to lose." + +"He is--dying?" + +"I fear so, Jeanne." + +He turned before the look that came into her face, and led her +about the circle of fire to the side of the mountain that sloped +down into the plain. Suddenly Jeanne stopped for an instant. Her +fingers tightened about his. Her face was turned back into the +endless desolation of night and forest that lay to the south and +west. Far out--a mile--two miles--an answering fire was breaking +the black curtain that hid all things beyond them. Jeanne lifted +her face to him. Grief and love, pain and joy, shone in her eyes. + +"They are there!" she said, chokingly. "It is Sachigo, and they +are coming--coming--coming--" + +Once again before they began the descent of the mountain Philip +drew her close in his arms, and kissed her. And this time there +was the sweet surrender to him of all things in the tenderness of +Jeanne's lips. Silent in their grief, and yet communing in +sympathy and love in the firm clasp of their hands, they came down +the mountain, through the thin spruce forest, and to the lighted +cabin where Pierre lay dying. MacDougall was in the room when they +entered, and rose softly, tiptoeing into the little office. Philip +led Jeanne to Pierre's side, and as he bent over him, and spoke +softly, the half-breed opened his eyes. He saw Jeanne. Into his +fading eyes there came a wonderful light. His lips moved, and his +hands strove to lift themselves above the crumpled blanket. Jeanne +dropped upon her knees beside him, and as she clasped his chilled +hands to her breast a glorious understanding lighted up her face; +and then she took Pierre's face between her hands, and bowed her +own close down to it, so that the two were hidden under the +beauteous halo of her hair. Philip gripped at his throat to hold +back a sob. A terrible stillness came into the room, and he dared +not move. It seemed a long time before Jeanne lifted her head, +slowly, tenderly, as if fearing to awaken a sleeping child. She +turned to him, and he read the truth in her face before she had +spoken. Her voice was low and calm, filled with the sweetness and +tenderness and strength that come only to a woman in the final +moment of a great sorrow. + +"Leave us, Philip," she said. "Pierre is dead." + + + + + +XXIII + + +For a moment Philip bowed his head, and then he turned and went +noiselessly from the room, without speaking. As he closed the door +softly behind him he looked back, and from her attitude beside +Pierre he knew that Jeanne was whispering a prayer. A vision +flashed before him, so quick that it had come like a ray of light +--a vision of another hour, years and years ago, when Pierre had +knelt beside HER, and when he had lifted up his wild, half-thought +prayer out in the death-chill of the snowy barrens. And this was +his reward, to have Jeanne kneel beside him as the soul which had +loved her so faithfully took its flight. + +Philip could not see when he turned his face to the light of the +office. For the first time the grief which he had choked back +escaped in a gasping break in his voice, and he wiped his eyes +with his pocket-handkerchief. He knew that MacDougall was looking +upon his weakness, but he did not at first see that there was +another person in the room besides the engineer. This second +person rose to meet him, while MacDougall remained in his seat, +and as he came out into the clearer light of the room Philip could +scarce believe his eyes. + +It was Gregson! + +"I am sorry that I came in just at this time, Phil," he greeted, +in a low voice. + +Philip stared, still incredulous. He had never seen Gregson as he +looked now. The artist advanced no farther. He did not hold out +his hand. There was none of the joy of meeting in his face. His +eyes shifted to the door that led into the death-chamber, and they +were filled with the gloom of a condemned man. With a low word +Philip held out his hand to meet his old comrade's. Gregson drew +back. + +"No--not now," he said. "Wait--until you have heard me." + +Something in his cold, passionless voice stopped Philip. He saw +Gregson glance toward MacDougall, and understood what he meant. +Going to the engineer, he placed a hand on his shoulder, and spoke +so that only he could hear. + +"She is in there, Mac--with Pierre. She wanted to be alone with +him for a few minutes. Will you wait for her--outside--at the +door, and take her over to Cassidy's wife? Tell her that I will +come to her in a little while." + +He followed MacDougall to the door, speaking to him in a low +voice, and then turned to Gregson. The artist had seated himself +at one side of the small office table, and Philip sat down +opposite him, holding out his hand to him again. + +"What is the matter, Greggy?" + +"This is not a time for long explanations," said the artist, still +holding back his hand. "They can come later, Phil. But to-night-- +now--you must understand why I cannot shake hands with you. We +have been friends for a good many years. In a few minutes we will +be enemies--or you will be mine. One thing, before I go on, I must +ask of you. I demand it. Whatever passes between us during the +next ten minutes, say no word against Eileen Brokaw. I will say +what you might say--that for a time her soul wandered, and was +almost lost. But it has come back to her, strong and pure. I love +her. Some strange fate has ordained that she should love me, +worthless as I am. She is to be my wife." + +Philip's hand was still across the table. + +"Greggy--Greggy--God bless you!" he cried, softly. "I know what it +is to love, and to be loved. Why should I be your enemy because +Eileen Brokaw's heart has turned to gold, and she has given it to +you? Greggy, shake!" + +"Wait," said Gregson, huskily. "Phil, you are breaking my heart. +Listen. You got my note? But I did not desert you so abominably. I +made a discovery that last night of yours in Churchill. I went to +Eileen Brokaw, and to-morrow--some time--if you care I will tell +you of all that happened. First you must know this. I have found +the 'power' that is fighting you down below. I have found the man +who is behind the plot to ruin your company, the man who is +responsible for Thorpe's crimes, the man who is responsible--for-- +that--in--there." + +He leaned across the table and pointed to the closed door. + +"And that man--" + +For a moment he seemed to choke. + +"Is Brokaw, the father of my affianced wife!" + +"Good God!" cried Philip. "Gregson, are you mad?" + +"I was almost mad, when I first made the discovery," said Gregson, +as cold as ice. "But I am sane now. His scheme was to have the +government annul your provisional license. Thorpe and his men were +to destroy this camp, and kill you. The money on hand from stock, +over six hundred thousand dollars, would have gone into Brokaw's +pockets. There is no need of further detail--now--for you can +understand. He knew Thorpe, and secured him as his agent. It was +merely a whim of Thorpe's to take the name of Lord Fitzhugh +instead of something less conspicuous. Three months before Brokaw +came to Churchill he wished to get detailed instructions to Thorpe +which he dared not trust to a wilderness mail service. He could +find no messenger whom he dared trust. So he sent Eileen. She was +at Fort o' God for a week. Then she came to Churchill, where we +saw her. The scheme was that Brokaw should bribe the ship's +captain to run close into Blind Eskimo Point, at night, and signal +to Thorpe and Eileen, who would be waiting. It worked, and Eileen +and Thorpe came on with the ship. At the landing--you remember-- +Eileen was met by the girl from Fort o' God. In order not to +betray herself to you she refused to recognize her. Later she told +her father, and Thorpe and Brokaw saw in it an opportunity to +strike a first blow. Brokaw had brought two men whom he could +trust, and Thorpe had four or five others at Churchill. The attack +on the cliff followed, the object being to kill the man, but take +the girl unharmed, A messenger was to take the news of what +happened to Fort o' God, and lay the crime to men who had run up +to Churchill from your camp. Chance favored you that night, and +you spoiled their plan. Chance favored me, and I found Eileen. It +is useless for me to go into detail as to what happened after +that, except to say this--that Eileen knew nothing of the proposed +attack, that she was ignorant of the heinousness of the plot +against you, and that she was almost as much a tool of her father +as you. Phil--" + +For the first time there came a pleading light into Gregson's eyes +as he leaned across the table. + +"Phil, if it wasn't for Eileen I would not be here. I thought that +she would kill herself when I told her as much of the story as I +knew. She told me what she had done; she confessed for her father. +In that hour of her agony I could not keep back my love. We +plotted. I forged a letter, and made it possible to accompany +Brokaw and Eileen up the Churchill. It was not my purpose to join +you, and so Eileen professed to be taken ill. We camped, back from +the river, and I sent our two Indians back to Churchill, for +Eileen and I wished to be alone with Brokaw in the terrible hour +that was coming. That is all. Everything is revealed. I have come +to you as quickly as I could, to find that Thorpe is dead. In my +own selfishness I would have shielded Brokaw, arguing that he +could pay Thorpe, and work honorably henceforth. You would never +have known. It is Eileen who makes this confession, not I. Phil, +her last words to me were these: 'You love me. Then you will tell +him all this. Only after this, if he shows us a mercy which we do +not deserve, can I be your wife.' + +"There is only one other thing to add. I have shown Brokaw a ray +of hope. He will hand over to you all his rights in the company +and the six hundred thousand in the treasury. He will sign over