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+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: 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
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