to +you, as repurchase money for whatever stock you wish to call in, +practically his whole fortune--five hundred thousand. He will +disappear, completely and forever. Eileen and I will hunt out our +own little corner in a new world, and you will never hear of us +again. This is what we have planned to do, if you show us mercy." + +Philip had not spoken during Gregson's terrible recital. He sat +like one turned to stone. Rage, wonder, and horror burned so +fiercely in his heart that they consumed all evidence of emotion. +And to arouse him now there came an interruption that sent the +blood flushing back into his face--a low knock at the closed door, +a slow lifting of the latch, the appearance of Jeanne. Through her +tears she saw only the man she loved, and sobbing aloud now, like +a child, she stretched out her arms to him; and when he sprang to +her and caught her to his breast, she whispered his name again and +again, and stroked his face with her hands. Love, overpowering, +breathing of heaven, was in her touch, and as she lifted her face +to him of her own sweet will now, entreating him to kiss her and +to comfort her for what she had lost, he saw Gregson moving with +bowed head, like a stricken thing, toward the outer door. In that +moment the things that had been in his heart melted away, and +raising a hand above his head, he called, softly: + +"Tom Gregson, my old chum, if you have found a love like this, +thank your God. My own love I would lose if I destroyed yours. Go +back to Eileen. Tell Brokaw that I accept his offers. And when you +come back in a few days, bring Eileen. My Jeanne will love her." + +And Jeanne, looking from Philip's face, saw Gregson, for the first +time, as he passed through the door. + + + + + +XXIV + + +Both Philip and Jeanne were silent for some moments after Gregson +had gone; their only movement was the gentle stroking of Philip's +hand over the girl's soft hair. Their hearts were full, too full +for speech. And yet he knew that upon his strength depended +everything now. The revelations of Gregson, which virtually ended +the fight against him personally, were but trivial in his thoughts +compared with the ordeal which was ahead of Jeanne. Both Pierre +and her father were dead, and, with the exception of Jeanne, no +one but he knew of the secret that had died with them. He could +feel against him the throbbing of the storm that was passing in +the girl's heart, and in answer to it he said nothing in words, +but held her to him with a gentleness that lifted her face, quiet +and beautiful, so that her eyes looked steadily and questioningly +into his own. + +"You love me," she said, simply, and yet with a calmness that sent +a curious thrill through him. + +"Beyond all else in the world," he replied. + +She still looked at him, without speaking, as though through his +eyes she was searching to the bottom of his soul. + +"And you know," she whispered, after a moment. + +He drew her so close she could not move, and crushed his face down +against her own. + +"Jeanne--Jeanne--everything is as it should be," he said. "I am +glad that you were found out in the snows. I am glad that the +woman in the picture was your mother. I would have nothing +different than it is, for if things were different you would not +be the Jeanne that I know, and I would not love you so. You have +suffered, sweetheart. And I, too, have had my share of sorrow. God +has brought us together, and all is right in the end. Jeanne--my +sweet Jeanne--" + +Gregson had left the outer door slightly ajar. A gust of wind +opened it wider. Through it there came now a sound that +interrupted the words on Philip's lips, and sent a sudden quiver +through Jeanne. In an instant both recognized the sound. It was +the firing of rifles, the shots coming to them faintly from far +beyond the mountain at the end of the lake. Moved by the same +impulse, they ran to the door, hand in hand. + +"It is Sachigo!" panted Jeanne. She could hardly speak. She seemed +to struggle to get breath, "I had forgotten. They are fighting--" + +MacDougall strode up from his post beside the door, where he had +been waiting for the appearance of Jeanne. + +"Firing--off there," he said. "What does it mean?" + +"We must wait and see," replied Philip. "Send two of your men to +investigate, Mac. I will rejoin you after I have taken Miss +d'Arcambal over to Cassidy's wife." + +He moved away quickly with Jeanne. On a sudden rise of the wind +from the south the firing came to them more distinctly. Then it +died away, and ended in three or four intermittent shots. For the +space of a dozen seconds a strange stillness followed, and then +over the mountain top, where there was still a faint glow in the +sky, there came the low, quavering, triumphal cry of the Crees: a +cry born of the forest itself, mournful even in its joy, only half +human--almost like a far-away burst of tongue from a wolf pack on +the hunt trail. And after that there was an unbroken silence. + +"It is over," breathed Philip. + +He felt Jeanne's fingers tighten about his own. + +"No one will ever know," he continued. "Even MacDougall will not +guess what has happened out there--to-night." + +He stopped a dozen paces from Cassidy's cabin. The windows were +aglow, and they could hear the laughter and play of Cassidy's two +children within. Gently he drew Jeanne to him. + +"You will stay here to-night, dear," he said. "To-morrow we will +go to Fort o' God." + +"You must take me home to-night," whispered Jeanne, looking up +into his face. "I must go, Philip. Send some one with me, and you +can come--in the morning--with Pierre--" + +She put her hand to his face again, in the sweet touch that told +more of her love than a thousand words. + +"You understand, dear," she went on, seeing the anxiety in his +eyes. "I have the strength--to-night. I must return to father, +and he will know everything--when you come to Fort o' God." + +"I will send MacDougall with you," said Philip, after a moment. +"And then I will follow--" + +"With Pierre." + +"Yes, with Pierre." + +For a brief space longer they stood outside of Cassidy's cabin, +and then Philip, lifting her face, said gently: + +"Will you kiss me, dear? It is the first time." + +He bent down, and Jeanne's lips reached his own. + +"No, it is not the first time," she confessed, in a whisper. "Not +since that day--when I thought you were dying--after we came +through the rapids--" + +Five minutes later Philip returned to MacDougall. Roberts, +Henshaw, Cassidy, and Lecault were with the engineer. + +"I've sent the St. Pierres to find out about the firing," he said. +"Look at the crowd over at the store. Every one heard it, and +they've seen the fire on the mountain. They think the Indians have +cornered a moose or two and are shooting them by the blaze." + +"They're probably right," said Philip. "I want a word with you, +Mac." + +He walked a little aside with the engineer, leaving the others in +a group, and in a low voice told him as much as he cared to reveal +about the identity of Thorpe and Gregson's mission in camp. Then +he spoke of Jeanne. + +"I believe that the death of Thorpe practically ends all danger to +us," he concluded. "I'm going to offer you a pleasanter job than +fighting, Mac. It is imperative that Miss d'Arcambal should return +to D'Arcambal House before morning, and I want you to take her, if +you will. I'm choosing the best man I've got because--well, +because she's going to be my wife, Mac. I'm the happiest man on +earth to-night!" + +MacDougall did not show surprise. + +"Guessed it," he said, shortly, thrusting out a hand and grinning +broadly into Philip's face "Couldn't help from seeing, Phil. And +the firing, and Thorpe, and that half-breed in there--" + +Understanding was slowly illuminating his face. + +"You'll know all about them a little later, Mac," said Philip +softly. "To-night we must investigate nothing--very far. Miss +d'Arcambal must be taken home immediately. Will you go?" + +"With pleasure." + +"She can ride one of the horses as far as the Little Churchill," +continued Philip. "And there she will show you a canoe. I will +follow in the morning with the body of Pierre, the half-breed." + +A quarter of an hour later MacDougall and Jeanne set out over the +river trail, leaving Philip standing behind, watching them until +they were hidden in the night. It was fully an hour later before +the St. Pierres returned. Philip was uneasy until the two dark- +faced hunters came into the little office and leaned their rifles +against the wall. He had feared that Sachigo might have left some +trace of his ambush behind. But the St. Pierres had discovered +nothing, and could give only one reason for the burning pine on +the summit of the mountain. They agreed that Indians had fired it +to frighten moose from a thick cover to the south and west, and +that their hunt had been a failure. + +It was midnight before Philip relaxed his caution, which he +maintained until then in spite of his belief that Thorpe's men, +under Blake, had met a quick finish at the hands of Sachigo and +his ambushed braves. His men left for their cabins, with the +exception of Cassidy, whom he asked to spend the remainder of the +night in one of the office bunks. Alone he went in to prepare +Pierre for his last journey to Fort o' God. + +A lamp was burning low beside the bunk in which Pierre lay. Philip +approached and turned the wick higher, and then he gazed in wonder +upon the transfiguration in the half-breed's face. Pierre had died +with a smile on his lips; and with a curious thickening in his +throat Philip thought that those lips, even in death, were craved +in the act of whispering Jeanne's name. It seemed to him, as he +stood in silence for many moments, that Pierre was not dead, but +that he was sleeping a quiet, unbreathing sleep, in which there +came to him visions of the great love for which he had offered up +his life and his soul. Jeanne's hands, in his last moments, had +stilled all pain. Peace slumbered in the pale shadows of his +closed eyes. The Great God of his faith had come to him in his +hour of greatest need on earth, and he had passed away into the +Valley of Silent Men on the sweet breath of Jeanne's prayers. The +girl had crossed his hands upon his breast. She had brushed back +his long hair. Philip knew that she had imprinted a kiss upon the +silent lips before the soul had fled, and in the warmth and +knowledge of that kiss Pierre had died happy. + +And Philip, brokenly, said aloud: + +"God bless you, Pierre, old man!" + +He lifted the cold hands back, and gently drew the covers which +had hidden the telltale stains of death from Jeanne's eyes. He +turned down Pierre's shirt, and in the lamp-glow there glistened +the golden locket. For the first time he noticed it closely. It +was half as large as the palm of his hand, and very thin, and he +saw that it was bent and twisted. A shudder ran through him when +he understood what had happened. The bullet that had killed Pierre +had first struck the locket, and had burst it partly open. He took +it in his hand. And then he saw that through the broken side there +protruded the end of a bit of paper. For a brief space the +discovery made him almost forget the presence of death. Pierre had +never opened the locket, because it was of the old-fashioned kind +that locked with a key, and the key was gone. And the locket had +been about Jeanne's neck when he found her out in the snows! Was +it possible that this bit of paper had something to do with the +girl he loved? + +Carefully, so that it would not tear, he drew it forth. There was +writing on the paper, as he had expected, and he read it, bent low +beside the lamp. The date was nearly eighteen years old. The lines +were faint. The words were these: + +MY HUSBAND,--God can never undo what I have done. I have dragged +myself back, repentant, loving you more than I have ever loved you +in my life, to leave our little girl with you. She is your +daughter, and mine. She was born on the eighth day of September, +the seventh month after I left Fort o' God, She is yours, and so I +bring her back to you, with the prayer that she will help to fill +the true and noble heart that I have broken. I cannot ask your +forgiveness, for I do not deserve it. I cannot let you see me, for +I should kill myself at your feet. I have lived this long only for +the baby. I will leave her where you cannot fail to find her, and +by the time you have read this I will have answered for my sin-- +my madness, if you can have charity regard it so. And if God is +kind I will hover about you always, and you will know that in +death the old sweetheart, and the mother, has found what she could +never again hope for in life. + +YOUR WIFE. + +Philip rose slowly erect and gazed down into the still, tranquil +face of Pierre, the half-breed. + +"Why didn't you open it?" he whispered. "Why didn't you open it? +My God, what it would have saved--" + +For a full minute he looked down at Pierre, as though he expected +that the white lips would move and answer him. And then he thought +of Jeanne hurrying to Fort o' God, and of the terrible things +which she was to reveal to her father that night. She was +D'Arcambal's own daughter. What pain--what agony of father and +child he might have saved if he had examined the locket a little +sooner! He looked at his watch and found that Jeanne had been gone +three hours. It would be impossible to overtake MacDougall and the +girl unless something had occurred to delay them somewhere along +the trail. He hurried back into the little room, where he had left +Cassidy. In a few words he explained that it was necessary for him +to follow Jeanne and the engineer to D'Arcambal House without a +moment's delay, and he directed Cassidy to take charge of camp +affairs, and to send Pierre's body with a suitable escort the next +day. + +"It isn't necessary for me to tell you what to do," he finished, +"You understand." + +Cassidy nodded. Six months before he had buried his youngest child +under a big spruce back of his cabin. + +Philip hastened to the stables, and, choosing one of the lighter +animals, was soon galloping over the trail toward the Little +Churchill. In his face there blew a cold wind from Hudson's Bay, +and now and then he felt the sting of fine particles in his eyes. +They were the presage of storm. A shifting of the wind a little to +the east and south, and the fine particles would thicken, and turn +into snow. By morning the world would be white. He came into the +forests beyond the plain, and in the spruce and the cedar tops the +wind was half a gale, filling the night with wailing and moaning +sounds that sent strange shivers through him as he thought of +Pierre in the cabin. In such a way, he imagined, had the north +wind swept across the cold barrens on the night that Pierre had +found the woman and the babe; and now it seemed, in his fancies, +as though above and about him the great hand that had guided the +half-breed then was bringing back the old night, as if Pierre, in +dying, had wished it so. For the wind changed. The fine particles +thickened, and changed to snow. And then there was no longer the +wailing and the moaning in the tree-tops, but the soft murmur of a +white deluge that smothered him in a strange gloom and hid the +trail. There were two canoes concealed at the end of the trail on +the Little Churchill, and Philip chose the smallest. He followed +swiftly after MacDougall and Jeanne. He could no longer see either +side of the stream, and he was filled with a fear that he might +pass the little creek that led to Fort o' God. He timed himself by +his watch, and when he had paddled for two hours he ran in close +to the west shore, traveling so slowly that he did not progress a +mile in half an hour. And then suddenly, from close ahead, there +rose through the snow-gloom the dismal howl of a dog, which told +him that he was near to Fort o' God. He found the black opening +that marked the entrance to the creek, and when he ran upon the +sand-bar a hundred yards beyond he saw lights burning in the great +room where he had first seen D'Arcambal. He went now where Pierre +had led him that night, and found the door unlocked. He entered +silently, and passed down the dark hall until, on the left, he saw +a glow of light that came from the big room. Something in the +silence that was ahead of him made his own approach without sound, +and softly he entered through the door. + +In the great chair sat the master of Fort o' God, his gray head +bent; at his feet knelt Jeanne, and so close were they that +D'Arcambal's face was hidden in Jeanne's shining, disheveled hair. +No sooner had Philip entered the room than his presence seemed to +arouse the older man. He lifted his head slowly, looking toward +the door, and when he saw who stood there he raised one of his +arms from about the girl and held it out to Philip. + +"My son!" he said. + +In a moment Philip was upon his knees beside Jeanne, and one of +D'Arcambal's heavy hands fell upon his shoulder in a touch that +told him he had come too late to keep back any part of the +terrible story which Jeanne had bared to him. The girl did not +speak when she saw him beside her. It was as if she had expected +him to come, and her hand found his and nestled in it, as cold as +ice. + +"I have hurried from the camp," he said. "I tried to overtake +Jeanne. About Pierre's neck I found a locket, and in the locket-- +was this--" + +He looked into D'Arcambal's haggard face as he gave him the blood- +stained note, and he knew that in the moment that was to come the +master of Fort o' God and his daughter should be alone. + +"I will wait in the portrait-room," he said, in a low voice, and +as he rose to his feet he pressed Jeanne's hand to his lips. + +The old room was as he had left it weeks before. The picture of +Jeanne's mother still hung with its face to the wall. There was +the same elusive movement of the portrait over the volume of warm +air that rose from the floor. In this room he seemed to breathe +again the presence of a warm spirit of life, as he had felt it on +the first night--a spirit that seemed to him to be a part of +Jeanne herself, and he thought of the last words of the wife and +mother--of her promise to remain always near those whom she loved, +to regain after death the companionship which she could never hope +for in life. And then there came to him a thought of the vast and +wonderful mystery of death, and he wondered if it was her spirit +that had been with him more than one lonely night, when his camp- +fire was low; if it was her presence that had filled him with +transcendent dreams of hope and love, coming to him that night +beside the rock at Churchill, and leading him at last to Jeanne, +for whom she had given up her life. He heard again the rising of +the wind outside and the beating of the storm against the window, +and he went softly to see if his vision could penetrate into the +white, twisting gloom beyond the glass. For many minutes he stood, +seeing nothing. And then he heard a sound, and turned to see +Jeanne and her father standing in the door. Glory was in the face +of the master of Fort o' God. He seemed not to see Philip--he +seemed to see nothing but the picture that was turned against the +wall. He strode across the room, his great shoulders straightened, +his shaggy head erect, and with the pride of one revealing first +to human eyes the masterpiece of his soul and life he turned the +picture so that the radiant face of the wife and mother looked +down upon him. And was it fancy that for a fleeting moment the +smile left the beautiful lips, and a light, soft and luminous, +pleading for love and forgiveness, filled the eyes of Jeanne's +mother? Philip trembled. Jeanne came across to him silently, and +crept into his arms. And then, slowly, the master of Fort o' God +turned toward them and stretched out both of his great arms. + +"My children!" he said. + + + + + +XXV + + +All that night the storm came out of the north and east. Hours +after Jeanne and her father had left him Philip went quietly from +his room, passed down the hall, and opened the outer door. He +could hear the gale whistling over the top of the great rock, and +moaning in the spruce and cedar forest, and he closed the door +after him, and buried himself in the darkness and wind. He bowed +his head to the stinging snow, which came like blasts of steeled +shot, and hurried into the shelter of the Sun Rock, and stood +there after that listening to the wildness of the storm and the +strange whistling of the wind cutting itself to pieces far over +his head. Since man had first beheld that rock such storms as this +had come and gone for countless generations. Two hundred years and +more had passed since Grosellier first looked out upon a wondrous +world from its summit. And yet this storm--to-night--whistling +and moaning about him, filling all space with its grief, its +triumph, and its madness, seemed to be for him--and for him alone. +His heart answered to it. His soul trembled to the marvelous +meaning of it. To-night this storm was his own. He was a part of a +world which he would never leave. Here, beside the great Sun Rock +of the Crees, he had found home, life, happiness, his God. Here, +henceforth through all time, he would live with his beloved +Jeanne, dreaming no dreams that went beyond the peace of the +mountains and the forests. He lifted his face to where the storm +swept above him, and for an instant he fancied that high up on the +ragged edge of the rock there might have stood Pierre, with his +great, gaping, hungry heart, filled with pain and yearning, +staring off into the face of the Almighty. And he fancied, too, +that beside him there hovered the wife and mother. And then he +looked to Fort o' God. The lights were out. Quiet, if not sleep, +had fallen upon all life within. And it seemed to Philip, as he +went back again through the storm, that in the moaning tumult of +the night there was music instead of sadness. + +He did not sleep until nearly morning. And when he awoke he found +that the storm had passed, and that over a world of spotless white +there had risen a brilliant sun. He looked out from his window, +and saw the top of the Sun Rock glistening in a golden fire, and +where the forest trees had twisted and moaned there were now +unending canopies of snow, so that it seemed as though the storm, +in passing, had left behind only light, and beauty, and happiness +for all living things. + +Trembling with the joy of this, Philip went to his door, and from +the door down the hall, and where the light of the sun blazed +through a window near to the great room where he expected to find +the master of Fort o' God, there stood Jeanne. And as she heard +him coming, and turned toward him, all the glory and beauty of the +wondrous day was in her face and hair. Like an angel she stood +waiting for him, pale and yet flushing a little, her eyes shining +and yearning for him, her soul in the tremble of the single word +on her sweet lips. + +"Philip--" + +"Jeanne--" + +No more--and yet against each other their hearts told what it was +futile for their lips to attempt. They looked out through the +window. Beyond that window, as far as the vision could reach, +swept the barrens, over which Pierre had brought the little +Jeanne. Something sobbing rose in the girl's throat. She lifted +her eyes, swimming with love and tears, to Philip, and from his +breast she reached up both hands gently to his face. + +"They will bring Pierre--to-day---" she whispered. + +"Yes--to-day." + +"We will bury him out yonder," she said, stroking his face, and he +knew that she meant out in the barren, where the mother lay. + +He bowed his face close down against hers to hide the woman's +weakness that was bringing a misty film into his eyes. + +"You love me," she whispered. "You love me--love me--and you will +never take me away, but will stay with me always. You will stay +here--dear--in my beautiful world--we two--alone--" + +"For ever and for ever," he murmured. + +They heard a step, firm and vibrant with the strength of a new +life, and they knew that it was the master of Fort o' God. + +"Always--we two--forever," whispered Philip again. + +THE END + + + + + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Flower of the North, by James Oliver Curwood +***********This file should be named flwnt10.txt or flwnt10.zip*********** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, flwnt11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, flwnt10a.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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